#and how none of the so called imperfections could take anything away from it because it was a pure gift from his granddaughter who he loves | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miryum · 4 months

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The Canary and the Robin (Jason Todd x Reader)

Summary: You find Jason being tortured by the Joker and decided to take him in, imperfections and all. If he happens to be your soulmate, so be it

Warnings: I know reader acts like a white person in a horror movie but bear with me, OOC Talia, descriptions of torture, Joker hurting Jason, descriptions of flashbacks of torture, allusions to sexual assault from the Joker unto Jason but not descriptive at all, panic attack, ignore locations and timelines, timer soulmates once they turn 8, swearing, a lotta angst (literally starts out with Jason’s funeral), but happy ending, hurt/comfort, Jason doesn’t have guns or an autopsy scar in this cause he’s Robin still and lemme tell you it’s so unnatural for me to write him without those, perspective switching, conscious wording (so everything is written like that for a reason), Jason’s awful parents and their drinking and harassment (just descriptions on them yelling and drinking and smoking), spoilers to Great Gatsby, kinda open ended, but also not at all? if that makes sense, lemme know if I missed anything

Word Count: 12k so grab some snacks and tissues

Canary in a coal mine is a common term meant to describe something that’s unusually sensitive to conditions that make it a useful early indicator of negatively changing circumstances.

Jason’s funeral was on May 16th, just eight months after he had been taken by the Joker. Alfred had chosen daisies, lilacs, and lotuses for the flowers, but Bruce brought a bouquet of hyacinths to lay on his son’s casket. As much as Bruce Wayne liked to flaunt his wealth, these hyacinths were hand pulled from his own gardens. Roots and dirts still clung to the end of the stems when Jason’s coffin was lowered into the ground.

Dick had come in from Bludhaven. When he had heard the news, his timer stopped and reversed itself until it added a year and a half onto his time. He had just gotten a brother and had been learning how to be a role model when his brother was dragged away from him, kicking and screaming. It wasn’t fair, Dick kept repeating to himself. A teenager shouldn’t be targeted just because he eagerly trailed on Batman’s heels, snarky comebacks and smirks ready to fire.

There was a public funeral where paparazzi clicked away at their cameras and Bruce stood stoically in the front row, clearing his throat at the podium when he had to make a eulogy. There was then a private funeral where the casket was actually lowered beneath a gladiolus bush. There were no eulogies for none of the family could bring themselves to say much. It was just Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Barbara. Selina Kyle showed up that night in Bruce’s room and Dick pretended not to hear Bruce’s sobs. Alfred stood in the doorway of Jason’s old room, feather duster in hand. After a couple of minutes, he hung his head and walked off, closing the door behind him. Nothing was cleaned.

The next day, tabloids displayed the pictures of Bruce Wayne standing by a casket. Bruce stopped investing in any companies that did. His own stock dropped, but Bruce wasn’t answering his financial advisor’s calls. He wasn’t answering any calls.

It was late one night and Dick couldn’t sleep. He had been wanting to return to Bludhaven, but whenever he opened his suitcase, he couldn’t bring himself to pack. He found Alfred in the kitchen, pouring some hot tea. “I figured you would join me one night,” Alfred commented without looking back.

Dick couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing his eyes. “Your sixth sense is never wrong, Alfred.”

Alfred slid a cup over to Dick who took it thankfully, not caring that the tea burnt his tongue. Perhaps it was what he deserved for not being there to help Jason. “I should’ve-”

“Mister Grayson,” Alfred cut him off. “The Joker was ten steps ahead of Batman. Not even the powerful Nightwing could’ve helped. And you could not have flown to Africa in time.”

“It was closed casket,” Dick whispered out. “I didn’t even get to see my little brother before he was gone.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

“It was closed casket because Master Wayne couldn’t find Master Jason’s…” Alfred exhaled and corrected himself, “He couldn’t find Master Jason.”

Dick’s head lifted and his hands clenched around his cup. “What?” he breathed out. Desperation filled his voice, “but Alfie, he could still be out there! Jason could be alive!” Alfred simply gave him a stern look and Dick’s stomach bubbled with nausea. “Yeah,” he muttered bitterly. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” His jaw tensed and after a moment, he decided, “I’m going to go back to Bludhaven tomorrow.”

“Safe travels,” is all Alfred said.

It was then that Bruce woke from a nightmare of his dead son screaming out for him.

~~~~

You hadn’t meant to be passing by Arkham Asylum. It wasn’t something one did intentionally; in fact, many people went out of their way to avoid it. But it seemed as if fate wasn’t on your side today, for when your car broke down right outside Arkham Asylum, you didn’t notice the watch on your wrist ticking down quicker and quicker. You swore to yourself and took the mace out of your glove compartment before sliding your keys in between your fingers. Arkham Asylum had been practically abandoned for years, but perhaps there was a janitor or receptionist who could help you get service. Then you could call a mechanic and get the hell out of there.

The gates to Arkham had rust creeping up the edges and the lock clanged sharply against its chains. Maybe there wasn’t going to be a receptionist in the building… But perhaps there would be a phone you could use. In order for the gates to creak open, you had to force your bodyweight against the metal and try to shove the lock out of the way, praying you didn’t get tetanus in the process.

The door to Arkham, however, swung open without a sound. It seemed as if someone had been regularly visiting the Asylum, even if there was no one to visit – or love – in the building. “Hello?” you stage whispered, phone flashlight on, and finger on the button on your mace.

There was clearly a reason why the public wasn’t exposed to Arkham. All reports were classified and no photographers were allowed in. Wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape, you stared around at Arkham Asylum. The halls were long and dark, meant to cause paranoia and confusion. It was certainly working on you. The only light peeking through was from the grime covered windows and your flashlight. The ceiling was crumbling slightly and you were pretty sure Arkham had been under construction when it had been abandoned; otherwise, how could you explain all the dust, debris, and graffiti? You didn’t even want to think of the disease-carrying rodents that were surely scurrying underneath your feet.

“Is anything here? That can help me?” Your voice echoed down the cell block, vibrating off the metal bars and old bunks.

You reeled back when your foot kicked a pebble, sending it ricocheting off your sneaker. After the pebble settled some yards away, you took in a steadying breath. You heard a faint sound, one that didn’t sound at all like a pebble. “Hello?” you asked again. Shadows danced around as you shone your flashlight down the hall, messing with your mind.

When you strained your ears, it sounded as if a faint wail could be heard. Your brows furrowed with worry and instinctively, you started towards it. Your watch ticked down faster as disquietude and anxiety rippled through you like snakes, biting and twisting in your veins. Your flashlight bounced over empty, desolate cells as your pace quickened and the screams got louder. You contemplated calling the police, but when you checked your phone, you didn’t have any service. And who knew if the police would help or not? Arkham was a place only the brave or stupid went; right now, you were pretty sure you were the latter.

The screams took you deeper and deeper into the Asylum and you prayed that you would be able to find your way out. If you ever got out… your mind immediately thought.

It wasn’t long before the blood curdling howls shook you to your bones. They seemed to be coming from a cell, yet when you pointed your flashlight towards it, heart thumping at what you might find, there was nothing. But the screams were there. You weren’t making them up. Where the hell were they coming from– oh.

A shiver ran up your spine when you noticed the comical trapdoor in the corner of the cell. You wondered if the Arkham architects intentionally put it there when they were designing this horror house, or if an inmate had scraped a hidden passageway with a spoon they stole from the cafeteria.

Nonetheless, when you pried open the door, a wall of whimpers and cries from torture hit you full force. You shook your head, steeling yourself, before swallowing down the queasiness. The goosebumps on your arms were full-time residents now.

Your feet carried you down the dirt steps of the trapdoor. Your mind wasn’t particularly your own. Your brain was foggy. Your body felt like a child had taken your hand and was leading you down the steps. Later in your life, when you thought back to that moment, you knew the universe had been guiding you. But even if you didn’t make it out of Arkham Asylum, you knew your life was going to drastically change. The nonexistent hand squeezed yours in comfort as your heart jumped and pounded when the faint light at the bottom of the stairs grew brighter.

A small chamber resided under Arkham Asylum, as you found out that day. In the chamber were two people. One held a crowbar dripping with blood. His back was turned to you, but any citizen of Gotham would recognise that pastel green and purple suit anywhere. The Joker was alive.

But the second person caught your eye. He was strung up from the ceiling, crusty, brown chains trapping him midair. The red outfit he was wearing was being held together by tatters, but you didn’t know if the outfit was originally red or covered with blood. A black and yellow cape was clinging onto the victim’s back, burnt and torn. A green utility belt had been thrown in the corner, its pockets overturned and emptied.

And your timer buzzed against your wrist.

You didn’t register it at first, but after a moment of incessant buzzing, you tore your horrified stare away from the ruined man and to your wrist. A crude joke bounced into your head: so either my soulmate is the Joker or someone who wronged him… Either way, not ideal.

The Joker stood proud and tall, shoulders thrown back and grin wide. “Come on, Robby,” he taunted. “You and I both know these little excursions of ours go better when you make noise. How I love to make you sing…”

It was then you registered the Robin symbol on the man’s breast. You slowly pieced everything together, realising that the person in front of you was the presumably dead Robin. You couldn’t help the little, amazed curse word that slipped out from between your lips.

The Joker slid out a syringe from his pocket and slunk up beside Robin, injecting the green serum into his neck. Joker chuckled as he pressed the liquid further into Robin’s neck, whispering into his ear, “now, now, you mustn’t leave me, Robby. But whatever would you leave for? Now that the Bats has forgotten you.” Joker was mercilessly teasing the sidekick, spit flicking onto his cheek. Robin whimpered, a parched and cracked noise from the back of his throat.

“Louder, Robby, louder!” The Joker coaxed in a cooing voice. You grimaced and wanted to crawl out of your skin at his voice. Once you realised your mace wasn’t going to do you any good, your eyes darted around the small torture dungeon. Eventually, they landed on a discarded, bent pipe that had a disturbing red colour coated on. You willed yourself not to think of what the substance was.

Even though Robin’s limp, swinging body was facing towards you, you doubted he could see you. With the drugs running through his veins, his vision would surely be blurred and his mind muddled.

It was just your luck when, as you were inching towards the pipe, your phone decided to work and began buzzing loudly, indicating a call from your friend, Talia. The Joker whirled around, crowbar in hand and you squealed, grabbing the pipe. Before the Joker could react, his eyes widening in shock, you swung the pipe at his head. With the clang of metal against skull, the Joker collapsed, unconscious. You stared down at him, disbelief flooding your body. Oh my god, I just killed the Joker. Or, at the very least, gave him a good concussion. Your hands shook as a little pool of blood seeped out from Joker’s head. You dropped the pipe and it clattered to the dirt floor. A little groan that escaped Robin and your still-ringing phone brought you back to Earth.

“Shit, shit, I gotta get outta here,” you muttered, looking around frantically. Your phone kept ringing and with a swear, you brought it to your ear. “What?” you growled out.

“Wow, what has your panties in a twist?” Talia asked back snarkily.

You held your phone between your shoulder and your head as you hurried towards Robin. “Nothing, nothing, sorry,” you muttered as you attempted to free him from the chains. “Why’re you calling?”

“Why are you so stressed? You sound like you just ran a marathon,” Talia said through the phone. You could envision her checking her nails while doing so.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You finally got Robin’s wrists to slip from the chains and he fell down onto you. You grunted under his weight. Apparently, just because he had been starved and tortured for months didn’t mean he had lost his superhero muscle.

Talia paused for a moment and you could practically hear the gears in her brian turning. “Do you need me to help hide a body?” she asked suddenly.

You laughed nervously as you shifted Robin to your shoulder and began dragging him towards the steps. “No?” you finally answered. “Though if you wanted to meet me by Arkham Asylum with your working car and a cure for an almost dead superhero, that would be great.”

“I will be there in twenty minutes.”

~~~~

“How did this happen?” Talia demanded, more curiosity in her voice than malice and anxiety. You were in her passenger seat, staring at the wounded Robin who was laid in the back. Talia weaved through traffic with ease, headed towards the Yuyan Building.

“I don’t know!” you cried out, panic infusing itself into your blood. It felt similar to the way the Joker had infused serum into Robin. You clutched at the seatbelt, hoping it would take some of your dread. “My car just stopped working and then I was just going into Arkham Asylum like an idiot and I found the dead Robin! He was supposed to be dead, right? It was all over the news!”

“And then Batman got another Robin,” Talia added, almost bitterly. You shot her a confused look and she glanced over at you. Her eyes flickered down to your wrist before you yelled at her to focus on the road again. “You are a rational person, Y/n,” Talia began as the car screeched to a halt outside an imposing, ornate building. You stared up at it as Talia got out of the car. You scrambled to help her with Robin. The two of you each had one of his arms over your shoulders, his feet scraping along the ground, head lolling to the side, as you carried him in. “I do not think you would go into Arkham Asylum without something else guiding you,” Talia continued. “Do not think I did not notice your stopped timer. He is your soulmate, is he not?”

You nodded, not trusting your words. You were worried you would start crying if you actually had a moment to process all of the day’s events. “Will your dad help?” you asked finally, voice wavering.

Talia chuckled dryly, eyes narrowing on a fixed point ahead of you. She led you and Robin deeper into Yuyan Building. “If it gets on Batman’s good side? Absolutely.”

“I’ll take him after you’re done healing him,” you added quickly. “I’ll take him back home and care for him if you and your dad help me this one time.” You realised it sounded like you were begging for help. Briefly, you wondered what had happened in such a short time to make you care so much for Robin. Part of you decided it was what any rational, kind human being would do – help someone who was badly hurt – but another part of you knew that wasn’t the case. You felt tied to this boy you didn’t even know the name of. Whether it was through your soulmate bond or not, you knew you were connected to Robin. You felt his pain and terror. Even though he was unconscious, you could feel his resistance tugging against you. He didn’t want to go with you. He was scared of what you might do to him. His emotions dug into you and you felt a whimper crawling up your throat, begging for escape.

It was then you steeled yourself and decided one thing: you weren’t going to let your soulmate die.

Yuyan Building held deeper secrets, you realised. Talia directed you down long hallways and steep stairwells and you felt bad for the custodians who had to clean up Robin’s trail of blood. It was long minutes, full of you groaning under Robin’s weight and Talia looking unaffected, before Talia stopped at a large, ominous door.

You couldn’t look Ra’s in the eye as he slung Robin into the Lazarus Pit. You could only watch the bubbling green liquid as Robin slowly sunk to the bottom. Agonising minutes ticked by, halted only by Ra’s and Talia whispers to each other.

You hugged yourself tightly after five minutes passed and you called anxiously to Talia, “do- does he need help? Is he hurting? Why is it taking so long?”

“He had a lot of injuries, Y/n,” Talia reassured you, coming to place a hand on your shoulder in comfort. “He will be okay.”

Yeah. He’ll be okay.

~~~~

Jason’s eyes burned. Green was all that he could see. He tried to breathe in, but the only thing that filled his lungs was the green surrounding him. When the liquid filled his lungs and he coughed out, bubbles trailed up to the surface like a safety rope guiding the way.

Jason stretched a hand out in front of him, muscles aching at disuse. “Well, we wouldn’t want you to run away, would we, Robby?” The Joker’s voice called after him as Jason kicked his feet futilely. “Not our little prince!”

A flitting feeling coursed through Jason: curiosity and concern, but he was too weak to form a thought. His arm, reaching out towards the bubbles that led him upward, didn’t look like his own. He remembered the scars criss-crossing along it and he remembered the dirt and grime infecting cuts and burns, even digging its way underneath his nails, but he didn’t remember looking so… strong. Since when did he have the muscles and veins that looked like years of exercise had paid off? Batman had kept him fit – Robin needed to be able to hold his own, but he didn’t quite remember it working so well.

His hand finally breached the top of the green waves, grasping up towards breathable air and safety.

Green. Like the Joker. Another one of his charades. A playing card, to show Jason he wasn’t free yet. He was never free.

Everything was disillusioning. His vision veered sideways before becoming foggy and nausea crashed through Jason, like the waves in which he was trying to fight against.

“Stop struggling!” he heard someone cry out, “you’re making your own waves! You have to swim.”

He saw someone reaching out towards him and without a second thought, Jason extended his bandaged hand, clinging onto the buoy in the storm. Their hand was soft and comforting and dragged him out of the water. Jason allowed himself to be dragged. He didn’t have the energy to fight the Joker. He had given up much too long ago.

“What did you do to him?” someone asked once Jason fell to the ground. The world spun around him and he couldn’t recognise whomever was speaking. He gasped in desperate air, filling his deprived lungs.

“Take in a good, deep breath, Robby. Smell that blood? It’s yours. A reminder that Bats isn’t gonna come save you. Doesn’t it smell delicious?” The Joker hissed at him, inhaling himself. He cackled and licked his lips. “You’re a sweet little bird, aren’t you?”

“Why does he look like that?” the same voice asked. Jason heard a small thud over the ringing in his ears.

“The Lazarus Pit not only receives, but it returns, ten times stronger,” a deep voice explained. “It takes what it has been given, and it blossoms it into its full potential. What it needs to become.”

Jason flinched away from the hands that rested on him. The hands retreated and Jason wondered what new tactic the Joker was trying. The Joker never retreated.

The voices were getting more frantic and his heartbeat seemed amplified. As Jason was slowly lifted up, he passed out.

~~~~

The next time Jason woke up, the first thing he noticed was the clock. There was a digital clock on a small table beside him, green numbers staring unblinkingly up at him. Green as in the Joker. Clock as in a bomb. Does he want me to defuse the bomb? Or is it all a trick? The Joker never let me see any clocks. Time was a valuable construct, one the Joker used to his advantage. If Jason didn’t know how much time had passed, the Joker could stretch the days and the torture.

It took Jason a moment to blink the sleep from his mind. Then, he let his eyes flick around the room as his body stayed perfectly still. It was a tactic he learned from Batman – never let anyone know you were awake. He could categorise helpful information for later, such as possible escape routes, and if the Joker didn’t know he was awake quite yet, there would be less time for torture.

The former Robin was in a room. He didn’t recognise it and that scared Jason more than he would ever admit. There was a dresser opposite him with pictures on it. He couldn’t quite make out who was in the pictures, but it didn’t quite matter yet. A closet door was closed and next to it stood a tall mirror that had a blanket thrown over it. A small bookshelf sat beside him and when Jason had the mental capacity, he couldn’t help but feel the pull to read the titles. It smelled better than anything in a long time. Instead of urine and festering skin, this place smelled like lavender and vanilla.

It was only then Jason realised he was laying on a bed. And there were no restraints tying him down to it.

What new tactic was this? What scheme was the Joker pulling? What game did he want Jason to play? What was the objective? The trick Jason had to uncover to live another day?

Green and purple and yellow whirled around Jason and he gripped his head, begging the colours to stop. Carnival music played loudly in his ears, that same damn tune for the past thirty six hours.

Strapped to a chair, there was nowhere to escape the Joker’s mind games. Jason had been sedated more times than he could count and dragged to new locations where the Joker found new ways to torment him. Today’s lucky special was the Joker’s old hideout at the abandoned carnival.

It wasn’t long before the Joker’s voice rang out from within hidden speakers. “Show me those street smarts, Robby! Play with me. Maybe I’ll let you go…” he jeered and inveigled.

The spinning stopped and Jason planted his feet on the ground. His head dipped and his mouth hung open, eyes crossed and half-lidded. The Joker stood before him, leaning on his crowbar. “Ah, ah, ah,” the Joker tsked. “You're losing your touch, Robby.” The Joker ran his tongue over his teeth, lips curling up in a tantalising grin before lifting the crowbar back.

Jason didn’t hear anything before he blacked out.

It had seemed that he had blacked out in real life too, for the time had advanced three hours and the sun had sunk in the sky. Next to the clock was a tall glass of water and a small plate of crackers. Two pills of unassuming tylenol sat nearby.

Someone had been in here, Jason realised. The thought made his skin crawl and he quickly flung off the sheets, not used to the feeling of cotton. After a quick analysis of his body, even though his skin was already wrecked and flayed, there weren't the telltale nail marks on his thighs that the Joker had been there in his sleep. The only thing out of the ordinary were the bandages and cleaned wounds. His armour was nowhere to be seen and he had been stuffed into pyjama pants and a shirt that seemed a bit tight.

Panic flashed through his spine and Jason flung his legs over the mattress. He promptly collapsed and his knees ached at the impact. It took a moment of forcing his lungs open and letting oxygen flow through his system once more until he was able to crawl pathetically towards the covered mirror. His fingers twisted around the sheet and dragged it downward, letting it pool on the floor and around his legs.

Staring back at him wasn’t his face. It was the face of someone who had lived ten more years and seen fifty more years of battle.

Jason promptly swung his fist at the glass, shattering the mirror and letting the shards rain down. But he could still see his reflection. Jason forced his eyes away from the unfamiliar face and the scars he could feel burning into his skin.

Just a trick of the Joker. That’s all it ever was. He was never free and never more would believe so. Everything was consumed by that pale skin, green hair, and purple nails. Everything was a mind game followed by excruciating pain.

His gaze drifted back to the water and crackers. It could be tainted. But the Joker also needed him alive to continue their games. There was always a grace period for Jason to heal before the next session began.

He limped back to the bed, downed the water, not daring to touch the pills, and fell back onto the pillow. He shifted and adjusted the pillow. It felt uncomfortable. He threw it to the other side of the room before rubbing at his aching wrists. His skin there was red and irritated, not used to being out of chains. That was unusual, when Jason truly thought about it. The Joker knew how powerful Jason was. Jason had even managed to escape his chains once, back when he was healthy and convinced Batman would come and rescue him. But a bullet to the malnourished stomach was enough to stop anyone.

He kept massaging his hands until his fingers skirted over the bare skin of the inside left wrist. It felt like something should be there. Something was missing.

“Well well well,” Joker’s voice crooned in his ear. The man’s fingers curled around Jason's wrist. Long fingers tapped a tune on the proud watch that sat on Jason’s skin, ticking like a heartbeat. “Does our little Robby have a soulmate?”

The boy’s muscles tensed, protesting against the Joker for the first time in weeks. He had been trying to keep the watch hidden for as long as possible, but he should’ve known it was futile.

“But who on earth could love you?” The Joker questioned deridingly.

Jason’s cracked lips parted and he forced a “no” from his parched throat. “Don’t.”

The Joker giggled – a high pitched, ugly sound that would haunt Jason’s nightmare’s for years to come. “Oh… and have you met your true love yet?”

“Stop it.” Jason wiggled away from the Joker’s searing grip but nothing helped.

The psychopath’s nails embedded crescents into Robin's skin as he forced his wrist around. “No no no,” the Joker tsked as he watched the clock inch down towards zero. “You haven’t met them yet… what?” He turned back towards Jason, eyes wide with fake innocence. “You think they’re gonna come save you, Robby?” A burst of laughter bubbled from the murderer. “Never,” he hissed in Jason’s ear, making the boy cringe away, his chains swinging with him.

A sob crawled its way up Jason’s lungs as the Joker grabbed his chains, steadying him, before licking a stripe up Jason’s cheek, leaving behind saliva and horrid breath. The Joker then licked his lips, relishing in the taste of Robin’s blood and tears.

“You really think you deserve anyone?” The Joker whispered in his ear, more serious than Jason had ever seen him. His fist clenched around Jason’s watch and the boy let out a whimper. “You don’t.” The glass cracked under the Joker’s force. “Deserve shit.” He ripped the soulmate watch from Jason and threw it to the ground. The delicate watch sprang open and the timer stopped in its tracks.

Jason let out a guttural scream as the Joker ground the glass into the dirt with his heel.

~~~~

A loud thump yanked Jason out of sleep. A sharp feminine yelp followed and Jason was instantly on his feet, no matter the spots that danced in his vision.

A small voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Alfred chastised him for not staying in bed and letting his body heal. “Master Jason, how are you supposed to fight crime if you can’t even walk straight?”

Nevertheless, Jason pushed open the door, raggedly breathing and clutching his side. He was sure he looked like a serial killer of some sort, blood staining through his bandages and hair sloppily matted to his forehead from sweat.

A girl stared at him from across the room. She was smaller than him, was what Jason noticed first. He then noticed her eyes. They were a striking colour and seemed to bore into him, knowing his every want and desire. They were cautious, yet Jason thought he imagined excitement running deep within the girl.

“Who’re you?” Jason mumbled out, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

The girl took a breath and said, “I’m Y/n.” A blanket was curled around her feet, much like the blanket that Jason had snatched from the mirror hours earlier. Her hair was a bit messy and Jason categorised a pillow propped up against the armrest of the couch.

“How’re you—” Jason cut himself off and shook his head. “What’re your… Who…” he struggled to find a question that encapsulated everything while not giving too much away about himself.

Y/n took a step closer, almost as if he was a wild animal that she didn’t want to startle. It didn’t work; Jason stumbled back over his feet and back into the bedroom. Y/n didn’t follow. “I was at Arkham Asylum three days ago and found you.”

“What were you doing there?” Jason demanded, his words slurred.

“My car broke down,” Y/n explained easily, though Jason didn’t believe her one bit. “I was looking for help and… found you instead. I had to call a friend for help.”

Jason was done with pleasantries. Alfred had frowned upon swearing, and the boy had quickly learned not to use the words he had heard on the street or the insults villains spat at Batman once they were in handcuffs. But he wasn’t standing next to Batman in bright spandex anymore. He was bleeding through someone else’s clothes and he wasn’t in his own body and there was a girl who was wearing a dark green sweatshirt and green reminded him of the Joker. “Bullshit,” he growled out. His voice didn’t have that prepubescent squeak to it anymore and his veined hand reached up to massage his throat.

Y/n’s brows stitched together and she stared up at him, slipping the cuffs of her sweater over her hands. “No. It’s not bullshit. I promise,” she said, her voice saccharine. “Look, you’ve been sleeping for almost three days, trying to sleep off that poison the Joker put in you, I’m sure.”

Jason flinched back so hard that he stepped back onto the glass shards from the mirror. It cut into his heel and he winced, blood already leaking from the wound.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Y/n exclaimed, crouching down and then standing back up quickly. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to help you with that? Why don’t you sit on the bed and I’ll grab some bandaids.” Y/n hurried away out of the bedroom and Jason stood still.

Help.

Help you.

“You’re gonna help me win back Batman, Robby,” the Joker whispered in his ear, spit flicking on his face. “You are vital. You will be his downfall.”

Help.

Help me.

Y/n came back, shaking Jason out of the parallels. “You’re not on the bed,” she commented. Jason’s feet automatically moved towards the bed — he knew better than to argue with the Joker, but then he remembered he wasn’t with the Joker. This was a girl who looked like one strong look would have her cowering beneath him, especially if he actually had the physique he saw in the now-broken mirror.

“Who are you,” he repeated his question from earlier, turning back to look at her.

“Y/n,” the girl reiterated, head tilting slightly.

“No.” Jason shook his head. “Who are you. Who do you work for?”

Y/n’s brows scrunched together in confusion and she said, “well, my boss is named Marlene, if that’s what you’re asking. But I don’t see how that’s particularly relevant.”

Jason’s chest rose and fell and he brought his hand up to claw at it. “Liar,” he hissed out. “You… you liar!” A yell curled its way up through him and his nails scratched at his throat, trying to tear this unfamiliar voice from him. Who was he? This wasn’t Jason Todd, the broken boy from Crime Alley. This was someone much more dangerous and unpredictable. Batman had always taught Jason how to analyse plans and choose the one with the highest success rate. But this was a different Jason. This Jason was a tornado, sweeping through every emotion he didn’t know how to handle.

He saw green. And that only reminded him of the years spent under the Asylum.

Jason tore the sheets from the bed. He shoved things off the bedside table and consequently the lamp fell, its bulb shattering and then flickering out. The room was plunged into darkness. The only source of light was from the barely rising sun, peeking its rays into the window and bathing the edges of the room with pink and orange and yellow.

The light danced across Y/n’s face as she stared around at the damage Jason was inflicting. Pity and guilt ran rampant on her face and she didn’t stop him.

Jason moved throughout the room, the only things he spared being the dresser and the bookshelf.

After some time, he collapsed onto the floor, heaving in breaths. It wasn't long before he slowly leaned back to lay down. Y/n carefully sat down next to him, staying a good couple feet away. "I know you don't trust me," she said. She slipped her sleeve down her wrist, tucking in her hands. The outline of a watch pressed against the fabric and Jason stared at it numbly and unthinking. "But my name is Y/n. I work at the Gotham Gazette. My boss's name is Marlene. She's pretty nice and I'm up for a raise soon. I've lived in Gotham my whole life, even while my brother moved away the first chance he got. I've contemplated leaving for a long time, but I could never bring myself to do it." She pointed to a picture that sat on her dresser – one of the only things Jason hadn't destroyed. "That's him. My brother."

Jason didn't move his head to look. His green vision began to fade.

“When I was growing up I had a fish. His name was Captain Sparkles,” Y/n kept on talking. “He was pretty cool and lived a long time for a fish. Two years, if you’re interested. I’m going to Gotham University and studying English so I can hopefully move up the line of command at the Gazette. My parents are chill and are empty nesters with two dogs out in the countryside. My dad always pledged never to get a dog, but now I’m pretty sure they’re ahead of me in the will.” She chuckled and tugged at her hair.

Jason turned on his side away from her and he missed her eyes trailing after him sadly. Y/n swallowed and blinked away the sting of impending tears.

“I have a little routine going,” Y/n continues, her voice cracking slightly. “You know, wake up, go to class — I’m a sophomore — come home and do homework. When I don’t have class, I go to work.” The girl wraps her arms around her knees and tucks her chin in. “What I’m trying to get at, I guess, is that I don’t work for the Joker.”

Jason flinched and cradled his head in his hands. Everything Y/n was telling him seemed true; she didn’t seem like an agent of the Joker, but his mind screamed at him to not trust anybody. Each syllable she spoke seemed like a reminder of how normal he was supposed to be. Day in and day out, when the Joker was pushing Jason’s limits, pulling him to the brink of death, Jason had wished to be normal. To not have met Batman that fateful day. To not have accepted the Robin pedestal. To go to high school and college and live in a dorm and get drunk and then regret it the next day.

What he would give to be normal.

“I’m sorry,” Y/n muttered. “I didn't mean to say his name. I know it must be triggering.” She exhaled and was silent for a moment. “I’ll go,” she eventually whispered. “If you need anything, let me know.”

Jason heard her stand and move to the door. No! Please don’t go. I- I can’t be alone. I don’t know how to be alone. But the words didn’t come.

The door clicked shut behind Y/n. Tears made their way down Jason’s face and his body shook with the effort to keep silent.

I would rather you torture me than make me be alone, he thought. My thoughts are more dangerous than any weapon.

~~~~

For all of Jason’s life, soulmates had always been in his realm of knowledge. Like bombs. He had heard the word in the news, playing with whatever he had scavenged off the street, his mom smoking on the couch behind him, TV blaring.

But children are oblivious and it wasn’t until later in his life that he figured out what the words meant. ‘Bombs’ became synonymous with Gotham City and ‘soulmate’ became a word Jason held close to his heart.

Everyone had a soulmate and it was common for the kids on the playground to compare their numbers ticking down. Younger children, who had yet to get their timer, gazed wistfully at older kids’ watches. Rumours of someone’s timer speeding up or slowing down blistered around the jungle gym and it chilled young Jason’s blood with the thought of not getting to meet his soulmate soon enough.

But besides those insignificant bouts of worry, Jason was very proud of his soulmate. He would be running around the playground and when he heard someone bragging about how soon they would meet their soulmate, Jason would stop the game of tag and go over to compare numbers.

Not everyone was as lucky as him, however. Some kids would be teased because their timer estimated that they wouldn’t meet the love of their life until they were on the brink of death. While Jason never stood up for the victim, he would never be the one to bully them. His own mom had smashed her timer when she met Jason’s deadbeat dad, wanting to defy the universe and choose her own lover. It had only led to jail time, alcohol, and negligence. Sometimes, late at night, Jason would wonder what happened to his mom’s true soulmate. Were they still out there with a paused timer, wondering who didn’t think them good enough? Did they also think they could find answers at the bottom of a bottle or did they pick themselves up and reroute their life?

What would’ve his life been like if he had two parents who loved each other and were destined to be together?

But whenever Jason was feeling down, or he got a bad grade (which didn’t happen often), or he was beaten up in the alleyways of Gotham, or his mom smashed a bottle by his head and screamed at him, he would cast his eyes down to his soulmate timer and just remember that someone out there was for him. That someone was fated to love him. And very early on, from the moment he realised what having a soulmate actually meant, Jason decided that he would wait for however long it took and go through whatever it meant to find them.

“Whose clothes are these?” Jason whispered, his voice cracked and desolate the next time Y/n came into the room to offer him the little food he could stomach.

“My brother’s,” she answered easily, setting down the plate of toast and some other easy food. “I thought they would be a bit big on you, but then the Lazarus Pit made you ginormous, so they’re a bit tight now. Sorry.”

“Lazarus Pit?” Jason pushed himself to sit up, muscles groaning in protest.

“I don’t know how much you remember,” Y/n admitted. “But once I got you out of Arkham, I brought you to my friend Talia. She has some… powerful connections to some influential people and was able to help heal you in the Lazarus Pit. I just didn’t know how much it would alter you.”

“That explains a lot,” Jason admitted dryly, thinking of his new physique, emotions, and tinted vision when he had gotten mad.

Y/n leaned against her dresser. “I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to help, but I needed to. You were going to die and I need…” she trailed off and her eyes flicked down to her wrist.

“You need what?”

“I couldn’t let someone die,” Y/n finally decided on.

Jason accepted her answer. He felt a small tug at his chest, almost as if something wasn’t right and he wanted to correct it. “What’s…” His eyes trailed to her lap where she held her hands. His jaw twitched and he shook his head. “Never mind.”

“You can ask me anything,” Y/n offered, a smile lifting the corner of her mouth. Jason’s eyes widened when he saw her smile and his heart fluttered. Jason decided that, even if he didn’t trust Y/n yet, he would do whatever it took to keep that smile on her face.

“No, I have nothing– I’m good– no–”

“Spit it out, Robby. What do you want to tell your darling Joker? What are your… worries? Your concerns? Your dear Uncle Ace?” The Joker circled around an exhausted Jason. “Trust me. You can tell me anything…” His speech was slow and intoxicating. Alluring, was the word Jason would use to describe it. It was tugging him in. Jason’s eyes slipped down into sleep just as another needle pierced its way into his skin, courtesy of the Joker.

Jason dug his nails into the palm of his hand over and over, fingers twitching over his cuticles. His face started to heat up and he swallowed roughly, blinking slowly. “I’m okay,” he mumbled out, even though Y/n didn’t ask.

“Do you need me to leave?” she offered.

Jason dragged his head back and forth, attempting to shake it. Eventually, it lolled back and banged against the wall. “Sorry, what?”

Y/n stood up on instinct. “Robin?”

The title sent lightening up Jason’s spine and his gaze snapped up to stare at her, fuming. “Don’t- don’t call me that!” he screamed out. “I’m not! Stop it!”

Dearest Robin. How Batman will miss his little protégé.

Robby…

Robin!

“Let me go!” Jason shrieked. He wiped his hands on his shirt before reaching up and pulling at his hair. Everything felt wrong. “Why won’t you let me go?! Just give up,” he pleaded desperately. His eyes, wide and frantic, swept around the room until they settled on the shards of the mirror he had smashed.

His body was a graveyard.

It was only then that Jason truly comprehended how imperfect he was.

Scars trailed down his arms and legs and he could even see a smattering of them peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Each scar and bruise was a reminder of each thing the Joker had done to him.

Each scar is an adventure, Batman’s voice resonated in his head. An image of Batman patching up young Robin’s bloody nose flicked through Jason’s mind.

Each scar is a reminder you were never there for me, Jason thought bitterly. Each scar is a reminder that I’ll never be free of him. I’ll always be tied to the Joker. And that’s what terrifies me the most. That’s what makes me hate you, Batman.

“Okay, okay,” Y/n surrendered, holding her hands up. “I’ll leave. But I can’t let you go. It’s not safe yet.”

It was then that Jason drove his fist into the wall. Y/n made a little squeak of surprise and seemed to flinch.

She quickly left and Jason didn’t have time to feel bad before he crumpled onto the bed in exhaustion, bits of plaster now on the floor and sheets.

~~~~

Time after time again, the Joker visited him. The Clown Prince of Crime had grown bored with the relentless torture. There had been new tactics — he had to keep it interesting, of course — but even waterboarding hadn’t quelled the ache that the Joker felt after the boy had grown used to the whipping of chains against his skin, leaving the boy bruised and internally bleeding.

So it was time to pull out all the stops. The Joker strolled into the makeshift dungeon. Robin didn’t even look up at this point. “You look grim,” the Joker stated, pouting theatrically, even though his audience was a despairing one. He strolled over to the table where he kept all his instruments. “Which one, which one?” the Joker sang, running his fingers over the knives, corkscrews, ropes, and other devices to land on a pitcher of water.

Jason inhaled and exhaled slowly. The Joker poured a generous amount of water into a glass before lifting it to Jason’s lips and tilting it back. “There you go…” the Joker cooed, caressing Jason’s cheek. “Drink it all up like a good little boy.”

Jason’s chapped lips searched hungrily for the water, not caring what the Joker’s motive was. He was too thirsty to wonder.

It was only the first in a long line of drugs.

“I don’t know what to do, Talia,” a lilting, frustrated voice came from the other room, stirring Jason awake. He was sure that whenever he heard Y/n’s voice, he would snap to attention, ready to throw himself to his knees and execute whatever she commanded.

Woah. Where did that dedication come from?

Even when Jason assumed the title of Robin, there was never such blind complaisantness to what Batman ordered. He would always have some street-kid spunk in him.

So why was he feeling so utterly protective over Y/n? It had to be the fact that she saved him from the hellhole the Joker had carefully curated and manipulated. Didn’t it?

Or was it something else?

“No, I’ve been trying to do all my work online, and it’s been working, but I can only go so long before I have to go into the office or go to lectures.” Y/n listened to her friend for a long minute on the phone and Jason strained to hear them. “No, but I feel responsible – that’s the wrong word – but protective of him.” There was a pattering of feet as if Y/n was pacing. “This is kinda a big deal. There are movies and books written about this connection and yet, mine is huddled in my room, sleeping off drugs and the evidence of torture!” Her voice cracked up at the end and Jason physically stood up.

Bile rose up in his throat and Jason’s knees slammed to the ground, pain shooting up his bones and reverberating in his muscles. He cursed under his breath and pressed his head to the cool hardwood, trying to overcome his nausea.

Stars swirled in his vision and laughs echoed in his head. Jason mumbled words of encouragement to himself, but they were distorted and ugly. Like the Joker. Oh, how Jason dreaded the thought of becoming him. His forearms hit the floor and instead of the Joker’s words stabbing at his brain, it was a static frame of white noise, blocking out everything. Vision was the first thing to go, eyes squeezing out the late afternoon light. The second thing to leave Jason, as everything does, was time. Was it minutes or hours he sat on the floor before the door burst open?

Words were muted and Jason nodded when Y/n asked if she could touch him. Warm palms encased his jawline, thumbs brushing along his cheeks. “He’s not here,” Y/n whispered. “I’m here. Robi- no, tell me your name. Please.”

“Jason. My name is Jason.” Somehow, Y/n had eroded away his concern and distrust, replacing it with ease and invulnerability. He would never have thought it possible in such a short time, even without his history with the Joker.

Y/n exhaled a small laugh and a bright smile came to her face. Jason looked up at her, brain still buzzing. “What? What’s funny about that?” he managed to get out.

“Oh, no no no,” Y/n was quick to reassure him. “I didn’t mean to laugh. That was rude of me. I’m sorry.” One of her hands guided down to rest on his back, rubbing soft circles. In his anxious stupor, Jason curled up in front of her, instinctively resting his head on her lap. If he could see her face, he would’ve seen Y/n’s eyebrows shoot up with hopefulness. However, he definitely heard her intake of breath. “It’s a very nice name.”

“How- how does your boyfriend feel about me staying here?” Jason finally asked after a minute of him slowing his breathing.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Y/n said, sounding amused.

“But you have a soulmate timer,” Jason pointed out.

Y/n tilted her head, curiously. She didn’t think he had noticed that. One of her hands moved to Jason’s hair, gently brushing it back from his forehead. She ran her fingers through the white stripe which she had come to find very attractive. Tension left the boy’s shoulders and he tucked his head into her lap. “Everyone does,” Y/n replied. “It doesn’t mean I’ve found my soulmate yet.”

“Have you?”

“Yes…”

“Oh.”

Jason laid in her lap for a long minute and eventually asked her, “is he nice to you?”

Y/n laughed lightly, sighing a bit before saying, “he’s still getting to know me. He’s a very reserved and tentative person and we only met a little while ago. However, he’s been opening up pretty quickly and I’m very proud of him.” Her fingers tapped against Jason’s hair, curling the strands around her fingers before lightly scratching at his scalp with her nails. She noticed how his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down when she did that. Tucking that information away for later, Y/n added, “he’s gone through a lot in the past and I just want to make him feel safe.”

Deep in his bones, Jason could almost feel her sadness and dedication. He wasn’t sure what magic had given him the power to be so in tune with this girl, but he wasn’t going to let anyone take it away from him. Not even her soulmate.

Turning the conversation away from something that would surely wound him if he pried any deeper, Jason declared quietly, “I’m going to install some deadbolts and locks on your front door and windows soon.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s not safe for you to help me.” It never is for anyone. I’m a poison, infecting everyone I touch. “I want to make sure you’re safe before I leave.”

“Leave?” Y/n exclaimed, staring down at him. “No, you’re not ready to go yet.” A part of her was worried she was being selfish, wanting her soulmate as close to her as possible, but one look at the bandages she had just replaced the night before said otherwise. There was less blood than there had been days prior, but Jason was not in any condition to leave bed, much less leave the apartment.

“You can’t keep housing me forever, Y/n,” Jason muttered. “And I’ll be damned if I’m the reason you get hurt.” His head was still in her lap, but he couldn’t meet her eye. It was imperative that he play with the seams in his shirt.

Otherwise she might see him beginning to cry.

“Please leave,” he begged, voice breaking pitifully. Y/n couldn’t bring herself to argue, gently slipping out from her place underneath Jason and resting his head softly on the ground before closing the door behind her.

The nightmares were worse that night. ~~~~

True to his word, Jason ventured out into the apartment the next day like a zoo animal inspecting its new habitat. He crouched his shoulders, bowing his head in an attempt to diminish his size. He still wasn’t used to being so large and accidentally bumped into the kitchen counter and a lamp.

He was able to install the majority of the new locks and deadbolts until he slid the deadbolt of the front door closed. It whined and creaked beneath his fingers and his mind flashed back to when

Jason awoke slowly. A small groan left his lips, but he stayed still. It was a tactic he learned from Bruce – never let anyone know you were awake. He could categorise helpful information for later, such as possible escape routes, and it was quite possible that he was one movement away from death. He had to be careful.

But this wasn’t Africa. This wasn’t where Jason was desperately searching for his mother when Batman ran into the warehouse, seconds before the Joker let loose a bomb.

That’s all Jason could remember.

Blood was sticking his hair to his head and Jason clutched his side. It ached from bruised or broken ribs that pressed to his skin. However long he had been unconscious, it had been quite a while. His body was already malnourished and crying out for medical care.

Jason attempted to crawl to a standing position, but when his ankles and wrists caught against metal, restraining him, he knew something else was at play.

The whine and creak of a deadbolt unlocking caused him to turn his head towards a door he hadn’t noticed. A man in a pinstripe suit stepped through, a long crowbar in hand. Jason didn’t need the upturned red lips to know who was there.

“Oh, don’t worry, Robby,” the Joker coaxed as Jason stared up at him, pure terror gripping his veins. He had never been so close to the Joker without Bruce. Where was Bruce? Why wasn’t he here? The Joker squatted down to Jason’s level, running a gloved hand over the boy’s bloody hair. Jason flinched away, but it didn’t deter the Joker. “You and your Uncle Ace are going to have some real fun.”

“Where is he?” Jason sobbed, scared when he didn’t feel the blood on his hair. Why wasn’t he bleeding? What was the Joker’s new game?

“Where is who?” An unfamiliar voice asked despairingly.

“Bru— Batman,” Jason corrected himself in his stupor. “B-Batman.”

Y/n stuttered, “I don’t know Batman. I’m sorry.”

Jason groaned in pain before a hysterical laugh bubbled from him. He clutched his stomach, on all fours, eyes wide and clouding over with green. Must he always be connected to the Joker? If he could eradicate that damn colour, he would. His fingers ghosted over the place that the Joker threatened to brand him.

“Maybe I’ll make it permanent on our five year anniversary,” the Joker hummed, knife gently poking into Jason’s cheek. The faded scar of last month’s ‘J’ was what prompted the Joker to re-carve it into the boy. Blood dribbled down Jason’s cheek, joining his salty tears. It didn’t hurt, the wound being surface level, but just the thought of more things tied to the Joker made him gasp for air, crying softly.

“So you’ll always be reminded of who was the one to beat you. The Clown Prince of Crime!”

Y/n had barely noticed the ‘J’ until Jason dug his nail into his cheek, tracing the scar. The path was imprinted into his memory.

The skin turned red at the irritation and Y/n caught Jason’s wrist the next time he moved up to trace it again. “Stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

Jason muttered things under his breath at her, but he didn’t pull away from her hold. “He branded me,” he finally spit out. “And it’s only because you found me that he didn’t carve it into my skull,” he said sarcastically, malice in his voice. His eyes blazed a fervent green and he shook his head. “But at least I knew what was coming. At least I knew that a month had passed when he redrew his initials.”

Y/n opened her mouth to argue, but Jason spoke before she could. “I… I’m worried,” he began slowly. “I’m becoming more of the Joker than I am Batman. I was supposed to look up to Batman, but what if he and the Joker are one and the same? Both hurt me. One abandoned me and the other took that for granted.”

“He didn’t mean to abandon you, I’m sure,” Y/n whispered. “No one would ever willingly abandon you.”

Jason grumbled out, groaning at her words. His lips twitched downwards and his biceps flexed. “No one? Everyone did!” he screamed out. “My parents, Batman, Alfred, Dick! Everyone abandoned me!”

Y/n ignored the last name Jason listed off, before murmuring, “I haven’t.”

“Not yet,” Jason whispered after a moment. “But you will.”

~~~~

A couple days later, Jason peeked out of Y/n’s room, one of her blankets in hand. “You deserve your room,” Jason mumbled when Y/n looked up from her book, astonished.

“I– Jason, you need the most comfort,” Y/n said, gently closing her book. “I’m fine on the couch.”

“You need to get back to work soon,” he said, hugging the blanket close. “You said it yourself. I can’t be the reason that you’re putting your life on hold. You- you need to get back to normal.”

“You are my nor–” Y/n cut herself off before exhaling slowly. “Don’t worry about me,” she began. “I’ve slept on the couch many nights when I had papers to complete or binge-watched too many episodes of The Good Place.”

Jason’s features softened slightly and he took a step forward. Y/n took the hint and scooted over on the couch, placing her book on the small coffee table she had. “What’re you reading?” he asked as Y/n turned on the television, opening up to the first episode of The Good Place.

“The Great Gatsby, for one of my English classes,” Y/n said.

“Really?” A smile slowly grew on Jason’s lips, something he hadn’t experienced in years. His muscles ached a bit from the disuse, but Jason was now addicted to the feeling.

Y/n decided that she was now also addicted to the sight of Jason smiling. “Yeah. We’re covering the symbolism of water that spans throughout the book. In fact, in the first couple of pages, Fitzgerald references the White Star Line, which is a boat that sank on the same route as the Titanic. Gatsby, obviously, dies in the water, sinking, just as those boats did. Fitzgerald really is an excellent writer.”

Jason was pretty sure he was in love. Or maybe he still was on drugs. Whatever the feeling, it was nice and unexpected and new.

“I do think you’ll like The Good Place,” Y/n continued. “I won’t spoil anything, but it has some pretty amazing underlying themes.”

“I’m sure,” Jason replied quietly, burrowing under the blanket. It didn’t quite manage to hide his large frame, but it managed to hide his quickening heart and blush that was slowly spreading.

Just before the first episode started, Y/n quickly hurried to make some popcorn. She plunked the bowl in between the pair and then snatched some blanket away from Jason. “You run hot,” she explained when Jason shot her a bemused look.

The Good Place was a wonderful show, as Jason soon learned, but what was more wonderful was when Y/n’s cheek pressed against his shoulder and her knees curled up and her eyes fluttered closed. When her breath slowed with sleep, subconsciously trusting him enough to be at her most vulnerable, that, Jason found out, was what was truly wonderful.

Bruce Wayne had never before seen a street rat more excited to see Batman, especially when that street kid was trying to steal from him.

But what was particularly amusing was that the boy wasn’t particularly excited to see him, but more excited to show Batman his soulmate timer.

“No! No, you don’t understand!” the boy cried ecstatically. “It just fast-forwarded! Meeting you means I get to meet my soulmate sooner!” He bounced on the balls of his feet, eagerly shoving his wrist towards Batman’s cowl, showing the vigilante his timer.

“Yes, very… exciting,” Bruce hummed out, not sure whether to laugh or reprimanded him for trying to steal the Batmobile’s tires.

The boy laughed, a big grin covering his small features. “I wonder what they’re like. Have you met yours yet, Batman?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows and a chuckle slipped through. “Yes, I have. It’s a wonderful thing.”

As the child kept rambling about his soulmate, Bruce knew that he had just found the next Robin.

~~~~

Y/n sat on the kitchen counter, legs crossed. She had a textbook in her lap and was mumbling out phrases for memorisation of an upcoming exam. A small smile couldn’t help but expand on Jason’s face as he listened to her mumbles. He paused from his work in the small kitchen, back muscles rippling as he reached for the marinara sauce. When he went to dump the pasta into the strainer, the pot clanged against the metal faucet.

The Joker rattled his crowbar against Jason’s chains.

“Jay?” Y/n said softly, guiding him out of his memories before he could get too lost. “You can stop straining the pasta. All the water’s gone.”

“What?” he choked out, turning his head so he could see her.

“The pasta.” Y/n shifted forward so her legs hung over the edge of the counter. “It’s okay. It’s been okay and it will continue to be okay. You- you can let go.” The euphemism wasn’t lost on Jason.

He let the pasta pan drop in the sink and faced Y/n, eyes shining with unshed tears. “No. That’s not what I meant.” Swallowing down the feeling, Jason continued, “what did you call me?”

“Jay,” Y/n whispered.

The Joker paced around Jason after a few days without any torture. “It’s been too long, Robin,” he said, shaking his head. “I think it’s time to make you sing for your Uncle Jay.”

“Is that okay?” Y/n asked softly.

Bruce shouted from the other room, “Jay! Come on! The gala’s starting soon.”

“Jason,” Y/n repeated. She reached out and touched his shoulder and the boy came to stand between her legs. Jason dropped his head on her shoulder, beginning to sob quietly. Immediately, Y/n brought her hand up to rest on his head and the other arm to curl around his back. “Don’t you dare,” she shook her head as Jason began mumbling his apologies. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

And suddenly, everything was okay. Because Y/n was there. “Bruce called me Jay,” he murmured out. “An- and then he called himself Mr. Jay.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to trigger-“

“No, it’s okay,” Jason looked at her, eyes shining with tears. “I like it when you do it. When you call me that.”

“You do?” Y/n asked, hands on either side of his face, cupping them closer and when her hands trailed to hold his neck and then one brushed back his hair oh this must be heaven, Jason thought, eyes fluttering shut. What he would give to live within her arms, always feeling safe and always feeling loved. She had that strange power over him and while Jason usually didn’t like people having power over him, he decided that when it came to Y/n, he didn’t mind. Not at all.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice lilting up with an infliction of infectious love.

Jason stood there, comfortable in her arms and secretly hoping that Y/n would never have to go to work and would always just stay here. Where he could just keep… holding her and touching her and making sure she was safe because if Y/n wasn’t safe, Jason was pretty sure he would go on a rampage. If Y/n wasn’t safe, if Jason wasn’t holding her, then it was only because the Joker had found him and ripped him away from the only thing he had ever loved.

And that would’ve been the cruellest method of torture.

No amount of chains would hold him back. No amount of drugs would make him forget Y/n. And no amount of hate would make him forget the amount of love he felt when Y/n held him close and he could hear her heart beating steadily. In that moment, Jason could pretend her heart beat for him.

He knew his heart beat for her. Then his mind flashed back to it all.

The boy’s muscles tensed, protesting against the Joker for the first time in weeks. He had been trying to keep the watch hidden for as long as possible, but he should’ve known it was futile.

Jason’s cracked lips parted and he forced a “no” from his parched throat. “Don’t.”

“Stop it.” Jason wiggled away from the Joker’s searing grip but nothing helped.

Jason let out a guttural scream as the Joker ground the glass into the dirt with his heel.

“Oh, picky picky picky,” the Joker teased. “Sensitive, are we?”

“Lemme go! Don’t touch her! Don’t you dare!” His voice cracked and blood began to trickle down his arms as the chains rubbed against his irritated skin and broke the surface. But he would take the pain a thousand times over if it meant he could get to his watch.

His soulmate. His love. It was all gone.

“Yes!” the Joker cried out, exclaiming loudly. His hands began to shake and a large grin spread on his maniacal face. “Yes! Emotion, Robby! This is what I want! Give me the fucking emotion! If I had known, I would’ve smashed that watch a long time ago.”

Jason lunges towards the Joker, face contorted with rage. “Don’t you fucking dare! Get- stay- no! No!”

It was the most he had ever fought against the Joker. And the Joker adored it.

“You… you’re my…” Jason choked out, jaw tensing slightly as the dots began to connect.

He didn’t know when Y/n had begun to cry, but as tears streamed down her face and she nodded desperately, things seemed to all click into place. “It took you long enough,” she joked pathetically.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jason breathed out, his hands tightening on her thigh, a protective instinct washing over him. “Oh, no, no, no,” he shook his head and brought her head in his hands, brushing away the tears. “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s not that,” Y/n’s voice cracked. “I’m not unhappy, not in the slightest—” Jason was so sure of their bond that it hadn’t even crossed his mind that she might reject him or not love him due to his past. “—but I just never thought that you would- that I would-” She hiccuped and Jason’s eyes darted across her face, wanting to somehow help, but so unsure of himself.

Slowly, Jason sank to his knees. Y/n still sat above him, on the counter, staring down, baffled. Her eyes were red from crying and her lips were parted, but she had never seemed more beautiful. “What- what are you doing?” she murmured.

“I’m showing you how much you affect me,” he answered simply. “Quite literally, you saved my life, Y/n. And if that’s the only way you touched my life, I would consider myself the luckiest man on Earth. If no one has told you those words before, then everyone else is a fool. If you allow me to stay around and cherish the best thing that’s ever happened to me, gladly, I will.” Y/n slowly slipped off the counter, standing before him. “But that’s a lot of ‘ifs’. And I’m not willing to potentially lose you over some ‘ifs’. I know I’ve made you uncertain and I’ve wrecked your apartment and I’m so sorry,” he chuckled dryly. Jason’s hands were shaking as he slowly slid them up Y/n’s legs. She shivered under his touch, backing up until she hit the counter behind her. Jason lifted his hands from her, giving her a moment if she needed, but one look in her eyes led his hands right back to her body. “You’re like a drug,” he whispered, pressing his face to the side of her thigh.

“Drugs are very very bad,” Y/n managed to get out.

“I know.” A small smirk appeared on his lips. His lips suddenly looked very kissable. “The Joker taught me that. If I could go back and kill him, I’d do it in an instant, but… I’d also thank him. And I’d thank Batman. And Nightwing. And my mom. And everyone else in my life because they all led me to you.” Y/n’s knees buckled and Jason helped ease her down so she was sitting in front of him. He choked on his tears slightly before saying, “so many people believe in equality in the universe. So if all of that is true, then perhaps every bad thing that ever happened to me was just leading up to you. You… are so good that the universe needed to even it all out.”

Y/n began shaking her head vehemently. “Then let me damn the universe,” she whispered. “Because clearly, it’s been unfair. You were gifted to me, Jason. It’s not fair that you went through so much shit while I lived a fairly light life.”

“Maybe I’m not good enough…”

“Don’t you dare suggest that,” Y/n cut him off sharply.

“Then perhaps I took the hardship you were supposed to endure,” Jason offered the explanation. Before Y/n could argue, Jason said, “and I’d do it again.”

Y/n laughed lightly, drying her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I don’t want you to go through that again.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t need to,” Jason muttered, leaning forward slightly to nuzzle into Y/n’s neck. He slowly, as if testing the water, pressed a kiss to her skin. Feeling her inhale, Jason grinned and repeated the gesture, wondering if he would get the same reaction. He did. After a moment, he exhaled, his breath tickling Y/n. “I’m going to need time,” he muttered. “I’m not going to be the perfect soulmate you deserve right away.”

“I don’t expect you to be. You’re already perfect to me.”

“I’ll work on it,” Jason compromised. “I want to deserve you.”

“You do–”

“Y/n,” he pleaded desperately. “Let me do this for you. Let me be the best Jason Todd for you.”

Seeing that he wasn’t going to back down, Y/n nodded after a minute. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll get through it all together.”

“Maybe we should seal the deal with a kiss.”

A bubbling laugh filled Jason’s ears and he couldn’t help the large grin that came over him. “Hmm,” Y/n conceded. “Alright.”

And so they did.

“Mom, why’re we here?” A small hand gripped onto her mother’s.

“I signed us up for a soup kitchen,” her mom explained. “It’s coming to the holidays and we should be doing something good for others. Gotham isn’t always the nicest place to live and we’re fortunate enough that we can help when needed.”

“Hmm,” the girl conceded. “Alright.” She puzzled a bit over the thought that some people weren’t as fortunate as they were, before asking slowly, “do we need to help them any more than usual?”

“What do you mean, Y/n?” the mom asked, checking the street names as they passed. The girl frowned, her hair in small pigtails. “Well… Should we have brought clothes? Or blankets? How… How much do they need help?” She struggled to find the right words.

“No, they’re not homeless,” her mom said. “They just need a bit of help bringing food into the family, you know?”

“Okay,” Y/n accepted the answer easily.

“Just, hold my hand, will you?” the mom said, even though her daughter was already clutching her hand. “This isn’t the safest part of town, though nothing bad will happen. The sun is out, so there’s nothing to be worried about.”

Out of nowhere, a small boy barrelled out of an alleyway, shouting at some other boys that were running behind him. He crashed into Y/n, who’s mom scooped her up on instinct. “Oh, I’m sorry!” the boy cried out, head whipping from the two females back to the people chasing him. The boys behind him carefully came to a slow once they saw an adult with her daughter. “Uh, where are you two ladies going?” The boy asked, eyes darting back and forth between the groups. Ultimately, he decided that a stranger was more safe than those kids, simply because she was a mom.

“To the food kitchen,” Y/n supplied before her mom could shush her.

“I can show you the way!” The boy jumped at the opportunity, beginning to walk backwards away from the group of bigger boys. Y/n’s mom looked between the malnourished boy who was silently begging with his eyes to the group who had a smearing of blood on their knuckles.

“Okay…” she decided. “Show us the way.”

The young boy jumped up and began striding away, beaming with the safety of an adult. Y/n’s mom set her down carefully, gripping her hand tighter than before. “Stay close by,” she demanded. Y/n nodded.

The boy had dark hair that was cropped slightly at the sides with a tuft of it that fell over his eyes. His eyes were blue and he wore a red hoodie that fell just a bit too long over his jeans. “Wow,” he chirped as the trio got farther away from the alleyway. “Thanks. Let’s just say I’m not exactly on those guy’s good sides.” He kept rambling, Y/n’s mom shooting him cautious looks every once in a while, but he didn’t seem to notice. “What’s your name?” he asked Y/n, skipping over to walk by her side.

“Y/n,” the girl replied. “Y/n L/n.”

“That’s a nice name,” the boy grinned. “How old are you?”

“I’m five.”

“I’m seven!” The boy placed a haughty hand to his chest. “But my birthday’s tomorrow.”

Y/n’s mom hummed. “Oh. Are you excited to get your soulmate timer?”

“Yeah!” The boy beamed up at the woman, turning a corner. “Super excited. But this is the soup kitchen. You know, my mom should be stopping by soon. But thanks!” He began jogging off, waving goodbye.

“Wait! What’s your name?” Y/n called after him.

“Jason! Jason Todd.”

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ssentimentals · 2 years

Text

dating joshua feels like...

being put on the highest pedestal. it's him asking you for your heart because he can't have anything less, he wants all of you ('give me your heart, it's safe with me, i won't break it') and you giving it, because you know he'll take the best care of it.

('aren't you afraid?' you wonder, tilting your head to get a better look at him. 'what if we won't work out?'

'but what if we will?' he challenges in a soft voice and you bite your tongue, cause there's no answer to that. he smiles and brushes a fallen hair strand out of your face. 'you gotta take that leap of faith, darling. i told you that my heart is yours because i know you won't betray my trust. and you've given me yours back and it's my biggest treasure. i won't break it, darling. i won't.')

his love is gentle, his love is sweet, his love runs through your veins like a hushed reminder that you are the one who has his heart. joshua thinks so highly of you, would give you the moon and the stars if he could, writes thousand poems and none fully portray how he feels about you, what you make him feel. you put him on the cloud nine, love lifts him higher from the ground, fills his heart with light. but he's not blind. he is not in love with a perfect image of you, he is in love with you, real you, with your issues and struggles and imperfections.

('you are my kindest angel,' he soothes, wiping tears away from your eyes. 'please don't cry.'

'i am not kind, i am horrible, i was so awfully mean to her and now i can't even go and apologize cause i'm scared she won't accept it,' you wail, turning away from him. you sure you look like a mess with running nose, ruined make-up and red eyes. joshua gently but firmly makes you face him and you whine, shaking your head: 'no, shua!'

'you are my kindest angel,' he repeats again, making eye contact with you. 'the fact that you realized your mistake and you want to apologize already means so much. and horrible person wouldn't be sitting here and crying because of this.' he smiles, handing you tissues. 'you are the kindest person i know,' he starts and ignores your protests, continuing: 'and you would have forgiven her for this, just like she will forgive you now. no more tears, angel.')

joshua is handwritten letters hidden under your pillow when you wake up, he is a love song sang to you on acoustic guitar, he is 'angel, darling, sweetheart' petnames, he is a butterfly kiss on your lips that leaves you tingling. he reminds you that you first have to love yourself and only then love others and he teaches you to be kind to yourself.

('i didn't do anything special,' you reason with him, looking at all the bath bombs from lush. 'what's the occasion?'

'there's no need for special occasion to pamper yourself, you deserve to feel good,' he replies, running a bath for you. he smiles in satisfaction once the temperature is up to his liking. 'now, lilac bomb or stargazer one?')

his touch is full of reverence - you are walking and breathing dream for him, he sometimes can't believe that you chose and keep on choosing to stay by his side. his appreciation for you runs deep and maybe he is not screaming to the whole world about it, but you know this and that's enough for both of you.

dating joshua is like that feeling when you are tucked into the bed, kissed on the forehead with the wish of a good sleep and murmured 'i love you'. that feeling of peace, serenity and warmth - this is what dating with joshua feels like, this is what he gives you on daily basis without a fail.

('josh,' you call and he looks up from the set of notes scattered on the table. 'what are you doing?'

'writing you a love song,' he replies easily, smiling at your blush. 'it's not finished yet.'

'you wrote me one last month,' you remind him, stepping closer. 'are you planning to gift me one every month?'

'i wish i could,' he says honestly, kissing your hand and pulling you closer. 'you inspire me to write love songs every day.' he stares at with open wonder and when you are ready to call him out for staring, he suddenly confesses: 'you are such a dream.'

it's cheesy but it's sincere and it makes you melt against his frame. 'i love you,' you whisper and he hugs you tighter.

' i love you too, darling.')

tag list: @pearlygraysky @woozionascooter @smalliechelle @jaetaimjadore (let me know if you want to be added!)

a/n: do i think that joshua belongs to the 18th century romance books? i do, i really do. have i also recently started watching 'bridgerton' and can i picture joshua there? yes, i do, i do. wish i could write some bridgerton inspired peace but anyways, here is the link to other members imagines, come check them out as well :) - nini

#joshua hong #seventeen joshua #joshua x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagine #seventeen reaction #seventeen joshua hong #svt joshua #hong jisoo #seventeen jisoo #is it very very obvious here that i watched all jane austen movies within this week?#ughhh hope this is fine??#joshua to me like ed sheeran song you know any of his love songs

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velvetstreets · 1 year

Text

SAD GIRLZ LUV MONEY: PT 4 - Fool For You

A/N: ITS BEEN A YEAR SINCE I POSTED PART 3 💀 I’m sorry y’all 😭🫶, made this EXTRA long to make up for my hiatus. These mfs finally start cooking with some gas in this chapter! Enjoy 💗

None of the people in my writings portray the actual people I write about! It’s all a work of fiction, I have no idea how they are/act irl.

Warnings: smut, penetrative sex (f!receiving), swearing, oral sex (m!receiving and f!receiving), two kids in love, tooth rotting fluff.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

——————

“Hi.” You mewled out from the comfort of your own bed, in an oversized Egyptian blue hoodie. It had years-old worth of stained flecks of white paint from when you helped paint your bestie’s apartment; the collar of the sleeves were beginning to fray, and as well as had an eyeliner stain in the inner left sleeve after getting ready for a girls night, but you loved it - imperfections and all.

“Hey.” He grinned from the bright phone screen.

“God you look so freakin’ cute, how the hell you do that?” Jack said, wasting no time to shower you in compliments.

You rolled you eyes playfully and rolled onto your side.

“Shut up, I look fuckin crazy right now.” You laughed. You worked a long shift last night, a Saturday, raking in bags of cash which you were happy about, but you were exhausted when you finally came home. Jack had waited for you in the parking lot as he often did, always with food as he knew you’d be starving. Last night you asked him to get you Popeyes Chicken, and boy did he deliver. He tried to pretend that he was offended you didn’t want his staple meal from KFC, but he couldn’t care. He’d get you anything you asked for, from food to diamond jewelry to a house even; he’d spend it all on you if you asked. You squealed in excitement when you met him in the parking lot, you were starving and his act of service meant a lot to you, even tho it was just chicken.

You had noticed that Jack did that a lot. Helped out in any way he could in order to lessen the load you had on your plate, which you deeply appreciated. Nobody had ever gotten your love language correct, always assuming physical touch was all you liked because of your job. It scared you a lot to know that Jack knew you well enough to pick up your patterns and ways of thinking and how you were feeling. Yet at the same time, it was such a relief - emotionally, to have someone notice you in the way you had dreamt about being noticed.

“-Yeah, fuckin crazy gorgeous,” Jack cheesed, not letting up.

You exhaled a tuft of air in response with a small smile, accepting defeat and hoping to move on.

“What’s up, Harlow?” You asked as you got out of bed to go to your kitchen to look for something to drink.

“You have a break from school coming up soon right?” He hummed.

“Mmhmm. Spring break, a whole week.” You confirmed, rummaging for a cold water bottle.

“Good. I wanna take you somewhere. The whole week.” Jack said.

“Oh? Where are you taking me?” You whipped your head back to the screen, amused with his plans.

“You’ll find out when we’re there. Just pack for warm weather… maybe a beach or two.” Jack slyly grinned, not wanting to give away too much.

“Jack… you’d tell me if you were gonna murder me, right?” You hummed questioningly, sticking your head in the fridge.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Out of the two of us, you’re more likely to murder me.”

“You sure you wanna take that stance as a white man?” You joked.

“Yes, especially after I almost got myself tased when you asked me to get your lipgloss out of your purse two weeks ago.”

“Oh yeah,” you laughed. “Close call.”

Jack shook his head in disbelief and chuckled.

“A whole week? You’re gonna get sick of me.” You continued.

“Never.”

“Well then I’m gonna get sick of you!” You laughed.

“You won’t! Just trust me.” Jack grinned warmly at you.

You stared at him for a moment, heart beating rapidly against your chest before answering.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You exhaled, unable to hide the creeping smile on your face.

Jack rolled onto his back in his bed, phone still at his side while whispering a little ‘yes!’ to himself before bringing the phone back to his face.

“Okay. I’ll come pick you up Friday at 5.”

“This better be good, I need to come back relaxed before finals.”

“You’re gonna have the time of your life, I promise.” He said, reaching out his pinky finger to the screen.

“Okay.” You smiled, putting your own pinky to the screen, the both of you tapping the screen as if you were curling your fingers around eachother to solidify his promise.

——

Jack fussed with his hair before ringing your doorbell, heart almost beating out of his chest, he was excited, but slightly nervous at the thought that you might’ve bailed on him. It wasn’t a huge doubt of his, but he was always a little worried that he would scare you off too quickly.

He looked around the hallway of your apartment building. Every door looked the same, but he couldn’t help but imagine what your place looked like. He had seen bits and pieces of it through FaceTimes, but never seen it all in person. What color was your couch? Do you like your apartment at a cooler temperature? Did you have empty water bottle crowding your nightstand like he did? Did you have pictures of your friends, your family? He was eager to break through your walls (metaphorically) and learn more about you.

He was brought out of his thoughts as the door opened and you appeared. There you were, standing in a matching forest green lounge set, with matching green Fenty Puma slides and barefaced. It felt like all the air was punched out of Jack, you were so adorable, he wanted to litter your face in kisses and smush your cheeks together, but he kept those feelings at bay, settling for a warm hug and a kiss to your hairline.

“You look beautiful, as always.” He hummed into your hair. He felt you smile against his chest, before murmuring a ‘thank you’.

You let him into your apartment and Jack took his time inspecting his surroundings.

“I just need to get a few more things, and then we can go.” You told him, and he nodded.

Jack walked around your living room, looking at your abstract bookshelf, his fingers swiping along the spines of the books, trying to remember as many titles so he could order them later and read them himself. You had a few plants, one on said bookshelf, one on the giant window by the couch (which he now saw was green), and one that sat on top of your fridge. He moved toward the fridge, inspecting your magnets and the few photo booth pictures of you and a few friends, from ‘Summer’s 27th Bash!’ and ‘Jordan and Celeste’s Wedding’, amongst a few other pictures. One of them being a bit older and faded, a woman who looked like you; holding a little girl, the two of them sticking their tongues out for the photo. He couldn’t help but smile at that one.

“Ready?” You asked, bringing Jack out of his thoughts. He turned around and nodded, heading for the door. Jack took your bags and the two of you got into the elevator and went down to the car Jack had waiting. He handed your bags to the driver before opening the door and pressing a warm hand to the small of your back, helping you get in, before he scooted in next to you.

“So you’re still not gonna let me in on where we’re going?” You asked as you rested your head on his shoulder, yawning softly.

“Just wait and see, I promise it’s worth the wait.” Jack murmured as he kissed your hairline again, his hand reaching for yours and intertwining them.

“Hmpf. Fine, be that way.” You childishly pouted. Jack couldn’t help but laugh at your stubbornness as he rested his head atop of yours.

“I thought you said you trusted me?” He humorously quipped.

“I do. I’m just nosy.” You said, eyes now shut as you adjusted and got comfy in Jack’s arms.

Jack chuckled, shaking his head as he rubbed his thumb against the back of your hand.

——

After a three hour flight on the jet Jack had rented, you were finally at your destination.

“Turks and Caicos?? You brought me to Turks and Caicos??” You squealed as you looked out at the ocean from the luxurious villa Jack had rented out for the week.

“I thought you deserved a real vacation, one where you’re pampered and truly relaxed, not just at home before your schedule starts up again.” He explained, his eyes gleaming with adoration for you as you fawned over your new surroundings.

You turned around, finally looking at him. You were starting to tear up, your lips in a pouty frown that fought to keep the overwhelming emotions down.

“Thank you for this, Jack. Seriously.” You hugged him tightly, your arms wrapping around his waist as he wrapped his around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.

“No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.” You quietly said, a few tears escaping your eyes.

“Well I’m glad to be the first, and only.” Jack said. ‘And hopefully the last’ he thought, pulling away slightly only to encompass your face in his hands, thumbing away the stray tears, placing a soft kiss to your lips.

“You more than deserve it.” He said as he pecked your lips a couple more times.

“Cmon, let’s go get settled and then order room service. Sound good?”

“Mmhm.” You hummed contently, a small grin peeking out.

——

You let out a deep sigh as you let the hot water soak your hair and run down your body. You were gonna sleep next to him tonight. For the first time. You felt ready, less anxious then when you first started contemplating it, but still nervous nonetheless. It had been a while since you were vulnerable with a man like this; certain experiences having made you avoidant and guarded when it came to the men you slept with.

But you felt a sense of comfort when it came to Jack, unlike anything you’d felt before. It was new. Different. It scared you but it also excited you. So for once, you were willing to give into it, at your own pace of course.

After exfoliating your body and taking care of your hair, you got out of the shower, feeling revitalized from your flight.

You wrapped a giant fluffy white towel around you and applied your lotion and finished with your skin routine.

You stepped out of the luxurious bathroom, letting steam air out as you stepped back into the master bedroom.

“Hey.” Jack grinned at your presence.

“Hey.” You smiled back at him.

“Good shower?”

“The best.” You sighed happily.

“Here-“ Jack got up from the couch in the room, disappearing into the closet for a moment before walking back out with a fluffy robe.

“- figured you’d enjoy this.” He held out the robe for you to put your arms.

“Oh my godddd, it’s so warm!” You whispered delightfully, tying the knot before turning around in Jack’s arms so your face was buried in his chest.

“Yeah, they have a lil towel warmer, stuck it in there while you showered.” He chuckled, his hands rubbing up and down your robed back.

“Mmmmm. So niceee.” You hummed.

“Good, I’m glad. Now get in bed and choose something to watch while I go shower. I ordered us cheeseburgers with a few sides, s’that okay? Otherwise I can fix you something else.” Jack suggested.

“No, that’s perfect, thanks.” You said, the small grin you were sporting, never leaving your face.

“Okay. Be back in a few.” He smiled, kissing your hair before heading to the bathroom.

You got situated in bed, the tray of food on the side table, and the remotes laid out for you.

Who the hell was this man? You’d never felt so pampered before, men were usually selfish and greedy, but Jack was the opposite with you. All he wanted was to give, financially, sexually, emotionally. It seemed fake, but he never changed within the months you’d been hooking up.

Jack really just wanted to support you in any and every way, but was understanding and wanted you to set the pace, for you to decide how fast or slow you went. He knew you were sus of him and men in general, what their motives were, and he couldn’t blame you for that. He knew how men could be; disgusting, manipulative, selfish. But ultimately, he just wants to take care of you. Be a man you could be proud of, feel safe with, feel loved by. He didn’t care how long it took, he’d stick around for as long as you wanted him to.

You giggled childishly as you hugged the warm robe around you. You put on That’s So Raven, feeling nostalgic of simpler times.

Jack emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his hips, his curls a dark brown now as they’d been soaked from the water, beads of water slowly trailing down his chest, with his happy trail peeking out.

“Ooooh, That’s So Raven- good choice.” He complimented, eyes on the screen. You couldn’t say the same about your own, glued to his long torso, his abs flexing with every breath.

“Yeah, reminds me of good times.” You remarked.

“I’m sure it does.” Jack said with a playful tone, catching you staring at him.

Your cheeks heated up a bit from being caught, as Jack made his way to the closet.

“No peeking!” He playfully exclaimed, dramatic as ever, eyeing you before going into the closet, making you laugh.

Jack couldn’t help but smile to himself while he got into his robe, he loved hearing your laugh. He loved it even more when he was the one making you laugh.

He opened the door and ran to the bed, jumping into it like a child which made the the both of you giggle.

The two of you ate and watched shows for the rest of the night, switching on and off between eachother about who got to choose what to watch. Eventually you both changed into your pajamas, a big t shirt and panties for you; and some basketball shorts and classic white tank for Jack.

Jack noticed you start to get sleepy after a while. You had cuddled into eachother, his arm over your shoulders, leaning you into his chest. He felt your breathing start to slow and get deeper, and your eyes fluttered open and closed. When you finally gave up on trying to keep them open, he pressed a kiss to your forehead before sliding out the bed. He grabbed a few pillows and an extra blanket that was lying around before he grabbed the tv remote.

Just as he was about to turn the tv off, he was startled by your voice.

“Where are you going?” You quietly murmured, eyes squinting from your tiredness and the tv.

Jack muted the tv before turning his attention to you.

“Was gonna go sleep on the couch.”

“Why?” You questioned.

God you were adorable when you were sleepy. Jack wanted nothing but to kiss you silly.

“ I didn’t think you’d want to sleep next to me? Or- I mean, I just figured you’d want your space.” He tried to explain. He didn’t want you to feel obligated to sleep next to him just because he brought you out here; he figured your usual routine was in place still.

“ I-I did, but not anymore.”

“No?” Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“No.” You meweled. “Will you please come back to bed? Please.” You whispered, anxiously tugging at a string from the hem of your shirt.

Jack practically skidded across the room in a cartoonish fashion, like the Roadrunner; to get into the other side of the bed, making you giggle.

“Too eager?” He joked.

You shook your head with a smirk creeping at your lips.

“Oh, not enough??” Jack questioned before you got a chance to answer, and he got up and ran back to where he stood originally before running and jumping onto the bed like a spider monkey.

A loud laugh bubbled from your chest, making you throw yourself back into the fluffy pillows, causing Jack to smile.

“Perfect amount.” You smiled back at him, curling your body into his chest, letting out a soft sigh.

Jack pressed a kiss to your forehead, picked up the remote and turned the tv off, letting the room fill with comfortable silence. The distant sounds of the waves washing providing a soothing white noise for the two of you to drift off to sleep.

——

You woke up earlier than expected, 5:27 to be exact. The sun slightly filtering through the curtains, the waves still present in the background, with a few birds chirping every so often.

Jacks grip was the first thing you noticed. Tight and solid around your waist as he held you against his chest. You looked up at him, admiring his soft face. Long eyelashes fluttered as he dreamt, freckles adorning his cheeks and his mouth in a slight open pout, his breathing deep. His curls slightly tousled from sleep, but their form framed his face beautifully. You couldn’t help but lovingly smile as you brushed a curl from his forehead, placing a small kiss.

Jack let out a small grunt, and you looked at him, hoping you didn’t disturb his sleep. That was until you realized you felt his hard cock pressing against your thigh, giving you an idea.

Jack eased his grip on you as you shuffled around, fully resting his back against the sheets, before you straddled his hips. You dipped your head down, pressing wet kisses under his ear and along his jaw.

He started to stir as you left hickeys along his neck and chest; red marks that would soon enough turn purple across his pale skin.

“Good morning, handsome.” You hummed.

“Mmmm, ‘mornin angel.” Jack grunted in his raspy morning voice. It was something you’d get to hear once in a while, usually when Jack was in another city working; he liked to call you early before starting his day. But now you got to hear it personally, in the flesh, centimeters away from you, and my god did it get you wet.

You continued to kiss down his torso, gliding your nails across the skin, making him shiver in delight.

You cupped his clothed cock, making his breath hitch.

“Can I-“

“Please, yes.” He breathed out.

You grinned as you pulled down his shorts, Jack kicking them off completely with his foot.

Your mouth watered at the sight of his perfect cock. The tip a gorgeous shade of pink, close to matching his lips, precum already leaking from the slit as his cock twitched in anticipation.

“Fuck, so pretty Jack, so so pretty…” you whined before taking him in your mouth.

“God, I’ve missed this. Missed your hot little mouth sweetheart. It’s only been a few days but it’s been too long without you,” Jack babbled, focusing on not thrusting his entire dick down your throat, keeping the respectfulness at bay.

You groaned as you continued to bob your head up and down, your core clenching as he continued to praise you. Jack shivered at this, hands reaching into your hair.

“Your little throat takes me so well, doesn’t she pretty girl? Takes Daddy so well,” His voice now more gruff as he chased his orgasm, hips lifting off the bed a little.

You coughed as his tip hit the back of your throat, making you eyes water, taking your mouth off of him.

“Fuck, m’sorry-“ Jack quickly apologized.

“No, no, I liked it.” You grinned at him as he swiped a fallen tear with his thumb. You kissed his thumb before going back to his wet cock, kissing up and down his length before you took him in your mouth again. You twirled your tongue around him and suckled at his tip, saliva and precum drooling from your lips down his cock and into his trimmed pelvis, matting the hair together.

Jacks grip tightend in your hair as his moans got louder.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so good to me. So good to me with that precious filthy mouth, angel.”

You relaxed your throat, nuzzling forward into his pelvic bone, tapping his hip to signal he could have his way with you before playing with his balls.

“Fuck yes, just like that, breathe through your nose baby, breathe with me, yeah- just like that- fuck.” Jack grunted as he fucked your throat.

The obscenely wet sounds that echoed the room as his tip continued to hit the back of your throat, combined with the precious whimpers that fell from you was enough for Jack to burst.

He came an ungodly amount down your throat, so much that you tried to swallow it all, but it just kept coming. You took your mouth off of him, spurts of cum still leaking from him, splattering across your chest and your chin before he finally finished.

Jack shuddered from the intense euphoria and the lack of covers, dick still twitching. You climbed back up and laid on him, hands clutching at his shoulders from underneath, your warmth helping him calm his breathing before he wrapped his arms around you.

“Jesus fucking Christ,“ Jack breathed out heavily, eyes still shut and his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to calm his breathing.

You giggled as you pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw before laying your head back on his chest.

“Think you sucked part of my soul out.” He laughed and you grinned into his skin.

You started to get off him but before you could shuffle back to your side, Jack flipped the two of you over.

“Jack, you don’t have to-“

“I don’t have to do anything, I want to though.” He hummed as he started trailing kisses along your jaw and down your clothed torso.

“Lemme take care of you, remember?” And you nodded and let out a soft sigh as you felt your shirt being pushed up your thighs ever so lightly.

He settled between your legs, lifting your calves over his shoulders as he got a better view of your pussy. You felt Jack’s breathing against your lower tummy, right on the cusp of your mound, making your shiver.

He chuckled before pressing a soft kiss to your panty-clad pussy.

“Missed you.” He whispered as he traced the skin with his nose, taking in the scent that was you.

“Missed your smell,” he continued, his teeth biting the fabric of your baby pink thong, slowly dragging it down and off your legs.

Jack saw how incredibly wet you were, and it drove him mad. He spread your lips, your arousal glistening in the light, clit begging to be touched. He let out a soft tuft of air in awe of the beauty before him. Every soft curve, scar, freckle, dimple splayed across your skin were the most beautiful brush strokes of the painting that was you. Every whine, moan, giggle that fell from your mouth were perfect melodies to him.

You whined at his breath on your clit, silently begging him to make a move.

“P-Please baby, do something.” You pleaded.

“I got you mama, I got you,” Jack promised before leaning into you and licking a fat strip along your entrance.

“Oh fuck-“ you cried out, your hands burying themselves into his hair.

Jack had eaten you out before, but there was something different about this time. He had a type of insatiable hunger, you could feel it in his aura; and in the way he devoured your pussy.

Your hips jerked forward as Jack pressed his nose against your clit, a delicious sound to your ears as he continued to lap at you. You were paralyzed, in the best way- unable to do anything but let out cries and moans of euphoria.

“J-Jack,” you cried.

“You taste so fuckin good, you know that? Fuckin’ delectable,” Jack rambled. His pupils were blown out, his gaze never leaving yours as his thumb rubbed circles into your clit.”

“Jack, I-I can’t, I need to cum, please let me cum,” you begged.

“You wanna cum, hm? Wanna cum for Daddy?” Jack smirked as he kept his rhythm, filling you with two of his fingers.

You let out a gasp, teetering on the edge of bliss; and Jack was fully in control. Your orgasm was legitimately in his hands, and you loved it.

The pads of his fingers reached to tap that perfect spot in you, and all it took was for Jack to mouth and nip at your nipple, and you finally succumbed to him.

You bit into his shoulder as you cried out his name, tears slipping from the corner of your eyes as you raked your nails down his back.

“Good girl, my girl is such a good girl huh? So pretty when you cum for me.” Jack cooed in your ear, fingers still pressed up against your walls, his thumb continued to relentlessly rub your clit.

You let out a deep sob at the overstimulation, finally clawing at his shoulder to end his delicious torture.

Jack pulled his fingers out from you and sucked your release off of them, humming in delight. He then turned back to you and laid his full weight on you, kissing your cheeks repeatedly and whispering endless praise.

“You did so well baby. My sweet girl,” he babbled as he held you close to his chest.

Your mind was on fire, unable to string together a single sentence. You weren’t super responsive except for a few sighs and groans; but Jack understood. He laid there with you, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead and cheek, petting your hair as he hummed a soft tune; waiting for you to come back to him.

You let out a giggle when he kissed the crook of your neck, making Jack pull his face out from you, his soft eyes searching for your warm ones.

“Hi.”

“Hey. You okay?” A small smile on his face as he rubbed his thumb along your collarbone.

“Yeah. I’m good. Really good.” You smiled back at him.

“Good.” He kissed your swollen pouty lips.

“Breakfast?” Jack questioned as he got out of bed, finding his shorts and pulling them back up.

“Didn’t you just eat?” You quipped, eyebrows raised teasingly.

“I’m still starving, but I figured I’d let my favorite meal cool off a bit.” He bantered with a smile.

“Breakfast sounds great.” You answered, still cozily wrapped up in the white sheets.

Jack took out his phone and snapped a pic of you in the bed.

“Hey!” You exclaimed.

“Hey!” Jack said, copying you.

You laid there with a pout before he leaned over and kissed you.

“Y’look too cute, I had too.” He said grinning as he leaned back up.

“Breakfast in 10, out on the veranda?” He asked walking towards the door of the bedroom.

“Veranda? I didn’t think you knew that word.” You joked.

“Hey, I read!” Jack huffed as he went to pull at your ankles, dragging you closer to the bed as you let out a squeal.

“You don’t know what my vocabulary looks like,”

“Don’t act like I didn’t see The BFG on your nightstand at your place last week.” You smiled.

“Don’t trash The BFG! It’s one of our greatest pieces of literature.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You hummed, your loving gaze matching his.

Jack smiled before pressing a kiss to your cheek and getting up to go order food.

——

Your feet padded against the cold tiles, walking up to the veranda where Jack was sat; food and colorful juices spread out across the table.

Jack grinned at you as you approached the table, still wrapped up in your bed sheets, looking like a baby deer who just woke up.

The two of you ate and talked about nothing and everything. Jack pulled you into his lap after a while, the two of you picking at fruit and watching the waves slowly sway in and the sun rising, warming the two of you.

That’s how the rest of the week went. Nothing but stolen kisses, soft moments of intimacy shared through cuddles, giggles and quality time (and a lot of fucking). You and Jack had made a pact to go skinny dipping every night, and every night one of you started to back out, only for the other to grab ahold and drag the two of you into the water. Jack would always try and tickle you while you swam, which you hated (loved), causing you to wraps your arms around his broad shoulders to stay afloat. He’d circle his arms around your waist, digging his face into the crook of your neck, taking in the intimacy of the moment every night, loving the connection that grew stronger between you two. During the day you’d build sandcastles together, sit in the sun (much to Jack’s dismay as he would get burnt if he sat outside too long; but he stuck it out so he could shamelessly ogle your glistening body in the tiny bikini you wore), nap together, play stupid drinking games among other things. Jack often snuck pictures of you; some of your reading, sleeping, random candids of you that he loved. One of his favorites was of you laying on your tummy at the beach, your skeleton spinal tattoo on display as you tanned your back, Jack’s hat partly covering your face as you napped. Of course he had others that were more… ‘cum splattered’ that he loved, but he loved this one particularly because of how relaxed you were. You trusted him, and he saw that.

You told him more about how school was going, and how you were soon ready to leave the nightlife and fully focus on your pediatric residency. Jack couldn’t help the warm smile from spreading on his face as he listened to you talk about working with kids. The unwavering light in your eyes as you told him about how the kids you encountered were silly and bright and curious, and how you loved to see them laugh as you used tactics to help get them through their checkups. He was in love with you, deeply so. He just didn’t know how to tell you yet; or if he should tell you. He needed a sign to show him you weren’t going to run from him. Little did he know, your feelings were more similar to his than he thought.

You couldn’t help but feel a childish joy with him, it was freeing. He made you feel free. So you made a decision, and you were gonna tell him about it tonight, the last night of your stay.

——

Jack told you he had made reservations at a restaurant in the area, and to be ready at 7. Though you slept in the same room and shared the villa, he wanted it to feel like a real date; one where he would pick you up at the front door with flowers, anticipation having been built leading up the date. So he got ready in a different room, and slipped out an hour before, leaving the place to you.

You dressed in a black silk knee length dress that perfectly accentuated your figure, the diamond tennis bracelet Jack had gifted you a while ago, and some black leather strappy heels. Your skin glowed against the materials, smooth and inviting. You took one final look before you heard knocking from the front door. You went to open it, and there stood Jack looking as handsome as ever. He wore a white button down, paired with a black blazer and his watch, along with the subtle diamond KY chain. His beard had been lined up, nails trimmed and glossed, and he smelled fucking amazing.

“Hi, beautiful.” His deep voice enveloping you in a euphoric hug, you swore you could feel your heartbeat in your clit.

Jack felt the same, unbeknownst to you. His eyes devoured you from head to toe, he almost didn’t want to blink, afraid he’d miss a single angle of you. He willed his dick to not get hard as his eyes roamed the plushness of your skin, the way your chest heaved as your own eyes studied him.

“These are for you.” He stretched his hand out as you accepted the bouquet of white lilies. You grinned and thanked him, and before you could even ask where to put them, you noticed there was a vase full with water on the table by the door. You grinned, biting your lip before letting a laugh out, as Jack had already anticipated your move.

He laughed along with you as you put them in the vase.

“Ready?” He grinned, offering his arm for you to take.

“As ever.” You beamed up at him, gently pulling a curl and watching it bounce back.

You arrived at the restaurant, and were in complete awe of the view. It overlooked the beach at a distance, the colorful flora and fauna leading from the mainland and slowly dispersed as it neared the water.

“Jack, this is so beautiful.”

“I know.” You turned to look at him, but he was already looking at you; a soft look on his face as he admired you.

He guided you to your table, pulling out your chair for you and kissing your cheek before he sat down in his own chair. You ordered drinks, and as the waiter left to fetch them and give you time to look over the menu, Jack intertwined your hands and rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand.

He hummed as he flipped through the menu. The both of you sneaking glances at eachother, giggling like teenagers. You got your drinks and ordered food, sipping at your chilled wine as you embraced the last bit of warmth as the sun began to set. You ate your meals, continuing to share laughs and stories, it was like you’d known eachother for years. The waiter cleared your plates and you ordered a slice of chocolate cake to share.

“I kinda wanted to talk to you about something,” Jack started off. “Hold on,” he stood up and draped his blazer over you, having noticed you started to shiver as the wind took up slightly.

“Me too actually,” you told him as he returned to his seat.

“Oh?” He inquired, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, but you go first.” You told him.

“Oh- um, yeah okay,” he fidgeted with his PG ring, nerves taking over.

You took his hands in yours, giving them a small squeeze as you gave him a gentle encouraging smile.

That made his nerves disappear. Just a look at your face, the sound of your voice, the smell of your hair, the gentle touch of your palm, it made him calm. You made him calm. Fearless. Like he could do any and everything as long as you were next to him.

“This week has been one of the best weeks of my life. These past few months have been the best months of my life,” he started. Your heart began to swell as you anticipated what he was going to say.

“And I don’t wanna ruin it by saying something too… big, but I know it’ll eat me alive if I don’t tell you how I feel, Cin.” He exhaled, clutching your hands a little tighter.

“Wait-“ you interrupted him.

Jack’s heart stopped. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He knew he shouldn’t have even tried to bring it up, he should’ve swallowed feelings.

“Y/N.” You told him.

“What?” Jack questioned, confused by what you meant.

“Y/N. That’s my name- my real name. Y/N.” You peered up at him from your lap.

His heart started beating again, rapidly so, but in an anxious way, no - this time he felt ecstatic. He felt the electricity run through his veins, he felt fucking giddy. He felt like he was floating, he could’ve sworn you could see the warm ball of light radiating from his chest.

“Y/N,” he smiled, feeling the way your name felt in his mouth. He loved it. “Y/N.” He repeated, as you smiled back at him. He had asked for a sign, and fuck if it wasn’t the most perfect one.

“I want something with you, Y/N. Whatever you want, whatever you’re willing to give me, you can decide- but I know that I want this, I want you. I- I love you.” He exhaled.

“A-And don’t feel pressured to say it, I just wanted you to know-“ Jack babbled before you cut him off.

“I love you too, Jack. I love you.” You told him, eyes welling up with tears that threatened to fall.

“Yeah? For real?” He asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, forreal forreal,” you chuckled, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Think I’ve known for a while now. I was scared of how I felt, all the feelings were so… big.” You continued. “But I know that I love you. You make me feel light, and safe, and free. And I haven’t felt that in a really long time.” You laughed, a tear finally falling.

Jack smiled and stood up, walking up next to you and leaned down, bringing you into a loving kiss, wiping the stray tear away.

“So you’re mine?”

“I’m yours.” You replied.

“Fuck yes.” He whispered, pulling you up and bringing you into another passionate kiss. He twirled you around, making you giggle before he brought you into a hug.

“I love you, so so much Y/N.” He took your face in his hands.

“I love you too Jack. So much.” You voice hitched as he kissed you again.

Jack had never hated keys as much as he had in this very moment.

He was struggling to get it into the lock, as he was heavily distracted by you tugging at his earlobe with your teeth, your legs tightening around his waist as your hips rutted against him.

He was painfully hard, his cock begging to be released from the constraints of his dress pants. He almost wanted to throw all caution to the wind and fuck you in the doorway, he was so desperate to be close to you in this moment, but you deserved a proper bed and the right setting for your declaration of love.

He finally got the door open, dramatically huffing and you giggled in his ear, your hand finding solace in his hair, raking your nails against his scalp which made Jack moan into your mouth.

He kicked the door closed behind him, stumbling into your shared room, gently laying you down onto the bed. He stood back up, the two of you panting hard, eyes never leaving eachother. The tension, although thick, dissipated from pure raw lust, to a comforting, softer, loving need.

It was silent, but both of your smiles made the room loud. The wine you had warmed your cheeks up, and you couldn’t contain your childish giggles, which made Jack chuckle himself. He thought you looked so unbelievably adorable, his blazer too many sizes too big and swallowing you up. But you looked at him with what he could only imagine his own face looked like; in love.

Jack crawled on top of you, holding his weight off by balancing on his forearms as he hovered over you.

“My pretty girl.” He hummed as his thumb caressed your face.

He brought his forehead to yours, noses just barely brushing against eachother.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” You whispered back.

Jack smiled before standing back up as he began to unbutton his shirt, discarding it on the floor.

You shucked his jacket off, and reached to fiddle with the zip on your back before Jack’s voice stopped you.

“Can I-“ he uttered. You looked up at him, eyes urging him to continue.

“I wanna do it. Let me do it, please?”

You nodded, laying back as he got undressed down to his briefs, took his and your shoes off, and then came back to hover over you.

He kissed you tenderly, savoring every second, and kissed down your neck. He licked and sucked on that sweet spot on your neck, a moan falling from your lips as you arched into Jack.

“So beautiful…” Jack mumbled against your neck, his arms reaching around your back to unzip your dress. He pulled the straps down your arms, shimmying the dress down your legs.

His eyes practically rolled out of his head when he saw you were only wearing a red thong.

“No bra?” He managed to ask, his hands wandering on their own, brushing up against the underside of your breasts.

“The dress looked better without it.” You shrugged.

“I’m gonna burn all the bras you own, no need for ‘em.” Jack mumbled as his thumbs rubbed into your nipples. “Gotta have easy access, right?” He coaxed, his mouth latching on to your soft breast.

“Oh fuck-“ you gasped. His mouth was glorious, sucking and mouthing at your tits, switching on and off from one to the other, one nipple always being pulled on or pinched between his index finger and thumb. Jack swirled his tongue over your nipple, his teeth lightly grazing it before he went to create more hickeys along your chest.

Jack kissed down your torso, biting and nipping at your skin here and there, before his fingers tugged at the waistband of your thong.

“Please.” You nodded at him, giving him the all clear to which he leaned down and plucked the fabric with his teeth, pulling them off your body.

Jack lifted your leg, resting your ankle on his shoulder as he kissed up your calf, licking up your inner thigh before he was met with your glistening pussy.

“Mine.” He growled.

“Yours.” You confirmed with a breathy whine.

Jack nudged his nose against your puffy clit, inhaling the sweet scent that was you.

“Fuck.” He breathed out, a puff of air landing hot on your lips, making you clench your core.

His tongue delved into your wet hole, the feeling of his wet muscle against your pussy making you cry out in pleasure. You bucked your hips into his face, making Jack chuckle, the vibration making you gasp. His muscled arms wrapped around your thighs, holding your hips down as he continued his pleasurable assault on your aching pussy.

“Fuck Jack, yes! Oh my god-“ your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth agape and unable to close. Your toes curled and you dragged them up his back as you writhed into the sheets.

Jack replaced his tongue with his fingers, wanting to reach that perfect spot in you. “You taste so fucking good, peach.” He gnawed at your hip bone before pressing a kiss and returning to your clit.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck- I’m gonna cum,” you moaned, eyes furrowed shut, awaiting the crash of your orgasm. But it never came.

Your eyes shot open and you lifted yourself up on your forearms.

“Jack? What the hell.” You pouted. “I was about to cum.” You narrowed your eyes.

“I know baby, but I wanna feel you cum on my cock.” He hummed, the raspiness in his voice more prominent. He climbed back up to you, face covered in your slick. You moaned as you kissed him, tasting yourself on him, with him, you tugged at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

“Wanna see you lose yourself on my cock for the first time, as my girlfriend.” He groaned as he rolled his hips into yours, your slick creating a damp patched against his clothed hard-on.

“Off, take them off already Jack.” Your foot attempted to push his briefs down.

“Okay baby, I got you.” He kissed you a few times before bending down to slide his briefs off. Jack settled between your legs, sliding his cock up and down, between your folds, his creamy tip bumping against your clit each time.

Jack felt your nails dig into his back and he hadn’t even slid into you yet, but he couldn’t blame you, he was aching to be inside you.

He tapped his cock against your clit a few more times, making you mewl and curl further into him. He finally pressed his thick head at your entrance, slowly thrusting into you, inch by inch. He felt you exhale and relax into his arms as he bottomed out, a dazed look on your face as he kissed your cheek. He laid there, balls pressed against your ass, still, enjoying the intimacy. Quiet except for eachother’s breathing, he felt your energies intertwining, like you became one.

“I love you.” You whispered, pressing a kiss beneath his ear.

He smiled into your neck.

“I love you.” He said whispered back, before beginning to move, slowly thrusting in and out, working you open.

“Fuck you feel so good,” He grunted, your walls tightly sucking in his cock. You clenched, tightening your hold on him, and he moaned, biting your shoulder.

He felt your essence leak down your ass, the shlick! sound created by the two of you amplified, and Jack picked up his speed a bit.

“Jack! Oh my fucking god,” you cried out, his thrusts harder and more intentional now, his yummy damp matted coarse curls rubbing against your clit had you raking your acrylics into his back; any concerns about bleeding or scarring left for tomorrow’s worries.

“You take me so well baby, doing so good,” he praised as he pressed your knees to your chest, your calves on his shoulders, thus allowing his tip to kiss your cervix, which made you drool.

“Does that feel good, princess? Yeah?” Jack talked you through it. His pace never faltered, keeping steady, his thumb inching back to its home on your clit as the sound of skin slapping and moans filled the hot room. You cried out his name in response, your mind a hazy fog, you were enveloped in him. His smell, his feel, his voice, you were intoxicated and never wanted to get sober.

“Ja-Jack..” your voice hitched, letting out a pleasure filled sob.

“What do you want? Tell me, use your words baby,” Jack encouraged, his mouth back on your neck, slowing and grinding his pelvis into your clit.

“W- want,” you shuddered in euphoria.

“Hm? C’mon you can do better than that, come on,” he urged you, mouthing at your tits, spreading his saliva across your pebbled nipples, nipping at them slightly with his teeth.

“Want you to cum in me,” you groaned, rutting your hips against his.

“Are you sure?” Jack asked, his thrusts slowing to a stop.

“Yes, I’m sure. I want it so bad, Jack.” You pouted, writhing against him, bringing him back for a sloppy needy kiss.

“Please give it all to me, wanna be filled to the brim with you.” You whined, and Jack nodded, fucking into you at a determined speed.

“I fucking love you, Y/N.” Jack growled as he reached the edge of his orgasm.

That broke the dam that held your orgasm. The grip your legs had around Jack tightened as you brought him deeper into you, and Jack pinched and pulled at your nipples, biting your neck as he grinded against your clit, maximizing your pleasure.

“I love you, I fucking love you Jack, I love you,” you babbled, tears falling from the corners of your eyes as you pressed him closer against your chest. The connection you felt was overwhelming, but so warm.

Your walls twitched, suffocating Jack’s cock in the most delicious way, making his hips stutter into yours as he came.

“Fuckfuckfuck, oh god-“ he moaned as ropes and ropes of cum filled you excessively, leaking from your tiny hole. Jack relaxed into you, resting his full weight against you, pulling your legs down to the side so he could lay on you. You laid there breathing in eachother, silent again, no words necessary as everything that wanted to be said, was felt by the both of you. You nuzzled into his neck, your hands returning to their righteous home, Jacks curls. He groaned as your nails raked at his scalp again, making him twitch in overstimulation in your hold; the last drop of cum spurting into you as he pressed his pelvis against yours one last time.

You stayed like that for a while, neither of you wanting to move just yet. This time it was you humming a soft tune as Jack had done for you a few times before, helping you ground yourself back to him.

After a few minutes you felt him turn his head to lay on your chest, his hands clutching at your sides, having wrapped his arms around you to keep you close to him.

“Hi, pretty.” You said, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Hi, baby.” He responded contently, exhaling a deep sigh.

“You good?”

“Never felt better in my life.” He let out a chuckle.

“You?”

“Same.” You smiled.

“Wish we could stay like this forever, feels so right being with you like this. In you, like this.” He spoke. “But, I gotta pull out now, okay?” You nodded, pressing a soft peck to him before he got up. Jack slid out, and his cum leaked out onto your ass, all over your inner thighs, and down to the sheets.

Jack couldn’t help himself but to smear some of the cum against your sensitive clit.

“Jack..” you whined, your legs folding in on eachother.

“Couldn’t resist, sorry baby.” He kissed your tummy before getting up to get a warm cloth to clean you up. He came back and wiped you up, before holding his hands out for you to take ahold of.

“Legs don’t work.” You told him, refusing to even attempt to get up.

“Okay, Angel. No problem.” He laughed as he took you into his arms, carrying your to the bathroom. He let you pee in private as he called room service for fresh sheets. The quickly arrived and Jack took the fresh ones as they took the soiled ones in a laundry bag. He came back to you and carried you back to the bed, fresh sheets now on.

“I feel so bad for the people who have to clean our sheets.” You groaned in embarrassment while Jack laughed.

“They’ll be fine, I’m sure they’ve dealt with this plenty times before.” He assured you, pulling you to lay on his chest, kissing your hair and tracing aimless patterns on your back.

You hiked your leg up and around Jack’s waist, nuzzling into his chest before letting out a deep satisfied sigh.

“Sleep, baby.” Jack hummed, and you nodded.

“Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.” You mumbled.

He smiled. He couldn’t believe he was here with the girl he dreamed of, with her telling him she loves him. That electric giddy feeling flooded his veins again.

“Love you too Y/N.” He told her. He felt her smile into his skin, before her breathing evened out, falling asleep, with Jack not far behind her.

To be continued…

———————————

Tag list: @hoodharlow @moody4world @watercolorskyy @lcandothisallday @harlowthot @triplexdoublex @thinkingaboutjharlow @bbyharlow @primadxna-girl @curlyhairclub @inluvwithladybug @babyharleezy @harlowcomehome @rebelxsun @jackharloww @harlowsbby

#jack harlow #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow fic #jack harlow smut #jack harlow fluff

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tangibletechnomancy · 9 months

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But really the thing that gets me about the "AI art isn't REAL art" argument-

More than the fact that this is a complete subjective non-argument, more than the fact that attempts to MAKE it objective inevitably lead to...dark places-

Is the fact that, fine, even if we agree that AI generation isn't INHERENTLY art, that's not going to take away the fact that humans fucking love taking "non-artistic" things and MAKING art out of them.

Look at ASCII art - that's "just" typing characters. Fractal art is a modern iteration of a long, LONG tradition of coloring math to make art. People ascribe meaning to found items and call them art - to broad agreement - all the time. Hell, this website itself has a whole subculture of shitposting artistic presentation into anything from candy wrappers to dog pee, or finding the value in art someone dreamed up and dismissed as nonsense upon waking.

So, sure, by one of my two own personal definitions of Art (1. Something someone creates or presents to project an idea; 2. Something someone finds Meaning in; i.e., potentially anything), yeah, I agree that, say, a generic portrait generated with no real intent beyond "look good on a shelf", because a Midjourney credit cuts into profits less than actually hiring an artist, to fill out a cover for Nepo Baby Cash Grab YA Book Of The Week isn't really Art. But what of when someone gives it an abstract prompt for the sake of seeing what the math engine produces in trying to make sense of it? What of when they find a result and spend 5 hours running it through multiple models, creating meaning in the chaos with every step? What of when someone shitposts up a storm, prints it out, and builds on top of it in the physical world? What of when someone uses it as a meditation on what latent space "looks" and "feels" like? What of when the flaws of the medium are the point? What of when the point is found in the fact that the computer doesn't know how absurd any given prompt is and just creates it anyway?

What if someone with hallucinations decides to take photos and img2img them into a deliberately imperfect approximation of what they see?

What if someone takes photos of their childhood play spots and img2img's them into what they imagined?

What if someone just challenges themself to take this "unartistic" medium and run wild with it for a full 24 hours to create one piece and a full meaning they can ascribe to it?

What if someone makes a whole series of art about jailbreaking the walled gardens of corporate AI?

This isn't a theoretical thing someone COULD do but no one IS - none of this is uncommon in the hobbyist space, because again, human beings will make art out of anything. ANYTHING. It's just what people do!

The Great Cosmic Tomato, created using img2img on a public domain photo of the planet Pluto from NASA's New Horizon's mission Generated under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

#ai art #essays

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monstermaster13 · 2 years

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TftW: Man, I Feel Like I’m Weyoun.

Weyoun (Star Trek: DS9) TF.

NOTE: This fic is a meta fic involving my character’s Deviantart-verse persona and it makes fun of quite a few transformation story tropes like forced mind changes/corruption elements and jokes the author puts in just because they like that sort of thing.

Nathan Forester aka Monstermaster13 was an expert in transformations of the odd variety including celebrities and Tim Burton characters, he was also the producer and writer of a transformation anthology show called Tales From The Web and also produced That Werebelushi In The Shades’s rant show which was a mega hit on Youtube. He had the most unusual tastes in transformations and wasn’t afraid to admit it, anyone who questioned these tastes of his…well let’s just say it was always short-lived and their appearances got cancelled before they could make any more of them, but let’s just say his ‘brain-rot’ so to speak went behind normal character tf-of-the-week brainrot.

Normally in stories like this there is some plot involving random characters that aren’t connected to each-other and usually it’s just an attempt to shove in as many references to older works of the author in question despite the fact it’s not even the same type of story as those and usually the random oc who gets tfed has little to nothing about them apart from what they were doing before they got transformed. So anyway, here’s the actual story…one evening Nathan had decided out of curiosity to check out the Star Trek DS9 section of tumblr’s universe only to come across a familiar face, he recognized the face though, he knew of the character ‘Weyoun’, a Vorta played by none other than Jeffrey Combs, and he knew that the character was a fan favorite. He came across a ton of imagines for the character but there was one that caught his eye. ‘Hmmm..imagine Weyoun being real and also taking over your body to make you into him. That sounds interesting.’

He answered a reply to it, writing it as a possession fic with transformation elements and he got a message. ‘Greetings, Nathan. Yes I know who you are, i’ve been reading your stories and your posts.’ ‘This is getting kind of creepy.’ ‘Sorry, but I just had to say that you’re doing a pretty good job, of course you seem to naturally accept that a character from a tv show is talking to you.’

“Wait…you’re Weyoun?”

“Yes, well…one of him, I am the ninth one.”

This sounded a bit suspicious to him but knowing what kind of adventure this was, he looked back at the screen and saw Weyoun emerging out of it, he didn’t need anything to prove what he was seeing was real, he lived in a supernatural neighborhood after all. ‘What do you need me for?’ ‘It’s simple, I am in need of someone to be my replacement should I end up dying and that person is…you.’ ‘Me?’ ‘Oh yes, you, you know how it goes by now so I won’t go over the rules.’

“There are rules?”

“Just kidding there aren’t any in this installment.”

‘Promise me you won’t make me do anything bad while you’re in my body, even though you probably will.’ ‘I promise, and also why would I do that?’, he looked over his shoulder for a bit and over to where Weyoun was, feeling a little bit anxious. ‘Because well…Jeffrey Combs' characters tend to be a little…unstable.’

“Don’t worry about a thing, i’ve got this.”

He sighed as the vorta took on a translucent form and entered his body, he spun around for a little bit before reacting with a slightly shocked look as his eyes widened and gave off a supernatural glow, turning from brown to bluish color as his skin paled and he whirled around a couple of times as his arms lengthened and his hands enlarged.

In addition to this his physique contorted to become a lot more lithe as a few cracking and crunching noises were heard but they weren’t too bad, as his legs also lengthened and his feet changed…his skin imperfections cracked and blistered before melting away completely in a manner that did come across as visceral but not overly gruesome.

He blushed a bit as his shoulders broadened and his neckline altered.his hair changed in terms of its style and turned from brown to black as his eyebrows thickened, his eyes turning from blue. In addition to this his ears slowly lengthened, at first lengthening to develop a pointed elfin appearance but then lengthening more and giving them the appearance of looking like they were connected to the rest of the head as they looked like vorta ears, right down to having ridges on them.

That’s when he saw his face morphing and reshaping itself, taking on a similar appearance to Weyoun’s and of course he didn’t need to realize…he was becoming exactly like him as his voice deepened and contorted, warping itself into a perfect copy of Weyoun’s voice, which is to say he sounded exactly like Jeffrey Combs.

Naturally this appealed to him since he was a fan of Combs, and Weyoun had been his biggest Brain-rot hyperfixation for a while now he was him, well in terms of his appearance and voice. ‘You know my favorite part of that was when I said it’s vorta-ing time and I Weyouned all over the place.’

“You’re way cooler than Morbius though.”

“Yeah.”

His transformation completed itself as he looked over at himself, seeing none other than Weyoun himself in the mirror was a shock at first but after a while he grew to love it, he was still the same old Nathan but he had the bonus of looking and sounding like he was played by Jeffrey Combs.

He examined himself and chuckled…he realized that even though Weyoun was a bit dubious in terms of his motifs he did mean well and he was after all one of the best aliens in the show and one of the best aliens in the franchise in general which made sense.

Looking around for a bit before pulling out his phone he decided to take some photos and email them to his friends, he decided to spend a couple of hours as Weyoun just to see what it felt like. Naturally, he enjoyed it and couldn’t be happier.

“How does being me feel?”

“Awesome, thanks for this.”

“No problem….I knew you’d like this.”

Sometimes you don’t need a graphic transformation sequence and extreme body horror to do a tf story and sometimes you don’t need to overload your story with complicated in-joke references only people who have read your previous stories will get, sometimes you just need good ol brain-rot to produce the wildest ideas you can imagine.

And that’s the moral of the day…brain-rot can be very helpful sometimes.

#Monstermaster13 #Alien tf

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visionofhope04 · 3 years

Note

Hii I was lowkey wondering if you would do something maybe like a one shot of neglected where reader is older (18-20) and dipped out of the house and became a singer and one of her songs basically exposed them for how they treated reader and in like an interview she full on tells them how she doesn’t even talk to them and like only Jason

This is literally perfect. I love this idea! I was planning on making a singer batsis reader anyway so here you go! I'll be making this part 4 of the series instead of a one shot. There’s a bit of angst. Btw, thanks so much for your support everyone! I'm glad you enjoy this series! Feel free to request anything you'd like besides smut as well!

This is the longest thing I have ever written so there will be a part 5. I planned on this being the last part but it's just so much. It’s not proofread and neither are all of the other parts because I post at 1 am most of the time lol. Hope you like it!

f/n = friend name

Y/G/N = your group name

N/S = news station

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (Current) Part 5

---

You were sick of it. Sick of how even after confronting them about how you felt and almost dying because of it, they still neglected you. You couldn't wait to move out at the age of 18, even if it proved to be a struggle. You had taken mini jobs since you turned 15 and saved up since then. You just couldn't see them anymore as it would remind you of how they treated you that day at that hospital. None of them apologized either. They just pretended it never happened and continued to ignore you. The media had a field day with speculation of what had happened but eventually stopped because Bruce had claimed it was “just a bad case of the flu” which they believed.

Jason was always the only one that would talk to you. He was the only one that actually cared enough to make sure you were taking proper care of yourself and that you wouldn't have a repeat of what happened. He took you places, spent time with you and gave you advice. You even had a tradition where you'd always meet up at the manor's library every week at the same time that same day every week and just have a mini book club together. He always made time for you and never bailed on you.

So on your 18th birthday, he helped you move out. You managed to rent a small apartment in Star City with the money you had saved up. It wasn’t that close to the manor which was a good thing. The neighborhood wasn’t good but it wasn’t as bad as Gotham’s neighborhoods so you would be fine. You could handle yourself with your assassin training if needed. You also managed to get hired at a cafe which was about a five minutes walking distance from your apartment.

It had taken a while but eventually, you had packed all of your belongings into color coded containers and moved them into Jason’s car with his help. You didn’t say goodbye to anyone as you had no friends to say bye to and you knew that your so called “family” couldn’t care less about what you did with your life. ‘This is it, hopefully the last time I’ll ever be near this place.’ You thought. You didn’t plan on stepping foot in Gotham ever again after you left. It would bring back too many memories you prefer to keep buried away deep inside your mind.

The car ride to Star City was entertaining. You and Jason conversed the whole time, telling jokes and listening to his funny tales with the radio playing softly in the background. Eventually, a song you both loved came on and you both started yell-singing along to the lyrics. You wished those moments could be permanent. You were both so carefree and nothing else mattered besides having fun and enjoying yourselves.

You now stood in the doorway of your new apartment, admiring your new home. Jason and yourself had just finished unpacking all of your belongings. You really liked how it looked and thought you both did an amazing job at designing the place perfectly according to your style. Jason, unfortunately, had to leave in order to avoid raising suspicions. Once you both said your byes, he left you to your apartment.

Jason drove back home in silence. He hated to admit it but he would miss you dearly. You were always there for him and helped him with anything. You tried your best to always comfort him and make him feel better on his darkest days and it would always work. Somehow you seemed to always have the right words to say or knew exactly what to do to help him. Out of everyone he was closest to you. He assumed it was because he could relate to you the most. More so how you felt. He’d felt like the black sheep of the family before you came, and he was. When you came, you took that role from him. It pained him to see how much their insults would affect you, even if you were good at hiding it. He could just tell.

Jason made it back to the manor after a while and went straight to the library. He didn't want to deal with the others. After the whole hospital situation, he'd never really bother interacting with them. He hated how they treated you as if you didn’t exist and hated how much pain they had caused you and that they didn’t even care. He guessed that they'd probably be doing something for Damian's birthday and forgot that you were his twin. They probably couldn’t even remember that Damian had a twin.

He made it to the library and pulled out one of his favorite books. He’d read it so many times you’d often joke that he could probably recite the whole book by heart at this point. Sitting down in a chair, he started to read. However, he couldn’t bring himself to stop thinking about what it would’ve been like if they treated you how they did Damian. The both of you were Bruce’s real children. You both even looked like clones of him! At first, Jason thought you would’ve been the favorite twin due to your personality. Even though you were twins, your personalities were polar opposites. You even refused to kill! You were trained by the League so why didn’t you kill as Damian did?

Jason knew you would benefit them greatly if you joined. You had self control, didn’t kill, could act perfectly, lie perfectly, do well under pressure, and not to mention your skills. Being raised by the League may have been torture, but you managed to gain incredible skills out of it. You could take on at least ten guys who doubled you in size and beat them within five minutes. You even bested Damian in spars and he was supposedly dubbed the “better twin” by Talia, so why hadn’t they let you join their nightly crusades like they had let Damian when the both of you first arrived?

Damian passed by your room but noticed something was off. He decided to take a look. He twisted the doorknob and pushed. The room which was once occupied by you now looked extremely plain and bare, stripped of all of its accessories. The only things left were the bed itself, multiple dressers, and a vanity. It looked as if it had been vacant the whole time. It might as well have been. Damian couldn’t really remember what it had looked like since he’s never paid much mind to it but he could tell there was a drastic difference. He knew that you disliked just leaving your room plain unlike himself and wanted at least something to make it look less boring.

He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. Had you finally been kicked out by Bruce? Did you get shipped off to a boarding school like he had been suggesting to your father for years? He decided to go ask. He exited the room and closed the door behind him, taking off for Bruce’s office. Walking down the hall, he suddenly remembered that he had seen you leave with Jason. This meant that you were not at a boarding school like he had originally thought. But then why was your room vacant?

Instead of going to see Bruce, he decided to go see Jason and bring up the matter with him instead. He changed directions and headed to the library where he knew he’d find Jason. It was no secret that Jason was a book worm so Damian had a fifty percent chance of finding him there.

He entered the library and was immediately greeted with the sight of Jason sitting comfortably on a chair, legs crossed with a book opened in his hands. Jason didn’t bother to look up from his book as he spoke.

“What do you want Demon Spawn?”

“I’ve come to obtain the whereabouts of my sister.”

“You mean my sister?”

“She’s not your sister!” Damian exclaimed.

“Well I act more like a brother than you do.”

“Where is Y/N? Her whole room is bare.”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Just tell me, you imbecile!” Damian said, growing increasingly frustrated by Jason’s blunt answers.

“She’s not here.”

“Then where is she?”

“Not here.”

“Just tell me already Todd, I have no time for your foolish games!”

“She moved out.” Jason said, giving in.

“What?! Where.” Damian demanded.

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because I demand to know!”

“Okay and?”

“Tell me!”

“No.”

“Why not!”

“Because you don’t even care.”

“And you do?”

“Yes, I actually do Damian! I’m there for her when she needs me the most. I’m there for her while she’s watching you live the perfect life that she’s just a background character in! While you and the others ignore that she even exists! I’m there for her when she breaks down and has panic attacks! And what were you all doing to try and help her? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!” Jason snapped.

“Y/N’s fine, I know my twin!” Damian screamed.

“Do you even know what her favorite color is?” Jason questioned in a harsh tone.

“...” Was Damian’s reply.

“Exactly! You don’t! You and the others have never cared about her, so why all of a sudden do you care now? You don’t know anything about her so don’t act like you do!” Jason then stood up and walked out of the room in a fit of rage.

Damian stood there, shocked. Had Jason just refused to answer his question? He was about to follow him but decided against it. Why was Damian going to chase Jason down just for her? She was just an annoyance, a mistake, imperfect. He had been wanting to get rid of her for so long, so why doesn’t he feel relieved? Why does he feel guilty? He decided to stop dwelling on it and get on with life. He figured it would happen eventually if it hadn’t happened then.

---

It had been a year since that day. The day you left your old life behind and started a new life, a better one. One where you weren’t constantly ignored. One where you actually had more than one person care about you. Instead of seeing yourself as a failure and disappointment, you now saw yourself as an amazing person (which you always were). You had been going to a community college in Star City. You made many friends there and started up a music career with three of them.

Their names were f/n, f/n and f/n. You all started off by taking random gigs anywhere you could. You performed covers of songs and would receive standing ovations all the time. Seeing as your group was well liked, you decided to write and produce your own songs. At the age of 19, Y/G/N released their first album. It went viral within a day and everyone was talking about it. After a week, several articles were posted, praising your work. News Stations talked about all the records Y/G/N managed to break. People started to stream it like crazy, and you couldn’t be happier with all the positive feedback you were receiving.

You had been a Wayne once, meaning you had experience in dealing with the media. Since you had already been used to it, you knew you’d all eventually be invited to interviews. So, when you had received an email stating how N/S wanted a one on one interview with you, you weren’t sure how to feel. You weren’t looking forward to interviews with your whole group, let alone one where you would be alone. You knew how unfiltered interviewers could be and didn’t feel comfortable with it.

However, you decided it would be best to go. So here you were, sitting in front of the interviewer in an uncomfortable chair preparing for the interview to start. You had somehow managed to keep a smile plastered on your face the entire time while you were a nervous wreck on the inside. You hoped none of the questions would be sexist as they usually were towards women. However, you had no more time to think about that. You heard clicking, signaling that you were about to go live. Once you heard the last click, you knew you were live and the interview had begun.

“Hello everyone, welcome back to N/S. My name is Jerald Tangleberry and I’m here today with songwriter, singer, and celebrity, Y/N Wayne! How are you?”

You waved to the camera and then answered, “Hello everyone! I’m doing good, how about you?”

“I’m doing great, thanks for asking! So by now I’d assume everyone knows that you’ve released an album with your group. How does it feel to gain more fame?”

“It doesn’t feel any different. Fame wasn’t our goal when we released the album. It was to express ourselves.”

“Mhm, well Ms. Wayne, what inspired you to write songs?”

“Well we know people may be in a tough spot in their life right now and want them to know they aren’t alone.”

“That’s so true. Some fans have been speculating that every member has three songs that specifically relate to them since there are twelve songs in total and three of the songs have the same group member as the introduction part of the song. Is this true?”

“Yes, it is true.”

“So all three of your songs relate to family issues of some sort. Is that hinting that you have family issues?”

“Yes, actually. My family isn’t the best. They ignored me all the time, even when they weren't busy. The only person who didn’t was Jason.”

“You’re saying it in the past tense.”

“I moved out about a year ago. When I was around 14, I suffered from anorexia. My family would always ignore me since they were either busy doing work or hanging out with each other. The only family member that acknowledged me was Jason. I assumed it was because there was something wrong with me. I started to hate myself so much to the point of starvation. One day, I passed out right before a gala and my oldest brother Dick found me passed out on the floor. They took me to the hospital and when I woke up, Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian started fussing about how I’d ruin their image if the media knew what actually happened. They started to yell at me and told me how I was a useless burden. I started to have a panic attack so I kicked them out. Jason stayed behind with me and comforted me. Ever since then I made a planed to save enough money so I could move out when I turned 18, which I did.”

“Oh, wow. So Jason was the only one who interacted with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like the Wayne family isn’t as perfect as they seem.”

“No family is actually perfect.”

“Did your family try contacting you at all after they found out about Y/G/N?”

“Not yet. They’re probably too busy or don’t care.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright, I got over it. What’s the next question.”

“Oh-” He cleared his throat and continued the interview. (So basically I don’t wanna bore you all lol)

---

Jason had woken up late into the afternoon that day. Patrol that morning had exhausted him. There was a huge breakout at Arkham they had assisted with. They successfully locked up every escapee, so today, Jason just wanted to relax until it would be time for patrol again. Even though he was exhausted, he knew he couldn’t take a break. The others wouldn’t and it would be unfair to them if he did.

He headed over to his couch with his phone and a bowl of popcorn in hand, ready to watch random movies the entirety of the day. He set down his phone on the coffee tables and grabbed the TV remote. When he turned on the TV, he almost dropped the popcorn and remote. You were sitting on a chair, giving an award winning smile while you politely answered the man’s questions. He was baffled. He didn’t know why you were being interviewed, let alone on TV at all! You made it clear you didn’t want to have any relations with your family any longer and you couldn’t stand publicity, so what were you doing?

He placed the bowl down and snatched his phone off the table. Unlocking his phone, he quickly dialed your phone number. However, he realized that the interview was live and that he would be interrupting it if he called you then. Deciding to wait, he placed his phone back down, picked up the bowl, and then got comfortable.

---

Tag list: @fake-id-69 @pepelachanel @loxbbg @what-0-life @yoongi-holland @omnivorousfangirl @cawcaw-pretty-thing @sexysamsungl @iceddonuts @buginetye @portrait-ninja @azazel-nyx @alculai

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plus-size-reader · 3 years

Text

Why

Cato Hadley x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2108 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Reader is a tribute for the Hunger Games, no one thinks she’s going to make it until Cato steps in. The one thing you don’t understand is, Why does he care?

Updated version of “Why Does He Care” an old fan favorite.

—————————————————————————————————

They knew you wouldn’t win.

It hadn’t even registered as a possibility in most of their minds, but that didn’t matter all that much.

All the game makers cared about was that you made a show of it, and if you could, got stabbed in view of one of the thousands of cameras surrounding the arena.

That was all you had to do.

You weren’t the strongest, the fastest, or the smartest that your district had to offer and everyone seemed to have already come to terms with the fact that you would be leaving the arena in a body bag.

They just didn’t see how a woman of your status and stature could ever hope to compete with others in the games. Against the Careers, a group of highly trained young people whose lives revolved around being able to win, you would surely meet your end.

However, you weren’t going to just accept defeat right off the bat.

Even if you didn’t win, you were going to put up one hell of a fight once that canon went off. You owed that to your family, and your district, and yourself.

No one in their right mind wanted to participate in the Hunger Games,and you certainly didn’t want to either, but you had been chosen to represent your district and you weren’t going to shy away from the responsibility.

At the very least, you had to try.

If nothing else, the fact that no one believed in you could serve as an extra push, the push you would need to take down as many other tributes as possible in the process.

You knew that you could do that.

Though, that fire did sort of dull as soon as you walked into the large training room, surrounded by all the other tributes from all the other districts. Once you got a look at them up close, you were less sure of yourself than you had ever been.

How quickly it had all changed.

From the moment you walked into that room, which was more of a cell of brushed aluminum and cool steel, you were forced to recon with the reality of the situation.

This was happening.

You were going to die.

The way in which you would die wasn’t something you were all that fond of considering, but as best you could tell, the Career pack would be to blame.

Stories of what they were capable of, training tirelessly to volunteer for their games and slaughter the competition were widespread all over Panem but you couldn’t have imagined how intimidating they were in real life.

Each one of them was a skilled, and accurate, death machine and you had no chance of surviving an altercation with even the weakest among them, who you had ultimately decided was Glimmer.

She was talented and smart but lacked the determination that the others had.

Even in her case though, you could see what they always said about the Careers. They were raised to believe there was no other point to their lives other than to win the Hunger Games.

If they didn’t win, they weren’t worth anything, not that it would matter. If they didn’t win, they would end up just the same as all the rest of you, in a shallow grave somewhere.

That was just how it was.

You did your best to keep to yourself at first, not wanting to elicit any more violence than absolutely necessary right off the bad. It was no secret to you that the other tributes didn’t take you seriously.

The last thing you wanted was for them to try and prove themselves at your expense before you were out in that arena.

Unfortunately, the other tributes, namely the Careers, had already made up their minds. In the few days that you had been training, they had been making fun of you the entire time.

For them, it was one big joke.

When they looked at you, it was clear that all they saw was the first person they were going to stick their swords into. They didn’t take you seriously at all and at this point, you weren’t even sure if you blamed them.

Each time you threw a punch or swung your axe at a target, they hooted and hollered from their place on the sidelines and called you out for each imperfection they saw in your maneuvers, and they weren’t wrong.

You had no idea what you were doing.

This was all new for you, because where you were from, hand to hand combat just wasn’t something you would have ever come across. Before now, you hadn’t even seen most of the things in front of you here.

You were out of your element.

By the end of the first week, you hadn’t even begun to make any progress. However, there was one thing that had changed and you couldn’t even pinpoint when or why it had happened.

At some point, Cato had stopped criticizing you in the same way his compatriots were.

You weren’t sure why he would even bother, but seeing as you didn’t really talk to him, you couldn’t ask. It was much easier to just be silently grateful for the break, and try to focus on what you were doing.

While it wasn’t looking good to start, you didn’t want to sabotage your chances of survival with any more wasted time.

The other Careers had noticed the change in him too, but not one of them dared to comment on it, even if it didn’t make any sense to them. The anger that they would risk in doing so just wouldn’t be worth getting answers.

Instead, they let him do whatever it was he was doing, waving it off as some kind of tactical maneuver. He knew what he was doing, and it wasn’t their place to ask too many questions and get him off his game.

When Cato first headed in your direction, closing the vast distance between you on the training floor, you assumed that he was intent on proving to you just how out of place you were here.

...But that couldn't have been farther from the truth.

In truth, what Cato was doing was far from a tactical measure. More than anything, he just couldn’t bring himself to make fun of you anymore.

He didn’t think that your weight alone was enough to warrant the constant abuse you were suffering.

Besides, It was clear that you were putting in a lot of work to get better, which was more than most of the other tributes were doing. You weren’t going to take this lying down, which he could respect.

From the looks of it, your technique just needed some polishing, and you would be just as good a fighter as anyone here, with the exception of himself.

“You need to strike higher” he prompted, coming out of nowhere and nearly shocking you out of your fighting stance. You had been so focused that you didn’t even hear him approach.

Still, it didn’t occur to you that he might have been trying to help at first. After all this time, he didn’t strike you as the friendly, just trying to help type. He was much more of the scowl and stab sort of person.

You couldn’t be blamed for feeling that way.

“Strike higher” he repeated, closing the space between you to wrap his arm around your frame, moving your axe in the exact way he had been telling you to do.

There was nothing snide or rude in his tone, but you couldn’t focus on that.

All you could think about were his strong hands on your body, and the clear concern he had for whatever in the world he could have wanted from you.

You tensed under his touch, desperately trying to decipher how you had gotten to this point or what you were supposed to do now that you were here.

There was nothing particularly romantic about his touch, which you understood, but it was still foreign to be on the receiving end of. No one had ever held you like this, under any circumstances.

“Hit here, not here” he muttered, his voice far too close to your ear this time, forcing a breath from your lungs you weren’t aware you’d trapped there. He moved the axe, and your arm attached to it, to demonstrate what he meant.

...And as much as you hated to admit it, he was right.

When he moved his arms, in succession with his words, he hit the target at jugular height, instead of in the trunk where you had been aiming.

It was a much better hit than you had been landing all day, showing how much more experience he had with this than you.

“Thanks” you muttered, glancing at him quickly, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t look at you but you wouldn’t have been so lucky.

Cato looked down just at the same moment as you turned your head to take in his profile.

You expected him to say something about it but he offered nothing, content to just stare back down at you with a slight smirk on his face.

“Somebody bigger than you is going to be able to push back if you aim here” he explained finally, lightly resting the palm of his right hand against your abdomen where you’d been aiming before.

It made sense, of course.

“If you aim at the weakest part, it doesn’t matter how much stronger an opponent is” he hummed, this time bringing that same hand up to where your throat was, not missing the way you gulped under his touch.

“And you can’t kill anyone aiming at their ankles” he laughed, shrugging at that, as if he shouldn’t have to explain that part to you. Even someone who knew nothing about this wasn’t going to be shocked at that.

Cato just didn’t want you to think that he was playing some sort of sick game with you. He was really trying to help, even if that wasn’t really in his nature.

Never in his life had Cato cared about anyone, or been drawn to another person like he was with you.

His entire life was all about winning the games, and there was nothing more than that.

That was all he’d ever cared about.

...But for some reason, making sure that you survived this whole thing was becoming really important to him.

There was just something about you that he couldn’t put his finger on, but whatever it was, he didn’t have all that much time to figure it out. This whole thing was happening, whether he wanted it to or not.

The best thing he could do for you was prepare you to survive, with or without him.

“Oh, I couldn’t kill anyone” you hummed, doing your very best to be as nonchalant about it as you could. You were doing your best to figure out how to protect yourself out there but you had already made you mind up on that front.

You weren’t going to kill anyone.

It was something you had decided on before you even knew your name had been drawn the day of the reaping, but this was new information for Cato.

New information that almost shocked him into silence.

Cato had always known that he would need to kill someone, at some point. It was never a question in his mind, or something that even had any effect on him. It was part of his life, and to hear that someone else had never even considered it was new for him.

If you didn’t kill anyone the entire time you were in the arena, you would die.

You had to know that.

Surely you knew that.

“If you don’t, you’re going to die” he spoke, the words leaving his lips before he even had time to react. There was a finality to it, something you hadn’t seen coming, and at first, you thought it may have been a joke.

The two of you really didn’t know each other all that well, or at all, so making jokes seemed sort of strange but it wasn’t necessarily something that upset you.

You were just shocked at his urgency.

This really was something that was bothering him, but there was one thing that was still bothering you. This was the first time you had ever spoken to him in your life, and as flattered as you were that he cared about what happened to you, it didn’t make any sense.

Why did he care about someone like you?

645 notes · View notes

miss-celestial-being · 3 years

Text

Love Sucks

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request | masterlist

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980 Words (but it feel like a lot more)

request: nope, but I'm done with hiatus so I'll get to those later

warnings: none... swearing? But when is there not..?

summary: What does love feel like?

pronouns: she/her

house: muggle/no house

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Part Two

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What does it feel like? To fall in love? It's a question I've asked myself every day and to be quite honest, I still don't know the answer. Because I've never been in love. Until I met him.

Let me take you back... back to the day we met.

Late autumn evenings were always the quietest. The sun still slightly peeking out from behind the rolling hills. The air just getting brisk enough to feel a small chill run through you, yet still warm enough to not need a sweater.

Y/n had just finished the meal her mother had sent her from home, walking out to the old willow tree outside. The colors of the leaves vivid enough to be in a painting. Y/n took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, taking in the slight breeze.

The wind picks up a bit, causing the scarf wrapped loosely around her neck to come off, flying out of her reach. She raced after it, giving up gradually as it flew farther and farther away.

She let her head hang low, thinking she'd just lost her favorite scarf, when a charming voice caught her ears.

"Is this yours?" The voice said.

Her head shot up, beautiful blue eyes in her line of sight.

"Miss?"

Y/n snapped out of her daze, acknowledging the man in front of her.

"Uh yes, that- that's mine."

The blue-eyed man held out the soft scarf to her, waiting for her to grab it with a soft smile.

Y/n carefully took the scarf into her hands, touching the hand of the man as she did so.

"Your hands are awfully cold." She spoke quietly. The man chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess they are." He scratched his neck, shivering slightly at the coldness in his hands.

"Why don't you come inside? Warm up a bit?" Y/n asked as she pointed at her small house just up the hill.

"Really? That'd be great." He said with a grin.

~~~

Some may call me foolish for letting a stranger into my home, but that was the best decision I've ever made. Yet at the same time it was the worst. Because it left me lonelier than I've ever felt.

~~~

"Bye." Y/n waved as the man walked out of her home. He smiled.

"Bye."

Just as he was about to leave, the words left her mouth.

"Do you maybe wanna go on a date sometime?"

He chuckled.

"You don't even know my name and you want to go on a date?"

Y/n blushed but continued.

"How about you tell me over tea and I'll tell you mine?"

The blue-eyed man thought for a moment.

"Alright. How about we go to the town? Say Saturday? Eight o'clock?"

Y/n nodded with glee.

"Great! See you then..."

He shook his head, amused.

"See you, sunshine."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she nodded.

~~~

Love is a tricky thing... you never know what one is truly like on the inside.

~~~

Y/n looked at herself in the mirror for the hundredth time, looking for any imperfection or flaw in anything. She didn't even know why she was doing this. She didn't know him. Not even his name. Why was she so drawn to him?

Maybe it's his eyes. Oh how alluring the crystal blue is. The little specks of grey. She could stare into them for hours, getting lost in the beauty.

Maybe it's his hair. The way it's kept so messily as if it's almost on purpose. The silky smooth texture and the way the light bounces off it.

Or maybe it was that she just wanted to be loved. That she just wanted to feel safe and secure in someone's arms. Something she never got to feel as a child.

Whatever it was, she wanted it- needed it.

~~~

I didn't expect to fall so quickly... it just happened. And I regret every goddamn second of it.

~~~

Y/n walked toward the village, wearing the same scarf.

She looked around for the mystery man of hers. Her eyes lit up when she saw him. He smiled when he saw her.

"Good evening, sunshine." He said kindly as he held out his arm for her to hold.

Y/n wrapped her arm around his and smiled.

"Hello, mystery man."

He chuckled.

"Mystery man? Really? That's the best you got?"

Y/n rolled her eyes.

"Well I wouldn't have to call you that if you'd just tell me your name." She muttered.

"Draco."

Y/n looked up, slightly shocked he revealed his name so fast.

"Well don't just leave me hanging, sunshine, what's yours?"

Y/n blinked a few times, processing the new information.

"Y/n."

Her voice sounded dazed. Draco laughed, causing Y/n's eyebrows to furrow.

"Is there something funny about my name?"

Draco's eyes widened.

"No no! Of course not! I just- never mind."

Y/n laughed now, shaking her head at him.

"You should've seen your face. I mean really, that was hilarious."

She pretended to wipe a tear from her eye, making Draco scoff and push her playfully.

~~~

Everything was so perfect. I was actually happy.

But that's how it works isn't it? You finally get something good and the world just fucks you over.

~~~

"Y/n, sunshine, you know I love you, right? I will always love you."

Y/n looked up from her book, a confused look on her face.

"Darling what's wrong?"

Draco took a deep, shaky breath, exhaling with a sigh.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I screwed everything up."

A tear fell down his cheek. Y/n stood up and placed her hand on his face, wiping the tear away.

"Love, what happened? You know you can tell me anything."

Draco took Y/n's face in his hands, bringing her in to place one last kiss on her lips.

"I'm sorry."

With that he left, leaving Y/n with nothing but the tingly feeling on her lips.

~~~

That was it. That was all he fucking left me with.

Not an explanation, not a good bye, nothing.

I remember wanting to run after him, to have him hold me again, but I couldn't. I was frozen. Stuck from the shock of losing the love of my life.

And I remember looking for him all over the village, hoping to at least get a reason, but nothing. He was nowhere. It was as if he left the face of the earth.

Love fucking sucks.

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Taglist: @xodracomalfoyxo @thehalfbloodedwitch @pottahishotasf

Join taglist here

#boredbeeswrite #draco fluff #sad draco #draco x y/n #draco lucius malfoy #draco #draco malfoy #draco x you #draco x reader #draco imagine #draco fanfiction #draco angst #draco fic #draco x reader angst

111 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Black

Prompts: After POF, Roman takes over the abandoned color black. He becomes the hated side that Virgil used to be. By most, anyway. Janus and Virgil are concered. Patton chooses to ignore it. Romans room is really cold? and boy is he touch starved - anon

(Sanders sides Prompt) Any one of the sides is touch starved. fluff. (You dont have to do this just thought I might ask) - anon

Hello there!! I just wanna say that I love your work and I think you’re such a talented writer. Idk if this is a weird ask but would you consider writing Roman angst with the song “it’s OK I wouldn’t remember me either” by crywank as like inspiration? Thank you so much <3 -anon

buckel up babes this one's a doozy

Read on Ao3

Warnings: implied/reference self-harm by way of self-negligence, pretty intense self-hatred and neglect that could verge on suicidal, but NO ONE DIES, everyone's fine at the end, we don't break shit and not fix it in my house

Pairings: it is platonic found family hours

Word Count: 5697

Do you know what no one ever tells you about the color black?

It’s seamless.

There are no cracks, no tears, no imperfections, because everything’s so dark you can’t tell what’s a trick of the light and what isn’t. Everything blends together. At first, second, even third glance, it’s perfect. Pristine, even. It hides absolutely everything. It’s intimidating, honestly, that level of deception. The way it can make anything look like it’s meant to be there, as if to live the colorless and lightless life is all it was ever destined for.

Darkness has always found a way of feeling like home, even to the ones who are afraid of it.

You either die the hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

Roman hadn’t wanted to go to the wedding. He didn’t want to go, but it’s what Patton wanted. It’s what Thomas would’ve wanted. If Roman hadn’t been so loud. But it hurt, it did, when they said that they shouldn’t go to the callback because there was such a slim likelihood of Thomas winning. Because Roman couldn’t win. But Roman wasn’t supposed to be the villain and do something bad so he sent Thomas to the wedding.

Bruises were supposed to be yellow, or green, or purple, not black.

But if he had yellow, green, or purple bruises, he would’ve blamed a yellow, green, or purple Side. And that was bad.

So he hid them, because as he learned, no one was looking for them anyway. Patton cared when he didn’t show up to the video and then he was there and oh, having someone there, even if they only cared a little, was like rainfall in a desert, it was wonderful, Roman would’ve sung if he thought it wouldn’t make everything worse. But Roman was good, so he never complained, and he did his job to the best of his ability.

But what if his job was bad?

But there are two Creativities, a Roman and a Remus. And no one else liked Remus, because Remus was bad and Roman was good. But Remus isn’t bad, he’s just the opposite of Roman. And Roman didn’t want to be Remus because Remus was bad. But Remus isn’t bad.

Creativity isn’t bad.

Bruises aren’t supposed to be black but they can’t be red.

Roman isn’t supposed to be the villain but what else do you call someone who laughs at vulnerability, who scorns people’s earnest attempts to help, who single-handedly ruins someone’s life?

Roman isn’t supposed to be the villain, but bruises aren’t supposed to cover every inch of his skin unless he deserves it.

His skin burns. It crawls and aches and screams and darkens into bruises. His throat aches from the wordless screams and the horrible things he’s said to everyone. He’s been so selfish, he’s tried to make everything go his way, tried to make it about him, not about Thomas, because everything they do is supposed to help Thomas, help Thomas, that’s what they’re supposed to do, they’re supposed to help Thomas, not themselves, why is he doing this, why is he doing this?

Because he’s the villain.

Roman cries.

What else is he supposed to do?

He cries until the tears grow thick, sluggish, oozing out of his eyes until he can’t see anything but them, until his breath grows thick and his chest heavy. He cries until he has to struggle to open his eyes because of how swollen they are, how globulous the tears have become on the ends of his lashes. He cries until his head splits and his chest wails from the pain he isn’t supposed to have but deserves, deserves every little bit. He cries until his body is consumed by the bruises.

His costume is a straightjacket. He needs it off. The white hurts now, it burns his arms and cuffs his wrists. He doesn’t deserve it so he rips it off. Every seam that he ruins is another bruise. The rips are so loud they burrow into some soft part of his brain and live there. The white is still imperfect because it’s on him.

Only when his costume lies in tatters around him, his sash torn off and thrown away, far away, does the white look pure.

He cries himself to sleep with a smile on his face.

Far, far away, a black hoodie is tugged back into the Conscious Mindscape.

When Roman wakes, his head is full of static.

His lungs inflate and collapse on autopilot, driven by the merciless pump of some distant machine, turning the crank to draw air in and out, in and out.

His hands are numb, fingertips rubbed raw and inflamed from tearing relentlessly at fabric. He turns them slowly and it’s like watching himself in a video game.

His face is cold. He paws at his cheeks and feels sticky residue, etched into his skin. His eyes stick slightly when he blinks and he doesn’t know if that’s just his face or if there’s something else.

He is swathed in black fabric, an old threadbare hoodie that has gone years unloved, untouched, unseen. It’s selfishness that makes him tug it closer, feel a faint bubble of pressure on his screaming body.

He should get up, he should go make sure he hasn’t hurt anyone else with his tantrum again, he should apologize.

But…what would be the point?

Like Patton asked, does there come a point when someone keeps apologizing so much that you just have to admit they’re bad?

Roman isn’t good. Has he ever been?

Something interrupts the pleasant numbness and it shoots from his chest to the soft points at the base of his wrists, making his hands tingle. He decides he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want it. He wants everything to stop.

He’s selfish, they all know that, he’s just going to end up hurting them anyway, so why bother trying to fix it?

Apathy, his tired brain supplies when he lies there, unmoving, on the ground, for hours and hours and hours, unwilling and uncaring to fix things.

But that can’t be right. Roman is here because he cared too much, he did too much, he was too much. How can he now be the epitome of not caring at all?

If only he never cared, if only he wasn’t so attached, if only.

If only he had been Apathy, maybe he wouldn’t have been so hurt.

His pride got him here. His pride, his wants, his his his. He wanted everything and burned down the things that would’ve helped him get there because he couldn’t do it right. He is the villain and villains always have too much pride.

Pride. Apathy.

Prapathy.

Apride.

I’m not Creativity anymore, he thinks to himself as he lies there, still on the floor as his chest aches and his eyes sting and the sticky residue drips down his cheeks onto the bruises. He stares and stares and stares at the wall and a faint part of his mind that exists outside of the static realizes he never did get around to fixing that crack in the baseboard.

Pride, apathy. It doesn’t matter. There’s a much easier word that he can use to describe both of them.

Wrong.

—————————————————————

“I don’t know, Thomas,” Logan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t think that’s a valid solution either.”

“But it makes sense,” Virgil protests, shoving his hands into his pockets, “all we have to do is not talk to anybody else—“

“But that will hurt their feelings!”

“But we won’t hurt ourselves.”

Janus and Patton look at each other for a moment before Patton sighs and scratches the back of his head.

“I—I don’t know, this…this feels weird.”

“None of us are happy about this, Padre,” Virgil mutters, “but it’s the best solution we’ve got.”

“Real high bar we’re setting there, isn’t it?”

“Listen, Snake Face, if you’ve got a better idea—“

“Virgil, enough.” Logan shakes his head. “We need to keep thinking.”

“We’ve been at this for an hour, Logan,” Thomas says cautiously, “I don’t know what else you think we’re gonna get to.”

“We’ve already passed the optimal point for productivity, yes.”

“Oh, well, we can’t just give up now!” Patton puts his hands on his hips. “I’m sure if we just keep at it for a little longer—“

“You said that half an hour ago, Patton.”

“And I’ll say it again!”

“Because that’s going to make everything go much easier.”

Thomas sighs as the Sides fall back into bickering. Normally, this wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary—pretty much all they do is argue back and forth—but Logan’s right. They’ve made almost no progress. He finds himself staring at the TV.

Why is he staring at the TV?

He frowns, tilting his head. It’s literally just his TV. Why is he so fixated on it right now? It’s not like it’s gone anywhere, it’s sitting right where it always is. He stares at it most of the day, why is it so weird that he’s looking at it now?

Wait—

“Guys,” he interrupts, still staring at the thing he’s not supposed to be able to see like this, “where’s Roman?”

The room pauses. Then Logan sighs.

“Oh, of course, that’s why we’ve been having such a hard time coming up with solutions, we don’t have Roman.”

At Virgil’s side-eye, he glances around to see similar looks of disbelief on the other’s faces.

“What?”

“Did you…did you just admit we need Roman?”

“He is Creativity, it makes sense that if we are struggling to be creative, he isn’t here.”

“Okay, that makes more sense.” Virgil shakes his head. “Thought you were admitting he was important or something.”

“Please, his head is big enough as it is.”

Janus hides a snort.

“Why didn’t he show up earlier,” Thomas asks, “he’s normally one of the first of you to get here.”

Virgil shrugs. “I dunno, I haven’t seen that much of him lately.”

“Is he…okay?”

“Who the hell knows, he’s Roman.”

“My guess is he’s been in his room,” Logan says, glancing at Roman’s usual spot, “I haven’t seen him either.”

Thomas doesn’t miss the way Janus and Patton glance at each other. “If you two have information now might be the time to share it.”

“Roman…hasn’t come out of his room,” Patton says after a beat, “not since…”

“Wait, he hasn’t come out since the wedding?”

Janus shakes his head. “I’ve barely seen him open his door.”

“That doesn’t…normally happen, does it?”

“No,” Patton says, “and, uh, he doesn’t normally ignore us either.”

“Ignore you?”

“We’ve tried knocking. It doesn’t work.”

“Perhaps Thomas can summon him,” Logan offers, “you have more power than any of us do, he’d have to answer you.”

“Well, here goes nothing. Creativity!”

Someone pops up in front of the TV.

Someone in a white costume with green embellishments and a mustache.

“Remus?”

Remus glares at them, his Morningstar at his side, his costume white, pristine, and light.

“What the fuck have you done with my brother?”

—————————————————————

It’s been weeks.

The fans have accepted Remus as Creativity. They think that the videos are better than ever. They think this was Thomas’s plan from the beginning.

There is one end card where the Sides are watching a movie and some of them spot a dark figure in the corner. Who could this be? Is this the mysterious orange Side everyone has been waiting for? Is this the Side that’s been hurting Thomas so much?

Zoom and enhance. It’s Virgil’s old hoodie. They’re sitting where Remus used to sit. They’re not staring at the screen, they’re looking at the others. What could this mean?

Someone spots the faint outline of a tiny crown perched atop the figure’s head.

And then, well, then it all makes sense.

There was always one Side that messed up everything, that made everything more complicated. There was always one Side that, if you thought about it, you could trace everything back to. There was always one Side that was told he was making the bad choice and yet, never seemed to learn.

They start to put together timelines, evidence, essay-length meta posts on how of course, this is the plan, why didn’t they see it before? Those that had disliked him from the start crow about how they were right, how everyone doubted them but look who’s laughing now. They point out how he’s become a Dark Side, maybe he was always a Dark Side, and how incredible would that storytelling be? To warn against the pressures of society’s expectations, the idea of good versus bad, or authentic versus forced. How of course, they’re wearing Virgil’s old hoodie because they’re the hated Side now. How they’re not looking at the screen because that’s not what they want, they want to be a part of the famILY.

Vitriolic rants. Accusations. Vent fics. The unsympathetic tag is overflowing.

Because who else could the villain be?

—————————————————————

Roman lives in the cold now.

His fireplace isn’t lit anymore. The door to the Imagination doesn’t work anymore. The blankets on his bed aren’t thick enough anymore. He drifts through a haze where only the emergency systems in his brain are online, where only the awareness needed to sleep, breathe, and move the little bits he needs to move are present.

He doesn’t know that there’s nothing behind the red door anymore, that when Janus and Virgil come to knock on it, worried, or when Remus storms through the Imagination and tries to knock it down by force, there’s nothing for them to find.

He doesn’t know that a new door, a black door, leads from his room to the hallway, far away from any of the other rooms. He doesn’t know that it’s so dark back here that no one would be able to tell there was a door if they didn’t put their nose right up against it.

He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care.

A new kind of ache settles in his bones now. Pain is an old friend, but he’s yet to give suffering a proper handshake.

He misses when he could go and ask someone for help.

He misses when Patton would turn to him without any judgment in his eyes, without any ‘well, you know, kiddo—‘, without any ‘let’s start off with—‘, just the soft words of I’m here, I’ll help you. He misses being able to walk up to Patton’s door and knock on it and know that he would be safe on the other side.

Patton would open the door and soften, his mouth curling up into a small smile as he says hey, kiddo, come in. He would sit Roman down on the bed and press a glass of water into his hands. He would rub his back as he drank, taking the empty glass gently and cupping Roman’s face in his hands. He would ask what’s wrong, sweetheart, what can I do? And Roman would say he just wants a hug, he just wants to not be alone for a bit. And Patton would smile and coo about how Roman was always welcome here, sweetheart, I’m right here, I’ll take care of you. And Roman could fall asleep with his head on Patton’s chest and believe that everything was okay.

He misses when he could walk up to Logan and ask for help and he wouldn’t be scoffed at or turned away, he wouldn’t be looked at suspiciously and asked what he really wanted. He misses when Logan could come to him too and just spend time together.

Logan would knock on his door and ask if you have a moment, would you like to walk with me? And Roman would smile and say, of course, he always has time for Logan, and they could go somewhere in the Imagination and just talk. And Logan would say that’s an interesting idea, I wonder if—and they would walk and talk for hours. And Roman could bustle up to Logan’s door and say I’ve just thought of something, and Logan would open his door and be happy to talk with Roman and it would be okay.

Roman curls up tighter and feels nothing.

He wishes he could have something to miss for Virgil. He wishes they could have bonded over their love of Disney, their want to talk about the things they’re interested in, or even the need to just have someone else in the room with them for a bit. He wishes their relationship wasn’t just spitting barbs at each other, each hoping to hit the bullseye first and knock the other one out of the race. He wishes he could’ve done better.

He wishes he could have something to miss for Janus. He wishes they could’ve done this right, that they could’ve bonded over the want to keep Thomas safe but also have him be himself. He wishes that he hadn’t laughed, hadn’t scorned, hadn’t fallen back on his pride to keep himself safe at the expense of Thomas. He wishes that maybe, just maybe, if he had been a better puppet, then he wouldn’t have been dropped so suddenly.

But as it stands now, more than anything he wishes he could hear them when they say the things they say about him because then he could figure out which bruises were theirs and take comfort in knowing that they still touch him in some way.

The bruises are a constant now. From the online hate to the casual remarks from the others to the way that Patton hasn’t even tried to come find him anymore—he can hear that, you know—he can’t turn over without landing on a new smattering of bruises. The hoodie helps to cushion the blow a little bit.

He misses Remus.

Remus was…

…Remus was everything.

Roman misses his other half. Roman misses his brother. Roman misses his Creativity.

When they were small they would curl around each other as if they could fuse if they focused hard enough. They would wrap their arms around each other so tightly that it would be a pleasant ache when they woke, never minding because they were tighter. Remus was always so warm and Roman hoarded every single bit he could get.

Roman was cruel to push his brother away and now he understands how it feels.

He misses Thomas.

He misses when he was allowed to go and see Thomas. When he could talk to Thomas. When his presence was celebrated or at the very least, tolerated. He misses it. He misses helping.

But he’s helping now, by staying away.

He’s cold.

He’s so cold.

—————————————————————

do you remember what it felt like

to be touched?

press of fingertips against shoulders

bump of a forehead against yours

palms meeting and parting a mere second later

in days gone by

do you remember

warm?

humans thrive off physical contact,

we’re not built to hold each other

at arms’ length.

infants will die

if they aren’t held enough.

and I am so

cold

—————————————————————

Something is wrong and even Patton can’t ignore it anymore.

The Sides shuffle uneasily in front of the red door until Remus raises his hand to knock against it.

“Roman?”

Silence.

“Roman, please, please, just—just say something.”

Silence.

“Where the fuck are you, Roman?”

“Don’t yell,” Logan mumbles, “you’ll make him think we’re angry at him.”

Remus takes a deep breath.

“We’re not angry, Ro-bro, we’re just—just please make some noise.”

Silence.

“…we’re coming in, Roman.”

But they can’t. Because as Remus turns the knob on the door, it falls forward. The entire door comes off just to reveal—

A blank wall. With no sign that there was ever a room behind it.

Thomas can hear the scream.

—————————————————————

Roman hears the scream and can’t move. But he can close his eyes and reach out and see what’s going on. After all, he hasn’t done anything, so something must be wrong if someone else is screaming.

He feels something in his chest twist and snap.

“Re?”

Across the Mindscape, Remus’s head jerks up.

“Ro,” he breathes, getting to his feet and rushing off down the hall as the others hurry after him, “Ro!”

“Remus, what’s going on?”

“Why isn’t Roman’s room there anymore?”

“Where are you going?”

They barrel into the hallway and smack into a black door. Logan’s eyes widen as he realizes what’s happened.

“Roman’s become a Dark Side,” he says, fingers scrabbling where the door meets the wall, “he’s—he’s really hurt, we have to help—“

“Move, L, I’m gonna break the door down.”

“You’re not gonna do it without me.”

“Roman!”

Roman turns his head to look at the door. Are they…here? The hoodie rasps against his undead skin and he winces. There are still bruises.

“Roman!”

The door shudders its frame. He could open it. He could. He just has to reach out and—

“Ro!”

Remus.

The door unlatches and his brother pours into the room, letting out a wail when he spots Roman in the bed.

Janus hisses as soon as he crosses the threshold, this room is freezing. It feels as if no one’s moved for years inside, as if the heat has been sucked out entirely. His gaze flies to Remus, who’s over on the bed, his hands scrabbling at something in black material.

Roman.

“Oh, little prince,” he whispers, horrified, “no, no, no—“

“We have to get him out,” Logan orders, startling Remus into action as he scoops Roman into his arms, “we have to get him warm. His core temperature is too low.”

“Shower? Bath?”

“No, if we shock his system we could make it worse. Janus, I need your heating pads, Patton, something warm to drink.”

Janus and Patton vanish.

“Virgil, weighted blankets, Remus—“

“I’m here.” As Virgil ducks away as well, Remus helps Logan cradle the limp and freezing form of his brother in their arms as they begin to rush out of that horrible, horrible room. “You thinking bathroom?”

“Get him to Janus’s, that’ll be the safest place.”

“Got it.”

Sure enough, Janus has no objection and sweeps them inside, setting down the heating pads as Patton bustles in with two thermos flasks and a mug. Virgil pops back with thick blankets as they lay the cold form on the ground. Roman’s eyes blink sluggishly as he stares up at Remus.

“...Re?”

“Yeah, Roro, it’s me, I’m right here, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here faster.”

“What’s…wha’s going on?”

“You’re too cold, Roman,” Logan says gently, “we need to get you warmed up.”

“Oh…”

“It will be easier if we take a few of the layers off,” he explains, still careful to keep his voice low and even as the others scurry around, “is that alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to unzip the hoodie.” Logan works slowly, patiently, stopping when any flicker crosses Roman’s face. “That’s it, you’re doing very well, I’m almost done.”

By the time he’s coaxed the hoodie off of Roman’s shoulders, there’s a little bit of color back in his cheeks.

“Very good, Roman, you did well. Virgil’s brought a few warm blankets and Janus has heating pads for you, do you think you can sit up?”

“Don’t know.”

“That’s alright, you’re doing alright.” Logan glances up at Janus.

“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, sitting by Roman’s head, “if you can sit up, I can sit behind you and help warm you up, does that sound alright?”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, sweetie, we’re going to sit you up now.”

Logan and Janus sit Roman up slowly, only to pause when the long sleeves of his shirt fall down.

“Roman,” Logan asks, trying frantically to keep his voice calm, “are you hurt?”

“Mhm.”

He bites back the fearful response and patiently asks where, how bad, can he see?

“Everywhere.” Roman lifts his arms weakly. “’S all bruises.”

“…can we see?”

“Okay.”

Logan’s hands begin to tremble as he works the shirt over Roman’s head. He wasn’t kidding when he said everywhere.

There’s barely an inch of skin that doesn’t look bruised black and blue. Patton stifles a cry as he drops to his knees next to them, looking at Roman like he’s never seen it this bad before.

Oh, Roman, how did they not know? How could he just ignore him like that?

“Get him covered,” comes Virgil’s voice, “he’s still too cold.”

Janus grabs one of the blankets and wraps it carefully around Roman’s form. It should help distribute whatever pressure they apply so it won’t aggravate his injuries too severely. He takes one heating pad and scoots forward, bracketing Roman’s legs with his own and wrapping one pair of arms around him to press the pad to his chest.

“Can you feel that, sweetie,” he asks softly, “is that too warm?”

“No.”

“Good, good, little prince, you’re being very brave.” He turns away to reach for another and so misses the little shudder that goes through Roman. “Do you think you can handle another if I press it to the back of your neck?”

“Mm.”

“Let’s try, little prince, and if it’s too much, I’ll stop.”

“Okay.”

“Here we go, sweetie—“ Janus presses it carefully to the base of Roman’s skull, just at the edge of the blanket— “there, does that feel okay?”

“Mm.”

“Good, sweetie, you’re doing so well, so good for us, that’s it, you relax now.”

Roman starts to tremble.

“That’s alright,” Logan soothes, “you’re warming up, it means you’re going to shiver a little more, you’re alright, Roman, you’re safe. You’re doing well.”

It certainly doesn’t seem that way once Roman’s breath starts to come in gasps. Virgil nudges Patton out of the way and sits, gently calling Roman’s name until his gaze snaps to Virgil’s.

“Hey, Princey,” Virgil says slowly, “you gotta stay with me now, okay? We’re right here, no one’s angry, nothing’s going to hurt you. Just focus on me.”

He ignores the startled noises when Roman starts to cry thick, black tears.

“Eyes on me, Princey, that’s it, stay here. We’re just gonna sit here and breathe for a moment, okay?” Roman nods and Virgil starts to take big, exaggerated breaths. “Good. That’s it, Princey, you focus on me and you breathe. It’s okay. You’re doing great. Just stay here.”

When the viscous black liquid slows, Virgil reaches out and begins to tuck Roman’s hair back. A moment longer and he pauses, noting how the scratch on Roman’s face is covered in the thick black tears.

“Princey, can I clean your face off for you? You’re doing really well at breathing, I’m proud of you. Can I help you with the rest of it?”

“O-okay.”

There’s a bottle of micellar water and a pack of cotton circles pressed into his hands. He moves in slow, careful strokes, changing out the circles as often as he needs to. A pile of them grows beside him as he works, doing his best to get all the black off of Roman’s face. Roman just cries.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Patton murmurs when Roman’s cry gives way to a wail, “it’s okay, you cry all you need to, we’re not going anywhere, it’ll be alright.”

“We have you, sweetie,” Janus says against Roman’s neck, “we’re here.”

Remus lets out a broken noise.

“Oh, Roman, you didn’t…”

Logan’s head whips sharply around to scold Remus only for his mouth to fall open in shock.

Remus’s costume is bleeding too. The same black that drips down Roman’s face is slowly coloring Remus’s costume again, back to what it normally looks like. Remus’s mouth is agape, staring horrified at Roman.

“Oh, Ro—“

“What’s going on?”

“Check the bruises on his neck,” Remus orders as Janus pulls back the blanket, “are they still there?”

“They’re here, but they’re…lighter, how is that—?”

“Roman is the Ego,” Patton mumbles, “he gets bruised when—when—“

“Oh, shit,” Virgil curses, before quickly hushing Roman’s discontented mumble, “and with all the hate that’s been gunning for him—“

“Oh, sweetheart—“

Roman lets out another sob and the tears run clear.

“The Ego is kept healthy by positive attention,” Logan says softly, scooting closer and rubbing Roman’s shoulder through the blanket, “you’ve been starving, haven’t you?”

“He’s not cold because he’s hypothermic,” Remus blusters, “he’s touch starved.”

“It’s still not safe to introduce him to direct contact all at once,” Logan warns when Patton and Remus look like they want to rip the blanket off, “we have to take it slow.”

“So what do we do?”

Janus just leans down and presses a kiss to Roman’s temple. “You’re so brave, sweetie, you’ve been so strong.”

They watch as Roman’s tears begin to wash away the black.

“We love you, sweetheart, you’re so important to us.”

“Stay with us, Princey, we need you.”

“You’re doing very well, Roman, we’re very proud of you.”

Roman cries, ducking his head into Virgil’s waiting hands as Remus’s costume colors itself black again.

After a long while, when Remus looks like he normally does, Roman shakes his head and looks up at them.

“Where am I,” and he sounds like Roman again, “what’s happened?”

“You were starving, sweetheart,” Patton mumbles, “and we didn’t notice until it was too late.”

“O-oh,” Roman blinks, “is that…is that why I’m so cold?”

“You’re touch starved too,” Virgil adds, “and we, uh, L said it wasn’t a good idea to try and shock you out of it.”

“Try and drink something,” Logan says quickly as Patton reaches for the mug, “you’ve been crying for a while and you’re dehydrated.”

“Is that…hot chocolate?”

“Your favorite, kiddo.”

Remus sits down at Roman’s side as he drinks, staring at him like he’s not seen him in ages. Which, well, none of them have, really.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Roman repeats, looking sheepishly at all of them, “I, uh, well, the last video I messed up a lot. I, uh, I shouldn’t have laughed at your name, Jan—where are you?”

“Right here,” Janus mumbles, giving him a gentle squeeze, “and you’re forgiven.”

“Oh. Uh, that was easy…are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Yes, it wasn’t great of you to do, but I’m not exactly blameless either and…”

He squeezes him again.

“…you’ve been hurting enough.”

“Logan, you too, I—I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Roman, but I agree. It’s alright.”

“Why are you all forgiving me so fast?”

“Because,” Remus mumbles, cupping Roman’s head and resting their foreheads together, “this happened.”

They all watch as Roman shudders as Remus shows him what happened.

“Oh—oh—I—oh no—“

“It’s over now, sweetie,” Janus reassures, “we’ve got you. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

“C-can I have a hug?”

“Of course, honey, come here—“

“Let’s get the blanket out of the way, L, is he—“

“It should be safe now, yes.”

“Remus, I—oof!”

“I gotcha, Ro-Bro.”

“It’s still—I’m still—“

“Patton, grab that end of the blanket.”

“This one?”

“That’s it, yes.”

The Sides end up swaddled in the blanket, their heads poking out, as each of them pulls a little bit of Roman into their arms to warm up. Janus and Remus wrap around his upper body, mindful of the few bruises that haven’t been healed yet. His legs are in Patton’s lap, as Logan and Virgil each hold on to his hands. The poor thing is still shivering, still shaking, still a little overwhelmed.

But Janus coos into his ear as his head lolls back, Remus holding him tightly. Logan’s thumb strokes over his palm as Virgil lets him squeeze as tight as he needs to. Patton makes sure he’s off the cold tile and he’s warm.

They’re going to have to work out what to do about the fans, about the videos, but right now they need to worry about Roman.

Speaking of Roman—

“I—I need to apologize to Thomas.”

A cry goes up as he says so, Patton reaching up to pat his knee. “You don’t have to do that right now, sweetheart, rest, it’s okay—“

“I won’t—he won’t be able to rest until he knows what’s happened.”

As if he can hear them, they feel the familiar tug of one of them being summoned. A quick glance around shows that if one of them is going, all of them are, so they appear on the floor of the living room, swaddled in the blanket.

Thomas’s mouth drops open and he rushes to their side.

“I was gonna ask if you found Roman, but I—Roman, buddy, are you okay?”

“I…I don’t know,” Roman mumbles, “but I’m sorry.”

“For what, buddy?”

As Roman begins to apologize, for being away, for hurting Thomas, for being selfish, Thomas just shakes his head.

“No, buddy, that’s not all on you. You—yeah, okay, some things happened, but it’s not entirely your fault. You don’t need to think of it like that.”

“Well said,” Logan mutters, “now help us get Roman to rest.”

“So what Disney movie are we watching and how many pillows do we need?”

A lot, as it turns out, is the answer. And they have to bite back laughs at the way Thomas makes a noise when he’s swept into the blanket too. But Thomas is warm and Roman is still cold and the movie plays on the screen.

“Hey, Roman?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re my hero.”

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#sanders sides #dragonbabbles #fic #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #remus sanders

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pippytmi · 3 years

Note

Howdy! For the little au trope prompt ask. 2, 2, 39. Supercorp please. Thank you! (Hope it helps your writer's block!)

Everyone knows that when the Quidditch season starts, rivalries begin.

As a general rule, Lena doesn’t mind the Gryffindors. If she had to pick a house she hated, the Slytherins would be the unfortunate lot; Veronica Sinclair and Andrea Rojas alone give the group a bad name. (That could be Lena’s own personal bias, given the fact that both girls have broken her heart, but she maintains it goes far deeper than that). But the point stands—Lena isn’t a hateful person. Generally.

There is just something about Kara Danvers that brings it out of her. The one and only Gryffindor that Lena despises is that moronic, reckless Chaser who scores nearly every single goal she takes. The Ravenclaw team is nothing to sneeze at either, but Lena hates that of all people to throw her off her game, it is a girl who blew up her broom when attempting to fly on it during her first year. Seven years that she has known Kara, and still Lena is annoyed at the mere sight of those perpetually-askew glasses, those untucked robes, that undone tie; Kara Danvers is never expected to be poised and perfect, even with all the expectations on her shoulders. She’s just so...blasé. People talk about Kara like she is destined to join a Quidditch team straight out of Hogwarts and all Kara does is stroll into the Great Hall on game day with her head in the clouds.

So far up the clouds that she apparently can’t watch where she is going, either. Lena throws Kara the nastiest glare she can muster when they just about knock each other’s heads together, but all Kara does at the sight of it is grin. She always grins, not in a way that is arrogant or snide, but stupidly amused. Stupidly amused, as if everything Lena says or does is a bloody laugh, like Lena’s simmering hatred is nothing more than an inside joke.

“Hey, Luthor,” Kara says cheerfully, and there she goes, pushing those crooked glasses up her nose. There is a scratch on one lens, and Kara has either not noticed or not bothered to repair it. “Trying to take out the competition a little early, even for you.”

“You were the one in my way, Danvers,” Lena replies tightly.

“Was I?” And here is the kicker, that golden girl charm that fools everyone: bright blue eyes peeking out beneath those eyelashes, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, undone tie slipping an inch further. Kara tilts her head unassumingly as if that is even an actual question.

It makes Lena furious. “Here’s a tip,” she says, “for here and the Quidditch field. Maybe if you got your head out of your ass, you could actually see where you’re headed.”

Kara has the audacity to look affronted. “Is this because of the Brainy incident during training? Because he and I agreed that it was a joint effort. Joint…blame. Whatever you call it.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Just keep your aggression to yourself, Danvers,” she mutters, and then she resolutely brushes past. She has no time for blank, witty banter, especially when this is the year’s first game and she has a team to rally.

“My—? Hey,” Kara’s voice rings out, louder than necessary, and that idiot is actually following her. “Hey, wait. Lena. Do you seriously think I’m aggressive? It was an accident! Both times!” A beat. “I mean both the Brainy thing and right now. I didn’t knock into Brainy twice. I did knock James off his broom once, but you probably don’t care about that since he’s not from your house, so…well anyway, just so you know, that was also an accident.”

“I have zero interest in your training squabbles,” Lena says exasperatedly, “and you’d do well to keep that in mind.”

“Oh so this is about the Brainy incident,” Kara says. “How many times do I have to say that the training pitch was ours?”

“According to you,” Lena counters. With that she whirls around, nearly colliding into Kara’s chest, but she still manages to lift her head up high and stare down that egotistical jackass. “I know you might think you’re entitled to any space you waltz into, but some of us mere mortals actually schedule training sessions. You know, like we’re supposed to.”

“I did schedule the—!” Kara has a tendency to become flustered mid-argument, it seems, because her mouth opens but no words come blustering out. Finally she settles on scowling when she declares, “You are a piece of work, you know that? Would it kill you to apologize to me once in a while?”

“That would imply that you have apologized to me at some point,” Lena scoffs. “Which you haven’t, for the record.”

“Yes I have,” Kara is quick to disagree.

Lena crosses her arms; it’s a challenge, and Kara immediately stands a little straighter when she notices. “Oh?” Lena prompts. “Like when?”

“Like…when I knocked into Brainy.”

“I fail to see how I fit in that scenario,” Lena says, “since you didn’t break my nose.”

Kara gives a little huff, as if this back and forth is all so inconvenient right now; as if she hasn’t instigated it. “Okay, but I apologized for disrupting your practice, remember? I took complete responsibility even though it was your fault you couldn’t keep track of when your team was scheduled—”

“That was not an apology. You literally said ‘Sorry Luthor, we need this more than you do’ and then refused to leave for the next half hour!”

“But I said sorry in there, ergo, it is an apology.”

“Well then, when my team beats yours to dust I’ll be sure to apologize properly for that in that exact same sympathetic manner,” Lena sneers.

Somehow, trash talk only makes that dumb, signature Kara Danvers grin come back, completely wiping away any sign of vexation. “Oh yeah? Tell me more, wise old Ravenclaw—”

Before Lena can even begin to dissect that childish comeback (and stupid sing-songy imitation of the Sorting Hat), other students come filtering down the hall and they are practically swept up in the masses. One kid completely shoulders Lena before she even realizes what’s happening; she stumbles to the left, nearly collides with the wall, and opens her mouth to shout, but then:

“Hey!” Kara is already brandishing her wand with one hand and catching the boy’s collar with the other. “Ten points from Hufflepuff! You could’ve hurt someone, walking around without looking where you’re going.”

Lena bites her tongue to stop from making a quip on how ironic that statement is, because Kara is engrossed in a stare-off with the pimply sixth year who is demanding to see her prefect badge to prove Kara can even take points. She would normally side with the kid—anything to knock Kara Danvers down a peg—but, well. For once, Lena can’t be bothered to actively hate someone getting into a heated argument on her behalf.

Two minutes later and the boy stomps off with ten points gone from his house and a detention to boot. Kara, meanwhile, is still frowning as he leaves. “Are you okay?” she asks absentmindedly, still tracking the kid’s every movement with her eyes. “I swear, if there weren’t so many witnesses I would’ve hexed him.��

“Winning move for a prefect, I’m sure,” Lena says dryly, and Kara turns towards her with that slow-growing buffoonish smile and another sheepish nudge of her glasses. Her next words kind of just fall out, almost as if she’d never formed them in her mouth but in the deep recesses of her subconscious alone: “You know, you confuse me.”

“Huh?” Another nudge. The smile slips a fraction, but just enough to show Kara is slightly confused by the change in subject.

You confuse me, Lena wants to repeat. You are the opposite of self-aware. You are messy, and reckless, and selfless whenever it counts and it’s confusing because all I can really hate you for is being able to get away with being imperfect and still be adored by everyone.

But none of those words, thankfully, leave her head. All she says is, “Your approach to discipline confuses me. It’s not like he purposely tried to run into me—ten points might have been too harsh.”

“This coming from the girl who once threatened to curse me into oblivion for tripping her when we were twelve?” Kara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who are you and what have you done to Lena Luthor? No, hold on, I know. You’re really Jess in disguise, right?”

“Hilarious, Danvers. I wouldn’t quit Quidditch, it might be the only place you’re suited for,” Lena mocks, but all Kara does is laugh.

“Nope, definitely Lena,” Kara says, and the way she says it is almost…fond. Come to think of it, Lena can’t remember a time where Kara actually called her Lena. It’s always Luthor and Danvers and stop breaking the faces of my best players and never—never anything else.

Lena clears her throat and looks away; she can’t take another second of those warm, bright eyes. “Whatever,” she says. “I…guess I’ll see you on the pitch.”

“Sure thing,” Kara says, and she takes a step back, tucking her wand into her pocket. “I’ll be the one rocking the winning team uniform.”

Slowly, Lena begins to feel the corner of her mouth twitch. Completely unbidden, completely unpredictable. “Dream on, Danvers.” She allows the space between them to grow, but their eyes remain locked, and the air feels heavy—thick—and the weight of their shared gaze holds a meaning Lena can’t possibly unpack right now.

But Kara’s tongue pokes out between her teeth cheerfully, and she doesn’t appear half as bothered by this development. “Always, if you’re in them,” she says, twists a little on her heel to walk away, but she pauses while she is still in earshot. “You know—next time you can just thank me for defending you.”

“You mean abusing your power as a prefect,” Lena replies automatically even as her head is running a mile a minute; even as Kara is getting farther and farther away and the scratch on her glasses lens catches the light.

“That too!” Kara shouts as she gets lost in the crowd, and damn her, Lena has to put her hand over her mouth to hide the absolute idiotic smile that has formed on her own face.

(Joint blame indeed, Lena muses, and she figures that she might as well form a rivalry with the Slytherins instead of the Gryffindors after all).

#this is both a threat and a reminder that im still working on these #😌😌😌#supercorp #supergirl #bisexualgoof #i need a fic tag #disclaimer that i still do not know anything about hp #im doing more research on harry potter than i do writing smh

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redorich · 3 years

Note

Hello! Can we get a little something for the hermit canyon AU? I was thinking something Karl centered, maybe they accidentally find his library or otherwise find out about his "travels". They're probably invisible for the whole thing, but do they do anything afterwards? Do they leave little notes and reminders? Would they try to help at all? Or would they push it to the back of their minds and try to forget about it?

Unlike most discoveries made by Hermits, Joe does not find a secret location on a normal surface run. When Etho found the Pogtopia ravine, it was a mystery to him, unsettling and vivid. When Grian found Technoblade's snowy cabin, it was on complete accident, just because Grian needed to explore, to get out of the canyon for a few hours.

When Joe exits the canyon, as he rarely does, he makes a beeline for Karl's library. Time is... not something Joe concerns himself with, but he prefers to constrict himself to the linear travel of the fourth dimension nowadays-- if such a thing as "nowadays" can be said to exist when tangling with time.

Where was he? Ah, yes. He moves quickly, because he dislikes spending more time away from Xisuma's side than absolutely necessary, even if the admin has been having a run of good health days and there are twenty-two other Hermits to attend to the admin in an emergency. He doesn't bother with invisibility, or walking, or other mundane things. Joe simply hovers in the air, flying toward his destination and perhaps fiddling with the tick speed just a little, just enough to get him there faster.

There's a residual feeling of familiarity, like a relationship with an ex-girlfriend which has long since turned sour, near the canyon. There's a whisper there of magic, of gleaming white spires, but all Joe can see is red.

"It's a shame, what they did to this library," Joe mutters with a tsk. Posters of hazy LSD-esque drawings of various time periods and locations line the walls, molding away as red vines climb on them, devour them.

He shrugs. Might as well move on; nothing of value remains here.

To the south is a place Etho has visited only briefly and in passing: Kinoko Kingdom. It's a hotspot of activity at times, and a ghost town at others. Etho didn't even know the name of the place until Puffy reported it. Joe doesn't care. For all that Etho likes to present himself as a cryptid, scaring poor innocent wood-dwelling folk who are just looking for a big fuzzy triclopean spouse, Joe is the one with experience as a cryptid. Let them see him. What are they going to say, "I saw Herobrine"?

He touches down, finally, in front of another library made from mushrooms and wood. Allowing his eyes to flash white for a moment so that he can ferret out the building's secret room, he is both disappointed and unsurprised to see it empty of life. Karl Jacobs, resident time traveller, is not there.

Joe closes his eyes. He doesn't want to have to do this. For decades, there was a place he called home, a place he built from the ground up. It was a place in between life and death, and so he called it the Inbetween.

He opens his eyes, and he is there. It's like walking down a street you've been down a hundred thousand times before; even with your eyes closed, you know where you're going. There are no longer dozens of imperfect copies of himself running around, brainless and waiting to be culled like lambs to the slaughter in order to fuel an affront against nature. Now, there are many iterations of Karl, all wandering aimlessly... save one.

The only version of Karl wearing color stands in an open-air corridor near the courtyard. Even from a distance, Joe can see his chest rise and fall far too rapidly for him to actually be getting any air. (Joe sees everything here, where his eyes are white and cannot be anything but white.)

"Why am I here?" Karl babbles to himself. "I haven't time-travelled-- or did I already forget?"

"You didn't forget," Joe reassures him. It does not have the intended effect.

Karl screams, turning around so quickly that he falls on his ass. He scoots away like a crab missing a leg, scrambling for some distance. "Your eyes--!"

"Come closer," Joe says. "I won't hurt you."

"You're Herobrine!"

Joe exhales slowly. "I was Herobrine. What I am is the only person who can help you."

Karl warily clambers to his feet. None of the other Karls dressed in white pay the two men any mind. "What do you mean?"

"You've got yourself stuck in a dimensional loop of Homestuck proportions, Karl," Joe says. "So did I, when I built this place. It took me decades to figure out how to get out of it, and I knew what I was doing. You don't have that."

"Am I stuck here forever, then?" Karl says mournfully. He waves a hand at the carefree automatons wearing his face. "Will I become one of them?"

Joe takes a few slow steps closer, keeping his hands where the stressed-out time traveller can see them. "I'll take care of things on this end. You won't ever have to come back here again."

Karl sags in relief like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Does the name Eret mean anything to you?" Joe asks. It's a name he's heard from Puffy's lips once or twice, and if her information holds true, things could get much easier.

Karl blinks. "Uh... Yeah? What about them?"

Joe continues. "Dark hair, tall, white eyes like mine?"

"I've never seen Eret without their sunglasses, but I guess, yeah," Karl replies. Of all the things he would have expected Herobrine to ask about, Eret isn't one of them.

"Imagine what Eret looks like," Joe suggests. "Think real hard about them. Imagine them here, in the Inbetween, right in front of us."

Karl has no idea why Herobrine wants him to daydream about Eret (even if their voice is very nice), but if the man is pulling his leg, well-- it's fucking Herobrine, he can do what he wants.

Speaking of that nice voice, Karl hears the voice in question scream out of nowhere. Karl flinches away from the sudden loud noise, before his eyes catch up to his brain and he realizes that he just magicked Eret into existence in the Inbetween.

"What the fuck," Eret says. "H-Herobrine, uh, long time no s-see..?"

"Sorry about that time I kinda tortured you," Herobrine says brightly. "I'm nicer now."

"I doubt--" Eret begins caustically, then remembers exactly who they're talking to and shuts their mouth. "...Why is everything so dark?"

"Take off your sunglasses," Herobrine suggests.

Eret grimaces, but obeys. This place is practically humming with magic, so they just know they're going to get blinded by it the moment they remove their glasses, but they remember what happened last time they pissed Herobrine off.

Wincing, they remove the sunglasses, expecting pain and receiving... nothing. The glint of light on quartz is a bit uncomfortable, but that's a normal human uncomfortable that Eret hasn't experienced since they were a teenager.

Herobrine smacks them on the forehead with his palm. "I take back what I said about 'living with this power for the rest of your life', and all that," he says. "You can turn 'em off now. I'd recommend not turning those eyes back on, though-- at least, not here. It's a little bright, magic-wise."

Eret gapes. All these years, they feared the day they'd meet this powerful man again, imagined what they'd say as they cursed his name or begged his forgiveness... and here he is, giving them exactly what they desperately hoped for but knew they'd never receive simply because he's 'nicer now'.

"Herobrine," Eret says, "why have you done this?"

"Call me Joe," Herobrine says.

Karl interjects, "Joe mama," under his breath. It is with the utmost shock on Eret's behalf that Karl does not in fact get immediately smited into oblivion, merely smacked on the forehead.

"Now you won't forget," Herobrine-- Joe says. "Anyway, I have shenanigans to be up to back in the canyon, so I'll send y'all back now. Those red vines are bad news, and so is their egg, so y'all better take care of that, please. It's really messing your server up."

Karl blanches. "The canyon?"

"Oh, look at the time. Have fun, be safe, bye," Joe says with affected mild disinterest.

Both Karl and Eret have so much to say, so many questions to ask, but they fade away before they get the chance.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #karl jacobs #eret #joe hills #herobrine #me.cpp

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gladerwolfstarkimagines · 3 years

Text

Imagine Sokka becoming jealous when he finds out you and Zuko have a history together

Your POV

Your father Piando was the best sword fighting teacher in all the four nations and people came from all over to seek his guidance. So you’d met many men who trained with your father but none of them were like Sokka, or more accurately Sokka wasn't like anyone else who passed through your father’s door. Mainly because he openly admitted he wasn’t perfect which none of the other men had ever dared to do. They’d openly boasted all their achievements hoping to impress your father whereas Sokka was brutally honest about himself and you respected that. Your father was intrigued too and so Sokka was allowed to train with him.

You were also very intrigued and observed Sokka’s training to see what this unique man would do. You watched amused as Sokka completed every single task with his own unique style and grew fonder of him with each passing day. You never interfered with your fathers training methods but you did help Sokka where you could and became friends.

When Sokka completed his training it was time for him to leave and you felt sad. It was nice to have someone so unique and refreshingly imperfect. You and your father both disliked the fire nation and your father always told you it would change eventually. Watching the avatar leave you couldn’t help but wonder if the time was now and realised how much you wanted to be a part of it. "Go" your father said suddenly and you paused "what?". "Join them" he smiled passing you a packed bag and your sword "i always knew you were destined for greatness and this is it....why do you think i pressed you to be so skilled with a sword? Go with Sokka and help him overthrow the firelord". You paused overwhelmed with emotion so you just hugged him "thank you". "You're welcome...just don't get any closer to Sokka okay?". You blushed but made no promises. You ran out of the house and caught Sokka as he was halfway down the road. "Sokka i..." you paused as Sokka and all his friends looked at you and you took a breath "i was wondering if you wanted any help defeating the firelord?". "You want to help us?" Aang asked and you nodded "i’m pretty good with a sword and i know a lot about the fire nation....i’d like to help, i want to fight". Sokka pretended to think before grinning "welcome to the team y/n!".

You worked with Sokka on his invasion plan for the fire nation and provided Aang with invaluable information on the firelord. You and Sokka grew closer and started dating pretty soon after you joined the group. You loved your time travelling with the gang and finally felt like things were changing for the better when a piece of your past came back to you.

You had just arrived at the western air temple and after finally getting Aang to talk to you were interrupted by the prince of the fire nation. Everyone rushed to attack him but you just stood there frozen between shock and awkwardness. Eventually you came forward to stand beside Sokka and listened as the others all debated letting Zuko join. Finally the group agreed to let Zuko join and only then did he fully look up from the ground at you all and he spotted you immediately. "Y/n?" Zuko asked and you smiled "hi Zuko". "Wait you two know each other?" Katara asked. "Yeah my father taught Zuko how to use his dual swords a couple of years ago". Zuko nodded "see her father is this amazing swordsman famous in the fire nation known for....". "Yeah i know, i’ve met him" Sokka replied "and he also trained me so you're not the only sword master here". Zuko nodded awkwardly and you changed the subject.

You showed Zuko around as nobody else wanted to and because you wanted to help make him feel welcome. You also wanted to apologise for not telling the gang you knew each other. You explained to Zuko how you didn’t vouch for him earlier because you thought it was Aang’s place not yours and he understood your reasons. You caught up over everything you’d missed in the fire nation and Zuko’s life while Sokka watched with a confused expression.

Sokka’s POV

"I can believe i had no idea they were friends" Sokka cried and Katara sighed "y/n never said they were friends she just said they knew each other, also how would you know? It never came up". "Yeah but y/n knew we were conspiring against the firelord and she never mentioned she knew his son....do you think that’s odd?”. Sokka’s eyes drifted back to where you were both sat together "and now they're sat laughing and joking around together". Katara sighed "i’m sure they're both just happy to be around people they know, Zuko probably just feels more comfortable around her because she’s from the fire nation too, she knows what it’s like". Sokka raised an eyebrow not convinced. The way you and Zuko acted was way too familiar for casual acquaintances. You seemed very at ease with each other and Sokka couldn’t help but feel you were hiding something about this from him.

Later

You were sat around the campfire drinking tea Zuko made with the group when you realised your boyfriend was missing. You searched all over for him before you finally found him. "There you are!" you called spotting Sokka stood at the edge of the woods "why are you all the way out here it’s freezing". "I don’t feel the cold" Sokka said and you snorted "you don’t feel the cold?" you asked imitating him mockingly and Sokka shook his head but smiled "i meant...i have more of a tolerance to it than you because i grew up surrounded by snow and ice" Sokka said nudging you playfully. You smiled at him and took his hand in yours "well that may be but i still think you shouldn’t be out here all alone, come back to the fire with me, Zuko was telling jokes it was crazy!". "No thanks" Sokka said abruptly dropping your hard and you paused "what?". "I don’t want to listen to Zuko be hilarious and watch him become even better than he already is". You paused "Sokka is everything okay....". "Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?". You paused "i...it didn’t come up plus i wasn’t sure it was relevant...I knew Zuko a while ago, it’s not like we’re close". "I thought the same thing but then i saw the two of you together and you seemed comfortable, familiar even and it made me think....has something ever happened between you two?". You paled and Sokka gasped "i knew it! You like him!". "What? Sokka of course i don't, i left to come with you right?". "So why...". "Okay so while he was being trained with my father we became friends and we might have maybe gone on a couple of dates...". "YOU WHAT!" Sokka cried and you jumped "Sokka it’s not that big a deal! It was like 4 times! Then he left for the capital and we never ever spoke again, you have to believe me". Sokka nodded his head as you stared at him fiercely "i do just wow i can’t believe you dated?". You shrugged "i don’t even know if you can call it that, it was just casual and fun, neither of us were expecting anything long term...it was literally just some fun". Sokka paused "is it...does Zuko still seem fun to you?". You shook your head "Sokka i’d never dated anyone before Zuko...that was half the appeal! The other half was he’s a prince, which when i was younger seemed amazing. I’m older now and not so easily enticed by titles or just any guy. It takes a lot more, someone as great as you" you smiled up at him "and trust me Zuko will never seem as good to me as you do”. Sokka smiled and looked at you "really?". "Really" you nodded and kissed him. Sokka was enjoying it before a thought popped into his head "wait when you two dated did you ever...have you kissed Zuko?". Your eyes widened again and Sokka gasped "you have! Y/n!". "It was only a few times!" you cried and Sokka gaped "of all the girls i fall for...her ex-boyfriend is the future firelord...". "He wasn’t my boyfriend and i...wait girl you've fallen for?". Sokka blushed "well i figured it was pretty obvious...wasn’t i?". "No but even if it was hearing you say it...i’m falling for you too Sokka and that’s why this whole Zuko thing is just...so what if i’ve dated and kissed Zuko? That’s so far in the past! I don’t feel anything for him anymore and even if i did there’s no way it’d ever compare with you...nothing and nobody could". "Not even a fancy nobel man?" Sokka asked smiling and you shook your head "nope". "Or a titled tribal leader?". "No" you grinned and Sokka smiled "what about the earth king?". "Isn’t he like 40?" you asked and Sokka’s smile dropped "ow so if he wasn’t then he'd be an option". You got worried Sokka was actually upset when his frown was replaced with a smile "i’m kidding" he grinned. "You're an ass" you said pushing him but Sokka caught your hands and pulled you to him swiftly. "Yeah i know that’s what you like so much about me...my winning personality". “That’s one of the reasons” you grinned and before Sokka could ask you to list all the reasons you tugged his hand “now can we go back to the fire? I don’t have your water tribe protection from the cold”. Sokka nodded wrapping an arm around you “let's go”. You and Sokka reached the fire and sat together, Sokka stayed close to you to try and share his body heat with you and you willingly leant into him savouring it.

“They look happy” Zuko commented to Katara who nodded smiling. She wasn’t technically speaking to Zuko but she loved you and Sokka as a couple and it melted away her anger. “They are” she smiled. “I’m glad y/n found someone, she deserves someone good”. Katara frowned as Zuko was obviously talking like he knew you well but she didn’t push it. She just smiled seeing her brother so obviously in love with someone who loved him back just as much.

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maythewidowtakeusall · 3 years

Text

SUN-KISSED Pt. 2

Part 1 | Part 2

Read on AO3

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Wordcount: 2894

Warnings: alcohol

Summary: An argument with your boyfriend Steve Rogers is the perfect incentive to go out drinking with Natasha.

It's sunset again, Natasha notices, but she pushes the thought down as your fingers tangle with hers. You tug on her arm and she follows you silently, pathetically at your whim at all times, even when she knows she should tell you it's a bad idea. Because it is. She doesn't trust herself sober around you, and she's scared of what a few drinks will do.

But you're adamant, your mascara smudged under your eyes from crying earlier. She hates it, she hates Steve for making you feel so bad about yourself, about your work. You're fucking amazing, and though she respects the old man, she's not going to let him do this to you. He can stick his second world war virtues up his ass.

Despite the considerable force you're pulling her along with, she stops you, spins you around, curls an arm around your waist tightly to hold you close. She can't help but smirk as your eyes widen.

She probably enjoys this too much. But it was you who called her.

You watch with confusion as Natasha licks her thumb and swipes it across your cheeks gently, wiping away the last telltale signs of your argument with Steve. Your eyes shine more brightly than they usually do, but otherwise you look perfect again, even with your tousled hair and carelessly thrown on leather jacket.

"There."

"It was the mascara, right? I forgot about that," you say with a sheepish smile that soon drops, the feeling of your cheeks heating up deepening your embarrassment. It's the proximity of another human being, or the two shots of tequila you had back at the Avengers Tower, or the fact that at least she genuinely seems to give a shit about you. At any rate, it feels soothing after all the jarring words you and Steve threw around earlier. You need a girls' night out, you need to be told not to overthink things, to let loose.

And the moment you stormed out of Steve's room, you knew who you had to turn to. You knew it was only Natasha you wanted around and no one else.

She didn't protest. In fact, she dropped her plans at a moment's notice to go out with you. She promised to take you to a dive bar, one she knows like the back of her hand that has good drinks and even better prices. It's close to her place, and you will crash there afterwards. She said will, not can. She's not letting you go back to Steve in the state you are in, the state he's put you in.

And you are perfectly alright with that plan.

The Coyote is a small but handsome place, with soft blues rock whining in the background, furnished with tables and bar stools from a bygone era. There's a pool table in the back, a woman in her fifties tending the bar with a frown as one of the patrons knocks his drink over. You stand in awe for a minute as the bartender - who also happens to be the owner of this particular dive - berates the man in front of her for spilling his beer. "You think I want to clean up after you all night, Larry?" she throws him a disdainful look before muttering under her breath as she fetches a rag to mop up the beer that bleeds down the wooden surface just like your mascara ran down your cheeks not so long ago. "Fucking lightweight."

"Well, what do you think?" Natasha smiles, pleased to see enthusiasm stealing behind your eyes.

"I love it. It's so..."

"Vintage?" she helps. She knows you love old things in the most adorable way. You love everything that is vintage, everything that takes you back to times you never lived in - buildings, furniture, streets, monuments, museums... People. Old people too, she reminds herself bitterly.

"Yeah," you smile.

She matches your smile, knowing eyes drinking in your improving mood greedily. "Wait til you've tried their drinks. Holly prides herself on only keeping the best of the best."

The night is a lot slower and more mellow than what you expected. You wanted wild, you wanted to force the thoughts out of your mind, you wanted to be exhausted, maybe even blackout and start over fresh tomorrow. But you're just tipsy, the alcohol filling your body with a gentle buzz that's not at all unpleasant. You and Nat have paced yourselves, and you talk, and fill the booth you took for just the two of you with genuine laughter and ease. She matches your teasing tone when you joke, indulges you when you steer the conversation to deeper waters. However, you've been tiptoeing around Steve, and the argument, but Natasha unravels you, and she listens to what you have to say, and it's fucking difficult to admit, but she seems to understand you more than Steve ever did - so you cave in when she puts a hand on your forearm. It feels right, too right, but her question distracts you.

"So... Should we address the elephant in the room or is this the point where we pick up the pace a little?"

Your shoulders sag when you realise you don't really want to get drunk. You don't want wild. Or reckless. Lights out, with the bittersweet relief of not remembering a god damn thing about tonight. You just want this moment, even if it is difficult to open up to her. "I don't know what to say."

"I do," she quips. "Steve's a moron."

You laugh, despite everything, and it makes her tighten her grip on your arm encouragingly for a second. "He's not a moron. But he did act rather moronic today."

"I think you did well on the mission," Nat declares, leaning back and lifting her glass of beer to her lips.

"I was reckless."

"Those are his words, not yours."

"Yeah... The thing is, I don't feel guilty about what I've done at all. I calculated the risks, and I trusted my abilities to see me through the job. Mission accomplished - even if my tactics were questionable from a strictly military perspective."

Nat nods, and a silence settles over the two of you as she draws patterns on the cold wet glass in her hands. It's comfortable, and her wordless agreement wraps around you like a warm blanket. Your gaze meets the attentive green emeralds of her eyes, and you swallow thickly. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's your loneliness, but she looks so fucking beautiful in the dim light of the bar, green military style jacket slipping down on one shoulder to reveal her black tank top. You shouldn't, you shouldn't, and you can't help it, and she frowns softly, trying to read your thoughts. And you worry, you worry she can read you easily, you worry she can open you up and trace the lines of your attraction to her with her fingertips.

Because that's what this is, you realise. Attraction. No matter how fucked up it is, no matter how angry it makes you at yourself. Steve's back at the Avengers Tower dissecting the argument in his head while worrying about where you've slipped off to. But you know he doesn't approve, not even his guilt can make him see that you shouldn't have to justify your every move on missions. You're far from helpless, and yet he treats you like a damsel in distress. Like you're less than him in a way, just because you weren't injected with the super soldier serum.

You want to be treated as an equal. In the team, in your relationships, during your missions. You want to be seen for who you are - a capable person, an effective agent, a force to be reckoned with, a mind that can easily keep up with the rest of the Avengers. Alas none of them really see you that way, and Steve is no exception.

But Natasha is.

The cab ride is quiet, you two sit in the back, eyes somehow glued to each other, Steve forced to the back of your mind as an unpleasant thought by what you feel for Nat in this very moment. You wonder if this feeling has always been in you, hidden, denied, labelled impossible and maybe even shameful. She reaches across and gently places her hand in yours.

And for whatever reason, you don't pull it back.

You've never seen her flat before, but it's everything you've expected. Laid back yet angular, stylish yet chaotic, inviting yet intimidating. It's an effervescent mixture, just like she is, and she pulls you inside without a second thought, exposing her hideout as if you came here every other day, as if letting you in her most private corner of the world was absolutely normal.

The thought of it makes your insides burn with a feeling you know you shouldn't allow to even exist.

It's late, but you're both hungry, and you make sandwiches in the small kitchen while joking and keeping the conversation light, amicably bumping your shoulders together. It hurts, for the both of you, to see the what ifs, the what could bes, the life you can't have but suddenly seem to crave. She accidentally smudges some pesto on her finger and licks it off. You lose your mind. You eat. Hunched over the tiny kitchen table, you feel yourself sober up completely. You're exhausted, but you don't want this night to end. Neither of you have done or said anything inappropriate, nothing has happened here for which you should apologise to Steve on the next day. And yet it's the most comfortable and loved you've felt in a long time.

You feel self-conscious when you wipe your makeup off in the quiet seclusion of her bathroom, a pair of her sweatpants and an old band t-shirt waiting for you, neatly folded, on top of the laundry basket. You expose the dark circles underneath your eyes, along with all the imperfections of your skin, and your lower lips trembles at the thought of having to bare yourself in front of her. Your body is shapeless after you've changed into your makeshift pyjamas (you try not to think too hard on wearing her clothes). Your hair, released from the tight updo you've forced it into is messy and loose now. To be fair, it was messy before too, but it's not really helping your confidence right now. You will have to leave eventually, and face her, and you're terrified of not seeing the same light and warmth in her eyes when she looks at you, the same smile she always wears on her lips whenever you're around.

She smiles even wider than usual when you emerge. The simple explanation would be that you're beautiful - it's the truth, without any embellishments whatsoever. The more complicated one she doesn't allow herself to dwell on, so she nods towards the bedroom and you follow her, even if a little forlorn.

"I don't often get guests," she smiles, sitting in the edge of the bed. The room smells of clean sheets and her perfume. "And even when I do, it's Clint, and I'm making him sleep on the sofa. But I'm willing to make an exception for you."

"Oh, you shouldn't," you protest as she stands. "The sofa is perfectly fine for me."

"It's alright, I don't mind-"

"Please-"

"It's no fuss-"

"This bed is big enough for the two of us anyways."

A small, awkward silence settles on you as you stare back at one another. If Natasha feels as bewildered as you do, she hides it well. Her head lolls to one side in thought, eyes assessing you. She seems content with whatever she's found in your gaze as she shrugs and sinks back down on the bed.

"Don't even think about hogging my blanket."

You regain your composure and grin, unable to feel uncomfortable around her any longer. You plop down on your belly unceremoniously and starfish on the mattress, and you can almost see her roll her eyes at you even through your closed eyes. You sigh as the firm mattress rises to meet your tired bones. "Ooh, I'm never leaving this bed."

"Move," Natasha nudges you, and you oblige her as you roll on your back. She lays next to you, and you stare up at the ceiling, glow in the dark stars blinking back at you in the dim light.

"I used to have those on my bedroom ceiling as a kid," you smile fondly.

"I didn't exactly have a conventional childhood. Figured I had some ground to cover on that front," she murmurs softly, lost for a moment in her memories. Your quiet laugh draws her back to the present and she's so very grateful for that. So very grateful for you.

"Well then, this is a good addition too, our little sleepover."

"Oh, yeah?" she grins, rolling on her side as she props her head up on a hand. "What do you want to do then to make it memorable? Gush about our crushes? Have a pillow fight? Play spin the bottle? Truth or dare? Get drunk? I have a bottle of wine, we could do that."

Your eyes land on her soft lips and you imagine daring her to kiss you. You imagine what it would be like to draw her in, to give in to the feelings inside you, to deepen the kiss, blame it on being drunk, trail your lips down the length of her neck...

But you could never do that to Steve.

"I think I've had enough excitement for tonight."

"Suit yourself, love."

Does she look disappointed? You don't have enough time to ponder as she nods and pulls back the covers to wrap them around the both of you. She then reaches to switch the lamp off on the bedside table and settles down beside you. You're still facing each other, and in the darkness you can see the outlines of her smile when your eyes adjust. She puts a hand on your shoulder, gives it a little squeeze. She's upset, she really is, she was so close to reeling you in, trapping you, telling you all she's been wanting to say for months now. But she's proud of you. For being loyal, for not breaking the trust Steve put in you even though you could do it without consequences. She'd never tell on you. But somehow, your silent refusal has made you even a better person in her eyes than if you would have given in to the kiss you've both obviously wanted.

But this all must be very confusing for you. Your week was an emotional rollercoaster, and she just wants you to be okay. "Wake me if you need anything."

You nod, and satisfied, Natasha turns to her other side. It's difficult, being so torn, wanting love but not knowing where you're supposed to get it. Overwhelmed by everything, you seem to spiral into mild panic. You don't know this place, and Steve is a stubborn asshole, and you just want to feel safe and sheltered for a single night, is that too much to ask for?

You scoot closer to Natasha, letting her feel your warmth first before you tentatively snuggle up to her from behind. She lets you, deathly still as if any movement on her part would scare you away. You slide your hand on her waist, afraid to go too far.

She takes it and wraps it around her midsection.

You don't talk about it in the morning. The sun shines brightly as you sit together in the kitchen. Coffee. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Slipping slices of tangerine to one another. A long hug before you leave.

And somehow you both feel a little less when you're apart.

You have much to think on, you both do. You don't avoid Steve when you get back. You go straight to him and you ask him for a break. He deals with his heartbreak as he soldiers though every hardship in his life - lips pressed together, emotions repressed, stiff nod straining his neck, regret shining in his blue eyes. But you need this. You need this, because he deserves better than to be lied to. Than to be led on. So does she.

Weeks pass. Missions come and go, all successful. You work together professionally, there's nothing forced. Tony remarks on the sudden drop of temperature in the room during a mission briefing where you and Steve sit in opposite ends of the room, but Natasha steps in and whacks him on the back of the head with the file in her hand and that's that.

You go to the top floor of the tower one evening, the staggering height's isolation comforting you now more than scaring you. You sit there for a while, watching the sunset, when you remember Italy, 3 months ago, stopping to marvel at the sunset, Natasha by your side.

And then you know. You just do. You need more time to accept it, of course. Probably even more time to act on it. But in the meantime, you can't stop thinking about her feeding tangerine to you in the morning, fingers brushing against yours as she passes the slices to you.

Tag list: @fayhar

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #black widow x you #natasha romanoff fanfiction #marvel mcu #mcu fanfiction #natasha romanoff #black widow

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