#DO NOT look at the shoes or at anything closely

[serensho]

୨୧‿‿‿୨ﾠ୧‿‿‿୨୧ ୨୧‿‿‿୨ﾠ୧‿‿‿୨୧

୨୧‿‿‿୨ﾠ୧‿‿‿୨୧ ୨୧‿‿‿୨ﾠ୧‿‿‿୨୧

she

in which you and mark have drifted apart...but that doesn't mean he's left your life for good.

warnings: SMUT, coochie eating, angst, surprisingly soft/fluffy, variant!mark, kind of creepy vibes but not too much imo, not canon compliant, fem!reader

wc: 2766

inspired by tyler the creator's she, sycamore tree by kali uchis

a/n: ayy doing something different by having my note at the beginning; thank you sm for the love on my last two posts! i hope you all love this one and reblog, like, reply, request, etc!! this could be imagined with any mark variant imo, but let me know who you think fits this best! also it is pretty light despite its inspo, and i hope you all like it! i had fun writing it and getting out of my comfort zone. enjoy

You and Mark Grayson have lost touch.

 It wasn’t surprising at first. Having grown up with him and watching his transformation from ordinary high schooler to superhero from only a few doors down– it seemed only natural that he would act differently, make new friends and find new hobbies. 

The two of you drifted apart as he began fighting crime, talking to girls, and the friendship that was once so strong between you fizzled out. There wasn’t any animosity– at least you tried not to harbor any– but it was only natural that a sense of bitterness began to fester as he stopped trying. 

He stopped coming over late at night after a fight with a petty villain, stopped walking you home, simply stopped. And you tried to reach out to him, to let him know you would always be there but he found comfort elsewhere. Which was fine. He was following a different path, one that was extraordinary compared to your ordinary experience going to the nearby college sometimes crossing paths with William and Amber. 

Last you heard she and Mark had broken up and he was now with Atom Eve. But a lot had been happening to Mark recently with the arrival of different versions of him wreaking havoc on Earth, and his subsequent fight with some sort of super strong hero from a completely different planet. You couldn’t help but worry for him, worry for Debbie and his little brother, Oliver. 

You still cared despite the loss of contact and that was what prompted you to try to write a text to him, hoping that his number hadn’t changed. However, it sat in your messages, too scared to send it. You stewed over it, reread it probably a hundred times, before giving up on it. Weeks passed by and you hadn’t read or watched anything in the news about Invincible, deeming that that was probably a good thing. 

Which was why when you saw him waiting on the sidewalk in front of your house after dark one night was so weird. At least you were pretty sure it was him. Deciding to investigate further, you padded downstairs from your bedroom to the front door, slipping on a pair of shoes and walking outside, turning on the flashlight of your phone while approaching the pavement. Only to find that Mark– whoever had been waiting outside had left without a trace. You called out into the night, looking around before going inside, but you couldn’t shake the feeling as though something, someone had been watching you. You walked back upstairs and decided to try to relax, pamper yourself for tonight to rid yourself of the sensation.

From far above in the sky, Mark held a hand over his mouth as he chuckled. Your cute chirp and frightened look on your face excited him. Back in his home universe, you hadn’t been so close to him– it was a wonder why this world’s Mark hadn’t taken advantage of your proximity but after days of observation, weeks, Mark realized that you two weren’t together, weren’t even friends. That was something he would be sure to remedy. But he couldn’t rush it no, that would be too suspicious. He tapped his chin in thought as he flew to your bedroom window. Your light was still on, blinds open to let the moonlight in, and he quickly flew to hide behind a nearby tree as you approached the window– only to open it to let the cool night air flow into your room. He could hear your sweet humming and watched as you sat down on your bed to brush your hair. He imagined running his hands through it, brushing it himself, pulling it– but it got so much better when you began undressing right before his very eyes. 

You hummed along to a soft tune as you applied velvety lotion along your body, massaging your thighs, hips, before moving up to your chest. You plopped down on your bed again, putting some on your arms before redressing into a silky pajama set and turning your lights off. 

Mark was hoping for you to do more. To touch yourself, rub and pinch your nipples, play with your clit until he could hear you mewling and crying out in pleasure– but he supposed he would have to be the one to pull those sweet sounds from you instead.

In the days that followed Mark began to slowly insert himself back into your life. He began leaving signs, walking throughout your house leaving doors and windows open so he could watch you later that day. He followed you around as you drove to work, college, to the grocery store–meanwhile you had been noticing these things, realizing that you hadn’t left your bedroom window open all day…Had you? 

Mark continued to stay hidden, biding his time for the perfect moment to approach you but he wanted to learn more about you in this world, and found himself falling for you all over again. As luck would have it, that perfect moment arose the same day this world’s Invincible made headlines after having been in a particularly nasty fight with another villain. 

You paced your room, contemplating sending that text to Mark. It certainly couldn’t hurt, could it? It was simple and to the point–Saw what happened, hope you’re doing alright. I’m always here if you need to talk. You took a deep breath as you collapsed onto your bed afterwards, the night hours becoming later as you tried to distract yourself in anticipation of a response. You were reading a book as your phone suddenly buzzed, the screen lighting. Your heart jumped as you scrambled to grab it, the message reading, I’m alright. Just been dealing with a lot, hope you’re okay, too. 

Well, at least it was something. A sense of relief washed over you–quickly being followed with panic as a knock came from your window. You got up and opened it, only to see–

“Mark!? Holy shit, how are you–what are you doing here right now?” You gasped as he hovered into your room and landed.

Something was up…you had just seen him fighting for his life on television and now he was wearing a new suit and visiting your bedroom after so many years?

“I had to see you,” he said as he looked you up and down. God, you looked even better up close.

“I thought you were hurt? How did you heal so fast?” you shook your head as you grabbed his arm, assessing him for injuries. None. You turned him around, seeing there wasn’t even a rip in this new suit. But he looked different in it, somehow. More muscular, like he filled it out more but maybe it was just the difference seeing him in person and on a screen. Your hands trailed along his body as you grabbed both of his hands in yours. Realizing what you were doing, checking him out and gawking, you dropped them as you turned around and cleared your throat, embarrassed. 

“It’s my powers. I’m good as new, now,” he said as he stretched, missing your soft hands on his body already. 

You frowned as you turned back to face him. “Mark, what are you doing in my room? We haven’t spoken in years. I mean, just because I sent you that text doesn’t mean I was expecting you to visit or–or that we can suddenly go back to what we used to be.”

Mark walked toward you as you backed away from him. Seriously, what was up with him? 

Noticing your apprehension he began taking off the face piece of his suit, grabbing your hands. “I’ve missed you. And that text…” he trailed off. What the fuck could he say that wouldn’t alert you to the fact that he wasn’t your Mark? “I–I realized that I wanna make up for the time we’ve lost together. It’s you I should’ve been giving my time and attention to, not anything else,” he reasoned, looking into your eyes deeply. 

You looked down to your hands, intertwined in his. You shook your head, thoughts running wild. You had harbored a crush on him when you two were friends. But he was with Eve, was he not? This all seemed to be some sort of dream, a fantasy. 

You sighed before meeting his longing gaze. “Mark, you have a girlfriend. I’m not some sort of boyfriend-stealer. I don’t know who you think you’re fooling right now, but you need to stop. It isn’t fair.”

His brows raised as he scowled. “I don’t care about her, we’re done. Her, those other girls, they were just distractions, I thought that I wanted them but my judgment was clouded. Now, I see what’s been in front of me this whole time,” he pulled you closer to him, still holding hands. He rubbed comforting circles as you looked at his face, carefully examining his features. 

His body was definitely more muscular in person– but his face was the same Mark you had been missing, yearning for. He seemed aged somehow, eyes sad but still holding that same depth you remembered. Which was what prompted you to lean into him, breaking your hands apart to rest one on his chest as you looked up at him. 

Everything was falling into place, perfectly.

“Mark, I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to think right now. Maybe this is stupid, but I…I believe you.”

You could feel his heartbeat quicken, from your touch or words you were unsure, as his hand which had been rubbing those comforting circles, stilled, tightening before releasing entirely. 

Mark’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back to your eyes. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his voice huskier now, lower. There was something dangerous, electric, in the way he spoke, as though he was holding back.

Your chest tightened as you leaned in closer, your lips just inches from his. “I missed you too,” you whispered, barely audible, feeling the weight of everything you hadn’t said in years. It all came crashing down now, in this moment—every longing glance, every unspoken word. 

Without thinking, you rose up on your toes, closing the gap between you, your lips brushing his in the lightest of touches. For a second, you hesitated, your heart pounding in your ears as you pulled back just enough to see his face, wondering if you’d gone too far.

But Mark’s reaction was immediate. His hand slid up, cradling the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. His lips crashed against yours with a kind of desperation, like he’d been starving for this for as long as you had. The kiss was firm, claiming, his other hand slipping down to rest on your waist, fingers curling possessively around your side.

You gasped against his mouth as his body pressed closer, his heat enveloping you. Every touch, every sensation felt amplified—the brush of his lips, the way his hand tugged lightly at your hair as he kissed you harder. Your fingers dug into his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath, and you could feel the tension in his body, something tight and wanting, waiting to be released.

“Mark…” you breathed, breaking the kiss for a moment as you leaned your forehead against his, your lips swollen and tingling from the intensity of it all. His eyes were clouded with desire as he stared down at you, his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he muttered, his voice rough with need. “I’m not letting you go this time.”

You shivered at the possessiveness in his tone, your body responding in ways you couldn’t control. His hands slid down your waist, pulling you against him, and you could feel the hardness of his body pressed firmly against yours. The air between you felt thick with desire, each breath you took seemed to pull you closer.

The line between wanting and restraint blurred as his lips found your neck, leaving slow, heated kisses along your skin, each one sending a shock of pleasure through you. You couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips as he nipped lightly at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, his hands roaming lower, fingers brushing the curve of your hips.

Your pulse quickened, your body arching instinctively against him as his hands found the hem of your shirt, teasingly sliding beneath the fabric to touch your bare skin. His touch was warm, firm, but careful, like he was savoring every second of this moment. He helped you out of your top as he took in the sight of your breasts. 

You moved to cover yourself before Mark grabbed you bridal style, placing you on your bed as he quickly rid himself of the rest of his suit, completely bare before you. 

“Don’t be shy, baby. Lemme show you how much I want you,” he said as he climbed on top of you, pulling you into a long kiss. While your lips were locked, his hands came down to palm your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples. Mark pulled away from you, moving lower, sucking and kissing as he fondled one of your tits, bringing the other between his warm, wet mouth as he began suckling. 

You arched your back in pleasure as you brought a hand to pull at his hair as you moaned. 

“Oh, Mark–Please!”

He pulled away from you and tilted his head coyly. “Tell me what you want,” he said in a low tone as he moved his mouth to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. “I-I don’t know I want–want more,” you whimpered as the hand that was in his hair came to grab at the pillow under your head.

Mark stopped his efforts on your chest and moved lower, using both hands to spread your legs as he appraised the heat between your thighs. “Poor thing. She’s begging for some attention, you know that?” 

Mark’s strong arms kept your legs apart as you squirmed under his touch. He placed light kisses along your inner thighs before he brought his mouth against your clit and sucked. Hard. You cried out in bliss as Mark continued licking, and sucking, swallowing your essence as you writhed under his touch. 

Mark's tongue worked expertly, flicking against your sensitive clit with a rhythm that made your body tense and shiver with every stroke. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place as you bucked against him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, your head falling back as the intense sensation built inside you, a fire spreading through your core. "M-Mark..." you gasped, your voice trembling as his mouth moved faster, the wet sounds of his tongue sending electric jolts through your body. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending you even closer to the edge.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, his hand slid up, teasing your entrance with his fingers before thrusting them inside, curling just right. The sudden fullness made you cry out louder, your hips lifting off the bed as the pleasure crested. His tongue and fingers worked in perfect harmony, pushing you higher, deeper, until the pressure inside you finally broke.

You shattered, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as your body shook uncontrollably. Your cries echoed through the room, your thighs trembling around his head as he continued, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm until you were spent, breathless, and completely undone.

Slowly, he pulled away, kissing your inner thighs tenderly as you tried to catch your breath, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Mark looked up at you, his lips glistening with your arousal, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he crawled back up to hover over you.

"That," he murmured, brushing a stray hair from your face, "was only the beginning." But the intensity of his gaze softened as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, leaving you breathless all over again.

You registered the sound of your phone buzzing, but with Mark on top of you, loving you, the edges of your mind fuzzy and melting, you willfully ignored it. 

For now, you were his, and the world outside didn’t matter anymore. Mark was different–but did it really matter to you all that much if it gave you the chance to be his? 

tags: @weeb-simp-11

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Late Night Talking

Bout’ anything you want until the morning

Summary: You and Spencer stay up till sunrise talking about anything and everything, and the both of you suffer the consequences with the teams teasing…

A/N: songs are really my inspiration atm, also can be read as any season Spencer. Xoxox

BYR(b4 u Reid): BAU!Reader, light teasing, fluff

You’re curled on his couch, your feet tucked beneath you, and half empty glasses of wine that had been forgotten about hours ago nearby.

Spencer sits next to you, just a little too close but you don’t mind it. His arm lays resting on the back of the couch occasionally his soft fingers touching you lightly without him even realizing but you don’t mind again because it’s comforting, and because it’s him.

“I don’t know, I still think the whole concept of time is ridiculous.” You say, half grinning. “Who decided we needed minutes and hours anyway?”

Spencer’s eyes light up, the way they always do when a debate begins. “Well, the Babylonians first divided the day into twenty-four hours, based on their sexagesimal system. And technically, is a human construct, but it’s a necessary one.”

You scoff, leaning just a little bit closer. “Necessary for what? Stress? Deadlines?”

“Or catching serial killers.” He says, arching an eyebrow.

“I guess.”

The warmth of his smile lingers, and for a moment neither of you speak, both lost in each other.

It was a soft charged stillness, the kind that makes your heart beat a little faster. It’s also not the first time the air between you two has been like this, but it is the first time neither of you have pulled away.

Instead of acknowledging it, Spencer breaks the silence with a grin. “What’s something entirely useless that you know?”

You grin back, ready. “Octopuses have three hearts, and their blood is blue because it contains copper instead of Iron.”

His laugh is soft and genuine, your chest feels a little tighter hearing the sounds leave his mouth. “That’s fascinating.”

“And that sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift apart.” You continued.

Spencer blinks. “Wow, that’s…that’s actually pretty adorable.”

“Right? Imagine just two little otters floating around holding hands.” You demonstrate grabbing onto his hand, locking them together. “Just like this.” You say, the both of you smiling at your interlaced hands.

“Honestly, I think I could stay up all night listening to you.” He murmurs, his voice softer. It hangs in the air like a confession. Your cheeks flush.

“Good. Because I’m not tired yet.”

And just like that, the night stretches on. You talk about everything and nothing.

Favorite books, embarrassing stories, the most ridiculous statistics he can pull from memory.

Every so often, you catch the way Spencer’s gaze flickers to your lips, or the way his knee rests against yours. The teasing grows bolder, and the laughter louder.

“Hmm, are you flirting with me Dr. Reid?” You call him out, a grin tugging at your lips.

“Statistically speaking.” He replies, his smile downright mischievous. “There’s a high probability that I am.”

You laugh, but you don’t deny how much you like the way he’s looking at you.

And then, before you realize it, the soft hue of the sun rising seeps through the windows. Spencer glances at the clock on the wall.

His eyes widen “oh no.”

“What?”

“It’s six.” He says, your stomach drops. “Six?! Oh my god, we’re supposed to be at work in two hours.”

“Two hours and thirty minutes.” Spencer corrects, his voice is filled with panic but also amusement as he teases you.

You get up from the couch, grabbing your shoes with a curse. “I can’t believe we actually stayed up all night.” You say shaking your head with a small laugh

Spencer stands up too, running his hand through his messy hair, somehow that makes him more attractive. “Me neither.” He admits.

He walks you to the door, and you quickly slip on your coat. “Thank you, Spencer. This was fun.” you smile

He smiles back, the corners of his mouth curving upward in that shy, boyish way. “Yeah, it was.” Then, after a brief pause, he adds. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“As much as I’d love that, I think you should start getting ready.” You say gently, nodding toward the clock. “It’ll only take a couple minutes.” He insists.

“It’s alright, I got it.” You assure him with a small smile. His eyes search yours, like he wants to say something more, but he only nods.

“Bye Spence. See you in a bit.”

“Bye y/n.”

Neither of you move right away. The silence hangs between you, comfortable but also heavy, like something unspoken is lingering in the air. After a moment you give him a small wave and turn toward the door. Spencer watches as you disappear down the hall, the echo of your footsteps fading.

As the door closes, he finds himself smiling because talking to you all night felt like the easiest thing in the world.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

By the time you sit in your chair at your desk, coffee in hand and sleep deprivation weighing heavily on you, it’s clear you’re not the only one suffering.

Spencer drags himself in, his hair slightly damp, his tie just a little crooked.

“Pretty boy.” Derek drawls, grinning as he approaches Spencer. “Late night?”

“Not really.” Spencer replies too quickly, clearing his throat. “I, uh, just lost track of time.”

Derek’s grin widens. “Lost track of time? What were you doing? Reading quantum physics journals under the covers with a flashlight?”

“Something like that.” Spencer mutters, already regretting every decision that led him here.

Meanwhile, across the bullpen not to far from the guys, you’re not doing any better. Emily and JJ found you quickly and are now being relentless.

“You look like you’ve barely slept.” Emily remarks, eyeing you. “Rough night?”

JJ smirks. “Or was it a good night?”

“Guys.” You groan, sinking into your chair. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Definitely not like that.”

Before you could even attempt to change the subject, Penelope joins. “I have a theory.” She says with a grin plastered on her face.

You brace yourself. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.” She continues. “Two of my favorite nerds, who just so happen to look like they’ve been hit by the sleep deprivation express waltz in all disheveled and miserable. And yet…” she pauses for effect. “You both were fine yesterday. Did you guys have a hangout without us?”

JJ perks up. “So neither of you got any sleep?”

“Funny coincidence.” Emily muses, shooting you a pointed look. “Were you guys…together?”

Penelope’s eyes widen. “Did you guys-”

“No!” You and Spencer both exclaim in unison, far too loud to sound convincing.

You could feel the heat crawling up your neck as Derek bursts into laughter. “Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all.”

“I mean.” Emily grins. “We are profilers.”

“Yeah, and I’m profiling a whole lot of guilt right now.” JJ adds, her arms crossed.

Spencer, who is now a permanent shade of pink attempts a weak defense. “Well maybe you guys should rethink your position because we were just talking.”

Derek snorts. “Right.”

“Yes, talking.” You glare. “You know, people do that sometimes.”

“All night?”

��With no sleep?”

Before you or Spencer can defend yourself, Hotch’s voice cuts through the room. “As long as you both are awake enough to do your jobs, I and the rest of the team shouldn't care what you both were doing last night.”

The girls giggle, Derek shakes his head, clearly savoring every moment, and Rossi who had been silently observing from the sidelines, lets out a low chuckle.

“Young love.” He mutters under his breath, not trying to hide his amusement either.

“Not helping.” You glare.

But as the laughter lingers, you sneak a glance at Spencer. He’s already looking at you, lips twitching in that barely-there smile of his. And despite the embarrassment and exhaustion, you can’t help but smile back.

Because truthfully, you wouldn’t trade last night for anything. . .

Hi guys! Hopefully you love this! Thank you to all who comment, reblog, and heart! It is greatly appreciated.

I will try getting all requests out this week so if you sent one in it should be out by the end of the week, thanks for your patience <3

~ tag list ~

@alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

[neeeooon]

Hello girlie🩷🩷I hope u a good.

I wanted to ask if you could write a headcannon for isagi, sae,barou,nagi and whoever u want. When reader asks them to go 50/50 with the bills bc she feels bad that they pay all the time but the boys telling her not to worry and they love spoiling her.

You are one of the most genuine writers here on tumblr and Im always so excited when u post something new🙂‍↕️🩷.

🥹 THANK YOU SM i’m sorry for taking so long <33

when you ask to split the bills

bf bllk x fem!reader. fluff

isagi yoichi

-> he’s genuinely confused when you show him the little spreadsheet you made, revealing how you split the costs of everything from rent to living expenses

-> “that’s cool, y/n, but what’s it for?” “i’m gonna start paying for my half of the bills.” “… your half?” “yeah? i live here half the time you do.”

-> he knows you’re being genuine, but isagi can’t help but laugh a bit at how cute you’re being. “why are you laughing? i’m serious!” “i know! that makes you so much cuter.” “😑”

-> once he’s settled, isagi slowly closes your laptop and gives your hand a kiss. “i don’t want you to have to worry about things like rent. you’ve got enough on your plate; i can handle the bills. okay?” your shoulders slump. “okay..” “what if you buy us dinner?” “okay!”

itoshi sae

-> “don’t even think about it,” sae said the second he saw you reach for your wallet

-> you give him a look. “we’re splitting the bills 50/50 from now on. i saw the payments, sae. let me chip in—“ he responds by folding your fingers over the card you’re trying to get him to take. “i’m not taking your money, y/n. that’s your money. i make enough to provide for us.”

-> you hate the thought of owing anyone anything, and even though you and sae are in a relationship, you don’t like feeling helpless. “but i want to help.”

-> the conviction in your voice confuses him, but sae knows better than to argue with you. “you want to help?” “yes.” “what if we get a fish?” “.. a fish?” “yeah. it’ll need a place to live, food to eat—“ “i’ve got it covered! get your shoes, babe, we’re getting a fish!”

barou shouei

-> “here,” you said, sliding a check across the kitchen table. barou stared at it for only a moment before sliding it back to you. “no.”

-> you raised a brow. “no?” “no. i’m not accepting that.” “but the rent—“ “i said no, y/n. rent isn’t something i want you to worry about, not with me. let me take care of you.”

-> honestly, you were hoping he’d say that, because bills are expensive. still, the soft emotion in his eyes made your chest swell to the point of ache. “i wanted to help..”

-> barou stood from his chair and cupped your face between his hands. “you are helping. you motivate me to play, and my performance makes the money to pay for all this. without you, we’d have none of it.”

-> you wanted to call bs, but boy did you melt like butter in his grasp. “okay. no more bills talk.” “no more bills talk.”

nagi seishiro

-> he stares at you blankly as you type your card detail into the automatic rent payment system. “that’s wrong.”

-> you glance back at him with a raised brow. “wrong?” “that’s not my card number.” “i know. it’s mine.” “why.” “so we can split the bills?” “hmm, no, that’s okay.”

-> you almost laugh. “that’s okay?” you mimicked, and nagi shrugged. “i got it.”

-> you hate how his mindless declaration makes you smile. you do want to help with rent, you’d gladly split the bills with him if he asked. but nagi slips the laptop from your grasp and enters his details like it’s a habit, and you’re willing to accept defeat this once

[cheeseboi420]

Of A Feather - Chapter 1

Preview: And then the shoe drops; he says your name. Your full name. Not your fake name, that you use at work, and on envelopes, and in hypothetical coffee shops. Your real name.

It takes every bit of emotional regulation you can muster not to spiral into a full blown panic right then and there because good God, did He send a child to finish you off? The cruel irony is not lost on you. Come to think of it, this boy on your doorstep does bear an uncanny resemblance to-

“My name is Jason Todd,” the boy continues. “And uh… well, I might be your son?”

You expect this evening to play out like the one before it. And the one before that. And the one before that. Your routine hasn't changed in the last 13 years. Why should it? It serves you well enough, keeps you alive and… Well that's about all it does for you. Not that you're looking for more! For the most part you are… content, maybe isn't the correct word. Complacent fits a little better, but still isn't wholly accurate. You're content in the knowledge that your boy is safe and loved, somewhere far away from the trouble that chases you. You're complacent in your own quiet misery. The longing and loneliness had been a bitter pill to swallow those first few years of running, but after this long you've learned not to complain. God knows no one would listen if you did.

You've got a shitty frozen pizza in the oven, this will be your dinner, tomorrow's breakfast, and tomorrow's dinner. You won't particularly enjoy any of the meals, but they'll sustain you well enough. These days food brings you little if any joy. Meal times are a chore to slog through before the distraction that work brings or the sweet embrace of sleep. You look forward to, more than anything, going to bed. Not because you're tired (though there is a bone deep weariness that permeates- that no amount of rest could ever fix) but because bed means sleep, and sleep means dreams, and dreams mean a chance to hold your baby again.

You don't dream of Jason every night, but every morning you wake thinking of him. Is he still asleep right now? Having breakfast? Is he eating well? Is he happy? Is he happy? Is he happy?

By the time you push your way through breakfast most mornings the cacophony of thoughts revolving around your son quiets to a dull roar in the back of your mind. It's better that way, you think. If you thought about him as much as your mind seemed to want you to, you'd never get anything done.

Life carries on, you suppose. However dreary and dull that life may be.

At one time you'd found the whole thing very exciting- though not in a particularly enjoyable way. The adrenaline rush has worn off over the years, no longer do you feel as though death is nipping at your heels. The paranoia never fades though. Even if your doom does not cast a shadow over you, you're always looking over your shoulder, always ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

You keep a bag packed and ready in the closet by the front door for when you have to leave this place too. Though, you think it's buried under a winter jacket and your work uniform. You really ought to dig it out, keep it easily accessible. You should do that but… it's been a long day. You want to eat your shitty pizza, lay down on your futon, and let the sound of TV static fill your studio apartment, lulling you to sleep.

You're getting too comfortable here, you think. You've lived in Michigan for nearly a year now. It is simultaneously entirely too close to and entirely too far from Gotham. The apartment itself was a godsend after spending most of your time sleeping in cars, tents, whatever unfortunate business was willing to employ you, anywhere you could, really- sure it has bugs, and the windows don't close all the way, and you're fairly certain it'll only take one more bad winter storm for the place to come crumbling down, but rent is dirt cheap, and the slumlord you rent from didn't ask for any ID when you signed your ‘lease.’ You're fairly certain that thing's not legally binding anyways- it was written on a cocktail napkin for Christ's sake. That didn't stop you from using a fake name when signing it. You can never be too careful.

You haven't seen your landlord since you moved in anyways. You don't ask for maintenance when things break, you fix them yourself or just learn to live with them broken. You deliver your rent by slipping a cash stuffed envelope with your name (your fake name, the one you signed your lease with, the one you use at work, the one you'd use at coffee shops if you ever went to any) on it through the slot in the office door. You do your best to be invisible. You don't cause problems, and you don't go out of your way to fix them for others. You make no friends or enemies. You've left no impact on the many places you've been, the cities you've drifted through.

The only evidence you've gone anywhere at all in your life is a stack of postcards, held together with a worn rubber band, sitting at the bottom of your go-bag. The only evidence of a life lived before that is in a similarly bound stack of polaroids, held together with a too-small paperclip. Every now and then you'll buy a bottle of cheap wine to chug as you pour over the old photographs. Only when you leave for a new city do you touch the stack of unsent postcards.

You can't bear to look at the photos too often, a painful reminder of your own failings. A reminder of the stupid, reckless little girl you'd been, and the shell of a woman you'd become in the aftermath.

It's all your own fault, really.

At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

It's easier to swallow than the alternative: that you were a vulnerable and unloved thing, eating from any hand that would feed you, until the hand that feeds decides to beat.

This, you think, is why you shouldn't think too hard about the past. It doesn't do you any good to dwell on it.

You force yourself to focus on the present, on the here and now. The scratchy polyester blend of the futon cushions, the scent of cheap cheese melting in the oven, the distant sound of sirens and howling wind outside your apartment. There's no sense in thinking about Gotham now, not when you're so far from it.

You sit up on the futon, no longer content to lounge and let your mind wander. Instead you task yourself with flipping through channels on TV, seeking something mind numbing enough to distract you from your unusually strong urge to reminisce.

The Wonder Years? No, you don't want to watch anything about a family.

Alf? No, that puppet creeps you out.

Cops? Fuck that.

You're about to resign yourself to another night of murmuring the (mostly incorrect) answers to Jeopardy questions at your TV, when you're startled by a knock at your door.

A… knock… at your door.

No one ever knocks on your door. You don't get mail, you don't have friends, if your landlord wanted something, you're willing to bet the greasy bastard wouldn't be willing to haul himself all the way up to the fifth floor at nearly 10 PM.

Oh God… Did… Did he find you? Is this it? Are you going to die in the upper peninsula of Michigan, of all fucking places?!

No, no. You have to stay calm. This could be anything. It's just a knock at the door. It could be anyone!

Oh lord, it could be anyone.

You keep the TV on, hoping that the sound of Alex Trebek grilling folks on useless trivia will cover your footsteps as you creep towards your front door. You hold your breath as you press yourself against it, double checking that all three of your locks are secure before you risk a glance out the peephole.

When you look out into the hall you're surprised, and frankly a bit confused by the sight before you. Standing at your door is a boy, dark haired and bright eyed. He stands straight but not particularly tall- he can't be more than five feet, if that. He's glancing around the hall, rocking back and forth on his heels. He's wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Despite his small stature he holds an air of determination that makes you think he must feel quite old for his age- you get that, you were the same way in your own youth. A chip too big for your shoulder.

You're so focused on studying him that it startles you when he leans forward to knock again. You jolt, accidentally kicking the door (with your bare feet too, damn does that hurt your poor toes) and responding to his knock-knock-knock with a solid knock of your own.

“Hello?” The boy calls. “Anybody home?”

“I don't have any money!” You call back, cursing yourself for the shake in your voice. You should not be this rattled by a random adolescent on your doorstep. “So, if you're selling popcorn, or cookies, or whatever, you should try next door.”

The boy rolls his eyes.

“I'm not a boy scout!” He says. “I'm looking for-”

And then the shoe drops; he says your name. Your full name. Not your fake name, that you use at work, and on envelopes, and in hypothetical coffee shops. Your real name.

It takes every bit of emotional regulation you can muster not to spiral into a full blown panic right then and there because good God, did He send a child to finish you off? The cruel irony is not lost on you. Come to think of it, this boy on your doorstep does bear an uncanny resemblance to-

“My name is Jason Todd,” the boy continues. “And uh… well, I might be your son?”

He could be lying, the logical part of your brain insists. This could be a ploy to get you to open the door, don't open the door! But your hands are moving on their own, shaky as they may be. The first lock twists unlocked with ease, the second takes a fair bit more of your fine motor function, and by the time your shaking hands reach up to unhook the chain on the door, you're struggling to see through unshed tears. You attempt once, twice, three fucking times to get your hands to cooperate and unlatch the damn chain.

Fuck it.

You open the door, yanking it inwards, towards yourself as hard as you can. It should probably unnerve you that the flimsy chain breaks at the first sign of real resistance, but that's not what's important right now.

What's important is the boy standing before you- your boy. Your Jason.

He looks as surprised as you feel, his eyes flitting between the broken chain, and you.

For a long moment the only thing you can do is look at him, reacquaint yourself with the sight of him. Of course, you know that he did not stay frozen in time, the way your memory of him did. It's been many years since you've held that babbling toddler. But knowing and seeing are two different things.

He's small for his age, is your first thought. Your own fault, you're certain. Between a premature delivery and your own malnourishment during both your pregnancy and his infancy, it's a miracle he'd survived in the first place. Small, but well fed. His cheeks are full and flushed, despite his size he seems healthy. Good. That means Will's been feeding him. Hopefully, it means they got the hell out of The Alley, into a nicer neighborhood.

His hair isn't as curly as you'd pictured it- too short in most places to hold a curl, save for his bangs, which seem to almost curl into the shape of a heart over his forehead.

“Jason?” You can barely manage to say his name through the lump in your throat. You find yourself suddenly struggling to focus your gaze on him, the haze of tears welling up in your eyes makes it difficult to see. You try to blink them away but instead they roll down your cheeks.

God, when's the last time you cried?

You reach out to him, cupping one of his cheeks in the palm of your shaking hand. He leans into the affectionate touch, and you're reminded of puppies, overeager and seeking love at every opportunity.

“Mom,” he says back to you, his tone just as reverent as your own. “Mom,” he says again, voice cracking. And then in unison, the both of you have pulled each other into a crushing hug. You can't tell if the sound you make is a sob or a laugh. You hold onto Jason like he'll vanish into the ether if you loosen your hold for even a second, one hand clutching at the back of his sweatshirt, the other at the back of his head, petting his hair as he buries his face in your neck.

Finally, at long last, your heart is home.

Tears roll freely down your cheeks and land in Jason's hair. You sniffle, extra hard to keep from getting snot on him too. It's one thing to cry on the poor boy, the last thing you want is to use him as a human tissue.

“My baby,” you sob, and your sons hold on you tightens. You think (hope, selfishly) that he has missed you as much as you've missed him.

He's crying too, you realize- not as hard as you are (which is a little embarrassing, get it together girl, you're the adult here) but with his face tucked into your neck you can feel every tear. When you begin to pull back he's quick to wipe the tears away, scrubbing at his flushed cheeks with the heel of his palm. You remove your hand from his hair to gently thumb away an errant tear, and he sniffles before giving you a wobbly smile.

“Hi,” you say softly, your hand lingering on his face. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, mom.” He parrots, closed-lip smile melting into the sweetest toothy grin you've ever seen. You try to sear the image of him into your memory, imprint this moment into the front of your mind. You're half convinced you'll wake up any moment, TV still playing Jeopardy, pizza burning in the oven.

“How did you- I mean, what are… I just-” you cut yourself off with a breathless laugh. “I don't even know where to start. How… How did you find me?” Why did you come? Do you have any idea how much danger you've put yourself in just by being here?

Jason pulls back from you fully, stepping back out into the hallway. The feeling of loss is immediate and gut wrenching. He's only a foot away from you and already you feel like you're losing him all over again. You're tempted to just pull him back in, to refuse to let go. But you refrain.

Jason reaches into his pocket and pulls out a postcard.

Oh shit.

“I went back to our old neighborhood,” Jason starts, and your stomach sinks. You hope to God he means the neighborhood you left him in and not the one you'd lived in together. You loathe to imagine him running into- no, you refuse to even entertain the idea. Clearly he meant Willis’ neighborhood and not your own. You don't know that he'd be here at all if he'd found the folks you ran with all those years ago. The same people you've spent the last decade running from.

“I got a bunch of old stuff- Mrs. Walker saved it all, and I found, well I found a lot of stuff, but y'know the important stuff was all-”

“Jason, honey, breathe.” He’s talking a mile a minute, where your brain seems to have stalled completely, his is working overtime. He pauses and takes a deep, purposeful breath. It's dramatic, childish almost, how his whole body tenses on the inhale and releases on the exhale. Tentatively, you reach out to take his wrist.

“Why don't you come sit down and we can… we can talk about everything, okay?” You keep your voice soft and low, as if trying to coax a frightened animal. You're afraid he might bolt at the first hint of danger. You wouldn't blame him in the slightest if he did.

Jason doesn't run nor does he shy away from the hold you have on his wrist. He allows you to lead him inside, setting his backpack on the floor next to the door.

Before you close it, you glance around the hall. No one is out there, no one has bore witness to your little reunion. You're not sure what you'd do if anyone had. You shut the door, locking your remaining two locks. You're aware of the concept of ‘mom strength,’ that adrenaline spike that mothers get when their children are in danger, that allows them the ability to do insane shit like lift up whole cars. You don't think snapping the chain off a cheap door lock is quite comparable, but shit. If that's what you can do just seeing him alive and well, you can't help wondering what you'd be capable of if he were in danger.

You know. You know full well what you're capable of doing when you think it will keep him safe. You know. You know. You know.

Jason's presence in your apartment makes you suddenly very aware of how… lacking your home is. Traveling often meant taking no more than what you could carry on your back. All of the furniture in your apartment is second-hand. The TV had been left behind by the previous tenant (whom you're fairly certain is still being billed for the cable- God knows you haven't been the one paying it), the futon and recliner picked up off street corners, the single TV tray you use as a dinner table and matching pair of folding chairs had been an impulse purchase at a thrift store when you first started working again.

You've passed through dozens of cities, only taking jobs that pay in cash. You'd never had a bank account, even before you started running. Too young and too female to open one on your own, and by the time you were old enough you couldn't get one anyway. Too traceable, too much risk attached to putting your name into the world like that. So you worked for cash, which meant your options were limited and often unpleasant. You've been a waitress, a hairdresser, a bartender (though you weren't exceptionally good at that- you learned the hard way that an aching heart and easy access to alcohol do not mix well), a housekeeper, and a- well, you won't list every occupation you've taken up. Some of them you'd really rather not recall.

The transient nature of your lifestyle makes it hard for you to see your living conditions for what they really are: fucking bad. You've got no decor, the whole apartment reeks of cigarettes and it's freezing cold to boot. You've got a space heater to remedy that last issue, but if you run it while the TV is on then you'll lose power in the whole unit and have to walk all five floors (your building has elevators, but they've been broken the entire time you've lived here. The slip on the doors that says ‘out of order - management’ is yellowed with age and tattered around the edges) just to get to the circuit breaker.

It's certainly not fit for hosting guests of any kind, let alone your long lost son.

“Sorry it's uh… like this,” you gesture broadly to the apartment. “I wasn't exactly expecting company.”

“‘S fine,” Jason says, leaning against your wall. You take care to study his expression as he looks around what you're sure must be the most depressing studio apartment this side of the Mississippi. To his credit (and your great relief) he genuinely doesn't seem perturbed by your place.

He's been with you in worse places, you think. Though you doubt he recalls even a moment of your time together. Less than two years you had him. Nowhere near enough time.

There's time now. He's here. He's here, he's here, he's here. The Greek chorus in your head continues to remind you. He's here, and he's real, and you still don't know what the hell he's here for. It can't be just for you, you'd left Willis with very strong instructions to not ever let Jason search for you. Though you suppose it probably would have helped drive home the message if you'd actually said it to him instead of leaving it in a letter, like a coward.

Coward is one of the words you associate most with yourself. Coward, idiot, whore, failed matriarch- that's what it'll say on your tombstone. You shake the thoughts from your head. Now is not the time to spiral into self loathing.

“Here, let's sit.” You guide him to your makeshift dinner table. At the time, you'd thought buying two folding chairs instead of one was a waste of money- who the hell were you expecting to have over? Now though, you're glad you did.

Jason's still got the postcard clutched in one hand. You can almost make out your own handwriting from this angle, but most of what you can see of it is just the scenic wintery landscape and the ‘Seasons Greetings From Michigan!’ printed in red cursive on the other side.

The postcards were, admittedly, an unwise decision. The one that Jason holds now was never supposed to reach him in the first place. It should be gathering dust in your bag with the rest of them. But you're as sentimental as you are stupid.

For the last 13 years, every city you've stopped in you've picked up a postcard. You've written the date and a note to Jason on it, filled out the addresses of Willis’ apartment, and (on the rare occasion when you've had a physical address of your own to write down) wherever it was that you were staying. Some part of you has to have anticipated this- that someday, somehow, one of these cards would find its way to its intended recipient. Maybe that's why you always wrote in the addresses, in spite of how completely and utterly stupid it was of you.

The both of you take your seats at the table.

“Can I…?” You point at the card in Jason's hand.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, of course,” he hands the card to you. It's frayed in the corners, the edges of the cardstock now softer than the middle. Like he's been holding onto it constantly, like he's been running his fingers along the outline of it. Like he's been rereading it.

Dec. 25th, 1989

My sweet Jason,

I hope your having a good christmas. I hope you get a thousand presents and all the cookies you can eat (without getting sick!)

Im thinking of you, always.

I miss you more than words can say.

All of my love, all of the time

-Mom

Short and sweet, full of grammatical errors and hardly legible due to how absolutely shitfaced you were when writing it. You don't drink often, not anymore anyways. The first couple of years after you'd had to leave Jason were… tough, to say the least. You found yourself drawn to anything you could use to make yourself stop thinking about it, about him. These days you've learned how to just shut your brain off completely, how to operate on autopilot, how to not think about anything at all. You only drink on holidays now. And birthdays. Times when you can't help but think I should be with my baby. Thanksgiving, Christmas, your own birthday, mother's day, and especially Jason's birthday.

This was actually the second Michigan card you'd written him. The first one you'd written to him last May, when you first settled into the new state. That card is no doubt still buried in your bag with the others.

You had picked this card up on your way home from work, Christmas day. Why the pub you work in is open on Christmas is beyond you- the place had gotten maybe two patrons the entire day, and one of them was you. The bartender poured drinks for you your entire shift, topping you off every time your glass reached the halfway point. At the end of your shift he offered you a ride home, to which you declined. In retrospect you think he was coming onto you. Which would certainly explain why he's been so curt with you ever since. Oh well, it's no loss for you. In fact, maybe you ought to thank him.

Because if you had taken him up on his offer, you never would have stumbled home drunk, trudging your way through a foot of snow in your work uniform. You never would have stopped to rest at a closed news stand. Never would have picked up that stray postcard. Never would have taken the pen from your apron and scrawled out a quick message to your son, uninhibited and loving. Never would have drunkenly failed to slip it into your pocket as intended, instead letting it fall to the ground, where the next day some good Samaritan will slap a stamp on it and drop it in the post box. Never would have found yourself sitting across the table from your son.

You try to push down the lingering anxiety of it all, force yourself to feel hope. Maybe this can be good. Maybe no one will bother you two. Maybe you don't have to be afraid anymore. Maybe it's over.

“I'm sorry,” Jason is the one to break the silence. You set the card back down on the table.

“What for?” You've never done anything wrong, not once in your life, you think. What could you ever have to apologize for?

“I would have come sooner, but this went to our old place, and I don't live there anymore, so I didn't get it until a few days ago.” Jason gestures to the postcard. So they did make it out of the alley. Good. Your baby deserves to live someplace where people don't piss on your stoop every night and threaten you with violence every morning.

“Oh Jason,” you sigh. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I never expected you to come anyways.”

This is obviously not the correct thing to say, because he visibly deflates at your words. Your heart breaks a little bit- God, you're a terrible mother.

“Not that I'm not happy you're here now!” You correct yourself quickly. “I am happy, Jason. I'm so, so happy you're here.” You reach across the TV tray, palms up and open. Jason doesn't hesitate to place his hands in yours. They're calloused, which you didn't expect. It's not bothersome, you'd hold his hands even if they were too mangled to hold yours back. But it does make you wonder what he's done to make them like that. What kind of a life must he have led without you?

He smiles a little at that, soft and sweet and warmed by your affection. This is how he should always look, you think. Content and cared for.

“I'm a little concerned that you came all the way from Gotham by yourself though…” You say, squeezing his hands. You may have gotten up to some pretty crazy things at his age, but even you didn't start traveling cross country until you were nearly 22. At 15 your son shouldn't even be driving yet, let alone journeying from New Jersey to Michigan on his own.

“Aw, don't worry about that, ma!” Jason grins, looking awfully proud of himself. There's another expression you'd like to see on him more. And that word- ‘ma,’ he calls you. A much more casual title than you would have given yourself. Not that you’d expect him to call you ‘mother,’ or God forbid ‘ma’am’ like your mother had insisted you’d called her. No, you were prepared for ‘mom’, or maybe even just your name. You wouldn’t have been particularly pleased to have your only child call you by name, but you’d have understood if he felt more comfortable calling you that. There’s a certain familiarity in ‘ma,’ though. A kind of casual affection that you think would have taken years to develop, that in spite of your absence in his life, Jason gives freely.

“I'm your mother, it's my job to worry about you.” You say softly, and Jason's proud smile melts into something a little softer and more pensive.

“Going from Gotham to here was nothin'!” He insists. “I went to Lebanon first- here, hold on a sec.” He rises from his seat, pulling his hands from yours. Though you desperately want to keep your hold on him and shout ‘Lebanon?! By yourself?! You went to fucking Lebanon?!’ You refrain from that as well. He dashes to where he’s left his backpack at the door, picking it up and rushing back to his seat. He throws himself into the folding chair with such force that it rocks to the side, nearly tipping over with him in it. Without thinking you stick your leg out under the table, catching his chair and slamming your knee against the TV tray simultaneously.

“Sorry,” Jason says sheepishly.

“Don't worry about it birdie.”

The nickname makes Jason freeze in place, eyes wide and body tense.

“Birdie?” He asks.

“Sorry, it's- old habits die hard, y'know? That's what I called you when you were a baby.”

Jason's wide eyes relax a little, but his posture is still rigid.

“Why?”

“There was… you had this mobile, with doves on it. Until you were about a year old it was the only thing that would get you to sleep.” That and the sound of you singing, more often than not it had to be both. You force away the memory of that mobile, tangled and broken, lying in your bed many years ago. You force away the memory of how it was broken in the first place. It's not a night you'd like to recall.

This answer seems to placate Jason, but only momentarily.

“Wait, a year old? I thought��� I mean, I figured you gave me up right away.”

And oh, oh, if that doesn’t break your heart, what will? It's by design that he doesn't know much about you- an intentional but unfortunate side effect of your leaving. It's safer for him this way. Or at least it was safer for him… or maybe it was never safe at all, considering he's found his way to you regardless of your attempts to shield him from the horrors you carry.

“You were about a year and nine months when I had to,” you pause to take a shuddering breath, lump in your throat threatening to choke the words right out of you. “When I had to leave you with Will.”

Neither of you says anything for a torturously long moment. You scrape at your cuticles, and Jason plays with a loose string on his sweatshirt. Jason looks like he wants to say something, his brow furrowed in concentration or perhaps concern- you struggle to read people sometimes. In the silence you recall an overlooked detail from earlier in the conversation.

“I'm sorry, just- just to circle back real quick, you went to Lebanon?”

“Oh, right!” The sullen expression leaves Jason's face, replaced instead by boyish pride. He reaches into his bag and digs around, procuring a few sheets of paper of varying sizes. The first one he presents to you is his birth certificate.

Your eyes follow the familiar text, the ink long dried though you could almost swear you've still got smudges of it on the side of your hand. It feels so terribly long ago and so recent at the same time.

Your eyes follow his name, written in sloppy print, Jason Peter Todd.

Along the line for the father’s name is your handwriting, spelling out in all lowercase letters ‘willis todd.’ You had been a little delirious still when they’d asked you to sign the certificate- frankly it’s a miracle you managed to even spell the names right- Jason’s, Willis’, and your own. The box for the mother's name however is almost entirely whited out, save for a single letter. That was not your doing.

“I went back to the old place,” Jason says, picking up his story from where he'd left off in the hall. “Mrs. Walker, I dunno if you knew her,” (you didn't) “but she was our neighbor. She saved a bunch of our old stuff for me after I left, including this.” He taps on the certificate.

“Which is how I found out that mom- my… my other mom wasn't my real mom.”

The thought of Jason calling another woman mom makes you sick to your stomach. But you suppose you forfeited the right to be his only mother when you left. That must be why he’d defaulted to ‘ma’ after your initial embrace- to distinguish you from the mother who raised him. The mother whom you are certainly not jealous of, no, not one bit. A blatant lie, you must admit to yourself. You are terribly jealous of the woman who got to watch your son grow up. You’re sure she’s lovely, and you’re infinitely grateful to her for watching over your boy, for loving him as if he were her own child, but you kind of hate her.

“So I looked in dads address book to try and match up the names in there to the letter on my birth certificate!” He presents you with the other two slips of paper, no doubt torn straight from Will's address book. Sharmin Rosen and Sandra Woosan. You don't recognize either name, but that doesn't surprise you. For all his faults, you've always known Willis to be popular, and awfully charming when he wants to be.

You examine both slips of paper, not sure what you hope to achieve by reading the names and addresses of these unfamiliar women.

“I didn't find the postcard until I was on the plane back to Gotham. Kinda jumped the gun on that one.” He says, a little sheepishly.

“You went all the way to Lebanon just to look for me…” You whisper, reverently. God, what an incredible kid. He's brilliant. You never would have thought to match the names in Will's address book to the singular uncovered letter on his birth certificate, had you been in his place. He's a clever kid- he gets it from you, you’re certain. And boy oh boy, isn’t that quite the thought? In your youth you had an ego the size of Texas, though a series of failures and hardships had tamed it somewhat, it appears as though some of that confidence remained, lying dormant, waiting to be impressed upon your greatest creation to date.

“And, Will was just fine with this?” You ask, suddenly realizing what Jason's solo presence means. “He just let you go to fucking Lebanon by yourself?”

Jason's proud expression fades fast and your stomach sinks.

“Dad's not…” he clenches and unclenches his fist, the loose thread he'd been twirling between his fingers snaps. “Dad is dead.”

“Oh,” is all you can think to say. Because really, what else is there to be said? You were never in love with Willis Todd- you liked him plenty, thought he was funny, and charming, and handsome in his own way. But you were not in love with him, and your mourning of him extends only so far as to mourn the loss of something that means a great deal to someone you love.

Despite a lack of love for Will, you do hold a deep affection for the man. After all, he gave you a son and a handful of very memorable evenings. When your eyes begin to water, you think you’re sad more for Jason than for yourself. To lose a lover is one thing, to lose a father is another beast entirely.

“I'm sorry, ma,” Jason says, and this time he's the one reaching across the tray to hold your hands, to comfort you.

“I told you earlier, you have nothing to apologize for, baby.” You say. With his hands in yours you can't wipe away your tears. “I’m sorry, honey.”

Jason sniffles and shrugs, trying very hard to seem unaffected.

“It was a while ago,” he tells you.

“How long ago is ‘a while ago?’” You ask. You wonder who has taken care of him in Willis’ absence. Though you have no doubt your boy could hold his own, you certainly hope he hasn’t had to. You hope he’s always had a warm bed to crawl into at the end of the day. A hot meal waiting for him, prepared by loving hands.

“Dunno when exactly but, I only found out he was dead a couple years ago.” Jason answers. “I thought he was just in jail but…” His face hardens, turns serious in a way that makes him look much older and (though it shouldn’t surprise you as much as it does) quite a bit like his father.

“Two-Face killed him.” Jason says, his hands tightening around yours.

Christ almighty, what is wrong with you two?! Poor Jason, never stood a chance, both his parents victims of Gotham’s famed rogues. You force those thoughts out of your head, push them deep, deep, deep down. You’ll have to tell him eventually, you owe him the full truth of his childhood. But for the moment, you don’t think he needs honesty, he needs empathy.

“Oh, birdie, I’m so sorry.” You squeeze his hands, which are still holding yours perhaps a little too tightly for comfort. You make no mention of your discomfort to Jason though- if he needs to have a vice grip on your hands to feel better then you’ll let him crush every bone in them. Not that you think he would- he’s a good kid, you’re certain of it.

“Can I ask…” you start and then hesitate, thinking for a moment that maybe it’s a little callous to interrogate him on the matter only moments after he revealed to you that his father had died. You soldier on anyway. “Who’s been taking care of you, honey?”

Finally Jason’s grip on your hands loosens, until he’s pulling his hands away entirely to return to playing with the loose thread on his sleeve.

“It was just me and mom- my… my stepmom,” he hesitates on the word, as if he’s not sure he said it right. Really, he’s just unused to referring to her as such. It makes sense of course, that he’d assumed the woman who raised him to be his true mother- no one had ever suggested anything to the contrary. “For a while there. But she got sick and…” He sniffles hard- he does that when he’s trying not to cry, you note. “She’s gone too.”

You presume by ‘gone’ he means deceased as well, not well, performing the same disappearing act you had.

“And now…? Oh, God, have you been all on your own?” It makes you absolutely nauseated to think of him alone, frightened and cold in the cruel streets of Gotham. If that were the case you’d never forgive yourself for abandoning him. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? An abandonment. You can dress it up however you like, insist to yourself that he was better off far, far away from you but… In comes the nagging thought that you fucked up. You made the wrong choice and your son has suffered for it. The only person on this earth that you care about has suffered for the choices you made.

“Not anymore!” Jason exclaims, some of his enthusiasm returning to him. You’re grateful for it, and you think he is too- relieved to find a small reprieve from the heavy conversation. Though you note that ‘not anymore’ is technically an answer in the affirmative. He had at some point or another, for a duration of time he didn’t seem too keen on sharing, been left entirely to his own devices. Your stomach turns.

“Bet you’ll never guess who adopted me,” he says, regaining some of the youthful energy that he’d displayed upon first arrival.

“I bet I won’t,” you confirm. “I’m no good at guessing games.”

He leans forward over the makeshift table, head swiveling as if checking to ensure that no one else is in your apartment. It’s supposed to be a playful motion, a commitment to the bit that normally you would find quite endearing, but you’re paranoid. His joking reminds you that there are in fact, people or a singular person, commanding those beneath him who would like to see you dead, or worse. You’re so distracted by the sudden onset of anxiety that you almost miss when Jason tells you who his mysterious benefactor is.

“Bruce Wayne,” Jason whispers conspiratorially, as if it were some grand secret.

“Bruce Wayne?!” Jason was correct, you would not have guessed that. “No shit?”

“No shit,” he confirms, satisfied by your surprise.

“That’s gotta be one Hell of a story,” you are honestly a little thrown by the revelation. You kept up as well as you could with the goings on of Gotham, though admittedly you paid much less attention to the kinds of gossip columns that Bruce Wayne was a frequent feature in. Your focus was much more… villainous, in nature. Waiting and watching and hoping and praying for when He gets put away for good. Not just stuffed into Arkham for a brief stay before the inevitable breakouts that plague the storied institution, but well and truly gone. Then and only then would it have been safe to return to your hometown, and to the baby you’d left behind in it. Not that he’s much of a baby anymore.

“It’s kind of a long one,” Jason warns.

“I’ve got time,” you reply.

“Actually, could I ask you some stuff first?” It’s a blatant redirect, but you won’t press him. Not yet anyway, you’ll get that particular story out of him sooner or later. But you’ve never had the heart to deny him anything, and as you thought earlier, he deserves honesty.

“I’m an open book, hon,” you tell him, though it comes out sounding unconfident. You hope he doesn’t pick up on it, but if he’s half as perceptive as he is clever, you’re certain he does. Regardless, he doesn’t call you on your bluff, opting instead to begin asking his own questions.

“Why Michigan?” It surprises you that that’s the first question he asks, and not ‘why did you abandon me?’ God knows that’s what you would have asked, and in much less kind words.

“Why not?” Is your answer. “I’ve actually only been here for, hm, I think it’ll be a year next month. I ah, I’ve traveled a lot since…” You trail off and let him assume the rest.

“Where else?”

“Oh, lots of places- I never stay anywhere for very long. I’ve been all over the place.Chicago for a few weeks, Austin for a month or two, a very poorly timed trip to Metropolis kind of turned me off to big cities for a while. Until now I never stayed anywhere for more than a couple months.”

You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he begins to piece together an idea of the life you’ve led in his absence.

“Why stop here?” He asks.

“I guess I just… got tired of running.” You answer honestly. You’re not as young as you used to be, and living by your charms is less and less viable every day.

“What are you running from, ma?” To his credit, he seems to have put together the pieces quite quickly. Rapidly coming to the understanding that you aren’t traveling just for the fun of it, but that you are traveling to escape. He’s a smart kid, brilliant even. You couldn’t be prouder.

Unfortunately, his cleverness is to your detriment. You’d hoped not to reveal this aspect of your history (your shared history) for a little while longer- long enough to establish a rapport with him. Long enough that he won’t immediately turn his nose up at you in disgust when he sees your true nature.

“I've done a lot of stuff I regret, Jason.” You say softly, instead of offering a real explanation. Just a moment longer, you think. Please let me keep this from him, let him continue to love me for just one more moment. You see the unasked question written all over his face.

‘Am I something you regret?’

“But please, please know that I wanted you. From the second I knew you existed I wanted nothing more than to be your mom, okay?”

“Why'd you leave?” Jason finally asks, his voice just above a whisper, and your heart seizes in your chest. He sounds so sad. You're a monster, a terrible mother, and a despicable human being.

“Oh, Jason…” That lump in your throat hasn't gotten any smaller. Your eyes sting with unshed tears. You want to hold him, but honestly you don't think you have the right.

“I didn't- I was just trying to- fuck, I'm sorry.” You sniffle, struggling to find the words.

For a second Jason looks like he's going to say something, and your stomach twists in knots as you try to predict what exactly is going to come out of his mouth. I hate you? You're a terrible mom? I wish I'd stayed in Gotham? All strong contenders, all things you wouldn't blame him in the slightest for feeling.

Instead, he pauses, face twisting up in confusion before he sniffs the air.

“Is something burning?”

It's only after he mentions it that you too begin to smell the smoke.

“Son of a bitch, my pizza!” You scramble from your seat, releasing Jason's hands to go open the oven. Jason follows you up, hovering only two steps behind you the whole time.

As soon as you open the oven a cloud of thick black smoke wafts into your face, making you cough.

“Shit, shit, shit, motherfucker!” You curse. And of course, to make an already wretched situation worse, your fire alarm begins to blare. Almost instantaneously one of your neighbors begins to pound on the wall, calling out a muffled ‘shut the fuck up!’

“Open the window for me, please!” You call to Jason as you rush to drag a folding chair up to the wall so you can reach the fire alarm. Jason does as he's told, quickly unlatching and opening the kitchen window, cool spring air rushing in. He even goes the extra mile and grabs the cardboard pizza box off the counter to fan the smoke outside. For some reason that makes your heart ache.

He's a good kid, you think. In spite of everything, he's a good kid.

You clamber up onto the chair and shut off the alarm, quickly hopping down to grab your singular oven mitt and precariously pull your burnt pizza from the oven. You plop it right down on the counter, uncaring of any mess or burns on the vinyl that you might be leaving. You slam the oven door shut, and finally the billowing smoke seems to dissipate. Jason's fanning slows to a stop and you reach around him to close the window.

What should have been your dinner is now a pitch black disk of inedible garbage.

For a minute you just stand there, with your hands clutching the window sill, adrenaline still flowing through you. You're shaking again- or maybe you never stopped. You try to steady your breathing, repeating to yourself over and over again don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Beside you, Jason gingerly sets the cardboard box back on the counter.

“You okay, ma?” He asks softly, and the dam bursts.

You let out a sob, pitching forward against the counter before sliding down to your knees, collapsing to the floor. Jason follows you down, kneeling next to you.

“It's okay! It's just a pizza! We can- I could get you another one!” He attempts to soothe you, but you can hear a nervous edge to his voice. You'd be nervous too if your mom started wailing over burnt pepperonis. But it's not about the food, not really.

“I'm sorry!” You sob, burying your face in your hands. It's humiliating enough for him to hear you cry, you don’t want him to see it too.

“It's fine, really mom, I wasn't even hungry, I ate on the way here,” Jason insists, and his hands find your wrists to gently pry them away from your face. You don't want him to see you like this, but you don't have the heart to deny him anything.

“I don't mean about the pizza, Jason!” You cry. “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I left, I never wanted to leave you birdie, please believe me!” It takes all of your strength to lift your head and meet his gaze. “I'm sorry for everything. I'm so, so sorry. I'm an awful mother, please forgive-” you're cut off by Jason pulling you into another crushing hug.

This isn't fair, you think. He shouldn't be the one comforting you. But you just can't seem to push him away, instead clinging to him with renewed vigor and sobbing apologies into his shoulder.

You’re pathetic, weeping like a child, in front of your actual child. Have some dignity, woman. Your internal dialogue has taken a particularly cruel tone. Your mind does this sometimes- turns on you in the worst way. It didn’t used to do that. Once upon a time you’d been so certain of yourself, so confident in every action you took that even your enemies struggled to doubt you. But now, after many years of continued misery, spurned by His interference in your life and your mind, you’re reduced to a sniveling self conscious mess of a woman with nothing to her name.

After a long moment you manage to sort of collect yourself, at least enough to stop blubbering and making a fool of yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat for at least the tenth time. “I shouldn’t have- I’m just- I’m sorry, Jason.”

You pull away from him and he lets you, releasing you from his grasp. But his hands hover next to your arms, as if he’s waiting to catch you again.

“It’s okay, ma.” He says, though you know he doesn’t understand what you’re apologizing for, not really.

“It’s not,” you tell him. “But thank you. I’m… I’m sorry you had to see me like that. It’s just been…”

“A long day?” Jason finishes for you, and you can’t help the manic little laugh that bubbles out of you.

“Try a long life.” You say, and though your smile is rueful and bitter, all that seems to matter to Jason is that he’s gotten you smiling again. Which in turn makes him smile too, and really that’s the perfect balm to all your aching wounds. You’d do anything to keep that smile on his face, anything at all. “But yes, a long day too. What time is it?”

Jason pulls up his sleeve to check his watch- it’s a nice one, one of the fancy digital ones. A gift from Bruce Wayne, if you had to guess. That still perplexes you a little bit, but you’re in no state to be asking anything more of Jason, certainly not the emotional labor required to continue that particular conversation.

“Half past midnight,” Jason answers.

“Shit, it’s past my bedtime,” you mumble, realizing suddenly how utterly exhausted you are. You worked a double today, that alone is enough to tire you out. Combined with the whirlwind of emotions that the last hour has brought you, you’re absolutely drained. Slowly, you rise once more, joints cracking as you do. Damn, getting old sucks. Jason springs to his feet in less than half the time it took for you to stand up.

“What do you say we put a pin in this and continue in the morning, yeah?” You ask, though it’s really more of a plea than a suggestion. “I think this will be a much more productive conversation when we’ve had a full eight hours.”

Jason nods, though you can see it on his face that he’s disappointed.

You’ll tell him everything tomorrow, you swear you will. You owe him that much.

You shuffle your way back into the living room (which is also your bedroom, because you live in the world's grimiest studio apartment), and get to work fully laying the futon down. Rarely do you ever bother to do so for yourself, but you’re not about to make a growing boy scrunch up on a couch to sleep. Jason may be small for his age but he’s not that small, it would still be an awfully cramped place for him to sleep.

You’ve only got the one blanket, currently thrown over the back of your ratty old recliner, a ‘gift’ from the previous tenant. You unfold it and lay it down on the futon. You have no pillow for him, but you think he’ll manage. Just for good measure, you turn the TV off and turn your space heater on, aiming it at the futon.

“Do you need to borrow pajamas, or did you bring your own?” You ask, turning back to Jason who has been quietly observing as you prepare his bed.

“I can sleep in this!” He says. That simply won’t do- you know from experience that sleeping in jeans is uncomfortable. You put your hands on your hips, doing your best to appear stern but not angry- motherly instead of… whatever it is that you really are.

“That’s not what I asked. Do you need pajamas, or did you bring your own?” You repeat, and bite back a laugh when Jason huffs indignantly. It’s cute that he thinks he can get away with avoiding your doting! You’ve missed out on so much, now that he’s here you are going to mother the crap out of this kid.

“Ma, it’s fine, really, don’t worry about it.”

“Y’know, I hate to pull this card, but I didn’t spend nineteen hours giving birth to you just to be told not to worry about you.” You say. “Now, I’m gonna ask one more time, do you need pajamas, or did you bring your own?”

“I didn’t bring any,” Jason replies, crossing his arms across his chest. Though his brow furrows like he’s annoyed, you can see how he’s fighting against a smile. You suspect that secretly, he’s going to enjoy being loved as much as you are going to enjoy loving him.

“Thank you,” you say, turning to go dig through your closet and your sparse collection of clothing. You don’t have much to wear, even less that will fit him, but eventually you settle on a pair of well worn sweatpants and your only surviving possession from before Jason’s birth: a ratty old GSU t-shirt. You fold them, stack them one on top of the other, and hand them off to Jason. “Bathroom’s right there. Did you bring a toothbrush, or do you-”

“Ma, please,” Jason cuts you off, putting on a show of being much more exasperated than he really is.

“Okay, okay, I’m done, I swear. Go get dressed.” You ruffle his hair as he passes by you, mussing up the loose curls.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, you’re digging through your purse for a cigarette. A bad habit, you know, but one that you’ve never quite been able to kick. You open up the living room window, grabbing your lighter from where you keep it on the kitchen counter. You do your best to smoke fast, you want to finish it before Jason returns. You’re a bad enough influence on him already without the added issue of secondhand smoke. Unfortunately for you, Jason is quick and you’ve only smoked half your cig by the time he’s exiting the bathroom, holding the hem of your t-shirt, examining the faded lettering.

“You went to GSU?” He asks, not looking up. You take a final quick drag, before stubbing the cigarette out on the window sill. You’re definitely not getting your meager security deposit back.

“Mhm,” you hum, exhaling through your nose. The smoke burns your nasal cavity, stinging even as you inhale fresh air.

“What did you study?”

“I majored in mechanical engineering and minored in biochemical engineering. Never finished my degree though,” you shut the window. Your college days aren’t something you think of often anymore. God, you’d had so much potential. You still had that potential, even after getting pregnant and dropping out. Even as a struggling single mother you know you’d been brilliant. It’s what you did with that brilliance that really fucked you over.

“Why not?”

“I got pregnant,” that’s the simple answer. Though, now that you’ve said it, it sort of sounds like you’re blaming him for your own failure to thrive. You’re quick to amend your statement. “I don’t like to half-ass things, especially not important things. I wanted to be able to focus on you.”

“You wanted to whole-ass it,” Jason nods sagely. You snort.

“Yes, exactly. I wanted to whole-ass motherhood.” You chuckle and look out the window at the quiet street below. “I did a pretty piss poor job though. Put my whole ass into it and still couldn’t see it through.” A street light flickers down below. You can see Jason’s reflection in the glass, the details of him warped and blurred by your view of the road down below- not willing to turn around and face him directly. You don’t want to subject him to your shame, your regret. He will see it eventually, most likely sooner rather than later. You steel yourself, school your expression, and turn.

“Time for bed now.” You say, and cross the room to put the recliner in position for you to sleep in. You’ll have no pillow or blanket, and the heater will be hitting Jason more than you, but it’s fine, you’ll manage, you’ve slept in much worse conditions. With the sleeping arrangements all settled, you turn back to Jason.

“All yours hon,” you nod in the direction of your rickety futon. Jason nods and rubs his eyes. Poor thing, he must be exhausted too. You can only imagine the kind of whirlwind day (week, month, year, life) he’s had. As he slips into bed you’re tempted to tuck him in, kiss his forehead, hell, you’d read him a story or sing him to sleep if he wanted you to. But no, you push this motherly instinct deep down inside of yourself. Jason’s 15, you doubt he wants to be treated like a child. But still, as you watch him relax, settling into your bed, your home, your life, you can’t help but to-

“I love you,” it comes out in a harsh whisper, your voice threatening to break. Your eyes are suddenly misty with tears that you swear weren’t there a second ago. You sniffle hard and blink them back. Despite visibly fighting sleep just moments before, now Jason is looking up at you with wide eyes.

“You don’t have to say it back,” you tell him. “I just needed to say it.”

You can’t bear to face him for his reply (or lack thereof) so you turn away from him to shut off the lamp, bathing you both in darkness.

“I’m gonna-” you pause to clear your throat of any lingering emotion. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth. Goodnight, birdie.”

And just before the bathroom door shuts behind you, you think you hear, “goodnight, ma.”

The second you feel the latch click, you’re turning the tap on to full blast.You sink down to the floor, bury your face in your hands, and do your very best to cry quietly. Hopefully the running water will muffle the sounds of your sobbing. The last thing you want is for Jason to hear you having a meltdown again. Once was one time too many.

Tomorrow you will do better. Tomorrow you and Jason will sit down and have a real conversation. Tomorrow you will tell him the truth.

AN: well howdy strangers!! it took me entirely too long to finish chapter one, and even longer to actually post it on Tumblr proper. For those of y'all who have been tagged this is just chapter one again but posted directly to Tumblr instead of being linked to ao3! Chapter two hopefully won't take as long but don't hold your breath lol. I plan on posting a preview of it in the next week or two! Anyways, thanks so much for reading! Taglist:@leirobles @qardasngan @amphiroxx

[zeviis]

A Love Letter He’ll Never Send

pairing ; choi seunghyun x reader 

warnings ; none, entirely fluff

authors note ; aaaaa, hes so TT

After your little secret was exposed to his bandmates, Seunghyun never heard the end of their teasing. However, the upside was that you no longer had to sneak around. Now, you could visit him at work freely, spending time with him and his members, becoming a natural part of their world.

Unfortunately, Seunghyun was about to go on tour, and as much as he wished for you to come along, you knew it wasn’t practical. He had asked you a few times, but you always declined. You feared that tagging along would only disrupt his work, not to mention the risk of your secret getting out to the public. It wasn’t just about the fans finding out—it was the media, the constant attention, and the pressure that would follow. As much as you wanted to be by his side, you knew it was better for both of you to keep some distance for the time being.

“I’m sorry…” you said, holding his hands tightly as your gaze fell to his shoes by your front door. The weight of guilt sat heavily on your chest, knowing that your decision to decline hurt him, even if he didn’t say it. You wished you could make it work, but the timing just wasn’t right.

Seunghyun, ever patient, cupped your chin gently and tilted your head up to meet his eyes. He smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “It’s okay, I get it,” he said, his voice warm and understanding.

Before you could say anything more, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on top of your head, lingering there for a moment.

“I’ll miss you,” he whispered, his tone soft and sincere. Despite the sadness in his eyes, he didn’t want to make you feel any worse. “Yeobo...” he said, his lips curving into a mischievous smile.

The word caught you off guard. Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected term of endearment. “Yeobo..?” you repeated, blinking at him in surprise, a slight blush creeping onto your cheeks. You had never heard him call you that before, and the warmth in his voice made it feel even more intimate.

Seunghyun’s mischievous grin only grew wider as he noticed your reaction. “What? You don’t like it?” he teased, his tone light but filled with affection. He stepped closer, gently tugging you into a soft embrace. “I just thought it was time to call you that, you know? Feels right.”

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond, but then you smiled softly, your hand resting against his chest. “No... I do,” you murmured, your voice quieter than usual, a shy warmth spreading through you.

Seunghyun’s smile softened, his eyes glinting with affection. Without saying another word, he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms enveloping you completely. The sudden warmth of his embrace made you feel safe, cherished, and loved.

He held you for a long moment, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. “Good,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing, “because you’re my yeobo now.”

You chuckled softly in his arms, the tension easing away as you pulled back from the hug, the warmth of his embrace lingering on your skin. You looked up at him, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips.

"I’ll get going now," you said, your voice still a little quiet, but there was a hint of playfulness in it. "I’ll be texting you... or maybe a call in between throughout." You gave him one last smile, trying to mask the ache of knowing he was leaving.

Seunghyun nodded, his own smile a little sad but filled with understanding. "I’ll be waiting for your texts," he said, his tone warm and reassuring. He walked backward a few steps, his hand giving a small wave. "Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll miss you."

You watched as he got into his car, his figure slowly fading away from view. Despite the distance between you, there was a sense of closeness that stayed with you, and you knew this wasn’t goodbye—it was just see you later.

After the concert, Seunghyun was finally back in his hotel room. The adrenaline from the performance had started to wear off, and all that was left was the quiet of the room—except for the soft rustle of papers as he sat on the bed. A few envelopes were scattered around him, a pen in hand, as he busily scribbled something down while keeping his phone propped up next to him on the bed.

You answered the video call, and there he was, looking tired but still managing to smile at the sight of you. His hair was tousled from the concert, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and the faint glow of the hotel lights highlighted the exhaustion on his face. Despite that, he looked relaxed for the first time all day.

"Hey, yeobo," he greeted you, his voice a little raspy but warm.

You smiled, happy to finally see him after the long day. "Hey! You look like you’ve been busy. What are you doing?"

He chuckled softly and glanced down at the envelopes in front of him. "Just writing some stuff." He paused, continuing to jot something down as he spoke. "It’s been a bit of a hectic day, but I figured I’d use this time to catch up on a few things. Plus, I wanted to call you."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What are you writing?"

Seunghyun's lips curled into a small, almost shy smile as he picked up one of the envelopes. "It’s... uh, for the fans," he said awkwardly, his fingers absently fiddling with the paper as he tried to brush off the personal sentiment he had just mentioned.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but also slightly amused at his sudden shift in tone. "For the fans?"

He nodded quickly, his gaze briefly flicking between the envelope and you. "Yeah, just... fan letters, you know? It’s something I do sometimes when I have a little free time. It’s nothing big."

You could tell there was something more to it—Seunghyun wasn’t the type to shy away from his fans, but there was a softness in his voice that made you wonder if there was something more personal tucked inside those letters.

Just as you were about to say something, Seunghyun got up from the bed, his expression shifting as he heard the doorbell ring. "Hold on a sec," he said, placing the phone down on the bedside table, leaving you alone on the call. You could hear faint voices and footsteps before the call went quiet, and you sat there for a moment, waiting.

Just as you were about to say something, Seunghyun got up from the bed, hearing the doorbell ring. "Hold on a sec," he said, setting the phone down on the bedside table as he walked out of the room. You were left alone on the call, the quiet stretching out as you waited.

A few moments later, you could hear the sound of the door opening and muffled voices in the background. It was clear that Daesung and Ji Yong had shown up, their laughter drifting into the phone’s microphone. The next thing you knew, Seunghyun returned to the room, picking up the phone again.

"Sorry about that," Seunghyun said, his voice light with amusement as he sat back down on the bed. He glanced at you with a smile. "Daesung and Ji Yong decided to swing by. They’re staying here for a bit."

You could hear them in the background, their voices loud and playful as they joked around with each other, clearly making themselves at home. Daesung’s laugh echoed through the walls, followed by Ji Yong’s teasing remarks. Despite the chaos of their banter, you and Seunghyun were having a great time talking to each other.

As you and Seunghyun continued talking, the sound of Daesung and Ji Yong's playful banter filled the background. You were both laughing, enjoying the conversation, when suddenly, the door to Seunghyun’s room creaked open.

"Hey, where's the wa— oh," Ji Yong stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he saw Seunghyun still sitting on the bed, phone in hand, with you on the screen.

Seunghyun, not even flinching, simply shrugged with a grin. "It’s okay," he said, his voice a little more relaxed as he gave a playful glance toward Ji Yong and Daesung, who were now standing in the doorway.

Ji Yong stepped fully into the room, followed by Daesung, both of them waving at you like they had just walked into a party. "Hey," Ji Yong greeted with a wink, "It’s good to finally meet you again, even if it’s through a screen."

Daesung, always the cheerful one, smiled brightly and gave you a big wave. "Hi! Glad to see you’re keeping him company," he said, his voice warm and friendly. "He doesn’t get to talk to us as much these days."

You chuckled, amused by their sudden appearance. "It’s nice to meet you both," you said, giving them a wave in return. "I can see you two are making yourselves at home already."

Ji Yong leaned against the wall, looking at Seunghyun with a teasing grin. "I didn’t know you were so good at multitasking, huh? Managing a call with your girlfriend and letting us take over your room at the same time."

Seunghyun rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips as he glanced back at you through the screen. "It’s not like I have a choice," he said, his tone playful, getting up from the bed and walking toward the door to grab some water for himself and his bandmates. "They don’t leave me alone for two seconds."

You were left alone with Daesung and Ji Yong as Seunghyun walked out of the room. The two of them stood by the bed, their eyes focused on the scattered envelopes, curiosity written all over their faces.

"What are these?" Daesung asked, his tone playful as he reached out and touched one of the letters, picking it up with a curious expression.

"Oh, he said they were for the fans..." you explained, casually combing through your hair, though a small chuckle escaped your lips at the sight of them snooping around.

"Is that so?" Ji Yong said, his voice amused as he grabbed one of the envelopes and began to open it. He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, as he peered inside. "I’m guessing these aren't just your typical fan letters..."

Daesung leaned in, glancing over Ji Yong’s shoulder, his grin widening as he picked up another envelope. "Let me see that," he said, his voice filled with excitement as he leaned closer. "Are these... personal letters?"

You froze for a second, unsure of how to respond. "Uh..." you said, feeling a bit caught off guard by their interest. "I think he was just writing little notes to them, you know... thanking them for the support."

But Ji Yong wasn’t convinced. He pulled out a piece of paper, his eyes scanning it quickly before a smirk tugged at his lips. "Hmm, really?," he said teasingly, raising the paper in the air like it was evidence. "Because this one says, ‘Can’t wait to see you again. You make me feel so special. Love, Seunghyun.’"

Daesung burst into laughter, slapping Ji Yong on the back. "Oh, this is getting interesting," he said, grinning widely. "Seems like someone’s a little extra with their fan love, huh?"

You couldn’t help but laugh nervously, feeling a little embarrassed. "It’s not like that," you said quickly, trying to brush it off. "I’m sure it’s just him being sweet to them, you know? Just a way to show appreciation."

Ji Yong gave you a sly smile, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Sure, sure...," he said, teasing you. "But I bet there’s something more to these letters. You sure there’s no hidden meaning here?"

You sighed, knowing there was no way you were getting out of this teasing. "It’s really not a big deal, you guys. Just let him do his thing," you said, trying to play it cool, even though you felt a little flustered.

Daesung just chuckled, still holding the letter in his hands. "I think Seunghyun’s got a bit of a soft spot for his fans, huh?"

Ji Yong smirked at you. "Or maybe for someone special..."

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but laugh at their playful teasing. "Okay, okay, enough!" you said, still trying to hide your embarrassment. "You two need to stop reading his letters before he comes back."

Just as you said that, Seunghyun’s voice called from the other room. "Hey, what are you guys doing in here?"

Daesung quickly stuffed the letter back onto the bed, and Ji Yong gave you an innocent look. "Nothing, nothing!" Ji Yong said with a mischievous grin. "We were just... admiring the fine art of fan appreciation."

You shot them both a playful glare, but inside, you couldn’t help but laugh at how easily they managed to keep things lighthearted.

Seunghyun walked back into the room, and when he saw the two of them hovering over the letters, he immediately raised an eyebrow. "What did I tell you guys about touching my stuff?" he said, his tone a mix of amusement and mock exasperation.

Daesung quickly shoved the letters back onto the bed, a sheepish grin on his face. "We were just... admiring your hard work," he said with a wink. "No harm done."

"Yeah, just getting some inspiration from your fan letters," Ji Yong added, his smirk evident as he flopped back onto the bed, clearly enjoying the teasing.

Seunghyun rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. "You guys are impossible," he said, shaking his head as he sat back down on the bed, this time carefully putting the letters away in a drawer. "I swear, it’s like I can’t have a single moment of peace with you two around."

Seunghyun settled back down on the bed, the playful teasing from Daesung and Ji Yong slowly quieting as they made themselves comfortable. Despite the brief interruption, the atmosphere was light and filled with laughter. The conversation shifted away from the letters, and the topic of the tour came up.

As Seunghyun spoke, you could hear the slight weariness in his voice, but also the passion that fueled him. Despite the challenges, he seemed to find solace in the routine of it all, in the camaraderie with his bandmates, and in the love of the fans that kept him going.

That’s how things went for the next few months—Seunghyun traveling from city to city, performing on stage, and then finding whatever spare moment he could to call or text you. He never let too much time pass without reaching out, whether it was a quick message about his day, a blurry photo from backstage, or a late-night call when he finally had a moment to breathe.

You never asked him to do any of it, but he did it anyway. It was sweet, the way he made sure to keep you in the loop, to remind you that no matter how far away he was, he was still thinking about you. Even when his schedule was packed, he found ways to make you feel like you were right there with him. It was the kind of thing that made your heart feel a little fuller every time your phone lit up with his name.

The moment the tour ended, the first thing Seunghyun did was show up at your front door, luggage still in hand, fresh from the airport.

"Seunghyun?" you blinked, caught off guard by his sudden arrival.

"Good morning!" he greeted enthusiastically, throwing his arms up as if he hadn’t just spent months away.

You squinted at him, unimpressed. "It’s almost evening..."

Still, you stepped aside, letting him inside with a sigh—because, of course, this was exactly the kind of thing he’d do.

"You look tired," you murmured, reaching for his bag and helping him carry his suitcase inside.

Seunghyun let out a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I probably am," he admitted, "but I figured I’d rather be tired here with you than anywhere else."

You sighed, taking a good look at him. The exhaustion was written all over his face, his dark circles more evident than ever.

"Come to my room," you said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him along without waiting for a response.

Seunghyun didn’t protest, letting you guide him as he followed sluggishly behind.

"You can rest there while I get some food ready," you added, your tone softer now.

He smiled, a little tired but grateful. "You're too good to me," he murmured, already feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in as he let himself be taken care of.

He settled down on the bed, sighing as he sank into the comfort of it. His bag rested beside him, untouched, but he made no effort to move it. Instead, he leaned back against the pillows, his eyes already growing heavy.

"Just rest for a bit," you said, watching as his shoulders loosened.

Seunghyun hummed in response, his gaze following you as you turned to leave. "Don’t take too long," he mumbled, his voice already laced with drowsiness.

When you returned with a bowl of snacks, you found Seunghyun’s head slowly drooping, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. His eyes fluttered shut between brief moments of trying to stay awake, but it was a losing battle. Instead of waking him, you quietly set the bowl of chips down on the nightstand and sat beside him. You moved his bag to your left, making space for yourself before settling down beside him and with gentle hands, you reached out, carefully lowering him from his upright position so he could lie comfortably against the pillows.

Seunghyun stirred slightly at the movement but didn’t resist, his body naturally melting into the comfort of the bed. His breath evened out almost instantly, the exhaustion catching up. You sat there quietly, watching him for a moment—his features softened in sleep, the tension from months of touring finally fading away. Without thinking, you brushed a stray strand of hair from his face, your fingertips barely grazing his skin.

He had come straight to you, before anything or anyone else. That thought alone made your heart ache in the best way possible.

Your eyes drifted back to his bag, noticing that it was slightly open, with papers peeking out from the unzipped section. The edges were slightly crumpled, as if they had been rifled through multiple times during his trip.

Curiosity tugged at you, but you hesitated. Seunghyun had barely gotten any rest—was it right to peek through his things while he was asleep?

You glanced back at him, his face peaceful in sleep, before looking at the bag once more, debating whether to reach for it or leave it alone.

You couldn’t resist. Slowly, you reached over, pulling the bag a little closer to you. With careful fingers, you sifted through the papers until one caught your eye. It looked like a letter, handwritten, and as you pulled it out, your heart skipped a beat when you saw the familiar handwriting—Seunghyun’s.

I mean, he did mention he was writing a few letters to the fans, so it wouldn’t hurt to read a couple, right? It’s not like you weren’t a fan of your boyfriend, after all.

As you unfolded the letter, the words slowly coming into view, and as your eyes scanned the page, you realized it was addressed to you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the opening words: "To my favorite person." The handwriting was familiar, the gentle curves of the letters unmistakably Seunghyun’s. You felt a warmth spread through you as you continued reading, his thoughts spilling onto the paper.

The letter was filled with his quiet reflections from the tour—how much he missed you, how every moment without you felt incomplete. He wrote about how much he cherished the small, everyday things you did that made him feel loved, and how even in the middle of chaotic schedules, you were always on his mind.

There were moments of vulnerability too—his exhaustion, his longing, and how he couldn’t wait to return to you. It was a reminder of how deeply he cared, despite the distance. You couldn’t help but smile softly as you finished reading, feeling a sense of closeness even though he wasn’t awake to share it with you just yet. You carefully folded the letter back, pressing it gently into the bag, and sat back, letting the words settle in your heart.

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

TORN- CHAPTER 2

Synopsis: One night, that's all it took for Josh and India to fall for each other. One night was all it took for her life to turn upside down. She thought she had found the one. Then he had told her the truth... he had someone waiting for him... someone whom he had betrayed to be with India.

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Warnings: mentions of cheating, angst

Several Months Ago….

 “I’m pregnant.” 

The second those words left India’s lips, Josh’s whole world turned upside down. He could feel Janae staring a hole into him as he avoided her eyes. Janae had instructed him to put the phone on speaker, and as soon as he did, India had blurted out that she was pregnant. 

Janae’s glare could have cut through steel as she waited for him to respond. He wanted to say something—anything—but his mouth felt dry. The weight of the situation was pressing in on him, and the room suddenly felt too small.

Josh was brought back to that night all those months ago. He had made a terrible mistake. The argument with Janae had been brutal—raw and vicious, with words that could never be taken back. He remembered storming out of the house that day, ignoring her calling his name, telling him to get back in the house. He remembered looking on Instagram and noticing that India had a booking in Atlanta, and without thinking, he had driven to the club. 

They hadn’t talked in about two weeks. The Bloodline story was starting to pick back up after WrestleMania and by the looks of her Instagram, India was booked and busy. Just like that day back in Dallas, their eyes met as soon as he stepped foot into the club. 

She smiled at him and leaned over to whisper something in the security guard's ear, and then pointed in his direction. Once she got the okay nod from the guard, she waved him over. 

“Josh!” She called out once he got close enough. He laughed as she launched herself at him. 

“Wassup, Mamas. You couldn’t tell ya’ boy you was in town tonight?” He asked, then placed on hand over his heart. “I’m hurt, Indi.” 

She had giggled and shoved him away from her playfully. “Whatchu’ drinking?!” 

He slowly trailed his eyes up and down her body before making eye contact with her. “Whatcu’ offering?” he smirked, and she let out a gasp before biting her bottom lip and looking up at him through her lashes.

“That's only on the menu if you’re a good boy.” 

Josh inhaled through his nose, his hand sliding down her back and was now dangerously close to her ass.  “You dangerous ‘ma.” 

“Everyone needs a little danger in the life, right?” She whispered, and Josh barely heard her over the loud music thumping through the club. 

Josh threw his head back and groaned ignoring India laughing at his struggle. He removed his hand from her waist and backed away from her. “Nah, you really hell.” 

She shrugged and held up a bottle of Hennessy. “Shots?” 

Present Day… 

Josh let out a sigh as he pulled into his driveway. He had just gotten back from his trip to Dallas to visit India and Egypt. India had ignored his phone calls after dropping the bomb of the wedding on her. He couldn’t blame her either. He had led her on, and then when she was most vulnerable, he had basically left her to fend for herself. 

His house was uncharistically quiet, save for the faint sound of the TV from the living room. He shut the front door and kicked his shoes off,  his mind still swirling with thoughts of India and the mess he’d created.

His fiancée, Janae, was sitting on the couch, her arms crossed over her chest, eyes glued to the screen as if she were trying to lose herself in whatever show was playing. But even from across the room, Josh could tell that she was tense. 

“Did she sign the papers?” Janae asked, not taking her eyes off of the TV.  

Josh blew out a raspberry and flopped down on the couch next to her, not missing the way she shuffled away from him. “Wasn’t even able to bring it up.” Janae scoffed, and Josh gritted his teeth, trying not to lash out at her. “She kicked me out, Nae. I brought up the wedding, and she asked me to leave.” 

Janae rolled her eyes. She was beyond fed up with Josh and his little predicament. All she wanted was for everything to be over. She stood from her seat and pointed a finger in his face. “If you would’ve kept your dick in you pants, none of this would be happening!” 

Josh wanted to roll his eyes. They’ve been having the same argument for the past six months. “I know, okay? I’m not proud of it. But what’s done is done, and now I have a kid with her. I’m not going to just pretend Egypt doesn’t exist.”

“Not proud? Josh, you fathered a child with her! And now you expect me to just sit here while she plays this game with you? You need to get her to sign those papers—now.” Janae’s voice was sharp, a mix of frustration and desperation. 

Josh’s chest tightened.  “C’mon Nae -” 

“No.” She cut him off, her voice cold and calculated. “You knew what my conditions were. You knew what you had waiting home for you, when you went and fucked that girl.” Janae was barely keeping her anger in check. Her hands were clenched so tight, her nails were leaving indents in his palm. “You said you didn’t want Micah and me to leave. I gave you two ultimatums. You did right by one.” They both looked down at the shiny diamond ring on her left ring finger. “Now get her to sign those papers.” 

“Engaged?!” Lyric gasped. Mouth agape as she stared at her sister. “He freaking proposed?”  India nodded and grabbed her wine glass off of the coffee table. “How does that make you feel?” 

India scoffed and took a sip of her drink. “I don’t need therapist Lyric right now, I need big sis Lyric.” 

Lyric raised an eyebrow but leaned back against the couch, studying her sister with a mix of concern and amusement. "Big sis Lyric always got you. But you need to talk about this, India. You can't just bottle it up." 

India stared at her sister before taking the rest of her wine glass to the head. “I feel fucking stupid Lyric. My feelings haven't changed since the day I told him I was pregnant.” India felt the tears start to sting her eyes, but she refused to cry over this man again. “I had my whole life planned out, y’know.” India shrugged. “Then mom died and i feel like my life has gone to shit since them. I never wanted to be a baby mom, Lyric.” 

Lyric’s heart ached for her sister as the weight of her words hung in the air. She could see the hurt in India’s eyes, the way she fought so hard to keep it together. Lyric’s voice softened, but she kept her tone steady, wanting India to feel heard. “Hey, stop. You’re not stupid, India,” she said, her hand brushing over her sister’s back in a comforting motion. “You didn’t ask for any of this. None of it. But it doesn’t mean you’re failing or that everything’s falling apart. What that man did was foul, and you didn’t deserve any of that.” 

India finally let herself go, let herself feel everything she’d been holding back for so long. She let the tears fall freely, her body trembling with emotion as she let out a quiet sob. She didn’t care anymore. The weight of it all—the disappointment, the anger, the heartache—had been building up inside her for so long, and now it was pouring out.

Lyric didn’t say anything. She just pulled her sister into a tight hug, letting India cry into her shoulder. “I hate him.” India cried into her sister's shoulder. “I hate that he made me feel for him knowing he had a girl at home. I hate that he made me go through my entire pregnancy alone. I hate that he wasn’t the one to cut Egypt’s umbilical cord. I hate that he’s marrying her. I fucking hate him Lyric.” 

Lyric held her sister tightly, the weight of her words settling into the space between them. She didn’t try to fix anything, didn’t offer any words of comfort this time. She just let India feel it all—the anger, the hurt, the betrayal—because sometimes, there was nothing else to say.

Josh sighed as he got comfortable in the guest bedroom. After her blow up earlier, Janae had decided to lock him out of their bedroom. 

He grabbed his phone from beside him and immediately pulled up instagram. He went to the search menu and typed in Indias instagram handle. He made sure he was logged into his burner account before tapping on her story. 

She had just posted a story about 15 minutes ago. She had a sleeping Egypt in her arms, and she had captioned it “goodnight from us ❤️” 

It made his heart clinch painfully in his chest. The thought of not being around them right now was crushing. 

When he met Janae 15 years ago, he thought she was the one. Nobody could deny the spark that was between the two of them, but about a year ago, that spark had died, and neither one of them wanted to admit it. 

Then he had met India and she had been like a breath of fresh air. He was sure his relationship with Janae was over, which is why he pursued India. But then, everything had shifted.

Janae had come to him one night, her voice soft but serious. She had wanted to talk—really talk. They sat down, and for the first time in months, they both laid everything out. They both admitted their faults in how their relationship had broke down. Janae cried, and for the first time in a long while, Josh felt the weight of everything that had gone wrong. He realized how much he still cared about her, how deep their history ran, and how badly he wanted to try again.

And then he probably did the hardest thing he’d ever done: He told Janae about India. About how he had gotten caught up in something he shouldn’t have. He confessed everything—his guilt, his feelings, the temptation he hadn’t known how to handle. And while the words came out raw and full of regret, there was no turning back. He had chosen honesty over secrecy.

“You fucked her?” Her voice came out as a whisper. He nodded, and she covered her mouth and let out a sob. She stood from the sofa and walked away from him, her sobs following her down the hallway. Their relationship has been in shambles since then, and when India called to tell him she was pregnant, Janae demanded that they get married. She had given him two ultimatums for her to stay and not take his son away from him. She had already picked out her dream engagement ring and wedding bands, so all Josh had to do was order them, but the second thing she wanted was a little harder. She wanted him to get full custody of Egypt.

 At first, she had told him that she didn’t want Egypt or India around her, or Micah and Josh had to respect that, which is why he spent the first three months away from her, but then, She had came to him and told him that Egypt would be better off in a two-parent household, better off with Josh and Janae. 

Once he got to India’s house though, he couldn’t go through with it. He had seen how much love India had as she looked at Egypt, and Josh thought it would be wrong to try to take Egypt away from her mom. 

He couldn’t imagine ripping Egypt away from India’s arms, from the home and the love she had built for her. The bond they shared was something Josh couldn’t deny, and at that moment, it became clear to him that Egypt needed to be with her mom.

He also couldn’t deny that his feelings for India were still strong. Even after everything that had happened, the distance, the mistakes, the tension between them—it was impossible to ignore the pull he felt whenever he was around her. Watching her with Egypt, the way she nurtured and cared for their daughter, only made those feelings more undeniable.

There was a connection between them that ran deeper than just physical attraction or shared history. It was something real, something raw, that he couldn’t shake. He had tried to convince himself that the spark had faded, that his life with Janae could be enough to give him the stability and peace he craved, but every time he saw India, every time they spoke, he felt that old flame flicker to life again.

And the truth was, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending it wasn’t there.

Authors Note: FUCK YOU JOSHUA! & JANAE'S TRIFLING ASS TOO!! OOOH! 😡

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

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[just-escape-now]

First time?

Period comfort w Han, confusion, his first time buying you period supplies.

Content: Fluff, comfort, Fem!reader, Drabble, not proofread.

(Warning, swearing, mentions of porn [as a joke, mild])

This was awkward. Extremely awkward. It made Han close the app and open it again. The message was still there.

Jagi <3: heyyy do you mind picking up some supplies at the store? My period just started 😔

Shit. What in the world did you mean by ‘supplies’? No way was he going to ask you that though, that would be even more awkward, right?

“You okay there?” Minho asked, narrowing his eyes at the stunned expression Han was wearing. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Either that or some random porn popped up on your twitter.” Han shook his head, and did a quick (very embarrassing) google search of “What to buy my girlfriend when she’s on her period”. Chocolates, pads, tampons- oh lord, did you use pads or tampons? They were different things, right?- ice cream, more snacks, hot water bottle… it was a long list.

He emerged from his chair, grabbing his wallet with shaky hands. “I gotta go to the store for y/n, see you tomorrow?” He said, his voice smooth and collected, much unlike the situation going on in his head. Minho just sighed, nodded, and gestured him out the door.

The store was a nightmare. He spent a few minutes gathering up the courage to go to the women’s hygiene section, only to find a member of the staff there, a female, no less. He flushed, but held his ground, staring at the many options of pads, tampons, menstrual cups, panty liners, anything you could think of. How was he supposed to know what to grab?

“Would you like some help, sir?” The lady asked, noticing the utter confusion on his face. Han stared some more, before nodding. “Do you know what she uses?” The lady asked, and he shook his head. You’d be surprised how he could turn into a man of very few words when faced with a grocery store clerk. “Well, pads are always a safe option. Not everyone uses the other stuff.” She explains, pointing at the various types of pads. Han nodded again.

“Thanks, I think I’m good now.” He said, smiling. The clerk shrugged and walked to the other end of the aisle, shelving some shampoo.

What the hell do wings do? Why was there so much sizes? And why did he dismiss that lady, he had no idea what he was doing! In his panic, he grabbed a medium size (it was a safe bet) with wings, and darted out of the aisle. He then grabbed chocolate and some chips, your favourite flavour. He skipped ice cream, too worried about it melting before he got home, which would be absolutely awful.

Now he just had to go through the till.

Finally making it back home, Han slipped off his shoes, the bag of period supplies in his arms. “Jagi, I’m home!” He called, making his way down the hall to your bedroom. Hearing the mattress shift, he opened the door, dropping the bag on the bed.

“mmm, hey Hanji….” you mumbled, weeping your arms around him, which may or may not made him grin goofily, heart quickening.

“I present to you…” He declared dramatically, grabbing the items out of the bag one by one. “Chips, chocolate, a bag of cookies, Tylenol, and pads with whatever the heck wings are supposed to be!” He laid them out in front of you, glancing up at you for approval.

“Aww, thank you!” You smiled, popping open the bag of chips. He inwardly did a little happy dance. Pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He set the rest of the stuff off to the side.

“Cuddles?”

[mediocreanomaly]

The World Keeps Turning

Cecil x GN!Reader: Comfort Drabble

Authors Note: a little comfort for you sweeties. (I sprinkled some of my southerner Cecil propaganda in here, deal with it.)

Breathing should come naturally to you, yet your breaths come in uneven stammering inhales that threaten to turn into something more, something worse, a breakdown that would mean admitting that you can't keep it together. So you try not to think about it. Try not to think about anything.

It's one of those days where the walls seem too close, the world is moving too fast, and you… you're sinking. You can feel it choking up your throat and crushing in your chest.

You take another breath.

It's more watery than the last, threatening to spill over.

The front door unlocks, the sound adding insult to injury. It feels… wrong, being caught like this. Steady footsteps of dress shoes on the ground feel like a hammer driving nails into a coffin. The man who exhausts himself protecting the world, and you can’t even get out of bed?

It makes something dark and writhing twist in your head and you bury your face against the pillows to pretend to be asleep.

“Honey?” Cecil asks, setting down his bag; you can hear the ‘thump’ of the leather on the carpet floor as he comes to sit on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight.

You can't look up. You CAN'T. If you do, he'll see what a mess you are right now, and the thought of adding another problem for him to fix to his day is just too much. So you stay buried, unreachable, a cocoon of quiet suffering.

“Hm” Cecil hums like he understands, like he's adjusting a radio dial, he already knows what to look for he's just got to fine tune for to you. “One of those days, huh?”

Of course he knows. Cecil always knows.

He reaches forward, fingers threading through your hair, toying with the ends before smoothing them back. His touch begins to unravel the tight knot of tension in your chest.

After a few moments, he gets up, and just as you start to miss him, he's already over at the record player in the corner, setting a vinyl in place. The needle dips, and the first crackles spill from the old speakers as Can't Take My Eyes Off You begins to play. It's familiar, one of his favorites when he's in a sentimental sort of mood. The music wavers and cracks, the record well loved from years of use, but Cecil never throws it away. You hope he never does.

You can hear the telltale sound of rustling fabric as he slides off his coat, undoes his tie, and toes off his shoes to get comfortable before he slides into bed with you.

His arms wrap around your frame, the weight of another person gathering you and keeping you together… making you feel like you can finally let go.

The water works come quick and with abandon, trembling full bodied sobs escape your mouth as you press your face against Cecil's chest. His cologne and aftershave fill your senses, a scent that feels more like ‘home’ than any GDA-approved living space ever could.

You think you speak, or at least try to. Watery gasps and cries of apologies for the situation, for yourself. He shushes every single one.

“Easy Darlin’...” he murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically soft for a man who’s mastered the art of snappy detachment.

He talks about everything and nothing at all; his day, dull government meetings, and more entertaining, exasperated quotes from the team. He tells you he ate the lunch you made him, that Donald pretended not to be amused by the handwritten note tucked inside, but Cecil’s known the fucker too long to be fooled.

He tells you he cut down on his caffeine and that he missed you. He tells you that you're okay because, you know what? He's seen the worst of the worst and the world keeps turning.

Sweet words muttered against your hairline like if he said them enough, you might just believe him.

He stays until you've worn yourself out, until all that's left is dull exhaustion, and even then, he just holds you tighter.

“We're alright, sugar,” he says softly, pulling the covers higher up your shoulders, keeping the world out of this moment for just a moment longer.

For once, it feels like that might be true.

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Something Real - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

stayed up all night writing this for y’all, figured i should post before i go drug test😭 i made this one WAY happier than the last because i figured we all would need a bit of comfort and happiness after last chapter, i plan to keep the story pretty happy for a few chapters before some angst starts again. i was giggling and kicking my feet while writing the end, i hope you guys like it:)

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 2.61k

series masterlist | main masterlist

The air has shifted.

Not in any sharp, dramatic way. Not in a way you could point to and say, “There—right there, that’s when it changed.” But it has.

Maybe it’s the time of year. May has bled into June, and the days have stretched warmer, lazier. The wind carries more green in it, the mornings thick with birdsong. Gardens are blooming. Wildflowers sprout from cracks in the fence posts. Life is stubborn like that.

Or maybe it’s something else. Something quieter.

Because since that night—since Haymitch held you while your ribs cracked open and all the things you swore you’d never say came tumbling out—you’ve been different.

You haven’t said a word about falling asleep like that, your cheek pressed to his chest, his arm still curled around you come morning. Neither has he. When you stirred, still half-lost in sleep, you found him already awake, still and quiet, staring at the ceiling like he’d been doing it for hours.

He didn’t say anything. Just muttered something about needing to refill his flask and wandered off to the kitchen, same as always.

And yet, everything feels different.

Outwardly, things look the same. He still grumbles. You still roll your eyes. Katniss still sighs at both of you. Peeta still coaxes a smile out of you with something sweet or absurd or a bit of both.

But there’s a softness now.

With Haymitch, especially.

You drift toward each other without meaning to. Without saying it. Without touching. Just… quieter. Closer. If he’s sitting on the porch, there’s space beside him, and you always seem to find your way into it. If you’re on the couch, you don’t keep to the opposite corners anymore. You sit close enough that your knees almost touch. Close enough to feel the heat from his arm. Close enough that the quiet feels full.

He doesn’t say anything about it. Neither do you. Maybe it’s better that way.

You’ve started seeking them out more—Haymitch, Peeta, Katniss. On the days when it’s harder to breathe, when the thoughts turn cruel and loud, you go to one of their houses instead of pacing your own. You’ve stopped thinking that you need to handle everything by yourself.

Turns out Haymitch was right.

You don’t.

And they don’t treat you any differently for it. They just make room.

You’re at Peeta and Katniss’s house now, all four of you gathered in the backyard where the breeze still carries a little chill even though the sun’s warm. Peeta’s pulled a small table from inside, and there’s a pitcher of ice-tea and a few mismatched cups on it, along with a plate of lemon cakes he swears are still cooling even though Haymitch already stole one.

“You know,” Haymitch mutters around a mouthful, “you could’ve let these finish cooling before serving them to your beloved guests.”

“You’re not a guest,” Peeta replies. “You’re a local menace.”

Katniss smirks. She’s sitting on the grass, hair braided back, fingers absently spinning a sprig of mint she plucked from the garden.

You’re on the ground beside Haymitch’s chair, your legs stretched out. Close to him without touching. Without thinking. It’s just where you ended up.

“I think the lemon makes up for it,” you say, licking a smear of glaze from your thumb.

Haymitch nudges your knee with the side of his shoe. “Don’t encourage him.”

Peeta just smiles. “She’s got taste. Can’t help that.”

You glance at him, and he catches your eye with that same familiar ease. There’s no hesitation between you anymore. You tell him things now—real things. About your mother. About the nights she threw you in the cellar. About the days she left your ears ringing after deafening screams filled with venom and searing hatred.

He told you about his mother, too.

The belt marks. The slaps. The way she never looked at him like he was anything worth loving.

There were tears in both your eyes when you talked about it, but neither of you cried. Not then. Just shared it, like an old story passed between friends.

And you think—maybe Peeta’s the closest thing you’ve had to a best friend in years.

Katniss stands from the ground and crouches near one of the garden beds, brushing her fingers across the leaves of a flowering plant.

“Yarrow’s thriving,” she says, glancing up at you. “Wanna help me harvest some later?”

You nod. “Yeah. Of course.”

That’s how you and Katniss bond now—over leaves and stems and memories. She tells you stories about her father—how he used to hum when he cooked, how he made up names for plants he didn’t know. You tell her about Dewydd, about Fiza. About how Dewydd used to steal wilted flowers from the trash bins and bring them to you like they were treasures.

There’s grief in it. Of course there is.

But it doesn’t feel quite so heavy when she shares hers too.

Peeta hands you another cake, careful not to drop it. Haymitch steals another. Katniss rolls her eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, you realize the voice in your head isn’t louder than the people around you.

You glance at each of them in turn—Katniss, Peeta, Haymitch—and feel something settle deep in your chest. Not joy, exactly. But something steadier. Something real.

Maybe this is what it means to start again.

You don’t say it. Don’t dare.

But for now, just being here is enough.

You lean back on your hands, the grass cool beneath your palms. Overhead, the sky stretches wide and endless, soft blue with just enough clouds to make it interesting. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the sun press gently against your face.

Haymitch shifts in his chair, and you hear the scrape of wood as he tilts it back on two legs.

“You’re gonna fall,” you murmur without opening your eyes.

“Gonna live a little,” he says, lazy. “Try it sometime.”

You crack one eye open just long enough to smirk. “I think I’ve lived plenty.”

He snorts. “That a threat of a sob story?”

“Maybe.”

Peeta laughs quietly. Katniss tosses the sprig of mint at Haymitch, who swats it away without moving more than an inch.

The breeze picks up again, and you tug your sleeves down over your hands.

“You cold?” Haymitch asks, his voice just low enough for you to know it’s not for anyone else.

You shake your head.

He settles the front legs of his chair back down with a quiet thud and leans forward to snag the pitcher of tea. He refills your cup without asking.

Katniss rises, brushing dirt from her knees. “Come on. Let’s get the yarrow before it gets too hot.”

You push yourself up with a small groan and look at the others. “You two gonna supervise from the shade?”

Peeta nods solemnly. “It’s a vital role.”

Haymitch lifts his cup. “We’ll hold down the table. Make sure nothing escapes.”

You roll your eyes and follow Katniss to the edge of the garden. You crouch beside her, fingers moving through the stems and soil like you’ve been doing it your whole life.

“You’re doing better,” she says quietly, not looking at you.

You glance up. “With the plants?”

“With everything.”

It hits you unexpectedly, the weight of that. Not heavy—just real. A truth you hadn’t noticed growing roots.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

She hands you a sprig. “Here. Start with this one.”

You fall into the rhythm of it, the two of you working side by side in a silence that doesn’t need to be filled. Behind you, you can hear the low murmur of Haymitch and Peeta, the occasional clink of cups, the laughter that rises and falls like wind through leaves.

When you return, arms full of herbs, Peeta’s already laid out clean cloth for sorting. Haymitch has stolen another cake and shows no remorse.

You join them again without thinking. Without asking yourself if you’re allowed to. No voice in your head tells you to leave. No weight on your shoulders says you don’t belong.

And maybe that’s the biggest shift of all.

You sit down in a chair close to Haymitch—just close enough for your knees to brush when you move. He doesn’t move away.

Neither do you.

Katniss drops down in the chair next to Peeta and starts sorting through the bundles of yarrow, separating leaves from stems. You study her for a second before helping, mimicking her method. Peeta watches, then joins you both, scooting his chair closer to Katniss’ so he can reach. Haymitch doesn’t help, but his gaze flickers to the herbs, lingering like he might make a snide comment—but doesn’t.

“You ever think about starting your own garden?” Katniss asks quietly.

You shrug. “Maybe. Haven’t killed anything lately.”

“There’s hope for you yet,” Haymitch mutters.

Peeta hands you a stem. “You could plant mint. You already smell like it half the time.”

You shake your head and chuckle. “That a complaint?”

“Never,” he says with a grin.

You all settle into the rhythm of it—sorting, teasing, sipping tea. Katniss tells you which herbs need to be hung to dry and which can be crushed fresh. Peeta offers suggestions for recipes the yarrow might help with. Haymitch, surprisingly, listens more than he speaks, watching the way the three of you move together like he doesn’t want to disturb it.

The sun shifts higher, casting sharper shadows across the yard. Someone brings out more tea. Another cake disappears. You don’t know how long you’ve been out here, but it doesn’t matter.

Because for once, the day isn’t something you need to survive.

It’s something you get to have.

As the shadows stretch longer and the warmth fades from the breeze, Peeta stands and stretches, glancing toward the house. “I should start dinner.”

Katniss rises with him. “I’ll help.”

You and Haymitch gather the last of the herbs and carry them inside, trailing after them into the kitchen, where the light is golden and soft. Peeta moves with easy confidence, pulling out vegetables from the basket on the counter. Katniss starts chopping with practiced precision.

You take up a spot at the table while Haymitch leans against the counter, watching like he might say something sarcastic but doesn’t. There’s something comforting about it—all of it. The way they move around each other. The sounds of chopping, sizzling, quiet jokes passed back and forth.

Dinner is simple. Bread and soup, roasted vegetables, lemon cakes for dessert. The four of you gather around the kitchen table, elbows bumping and laughter filling the space like it belongs there. Haymitch grumbles about the soup being too hot, Katniss smirks, Peeta insists it’s perfect. You just smile and eat.

After, the plates are stacked in the sink, left for tomorrow. No one rushes to leave.

You all drift into the living room. Peeta and Katniss settle on the loveseat, shoulders touching, voices low as they talk about something only half serious.

You end up on the couch. Haymitch joins you without hesitation.

This time, there’s no space between you.

Your knees touch.

Haymitch leans back, one arm thrown over the back of the couch behind you, not quite touching. His knee stays pressed to yours, warm against your leg.

“So,” he says, voice low. “You finally learning the difference between yarrow and dandelion, or is Katniss just humoring you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Please. I’m practically an expert now. I’ve only misidentified poison once this week.”

He snorts. “Impressive. Let me know when it kills someone. I’ll plan a party.”

“Don’t worry,” you say sweetly. “I’ve saved a batch just for you.”

His mouth twitches, just barely. “Knew you were keeping herbs in your house for a reason.”

“Murder’s a reason,” you reply, sipping your tea like it’s innocent. “Not a good one. But a reason.”

“You ever think you missed your calling as a vaguely threatening apothecary?”

You glance at him sidelong. “You ever think you missed yours as a professional grump?”

“Professional? Honey, I’m top tier.”

You grin. “I don’t know. Peeta’s giving you a run for your money lately. He sighed dramatically at a pie the other day.”

Haymitch huffs. “That’s just baking passion. Doesn’t count.”

“Pretty sure it counts. It was a very theatrical sigh. There was arm flailing.”

“Bet he didn’t threaten to haunt anyone if it turned out overbaked.”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider. “No, but he did say he’d cry.”

“Same thing.”

You laugh, and something about the sound seems to make him pause, just for a second, before he mutters, “You’re getting mouthier.”

“You’re getting slower,” you fire back. “That last insult had at least three seconds of hesitation.”

He looks over at you fully now, eyes narrowing just slightly. “I was being gentle. Didn’t want to hurt your fragile ego.”

You lean a little closer, just to make the point. “You couldn’t hurt my ego if you tried.” That’s a complete lie, he definitely could and he knows it, but neither of you acknowledge the fact.

His gaze flicks down to your mouth, then back up again. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It’s not,” you say, a little too quickly.

He smirks, but doesn’t push. Just leans back into the couch again, arm still behind you, fingers drumming lightly against the cushion.

The banter eases into silence, but it’s not awkward. Just easy. Like the rest of the day.

Across the room, Katniss says something under her breath and Peeta chuckles, leaning closer to whisper something back. You glance at them, then back at Haymitch, who’s still watching you like he’s waiting for you to start something again.

So you do.

“You’re not gonna steal another lemon cake, are you?”

He shrugs. “I could.”

“You shouldn’t.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Gonna stop me?”

You match the look. “Might.”

He leans in slightly, voice quiet. “I’d like to see you try.”

You don’t rise to the bait this time. Just smirk and shake your head.

He shakes his head, smiling into his flask. “Mouthier every damn day.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “You saying you don’t like it?”

“Didn’t say that,” he mutters, and takes a long sip. Then, casually, “Keeps me on my toes.”

You laugh softly. “You? On your toes? That I’d like to see.”

He nudges your knee with his. “Careful. I’ve got moves you’ve never dreamed of.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

His smile twitches wider. “Depends how fast you duck.”

You snort. “Please. I’d dodge you with time to spare.”

“You think pretty highly of your reflexes for someone who walked into a wall last week.”

“That wall was aggressive,” you reply primly. “And poorly placed.”

“Sure,” he says, deadpan. “Let’s blame the architecture.”

Your shoulder brushes his side as you shift to get more comfortable. Neither of you comment on it.

Peeta and Katniss are still murmuring on the loveseat, their heads tilted together, some private joke between them drawing quiet laughter.

You glance toward them, then back at Haymitch. “Think they ever run out of things to say?”

He eyes them with mock suspicion. “I think they’re conspiring.”

You lower your voice, conspiratorial. “What do you think it’s about?”

“Probably how to annoy me.”

You nod solemnly. “Understandable.”

Haymitch glances at you again, his gaze lingering just a second too long. “You always like this after lemon cake?”

You lean your head back against the couch, smiling up at the ceiling. “Only when it’s good.”

He chuckles low under his breath. “Noted.”

The silence stretches again—companionable, unhurried. Your knees still touch. His arm stays draped behind you.

[umikawa]

a/n: commission for an anon who gave permission to post (thank you again!!! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡)

gen asagiri x gn!reader | 1.7k wc | no warnings, modern day, y/n is an assistant for another magician, gen is hopeless and a little too relatable to me I fear, erm yeah 👍

Gen’s stuck. 

Figuratively and literally. A magic trick gone wrong, as well as an entirely useless (flakey) assistant who he’s sure was only after a good paycheck, left him dangling by his legs. 

God. It really cannot get worse than this.

“Gen?” 

Oh, for ucks-fay sake. 

At the sound of your voice, he’s quick to sputter, trying to look as cool and calm as possible in this situation. “Ah, Y/n, my dear! What a pleasure seeing you here. Are you in need of assistance?” 

“I’m not.” You laugh nervously, watching him swing from side to side with his hands tucked into his sleeves. “Are you…okay?” The question comes out with hesitation. Though you knew the answer, part of you wanted to see if he’d come up with some excuse.

“I’m perfect! This is all a part of an elaborate trick of mine– but I can’t release the etails-day yet, can’t have you stealing it, hahaaa!” His voice goes out near the end, and he watches your lips quirk up into an amused smile– of course, Gen’s an entertainer. He’s not the type to ask for something so blatantly. 

You step back, and Gen’s hands reach out instinctively when the heels of your feet come close to the edge– as if he could do anything to help in his predicament. “How do I get you down from there?” 

“Er–” he assesses himself, looking backstage at a comical outline of where his assistant stood. “In the back, over there— they may be a lever that lowers me down.” You waltz over to it, eyes raking over the miscellaneous levers until you spot the one with a tiny doodle of his face. 

“I’ll let you down easy.” 

Gen smiles to himself. He hopes that’s the only time he’ll hear those words. “Thank you, dear.” 

The rope holding him swings his body the second you begin lowering him down. He panics on the inside, but the suave smile he always keeps on his face remains intact. He feels the ground beneath him, thanking whatever force brought you to him. 

Huh. 

He looks to the side when he sees your shoes come into sight, trailing his eyes towards your face. He sputters when your hand touches his forehead, heat creeping up his neck. “Y/n?” 

“You were upside down for a while, weren’t you?” You squat down to his level, brushing the hair away from his face. “Is your head okay?”

“I’m…” he trails off, heartbeat suffocating in his ears. You’re too close. Dazed and confused by his emotions, he looks off to the side– it’s too much. “I’m quite alright!” He laughs, picking himself up from the floor hastily. “I eally-ray owe you one, Y/n! I’ll see you later, bye.” 

You watch as he leaves with haste, sending one last smile before pushing open the double doors to exit the building. A frown makes its way to your face at his departure– were the rumors true? 

Did Gen really not like you anymore?

———

In the solitude of his apartment, Gen nearly falls to his knees the moment he steps foot inside, embarrassment and guilt rushing into him at the remembrance of leaving you alone so abruptly. 

He had to. 

He always felt weird around you. He couldn’t decipher it as jealousy or— 

No. That couldn’t be it, could it? Surely not! He laughs, holding his head in his palm– maybe he did suffer from being upside down. 

Yes, that’s it. Definitely nothing else. Definitely. 

He picks himself up from the ground, toeing off his shoes, and shuffles to the bathroom– rolling his eyes at the sight of his flushed face after thinking of you. It’s from hanging upside down. He reminds himself. 

The shower faucet drips to life, rushing water spewing out while the filter does little to suppress the pressure. He’d have to call that in soon. As he steps under the water, his hair annoyingly sticks to his face before he can clip it away; he wondered frequently if he should cut it off, but– 

You really liked it. 

You saw it as a trademark, braided it, and messed with it during break periods before he started avoiding you, saying it was what made him: him. 

He was grateful for you, always cheering him up after an unfulfilling show, being there for him when he needed it– being you. 

Gen lowers his head with a sigh, letting the water wash away the thoughts irritatingly consuming his mind. He had other things to worry about and figure out– he couldn’t let everything drift back to you, even if it did. 

It always does. 

Frustration fills his body, and his fist knocks against the shower wall. He hates this. It isn’t like him at all. He was supposed to be suave, smooth-tongued, and a manipulator. 

Was this what falling in love was really like? 

——

The next day, you catch Gen taping ‘help wanted’ signs on the theater’s front window, a distant look on his face, tired– in multiple ways. His eyes drift to the side, to you, and you replace the frown that sets on your face with a welcoming smile, hoping to crack one out of him. 

His lips curve upward slowly, cheek twitching like it was physically painful for him to simply smile. He adds a small wave, tracking you as you enter the building. 

“Good morning, Y/n.” His voice sounds like usual. Sweet, smooth, enthusiastic. More importantly, he’s not trying to run away. 

Your eyes trail over his face again, piquing his curiosity and prompting him to tilt his head. “How are you, Gen?” 

“Ah~ I'm doing well, my dear. Just an estless-ray night– new neighbors, you know how that goes.” You hum. He can tell you're not convinced– not even the slightest bit. 

Instead of pressing further, you point back to the flyer he hung up, “Fired that assistant, I presume?” 

“Well, leaving me dangling sort of goes against my terms of service. It was a reasonable termination.” He smiles in amusement, raising a hand to his hand over his mouth. “Why do you ask? Could it be that you’re interested?” 

“Yes.” 

Gen freezes, lowering his hand slowly– shakily. “Pardon me?” 

“I’m interested.” He blinks, confused and dazed. Unsuspecting of your words, genuinely caught off guard. “That is– if you don’t have any reason to deny me.” 

“I–” He hesitates, biting his tongue when you look at him expectantly with your arms crossed. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“That’s the first.” Gen blinks. Your voice is strained. Resigned. As if you wished you didn’t have to say that. “It’s fine. I should go.” 

His fingers latch around your wrist before he can even comprehend his own actions, and only when you gasp in shock does he realize what he did. He lets go quickly, stammering out an apology while you just stood there staring at him– analyzing him– like he was a museum display. 

And then you speak. Once again, he’s caught off guard by your words—a question he never thought you’d ask him. 

“Why don’t you like me, Gen?” 

God, your tone of voice feels like something had ripped his heart out and stomped on it. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He can’t say anything– nothing came to his mind at all. 

“I miss how we used to be.” You say, eyes cast to the floor, brows furrowed– like you were angry. “When you weren’t avoiding me– I–” A pause, likely to gather yourself before you started ranting. “What did I do wrong?” 

“Nothing!” It comes out before he can think, another painful silence casting over both of you. He fidgets, hands twitching at his sides as sweat forms along his hairline. He had to think. 

You raise a brow when he chuckles quietly, lowering his head into his palm. “My dear, it’s quite the opposite.” His tone shifts, calm and timid, with a barely noticeable shake. “I get quite restless around you.” 

“Because…?” You trail off, heartbeat picking up when he steps closer, attempting to make himself appear taller as he looks at you. Your eyes snap to his arm that curls around your waist, then you feel it,

He’s trembling. 

“I didn’t know what it was at first, though maybe I did, but it pissed me off to no end.” Your eyes dart over his face, an agitated grin on his lips. “The irritable feeling in my chest whenever you were around, how I couldn’t stop thinking about you, the avoidance.” 

Your hand grabs his bicep, his eyes snapping to it before he pulls you closer. “It all made sense to me when I stopped denying it.” His grip falters slightly when you squeeze, loosening his hold on you. “The feeling I had for you wasn’t dislike.” 

“I was falling in love. Genuinely this time, I’m sure.”  

 Gen releases you slowly, taking a step back to give you space to absorb the confession he just dropped. Your expression doesn’t change from shock, hand still raised like you’d become frozen by his words. He takes it gently, lowering it to your side– he was getting restless, but he’d stand there for hours waiting for a response if he had to. 

“Being in love with me pisses you off?” Gen raises a brow, looking to the side as he tries to justify his words. But before he could, you start to speak again, “I guess I shouldn’t apply to be your assistant then.” 

“Eh?”

“I mean– if you’re so pissed off by just loving me, who knows what you’ll be like when we work together as a couple.” 

Gen blinks. Did he hear that right?

“You can't possibly mean–”

“I do. But you wouldn’t have noticed it since you were avoiding me.” He frowns at the blunt jab at his wrongdoings, nodding in dismay and accepting his actions. “We won’t be some magician 'it couple.' It’s too cliche for me.” 

“Of course, I wouldn’t be able to pay you as much as your current magician anyway.” He shrugs in dismissal, smiling at the quick shift of conversation. “So it’s official? I’ve successfully manipulated you into falling for me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, Gen, or make yourself seem like a bad guy.” He jolts when your hands reach his face, cupping his cheeks gently. “You wouldn’t need a hint of manipulation to make me fall for someone like you.” 

[themildestofwriters]

Don't got much artistic talent, but I can tell you how I'd depict him if I could. So, here's a description.

The first thing you notice is that he's tall. Of the cast, he's probably the tallest, especially with his antlers. One could mistake him for a tree, and he has slain many by simply blending in to the forests of Spring -- no shapeshifting necessary, though it certainly helps. On top of being tall, he is incredibly lanky -- willowy would be a good description, like a spindly tree stretching up to the sunlight.

He's not quite handsome as he is pretty, a very feminine appearance with soft features. He's the classic faerie archetype, and you could see him prancing through the groves with a band of faeries, dancing and performing music that'd ensnare any unfortunate passer's by. Yet, his features can be... uncanny to mortals. Inhuman, naturally. He's not just a man with pointed ears, but more the primordial embodiment of the forests, of spring. He is always in motion, always changing -- subtly changing, so subtle that you might not know what it is that unnerves you, but you know deep in our heart that he's... different. Different from anything else, and different from even himself the day before.

His hair is like liquid gold, pouring down his hair in rivers. It's often braided, bound together by thin yet deceptively strong vines blooming with life -- flowers, leaves, thorns. Alongside, he has antlers but they're not quite antler-antlers, rather they're more akin to branches that curve into a grand display, and are positively rife with foliage. Vines drape around his head, like a crown, reminiscent of a canopy. These antler-branches, however, shift with his mood, bursting with jagged thorns when wroth, yet filling with green when at peace. He can hide this, but it takes effort on his part.

His ears are long and sharply pointed and, while Tamlin isn't that interested in jewellery, they're both adorned with a smattering piercings that favour one ear. These piercings, along with a few bangles and bracelets with strong sentimental value, are the only jewellery you'd find him wearing beyond, say, his signet ring.

And then there are his eyes, slitted like a cat's and such a deep green that they could swallow you whole. Few would dare stare him in the eyes, not just out of fear, out of respect, but because staring into those eyes leaves many feeling as if they were in the primeval forests of creation -- a place they do not belong; a place they are not wanted; and a place where they are hunted.

As for his clothing, it's practical, designed for rangings in the forests of Spring, and for maximum mobility in a fight. He doesn't look for fights, but he dresses for one. They're thin and breathable, rife with natural colours -- green and brown and the like-- with a few richer colours scattered throughout, like gold and red. Style-wise, they're cross between robes and tunics, knee length and draping across his lean body. He does not wear shoes, and walks upon his toes.

Expression-wise, he's a solemn boy, even before Amarantha, before UTM, before Feyre. A natural brooder3, through and through, who oft looks in deep thought. Lucian jokes that he's a sad little puppy dog, which often earns a glare. Yet, many seem drawn to this sullen, towering puppy.

He wields a claymore fit for his size, which makes it an outrageous weapon, and is strong enough to wield it in one hand. With his strength, speed, and reach, few can hope to get close enough to attack without him being able to slice them in two.

DRAW YOUR TAMLIN!

We all know how High Lord is blonde and beautiful, with green eyes and the ability to shapeshift into an antlered bear-wolf, but we all also have our little headcanons for his appearance. Does he always have his antlers? A tail? Is he more lithe with hidden strength or a big, bulky male? What about his outfit?

With @geniemillies help, we have these doodle templates and we want YOU to fill out with how you see Tamlin! You don't need to be an artist, we love silly drawings too!

[wlwsoccerfics]

The Thing about pain (AyakaYamashitaXRoordReader)

Summary: you don't feel well and give your girlfriend a little scare.

You felt dizzy all morning, because one of your migraines was creeping up on you. Ayaka, your girlfriend of almost a year noticed it right away that something was off.

"Babe? What is wrong?" She asked when she saw you leaning against a Wall in the changing rooms.

"nothing, everything is fine." You told her, not wanting to worry her. Your girlfriend knew that this wasn't true but she didn't push you to talk, not yet at least. But she did have her suspicion that this was about your migraine bothering you. That's what she thought right away when she had picked you up for practice thirty minutes ago.

"please tell me when you need to rest up." She said, voice full of concern.

"i will Babe." You answered, trying to offer her a soft smile. But it was obvious how much this hurt.

You walked out onto the trainings pitch. Next to you were Jill and Viv. Jill was your sister. She was a year older then you.

"you okay, kiddo?" She asked.

"i am fine." You stated , but started swaying. Before you could pass out from the pain and Hit the ground, your sister and best friend catched you right away.

"y/n!" Viv replied.

"Ayaka!" Your sister yelled for your girlfriend, who quickly looked around and ran over. Scooping you into her arms.

"Babe? Hey love, wake up." She said softly.

Walking to the medics room with you. Followed by your sister and your best friend. You let out a soft groan. You felt like your head was about to explode. Tears streaming down your face.

"love, hey i am so glad you are awake." Your girlfriend whispered out.

"the medic is grabbing your migraine meds, so you can take them and feel better!" Viv let you know.

"i am sorry for not being honest with your Guys about not Feeling very well!" You answered. The medic handing you some water and your meds, which you gladly took.

"you scared the crap out of me!" Your girlfriend told you.

"i am sorry." You said again.

"next time just tell us you have a migraine. You could have gotten really hurt fainting out there!" Jill replied.

While Viv and Jill went back to practice, your girlfriend took you home. Driving carefully so you head wasn't gonna hurt even more.

Her Hand squeezing yours every now and then. Cause you had your hand on her knee.

When you reached home she was right by your side, holding you up so you wouldn't faint again. She laid you down on your bed and took off your shoes. Closing the curtains so you wouldn't have to Deal with the sunlight outside.

"Love? Is there anything i can do for you?" Ayaka asked. You sniffled softly. Trying to breath through the pain.

"could you cudlde me, please? That's all i want right now, Angel." You whispered out. She carefully climbed into bed with you. Pulling you close. You were hiding your face in her chest. Closing your eyes.

"sleep well, beautiful." She whispered out, holding you close. "I Love you." Was the last thing you heard before sleep took over your Body.

[marvelhead17]

─── Heat of the Moment (Dean Winchester x Female Reader)───

The boys had left you alone in the bunker, insisting that it was only a two person job, you reluctantly decided that they would be alright without the extra hand.

In the time that they had been gone so far you had managed to dust the library (with lots of regrettable coughing and sneezing to follow), sorted all the laundry and cleaned all the dishes from the weeks’ worth that had been left by the sink.

You were quite annoyed that you had nothing to do, and even more so with nobody to talk to, as even Castiel was away doing angel business.

An idea suddenly hit you and you began to rummage through your bag, you lifted your fist with triumph and then unravelled the earphones. It had been some time since you had listened to your own music, on the road Dean was the one who called the shots, so Sam and you had to endure several repeats on the longer drives.

You plugged them into your MP3 player and began to lose yourself in the words and melodies, your foot tapped and your head began swinging side to side as the energy flowed through you, the world outside was completely blocked from your mind now.

Taking a full grasp on the fact that nobody was around to hear you, you began to sing along to some of the songs. Within moments your shoes were on the floor along with your jacket and you started to move out of the boundaries of your room into the rest of the bunker.

Your socks were slightly slippery on the wooden floor but it only added to the fun, you began mimicking the strumming of the guitar, you envisioned a huge concert cheering and applauding you for how talented and amazing you were.

The words spilled out of your mouth into your invisible microphone, “Heat of the moment!” you turned to strike the final pose to your adoring audience and froze in the spot. Sam and Dean stood by the walkway looking very amused at you. You faltered a bit and removed your earphones quickly, unable to say anything to them.

“Practising your audition for The Voice (Y/N)?” Sam asked, “Don’t let us interrupt.” He chuckled and walked out of the room.

Dean’s eyes were fixated on yours, you felt your face heating up but for some reason your eyes refused to move away. His mouth gave a small smirk.

“So Asia huh?” he asked. You only nodded and rubbed your arm sheepishly. He turned to go to his bedroom and looked over his shoulder, “You sounded great (Y/N).” with a wink and left.

* * *

Later that evening you were sitting in your bedroom with the door closed, quietly singing along to your music, despite the awkward encounter earlier there was no mention of it at dinner, only talk about the hunt and where they should all go to for the next trip.

You hadn’t heard the click of your door opening, nor had you seen Dean entering it quietly. He watched as you sang happily along to an instrumental song, slowly he snuck over to you and lowered himself onto the bed, feeling the bed move slightly you opened your eyes and jumped.

“Dean!” you yelled and hit him hard on the shoulder, well as hard as you could, you were a bit shaken from his sudden appearance. “Sorry!” he put his hands up, “I didn’t mean to scare you- I” “Well you did asshat, what the hell are you doing in here?” you huffed. “I was about to grab a beer when I heard you singing again,” he rubbed the back of his head, “You have a beautiful voice, like an angel, I-I couldn’t resist.”

Your cheeks felt hot and Dean smiled sheepishly. Your eyes fluttered to his eyes, the dim light in the room made them look exceptionally welcoming, your gaze met his lips. They looked soft and kissable, very kissable.

A rough hand touched your cheek and you felt a warm soft feeling press firmly against your lips, you realised he was kissing you and you closed your eyes to take in the moment, your hand rested on his chest and lightly tugged at his shirt to hold him in place.

His lips moved slowly against yours and your heart beat heavily in your chest, you wanted this moment to last forever, unfortunately humans needed oxygen and you both parted from each other steadily.

“I guess you could say that was the ‘heat of the moment’,” he chuckled at his own bad joke. You gently shoved him with a playful laugh before kissing his lips tenderly, “You’re terrible Dean Winchester.” You smiled and held his chiselled cheek lovingly. He smiled which made crinkles form by his eyes that were looking so lovingly at you, “I’m also falling terribly in love with you,” he said softly, in hopes that you didn’t actually hear him.

He watched as your eyes sparkled and the words, “I’m in love with you too.” Left your lips and made his heart flutter uncontrollably. His lips pressed against yours once again and you both smiled.

* * *

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[ultimate-shiruba]

A bit late, but I did want to do this eventually with some of my OCs.

I think I will start with my draco lizard, Obligate Draco Obani.

1. Obligate was an OC intended for a fanfiction of mine, "Once Bitten, Twice Hidden". He was intended to be a nod to the character Ghiaccio from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure at first, as well as act as a foil to Professor Von Schlemmer as a highly strung and short tempered engineer who is fantastic at replicating technology, but struggles to invent anything new. He has since evolved into his own person.

2. His favourite colour depends on his mood. His main colour is a sandy yellow, with blue eyes and black gloves and platform shoes.

3. Obligate is an Aries. While he is unsure about astrology, he does have an open mind to the existence of magic and the supernatural, despite being a scientist.

4. Obligate and I both have ADHD and High Functioning Autism. However, I have a significantly better temper. I am not as smart as him though.

5. Comprachicos by Pendulum. However Talk by Coldplay can also be applicable to him.

6. He has a couple hidden scars on his body. A faded one on his head from an experimental operation on him as a baby, and scars on the sides of his body where his fins were cut off.

7. Obligate is very passionate about the potential to reverse-engineer magic and prove its existence using Science. He has gotten close indeed...

8. He has a complicated relationship with Professor Von Schlemmer. However he is the closest thing Obligate has to a friend, even if they don't always get along. Unfortunately, The Professor himself however.. Often forgets that the lizard even exists... As well as forgot that they were once really close friends...

9. He is infamous in Onyx City with the reputation of a plagiarist with a horrific temper.

10. Survival tools, some snacks and water, and some of his devices and inventions, leaving almost everything else behind.

11. He doesn't often have reason to smile. However he may smile during a nervous breakdown, when someone manages to make him laugh, or in the company of someone he trusts. The latter rarely happens for him though...

12. He likes all kinds of music he can dance to or sing along to. He isn't picky.

13. He has no piercings. However he does have two transceivers on his head that was surgically placed there against his will and a prosthetic tail Schlemmer built for him (the Drachenkraft) after losing his own in an accident. He tries to avoid any body alterations where possible if he can help it.

14. His earliest memory is being yelled at by a scientist for showing developmental delays. He tries not to remember much of his childhood if he can help it...

15. He dresses in a white lab coat with black electrician gloves and platform boots with boosted heels. He likes to think of himself as a sort of punk scientist.

16. Like Professor Von Schlemmer, he is straight but asexual, however he also leans more to the demisexual umbrella. He fell in love with a dragon once.

17. He is temperamental, aggressive and impatient at times, but he is also highly empathetic and doesn't like seeing other people in pain. If he sees someone in need, he is willing to help them. However he doesn't take kindly to being taken advantage of and will carry out petty retribution should that happen.

18. He is fond of very spicy curries (he can't taste spicy foods, so the spice is more to prevent people stealing it). But if he had the option in Onyx City, he also enjoys sweet cakes, scones with jam and cream, and hotpot.

19. I am skipping this question because I legit don't have an answer.

20. He will tell the story of a dragon he once fell in love with. It is a true story, but not many people believe it.

21. His teacher back in his student days, Miss Moria Hearn (another OC) is someone he looked heavily up to.

22. Obligate is most often in his own labs in the Yellow Class science centre district of Onyx City, however he can also often be found in the Night Market peddling hand crafted weapons to barter for food or scrap metal. He can be encountered easily if one knew where to look and can stand out quickly when he is worked up.

23. He has an artificial AI Assistant, Bit. A holographic clump of polygons that can only say Yes or No. It was his attempt to reverse-engineer Schlemmer's artificial assistants of similar names. He wouldn't mind a proper pet one day if he could guarantee its safety and guarantee time to care for one.

24. He doesn't know his biological parents. His father figure was a human scientist known as Dr. Obani. He also has two older siblings, an oldest brother named Douglas Gemini Obani, and an older sister named Omnigela Pollux Obani. He hates his "Father" with a passion and has a very rough relationship with his siblings.

25. Many. From his attire to the shape of his snout to the transceivers on his head and the gloves and shoes he wears. My friend @hel-helly actually helped me finalise his design.

26. He would cry to "It Only Takes A Moment". It reminds him of a love he lost, and one he never truly moved on from.

27. If he was in his own media, it would be an Action RPG as he goes around Onyx City either jumping through Genesis Portals into the unknown and facing surprises on the other side, or fighting various monsters that attack at night in the citadel.

28. Obligate is in the middle of good and evil. All it would take to push him to be a villain is nobody caring about his existence and starving him of kindness of decency too long. To make him good, all it would take is a little kindness and company that is genuine towards him.

29. He would get along best with Professor Von Schlemmer. However he would also get along well with Silver the Hedgehog as well. He would take a while to warm up to Gold the Tenrec however. He would also relate to Shadow's grief and find some kinship with the Ultimate Lifeform.

30. He would absolutely despise Dr. Starline and if they met, Obligate would do everything in his power to make the platypus suffer slowly and painfully. He would also not get along at all with Dr. Eggman either. He has met neither of those villains.

31. He doesn't celebrate his birthday too much, but he would try to take it easy on special occasions.

32. One love interest in particular. A red dragon named Mercia he crossed paths with once. He swore his heart to her and hopes ro find her again. Eventually he will, and he will be one happy draco lizard. However, in other continuities, he finds love elsewhere. In one cracked AU (non canon), he even falls in love with Professor Von Schlemmer.

33. If he had musical talent, he would probably play either piano or violin.

34. He liked to sing and dance. He also loved to binge old science fiction movies.

35. Obligate is missing his dewlap, his fins, and his tail. He is insecure about his missing body parts.

36. Obligate works primarily as technical support for Onyx City. He does a lot of IT work, but also works to repair broken Civil Protection Robots as well. He hates his job with a passion but prides himself in being extremely good at it.

37. Obligate doesn't trust others that easily. He is often prickly and on-guard with most people until he can judge if they mean him any harm or not.

38. If he received a Hammer from Amy, his hammer would be one that creates pulses of electricity when it hits the ground.

39. If Obligate was in a Sonic Game, his play style would be somewhat of a boost gameplay with bonus air time coming from a pair of mechanical wings he invented for himself. Maybe with elements of Shadow's Chaos Control abilities from Shadow Generations for brief moments of fast reflex times.

40. Obligate likes to sing and dance. He is not a good actor however, despite being a bit theatrical in his reactions.

41. Obligate believes in the concept of fate and hopes to prove it exists one day. However, he is not fond of his misfortunes.

42. His childhood bedroom would have been very blank and featureless besides a bed, a study, and a bookshelf with academic books in it. He doesn't like to talk about it...

43. Obligate likes to sit on his tail or the Drachenkraft from time to time to think. However he is quite fidgety and will often change poses or expressions when lost in thought. He is also prone to tapping his head with his fingers or tapping the heels of his boots together.

44. Obligate is very intelligent. He can reverse engineer almost anything and is fantastic at coding and hacking into things. He is also a natural problem solver and is capable of tinkering and building devices in direct response to problems. He is also fairly observant. He lack common sense sometimes, and is not very creative. He is also socially awkward.

45. If he was canon or popular, I suspect he would be most shipped with Professor Von Schlemmer due to their chemistry interacting with one another.

46. Obligate would watch shows like the original Twilight Zone, and the original Star Trek. He would also watch the entirety of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

47. He actually can wear headphones. His ears are in a more human-like position on his head, they are just small holes in his head. However he struggles to wear his glasses and has to use tape to keep them on his head.

48. Depends on the level of terror, but Obligate is prone to freezing. If he manages to push past it, he will go into flight response. If backed into a corner, he will fight.

49. He can operate almost all vehicles with the same level of skill... In that he will manage to crash almost every form of vehicle in existence including Extreme Gear. He claims it's back luck, but most say it's skill issue.

50. Obligate thinks lowly of his appearance.

51. If Obligate was a robot, he would probably go insane.

52. Obligate would absolutely excel in game shows about trivia. He would likely be accused of cheating however.

53. Obligate has two siblings. His older brother is brain damaged and struggles with basic living. His sister is street smart and brutal. Omnigela also has written a fair amount of "Schlemmgate" fics and sells them at the Night Market out of spite. Obligate is most like his sister in the sense of being equally petty and spite driven at times. They get along like electricity and water.

54. Obligate loves karaoke. He would probably pick Bad Apple.

55. Obligate would have a more mellowed temper in 10 years. Depending on where his life leads, he would also be a proud father and try to be involved with his child(ren), and try to not be anything like his own "Father".

56. Obligate would celebrate holidays like Christmas, New Years, and occasional gag holiday like international Pancake Day. He wouldn't do much to celebrate unless he had someone to celebrate with however.

56 SONIC OC QUESTIONS

I've done 8 weeks of daily posting Sonic OC questions for anyone who feels like to answer, and now I'm having a break. Seemed a waste to not put them out here for you in a list/ tag game!

When and why did you make your Sonic OC?

What's your OCs favourite colour, their theme colour, and their fur/ secondary colours?

What's your OCs horoscope, and do they believe in it, or any equivalent?

How are you and your OC similar? How are they different?

Song Saturday! Drop a song that most closely describes their story/ life

What's the one detail of your OC you can never find in a picrew?

What's your OCs passion? Are they good at it?

Who is your OCs best friend? Do they consider your OC to be their best friend?

Is your OC famous in universe? If they are or were, what would it be for?

What would your OC pack in their bag if they had to leave home for good?

Does your OC smile often? What's their smile like?

Song Saturday! What's a song your Sonic OC would jam to?

Has your Sonic OC got any piercings/ dyed their hair/ fur/ any other cosmetic alterations? Would they?

What's your OCs earliest memory?

What style does your OC dress in? Is it the one they would like to wear?

Is your Sonic OC LGBT? In what way?

How kind is your OC?

What's your OC's comfort food?

Song Saturday! Drop a song by an artist who sounds a bit like their voice!

What's a story your OC tells others about themselves? Is it true?

Whos your OCs idol? Can be another OC, someone in the cast, or a real life person

Where can we most commonly find your OC? Where will we never find them?

Does your Sonic Oc have any pets? Would they want one/ any more?

Does your Sonic OC have parents? Hows their relationship with any family?

How many design iterations has your Sonic OC been through?

Song Saturday! What's a song your Sonic OC would cry to?

If your Sonic OC were the star of their own show/ game/ comic, what would the genre be? What would they do?

If your Sonic OC is good, what would make them a villain? If they are a villain, what would make them good?

Who would your OC get on best with in the sonic cast? Have they met them?

Who would your OC NOT get on with in the Sonic cast? Have they met them?

What does your Sonic OC do for their birthday? Or other special occasions?

Does your Sonic OC have any love interests? Will it work out?

Song ish Saturday! What instrument would your Sonic OC most likely play?

What was your OC's favourite thing to do/ game as a child?

What is your Sonic OC most insecure about their appearance?

Does your Sonic OC have a job? Will they ever/ always have one?

How easily does your OC trust people?

If your OC received a hammer from Amy, what would it look like?

If your OC was in a sonic game, what would their playstyle be?

Music-based saturday - has your Sonic OC ever acted? Were they or would they be any good?

Does your OC believe in fate? Do they like it?

What's your Sonic OCs childhood bedroom like, if they had one?

Can your Sonic OC sit still? If they fidget, how do they do so?

How clever is your Sonic OC? Define clever as you wish

If your OC became popular or canon, who do you think they'd be shipped with the most based on vibes and chemistry?

What kind of TV shows would your Sonic OC watch?

Vaguely on the concept of music or songs saturday: Can your Sonic OC wear headphones?

Is your Sonic OC a fight or flight? Or freeze, or fawn, or flop?

Can your OC ride a bike, drive a car, sail a boat or fly a plane?

Does your OC think they are beautiful?

If your OC were a robot, how would they look and act? What would they do? If your OC is a robot, what would they be if they were not a robot?

How well would your OC do on gameshows?

If your OC has siblings, how alike are they? If they have none, would they want siblings?

Tangentially Song Saturday; is your OC brave enough for karaoke? And if they had to, what would they pick?

How do you see your OC changing in ten years?

Does your OC do any festivities/ holidays? What do they do for them?

I love reading about your OCs! I will try to shoot an ask to anyone who rbs this, so please tag your OCs by name if you want specific qs!

[linterteatime]

Young goobers, so silly...

[pens-and-paperbacks]

"Vander and Silvo grew up like brothers! Them being together is weird!"

Ok, listen. You're valid, but listen. In the original universe we get, I completely agree. Vander nearly killing Silco and them fighting for dominance of Zaun is brother vs brother, power vs power activity. I don't think that universe went any further. There was no room for it to go beyond that betrayal and bitter feelings.

Within the Timebomb universe however I think they became something more after reconciling.

The letter was found, they talked it out, probably fought (which, head cannon, probably left Vander with a new scar somewhere we didn't see) but after that I think they saw each other in a new light. They were now on completely even footing, fighting for the exact same vision of Zaun in the exact same way, through peace vs violence because now they've seen what violence brings and they don't want that to happen ever again.

They don't want to lose each other again.

They only really had each other, Powder and Vi to take care of after losing their parents, which is what probably got them thinking about being together as a couple of they hadn't been thinking about it already.

I just can't read their reactions/looks in that universe in any other way. It's just too tender? I just look at them looking at each other and see, "unwavering devotion."

Two kings rule over Zaun in that universe and they're very happily married, despite everything that's happened. Because how could they not be after everything that's happened?