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obliviouscxnt · 9 months

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Control Azriel x Reader

a/n: I'm so lost, i don't know what I'm doing. Still learning how to use tumblr but in the meantime, welcome to the first fic i feel like posting.

synopsis: feyre's growing curiosity about you sparks some personal questions.

Warnings: mentioned SA, fluff, hints of sexual activities

pt.2 | pt.3

One of the first friends Feyre made in the Night Court was you. You reminded her of the twin wraiths in a way. Never saying much, if anything at all. Maybe that was one of the reasons she liked you so much.

You didn’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s presence. Feyre had as much fun sitting in silence with you as she did on a night out with Mor.

But as time passed, as Feyre became a constant in the Night Court, she had grown curious. She wanted to know more about you like she did the others.

So she started asking you questions, and to her surprise, you would answer her. Your answers weren’t clipped, or vague. You never sounded annoyed with her, you were completely open and honest with her.

“How long have you known everyone?” Feyre had asked while you gently played with her hair, her scalp tingling at your touch.

You thought about it for a moment. “Over two hundred years now.”

She tilts her head, so apart from her you were the newest member of the inner circle. “How did you meet?” She asks, shivering as the tingles travel down her spine.

You start braiding a few small strands from the front of her face as you speak. “My kind are far different from other Fae.” Feyre practically perks up at the words. She knew you weren’t high fae but she never bothered saying anything about it, she barely even noticed it most of the time not nearly enough to warrant a discussion. “They hail from no court, and bow to no lord, not even the Mother is with their thoughts.”

Feyre tried to imagine what that would be like, how they would act, what traditions they’d carry. She thought of your features, the ones that stood out among other high fae. Your ears didn’t point, your nails were like claws, and your teeth bore long sharp canines on both the top and bottom of your mouth, but the features that stood out the most were the ones you kept hidden.

Feyre saw them once, your wings. The first time she met you. Like they were just there for a formal introduction. They were big, beautiful, and intricate. They looked like moth wings, and fluttered like them too. Opening and closing slowly when you were lax.

Immediately when Feyre saw them, she felt like painting again, she could barely keep her eyes off them, barely keep herself from reaching out a hand to touch them. Maybe that was the reason for their absence in the next visit; all that remained of the glorious appendages was precise ink that lined the whole of your back, a tattoo of folded wings.

From the way they folded, they almost formed a natural cape. She wondered how far your tattoo ran, the extravagant fabrics of the dresses you wore only showed so much.

She pictured a whole colony of people that looked like you and immediately felt like painting again.

“It’s why nobody can do anything about their backward ways, they listen to nobody but themselves. Believe no one but themselves.” All preconceived thoughts of your people turn sour with your words.

“The things they’ve done, they still do…” You release a shaky breath as you finish the small braids and set them aside.

Feyre turns to look at you when your delicate hands part with her hair. She finds you sorting through a box of hair ornaments, but your eyes are clouded. Not even the most glorious of diamonds could shine through that fog. “You don’t have to...“

You blink out of your daze and wave her off as you pull out a few gem-encrusted pins and show them to her. Waiting for her to give you a nod of approval before pulling out a stunning bejeweled silver comb and repeating the same process. Your collection was truly marvelous.

“When I was saved, it was my first Flowering Night.” You spoke the words with barely concealed bitterness. “A night where all mature unpaired females are sent into the woods for any participating males to hunt down and take as they please.”

You tuck back the small braids with the sparkling pins. Feyre listened as you continued, she wanted to say something but what would she say?

“No one could run very far from our community, the woods of the Middle hold no mercy. It was either hide and hope you make it till dawn without being spotted by a male. Or die to the other horrid creatures that live in those woods.”

Feyre’s heart ached for you, her sorrow a tangible thing able to be smelt in the air. And you squeezed her shoulder, you comforted her. Her sorrow only increased. You never deserved any of it.

“I chose the latter.” You carefully place the comb into her hair, finding it in yourself to smile at the final product. You still fiddle with a few strands until you feel pleased. “A close encounter with death led to the discovery of my gift,”

Dreamwalker, Rhys had called you. An ability so rare even Helion’s exquisite library had very little information on it.

Feyre loosely understood that you could enter another person's dream. Could manipulate it as you wish, to serenity or to a blood-curdling nightmare. But what made you so powerful, what made you such a valuable asset to the Night Court was your ability to bring dreams to life. All manner of dreams.

However, your ability was sparsely used for court matters, and only necessary people knew of it. You were their trump card. Something nobody would see coming.

Feyre would never forget the time you had a nightmare, sending half the court in preparation for battle. She’d also never forget the way Azriel had fought off the nightmare incarnate to get to you. How he charged forward without an ounce of hesitation. While Rhys had stood protectively in front of Feyre, and Cassian’s siphons flared from beside her, providing a shield around them.

Feyre had realized then that Azriel would go to hell and back for you.

Feyre turns to face you, to look you in your enchanting eyes now that you are finished playing with her hair. “I was barely a woman, I didn’t know the first thing about defending myself. I didn’t know what this gift was.” She watched you raise a hand, small stars forming and trailing your fingers, blinking and shimmering as you played with them. “What good is a gift this powerful if you don’t know what to do with it? It’s as good as a broken blade.”

Feyre’s breath leaves her body when you pull down the shoulder of your elegant emerald gown, revealing a long jagged scar running diagonally across your chest. The skin puffed up from how deep the gash was. “I would’ve died if it weren’t for Azriel.”

The high fae’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly.

“He heard me screaming. And he came for me.” You pull the shoulder back up and smile. Actually, smile. Feyre had never known someone like you, someone able to flip such a horrid memory around. Someone so able to pick out the good amongst the bad. “It wasn’t until a century later that I finally accepted his invitation to the Night Court and met everyone else.”

Feyre found herself grabbing your hand and squeezing. So grateful you had accepted his invitation.

You squeeze back.

“You’re so strong.” Feyre says, furrowing her brows when you laugh like she had told a joke.

“It wasn’t strength that led me here, Feyre.” You tell her. Once again she wanted to paint you, but she felt like she wouldn’t be able to do you justice. “It was fate.”

A knock sounds at the door.

“Come in.” Feyre calls and you both look to the opening door. Two incredibly attractive Illyrian men stand at the doorway.

Rhys smiles at the sight of you two, eyes raking over the hairstyle you’d given Feyre. “You look lovely, Feyre darling.” Her face heats as you smile in triumph.

“Say goodnight.” Comes Azriel’s voice in that tone he only used on you.

You obey his command without a second thought, giving Feyre a light hug and giving Rhys a small bow before scurrying toward Azriel’s waiting arm.

You fall into step with him as his hand lands on your lower back. But before the two of you could disappear you tug on his shirt, prompting him to stop only long enough for you to turn back toward Feyre and say a final goodnight. “Dream well Feyre!” Then he continued leading you away to your shared chambers.

The mated pair watch you two travel away. Rhys with a look of content for you and his brother. Feyre with a new curiosity.

She couldn’t help but be curious about the dynamic you and Azriel had. The way that dynamic bled into the interactions you had with your friends. How you always asked for permission before doing something and always jumped up whenever anyone asked you to do something. Rhys seemed to catch on to that curiosity.

He decided to save you the embarrassment of Feyre asking you herself. He had enough of an understanding of you to know when something would make you uncomfortable, no matter how much you said otherwise.

You’d always answer any questions asked of you openly and honestly, whether you wanted to or not. It was one of the reasons many were at first against your visits with Feyre, himself included. The newly turned fae was far too oblivious to your situation to recognize when she was taking advantage of your obedience. But you assured Rhysand repeatedly that Feyre never bothered you with her questions. That you enjoyed her presence just as much as she, hopefully, enjoyed yours.

Much to everyone’s delight, Feyre regarded you with gentleness and awe from the very start. It was the effect you had on people. It was the reason Azriel didn’t put up a fight about leaving your visits unsupervised.

“[name] was raised by cruel people, they taught her that in a relationship the male's word is law. Her people think a female is expected to give up any and all control to her male. It’s one of the few things she never was able to condition herself out of, Azriel helps her by providing that control she needs.”

Feyre thinks about that, face heating at the images it created. She wondered what that would be like, to surrender herself completely. “So if he told her to jump off the nearest bridge…?”

“She’d do it, with zero hesitation.”

Rhys smirks, knowing glint in his eyes as his gaze runs over the blush that coated her face.

“But he’d never ask something like that of her. He knows her inside out, knows when something is too much or not enough.” He steps closer to her, delighting in the way her breathing picks up. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think your interest in this topic was more than innocent curiosity.”

“Well, do you?” Feyre asks, making his eyes narrow. “Know any better?”

Rhys’s gaze becomes dark. “Nope.”

****

“Did you enjoy your time with Feyre?” You sigh at his voice, the comfort it brings you. You find yourself leaning into him, and he allows it.

“It was nice.” You say truly. It felt like it was easier to breathe now that Feyre had more of an understanding. “She asked about how we met.”

The hand on your back pulls you closer to him as if he were remembering that day. Remembering what you looked like as that hideous creature held you down, slicing into you. The way you flinched away from him after he’d slayed the creature. The sheer dress that you wore, If it could even be called that. He could still picture everything so vividly.

How you eventually submitted to him, and how that made him sick. How he carried you out of the Middle and into the lands of the Night Court, never taking you into the cities. How for the next century after that he would visit you at the little private cabin only he and his brothers knew about, how he took care of you, and how he grew to love you. How you grew to love him in return.

He shoves those thoughts into the back of his mind as he opens the door to your shared chambers, walking you inside before shutting the door behind you.

His hands move to your shoulders while he guides you to sit on the edge of the large bed, big enough to fit at least three winged beings. Hands brushing down your body as he kneels before you, settling on your ankle. He brings your foot up and rests it on his thigh before slowly unraveling the straps of your heel. Once finished he continued with the right heel, his touch nothing but confident from years and years of practice.

A hand pats your thigh, letting you know he’s finished. Your eyes trail him as he heads toward the bathroom, you’d be happy to just look at him for the rest of your immortal life.

You help Azriel, though he had no problem doing it for you, by taking off your jewelry one by one, setting each extravagant piece on the nightstand. By the time you're done Azriel’s waiting for you next to a full bath.

“Come.” He beckons from beside the large clawfoot tub. Hand outstretched and waiting for you.

You saunter toward him, sighing as you let your brain just rest. Let him do everything for you.

His hands are strong, and gentle, and secure all in one as they guide you out of your gown, his clothes following not long after. You sigh as he brings you into the tub. Positioning you so you sat between his legs, back to his front.

Your eyelids slowly fall shut, coaxed by his soothing touch. Feeling nothing but content when he pushed your head back to lay on his shoulder, a gentle kiss pressed against your temple.

You were soon in a state of barely there, just teetering on the side of sleep but awake enough to move when he told you to.

“Lean forward.”

His hands rub up and down your back, cleaning and massaging the skin there. You shudder in pleasure and he hums soothingly. Like cooing at a pet. You straighten up a bit when he taps the marked skin a few times, moving forward just enough for your wings to slowly peel away from your back. What was once ink on your skin, now real moving wings.

“Spread.” And you do so, wings unfolding and stretching out completely.

You shiver as his hands brush against them, making them twitch both away and toward him. As if they couldn’t decide whether the feeling it brought you was too much or not enough.

As always Azriel handled them with utmost care, humming when small noises of pleasure escaped you. When he was finished he tapped your shoulder to let you know, but you were too tired to summon the magic needed to conceal them.

Though, not tired enough to remember it was his turn.

Slowly with lethargic movements, you turn to face him. Wings folding up again, forming a natural cape on your back. “Can I-“ You begin but catch yourself before you can finish. His narrowed eyes crinkled into a smile. Happy he no longer had to remind you of such a simple fact.

Don’t ask to touch what is yours.

So instead you reach for the soap in his hands and begin to wash him. Taking satisfaction in the way his wound-up muscles, tense from hours of work, relaxed under your touch. The way his hands rested on your hips, squeezing every now and then appreciatively. The hums that left his mouth, no longer with the intent to soothe you but to let you know how pleased you made him.

Your touches became increasingly distracted, sleep slowly leaving your system as your mind filled with nothing but him.

He smirks, a mix of amusement and attraction. Allowing his own touches to become less innocent. His hands move to wrap around your wrists, dragging your hands down, down, and down his body. Soap long ago discarded.

“Touch me.” He commands.

And nothing could keep you from satisfying him.

#acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 months

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Yandere Witch /// Part 1

Rhiana is your dear friend who lives just out of town in a cozy cottage in the forest. You met while shopping. You two talk about the different spices she suggests to flavor meat and veggies. It leads you to a fast but close friendship with Rhiana, close enough that it becomes a usual event to visit her monthly while you’re in the area. Whether it’s shopping, karaoke, or just coffee date hangouts there is one thing that comes up a lot.

“Rhiana you’re so pretty.”

“Aw (Y/n) thank you!”

“Seriously though you’re like a painting. I still can’t believe you don’t model.”

“Honestly (Y/n) you’re such a charmer!”

Your dear friend Rhiana doesn’t do anything for a nightly routine or facials or specific remedies to look how she does. Seeing her when you do it seems like the scale of her looks ranges from glowing to immaculate. It certainly makes getting free stuff with her much easier. She just will credit one thing to her looks and even then she doesn’t talk about it much.

“Maybe it’s what I eat…I have been eating more meat, lately.”

But your dear friend Rhiana doesn’t explain anymore, usually going on a tangent about how she can season her meat. She’ll refuse to tell you just how stringent her beauty is on her carnivorous diet. Because on top of being a good friend to you, she is a Witch. Specifically, the kind that maintains her health and youth by devouring the souls and bodies of human beings. She usually prefers eating children but since she’s met you she’s decided to reign it in.

“What if me and (Y/n) had a baby? Hehe, I can’t believe it’s making me blush so much.”

“Aaaaahh please let me go home!!! I promise not to tell!”

“Hmmmm maybe we’ll have 3…or 5 or 10. They won’t be allowed to leave if we have that many right?”

Rhiana the Witch has been doing this for hundreds of years and she’s had her fair share of lovers and harems. But she’s never found out about someone so early in advance. When she was much younger much dumber of 113 she’d seen a vision featuring you, of course at the time she didn’t know. Nor was she aware just how much seeing the future you had awakened something in her. Now she’s well in her 600s and she realizes how all of her flings in the past have features of yours or they speak like you. Or how her familiars mirror different aspects of your personality and as she delves into her past she realizes how all her life she’s been building up to be with you.

“(Y/n) is my….special person….their mine. All Mine!”

Now on top of feeding her voracious appetite, she’s trying to gain your affections so that she has your consent to make you immortal like she. If you might think it’s because she respects boundaries, then you’d be wrong. The potion she’s perfected over centuries only works if you give your express consent, with as little pressure as possible. So she’s refrained from drugging you on her many outings with you…for now.

If I wanted to I could sprinkle a light aphrodisiac dust into the food they just keep shoveling into their mouth.

“But then I–HACK—*cough cough*”

“Hon, maybe don’t talk while you’re eating.”

“Right! So as I was saying–”

But Elements do I adore just watching them eat so happily.

She feels like a hapless teen all over again as her stomach flips and turns the more time she spends with you. No longer can she get a wink of her enchanted eyes and some choice sugar-coated words to get you exactly where she wants you. She has to try with you and she’s never wanted to do so more than with you. She’s even begun to tailor her meals with the ones that seem to bother you most. It’s risky but the satisfaction of a full tummy while she reads your letter about the creepy vendor finally stopping their emails makes her happy.

“That is convenient.”

“I know. It’s not right to celebrate anyone going missing—”

“But it doesn’t take away from the harm they’ve done. Don’t feel bad hon it’s probably just an extended trip somewhere to the underworld.”

She thinks about how she’ll hide her rejuvenating diet when she finally gets you closer to her. You might not notice when she uses magic but you're not an idiot; you’d figure it out eventually. Not to mention the added trouble of her familiar’s growing interest and past suitors budding their noses in her business with you. She’s got a lot of work on her hands—and not a lot of time.

“Hey (Y/n) why don’t I come visit you every once in a while? Two days a month just isn’t enough time to make you fall in hopeless love with me+. What do say to me spending a night or two at yours?”

She's giving the former mc going for the side character reader Debating about a part 2 🖤🖤🖤🖤

I did it! Part 2: Here 🖤🖤🖤

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere oc x you #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere original character x reader #yandere witch oc #yandere fem oc #yandere original characters #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere oc x gn reader #yandere original character x gender neutral reader #yandere female

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pluvialpoet · 11 months

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how to disappear

Summary: a reunion ten years in the making serves as a reminder that absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder- especially when history has a tendency to repeat itself

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!vigilante!reader

Requested: no

Warning: nsfw!!! (18+ MDNI), porn with plot, lovers to enemies, unprotected sex, implied breeding kink, choking, angst, minor barbara gordon slander (for the plot, I swear)- do not read if you are not comfortable with the warnings listed above!!!

Word Count: 12,874

masterlist

Light reflects off the crystals that hang from the chandeliers above, and like a moth drawn to a shiny flame, you bask in the warmth of their glow. For as beautiful as the crystalline teardrops twenty-two feet overhead are, they dull in comparison to the- equal parts blinding and mesmerizing, simultaneously gorgeous, yet gaudy- diamonds that dangle from earlobes, rubies that rest against décolletages, and the pearls placed upon dainty fingers in an over the top display of money, power, and status. It’s the epitome of wealth, and though meant to allure, you find yourself disgusted by the flashy exhibitions of greed and corruption.

Every smile is artificial. Every laugh is humorless and diluted. Any feeling beyond complete and utter misery is a hoax. Yet, they play their parts. Each and every one of them continues to mingle, boast, and feign genuineness, but it’s obvious what they are, even beneath their disguises, you recognize the vultures circling the fresh carnage of the innocent- with blood on their talons and a hunger that’s never truly satiated. Do they even know what they’ve done? Do they even care? Given a chance to make amends, would any of them take it?

Revulsion counters amusement as you watch the elite interact with one another. It’s pathetic. In a room full of affluence, not a single person knows pleasure beyond material possessions, and that’s an injustice in itself. Amongst thieves, you’re the honesty that rivals them all- and that’s a scary revelation, all things considered.

Taking advantage of the large crowd, you continue to bump elbows with the rich- literally- as you weave your way through the opulent mass. A tight-lipped smile is granted when you pass an older woman, and an even wider flash of teeth catches your attention from a man around your age. Mimicking the gestures seal your fate, damning you- even if only temporarily- to this game of confusion, a game in which approval and disgust are indiscernible. Having had years to grow accustomed to the tricks of this elitist trade, it’s almost impossible to recall a simpler time. Back when you still thought there might be a modicum of authenticity behind the action, back before you were close enough to spot the invisible strings controlling the marionettes, you believed- and even hoped- that you had it all wrong. There was a time, long, long ago, when you were desperate to believe that there was still some good left in these people, but you grew out of your naivety. Now older, and wiser, you won’t make the same mistakes you once made. Under the influence of optimism, your purpose became convoluted. Not anymore.

Without anyone to dissuade you from reaching out- to challenge you from swiping a few bejeweled tennis bracelets, engagement rings, or even one or two watches and calling it a day- a thrum of urgency spreads through your fingertips. It’s an impulsive electricity you can’t deny. Besides, it’s not like social dynasties would crumble if a few diamonds went missing. If only it were that easy…

Wealth doesn’t doom these poor, unfortunate souls, but their greed- coupled with the blood on their hands- paints a distinguishable target on their backs. If you look closely, it’s impossible to miss that they’re all cut from the same cloth. A hundred different reflections of the same privileged archetype imitate the same gestures, mannerisms, and movements to a tee. An amateur would operate under the guise of distraction- causing a small scene and offering their apologies before making off with their prize- but you’re not an amateur. Not anymore. Not by a long shot.

A few women- four or five, at most- nurse flutes of bubbling booze a few feet away. The sound of their laughter is a little too joyous to be feigned and when one of them waves a manicured hand towards a waiter, signaling another round of drinks, you start to put the pieces together. Perhaps, the ladies in your sights are the most genuine in attendance- even if they’ve lost themselves to their cups. Matching their demeanor is child’s play. Once equipped with a half-empty glass from a server on their way back to the kitchens, you stumble towards the group, plastering on the same elated- intoxicated- grin, and hope that they’re inebriated enough to be welcoming towards a newcomer. Masking the bitter taste of insincerity with a sip of prosecco, a greeting rises from the mix, but it never has the chance to come to fruition because a large hand wraps around your wrist- effectively halting your heist before it even really had a chance to begin.

You should’ve known better.

As you turn to glare at the idiot who dared to put their hands on you, your breath catches.

Two birds die from the blow of one stone, and he takes advantage of your stupor- finding that you’re more pliant in your daze- leading you away from the women you intended to rob, and into the crowd. More witnesses make it less likely for you to cause a scene. At least, that’s his logic, anyway. While it’s not exactly flawed, it’s not all that accurate, either, but for old time's sake, you’ll play along. His hold on you remains firm, and he reaches for the flute in your hand with his other, placing it on a tray and discarding the prop. Your surprise begins to morph into anger- especially when he pulls you closer towards him as the orchestra starts to play a tune. Remembering the steps forced upon you as a child is muscle memory, and you glare daggers up at him- though, they don’t pierce nearly as deeply as the blue of his irises.

“Nice hair,” Dick revels in your obvious frustration of being thwarted, his lips curling into a smirk when your frown deepens, and he asks, “I thought you were blonde, last I saw you?”

“I was,” For the sake of maintaining appearances, you don a phony expression of your own and respond with as much benevolence as you can muster- even though you’re filled with animosity- as he leads you through the steps of the dance. “And you didn’t have a five o’clock shadow,” You note, allowing yourself a split second to take in everything that’s changed since the last time you saw him, before pressing your lips together tightly with a huff.

“Things change.”

As if he needed the reminder…

Chance has never meddled in your relationship. Coincidence doesn’t exist within the realm of precision both you and Dick operate from. Everything has always been on purpose, calculated and planned, never left blindly to fate or possibility- which is why this meeting isn’t an accident. As if he can feel you about to pull away, he flexes his fingers against you, tightening his grip and holding you in place. Ten years later- ten years too late- he’s found you. Not destiny, not a fluke, but with his own intention, and you wish that he would’ve just stayed away.

“What are you doing here, Dick?” As you abandon your costume, your smile falls away to reveal genuine loathing as you force the question from behind gritted teeth. Still, despite your obvious disdain, he doesn’t let you go. “Last I checked, you were in San Francisco- and more recently, Blüdhaven. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You keeping tabs on me?” His amusement contradicts your revulsion, and a shallow breath purges the threat of an outburst. Dick has always had a way of getting under your skin, of pushing your buttons and doing everything he possibly could to make you tick, but the sudden onslaught of such juvenile taunting fills you with a fire not even he can extinguish- not anymore. Despite his charming exterior, the steady flow of his breath, and the easy grin of confidence that was once impossible not to mirror, dampness swells where your palms meet, and you feel the rough, raised reminders that he’s kept busy during your time apart- that he’s evolved into a stranger despite how familiar he still seems- and you wonder if he can feel it too, if he can tell just by touch, that you’re not the same girl he once knew.

“I keep tabs on everyone who might get in my way,” Your eyes narrow accusatorially, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re not special.”

“That’s not what you said the last time we-“

“Yeah, well, the last time was when we were teenagers, and a lot has changed since then.” Any attempt to remain cordial flies out the window when he dares to mention the last time- like it hasn’t plagued you for a decade. Not even he possesses the antidote to the venom your words carry, and he winces slightly as your rebuttal shakes. He clears his throat softly, the sound filling the lull where an apology should sound, and he takes a look over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again.

“Any chance I can convince you not to go through with whatever it is you’re planning?” It brings little joy to watch his smile dissolve into something more serious. His face hardens, and you notice lines and creases that you aren’t well acquainted with- unable to distinguish battle scars from the divots of age- and you quickly shake the thought away. Instead, you stare at him blankly, not revealing an answer. Though, he takes your lack of conversation as a reply, and with a heavy sigh, he shakes his head, “Yeah, I figured.”

He dares to express melancholy. Stunned by his nerve, after everything, not even shame or regret could rattle his courage enough for him to reconsider such a crestfallen expression, and the discouraged twist of his lips and the downcast slant of his eyes are so pronounced and dramatic that you’re unable to discern whether or not this is part of a ruse, or his genuine reaction.

“Did you think that would work?” Your skepticism is muddled with ridicule, a mocking scoff filling the line meant for his counter. It’s almost laughable- the nerve he has to look dejected by your questioning. To be fair, it’s been a while since he’s danced this dance- a routine once familiar, consisting of bite and bark, push and shove, before simultaneous defeat and victory- but he’s smart enough to know that that’s not how this works. “I mean what did you think would happen, birdy? I’d take one look at you, all grown and handsome, and reconsider my plans?”

Even in heels, he’s taller than you remember. He’s always been pretty- all mesmerizing eyes, slightly crooked smile, and sunkissed skin- but not even he was immune to the awkwardness brought forth by puberty. There was a time when he thought his shoulders were too broad, his ears too big, and the angular structure of his face too sharp and strong for a boy. It didn’t look right. Features that were admirable on their own, looked out of place on his face- or so he feared. You always thought he was beautiful- especially when he didn’t know it.

Now, Boy Wonder is all grown up, exuding confidence and oozing charm. He knows he’s attractive, but he doesn’t parade his arrogance- not anymore. His early twenties were a never-ending roller coaster of trying to find himself, his purpose, and where he fit into the grand scheme of things. Conflicted by right and wrong, tempted by lust and surrender, divided by good and evil, he’s had a lot of time to awaken from the grogginess inflicted by nightmares of freedom and liberation. Still, his eyes are just as mesmerizing, his teeth are straight- but his smile is still crooked- and he’s truly grown into himself. The man before you is a boy evolved- still a bird, but with a different set of wings. Robin is an old friend, a fond recollection of a different time, and though the stranger before you mimics the familiarity you’ve longed for, he’s not Robin, anymore- he’s Nightwing.

“Look, they’re anticipating for you to strike,” His warning is low and hushed, but even in whispers you’re able to detect his plea. Call it concern, or at the very least interest in serving justice as quietly as possible, but his timbre urges you to reconsider- if not for his sake, then for the sake of those around you. He really doesn’t want to cause a scene. “Security has been tripled, and you’ve grown sloppy-“

“Did you ever consider that the trail I was leaving behind wasn’t for anyone else but the one person I wanted to find me?” There’s no affection behind the way your fingers thread through the dark tresses at the nape of his neck. Without any fondness, without passion, or care, the action is mindless, meaningless, and merely muscle memory. There’s no repressed feelings you wish to convey, no animosity you’re trying to diffuse. With no hidden agenda, the gesture serves no purpose- except to unintentionally torture you both. Old habits die hard, and something undefined urges you to reach for him. He flushes, and the sight is so droll that you can’t bring yourself to stop. His lips part once, twice, three times, trying to produce an answer, but he’s at a loss. When you cock your head to the side, he tenses. “Of course, you didn’t,” You purr, and he clears his throat softly.

Dick’s no stranger to berating. He knows what it feels like to be chastised, scolded, and reprimanded. This exchange feels similar. The only difference is that you don’t raise your voice, your eyes don’t darken and you don’t threaten him- not with words, at least. If anything, the remark feels like a gentle rebuke, but the sting left from the impact of your insult brands him with shame. You’ve always seen right through him. Easily able to discern real from fake- truth from falsity- under both his domino mask and the hardened mask of his stoic expressions, you’ve always had a knack for exposing his most vulnerable self- welcoming his flaws, humility, and weaknesses to light. Even though he’s not the same kid he was when you first crossed paths, he feels just as naive and guileless as the boy he once once.

“You and the bat were never really known for considering every angle,” Spoken so thoughtfully, he’s almost able to forgive the verbal assault. As intended, the blow lands- precise, heavy, and unforgiving in the center of his chest- and the muscles in his jaw tighten with thinly veiled frustration. It seems, that in the moment he needs his voice the most, it evades him. He swallows consonants and vowels, a jumbled mix of letters that sit heavy atop his palate, and focuses on maintaining his composure- though, his steps are a beat behind and his footing seems, suddenly, unsure. You’ve struck a nerve. Whether or not you intend to wound, the damage is already done. Picking at scabs that should’ve scarred a long time ago cause his insecurities to bleed- a punch more lethal than brute strength and weaponry combined.

Blindsided by the truth, he feels utterly defenseless.

“Can I ask you something, Dick?” Your brows barely pinch together, your voice calm and steady as something softens in your gaze. Dick should know better than to let his guard down- especially when you lean in, and your lips brush against his ear, “If you’re the hero, here to save the day, does that make me the villain?”

“No, you’re not-“

“How about this, which is the lesser of two evils- knowing that you’re protecting a corrupted establishment because it’s what you believe to be morally correct, or taking back what was wrongfully stolen and returning it to its rightful owners?” As you tilt your head to the side, he hates the way that you look up at him through your lashes. It’s not a demure move. You’re demanding an answer, and a look like that- a look meant to allure, tempt, and bait- would have a weaker man spilling his deepest darkest secrets. With a sharp inhale, he reminds himself that the tricks up your sleeve aren’t new. He knows all of the cards you’re going to play- albeit, he’s unaware of the order in which you’re going to play them- and he won’t allow history to repeat itself. Purposely, your thumb caresses the back of his hand- the touch feather-light, but far from hesitant or accidental- and his breath hitches. Dick doesn’t undermine the small, sinister smile that threatens to spread into a victorious grin when he fails to answer your question. Perhaps, he doesn’t know the answer. Or, perhaps, he’s just distracted. Either way, your voice fills the absence of his own. “We’re not on different sides of a playing field, Grayson. You and I aren’t on opposite ends of a spectrum, we’ve always been right in the middle- dancing on a thin line.”

Prompted by the soothing symphony of strings, Dick twirls you- delicately extending his arm and leading you into a spin before pulling you back in- and it’s fitting, the push and pull between you so familiar it almost feels as choreographed as the steps of the waltz you’re dancing.

History repeating itself, just one more time.

“We both know you’re not here to turn me in, because if you were going to, you would’ve done it by now.” Your arrogance causes something to snap within him. Clarity comes rushing back as he breaks free from your spell. Without meaning to, his grip on your hand tightens.

“Look, I understand why you’re doing this, but-“

“No, you don’t.” Like a switch being flipped, your façade shatters- revealing a face so unbridled with emotions that not even a mask could obscure. He’s defensive. Tired of grappling for control over the situation, he tastes power as he parts his lips with a clever retort, but you don’t allow him the space to get a word in. “Did you know that last year, the city council held a vote to refurbish a few run-down parks on the south side of Gotham with the hopes of restoring the communities destroyed by violence, or increasing the GCPD budget?” The heat behind your accusation pokes and prods at his curiosity, coloring him intrigued. Admittedly, he’s not the most up-to-date on Gotham’s politics, but something this large shouldn’t have slipped under his radar- or the watchful eyes of those who swore themselves to protect the beloved city.

It’s deeper than that, though.

Your frustrations, however warranted, seem to extend beyond such an injustice. Between the lines, amongst all the words you haven’t said, there’s a decipher hidden in every twitch, gesture, and glare. From the way your eyes narrow, to the sharp exhale and tightening grip of your fingertips. To sweaty palms and clenched teeth, all the way to flared nostrils- there’s something just beneath the surface that he can’t crack. Too much time has passed for him to unscramble tacitness when he no longer understands the codes in which you speak, and, unfortunately, he needs you to paint a clearer picture than the vague abstract before him.

“When it came down to it, do you think that the citizens of the south side had a say in the matter?” Dick’s smart. He’s not just a pretty face or a nice body- he’s actually got brains to match. You know- deep down- that sooner or later, shapeless pieces will fall into place to reveal the completed puzzle, but you need him to come to the conclusion all on his own. It would be easy to simply reveal your motive, and while a straightforward approach may have been less complicated than the mental gymnastics you’re forcing him to perform, it wouldn’t have been as impactful. Dick needs to understand, and to understand, he needs to feel- the same anger, outrage, and upset you felt. “Do you think the people on the other side of the tracks were given a chance to speak in front of the council?”

“They can’t segregate who speaks publicly-“ The gears are turning- some slower, some faster, and others completely out of control as he struggles to make sense of your elusiveness. When the current song fades out, a scattered round of applause takes its place before a new song begins. Hardly anyone else is dancing, save for a handful of couples who look just about as miserable as you and Dick- without the coordination or grace, the two of you share. It takes him too long to jump to the conclusion, and you tire of waiting for him to put the pieces together on his own. He always did work better with a helping hand- though, the quality of his work declined greatly whenever your hands were involved.

“You’re right,” Your agreement further confuses him, until an additional explanation provides the last bit of clarity he’d been seeking. “But they can change the date, time, and venue of the meeting without alerting the other parties involved, parties that spent weeks building the foundations of a strong claim, and vote on the matter without them being present- subsequently, granting them access to funnel more funds back into their pensions.”

“That’s not possible,” His argument is backed by disbelief instead of reason, denial influencing his refusal to accept such an absurdity, even in spite of proof, and every ugly, undesirable, nasty feeling you’re not supposed to have swirls together in the pit of your stomach at his incredulity.

How can he still be so blind? How, after all of the evil that he’s witnessed, how can he deny the truth in favor of possibility? He may be a man grown, but he still lives in a delusional state of boyhood- where he still clings to hope and the prospect of good intentions even when the jury has already delivered a conviction.

“Why not?” You seethe, simultaneously demanding an answer without allowing him the chance to speak. Unfortunately, whatever’s been brewing amongst your insides finally bubbles over and your own reluctance to accept an outcome where he doesn’t justify your point of view sharpens the words at the tip of your tongue until they’re as lethal as any weapon. “Because good old Commissioner Gordon wouldn’t let that happen?”

It’s resentment- the concoction without a name- but it’s also envy, pain, and perhaps a bit of fear. At the very least, it’s petty, to bring her into this and force him to pick a side, but it’s been corroding your logic- eroding a place in your chest that’s been dormant ever since he last filled it with life and meaning- and you watch his demeanor shift when his lips part to defend her. You can’t bear whatever praise he’s sure to dole out in her defense, especially when she’s just as guilty as the rest of them, as far as you’re concerned. Before he has a chance to tear you to shreds with his ire, you interrupt.

“Look, just because the commissioner has a heart, doesn’t mean that the animals working for the force do.” Without any conviction, you start to claw at the mire on either side of you, closing you in. “It’s always been bad, but it’s gotten a lot worse.” He can’t argue with that. Worse doesn’t even come close to how downright doomed Gotham is now that someone’s poisoned most of the police force. The one group of people who are supposed to remain impartial to power and abide by the laws they’re sworn to uphold, have turned their backs on the people who needed them most, and the people hurting- the ones without flashy jewels or the stomachs for caviar and champagne- don’t have anyone looking out for them.

Not the way they used to, anyway.

“You don’t get to come here and lecture me about what’s right and what’s wrong, just because she asked you to.” Bittersweet tips towards bitter and a sour taste settles in your mouth at the suggestion that she had even the slightest part to play in your reunion. “You’re a few years too late for that, birdy.” This time when the song ends, you take a step back- though, his thumb brushes against the back of your hand before you pull away, the phantom of a silent prospect lingering even when the warmth of him is gone. Once, it was what you sought. He was what you sought. Years of desolation turned your desire for that same heat- tender touches and gentle caresses against skin- into favor of bleakness. You don’t regret pulling away from him, not as much as you did back them. This time, it’s warranted- a choice you make unobstructed by what you’re feeling, now that you know the outcome of what was fated to happen between the two of you.

“I appreciate the dance,” You swallow, your throat tightening with words you won’t allow yourself to say. Instead, a retort finds you, though it feels foreign as you speak it into existence. “Maybe we’ll do it again in a couple of years,”

Without waiting for a reaction, you head off down the same way you came, and this time, without any intervention, he lets you go.

The bathroom door shuts behind you, and the sounds of lively chatter and the hum of instrumentals fade away until you’re consumed by a silence so stark that it buries you. It doesn’t feel real. The soft tapping of your heels against the glossy marble floors cuts through the nothingness- even the slightest echo in the void registering as an alarm, coaxing panic and fear from the rusted, forgotten cells you banished them to long ago- and when you finally take a look in the mirror, you don’t recognize the face that stares back at you.

Your reflection is plagued by guilt, and haunted by ghosts of the past. Well, one ghost, in particular.

Running into Dick Grayson was something you’d prepared for. Since the day you last parted, you always knew that there was a possibility your paths could, and inevitably would, cross again. It was destined to happen, and you were doomed from the start. He makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak. Back then, before everything that drove a wedge between the two of you, you had a bit of a soft spot for him. He was the only other person in the world who truly understood the life you lived because he was living a different version of the same life. Both protégés, both headstrong and zealous- attributes recognized as both strengths and faults- and both dancing a choreographed routine in the shadows cast by the bat and the cat. The two of you were fated. It was only a matter of time before you started pulling your punches, and he started letting you get away.

The chase was always the best part- second only to the capture.

Still, it’s been years since he left. You’re not the same girl he once knew, and he might as well have been a stranger. More than a decade apart will do that to two people. For everything that’s changed, one thing remains the same- the chase and the capture are unavoidable.

With a shaky exhale, your chest tightens. Resting your palms on either side of the expensive stone washbasin, you attempt to focus on regaining your composure- but another heavy intake of breath punches your lungs. You haven’t come this far just to let him swoop in and gain the upper hand. You’re done pulling your punches. Flipping the golden faucet on, you allow trickling water to interrupt the unbearable silence that surrounds you- a lull so loud it sounds like buzzing static without the interruption of something mundane. With a few more deep breaths, in and out, you begin to fumble with the clasp on your clutch, opening the small bag to retrieve a tube of lipstick. The color has started to fade from your lips, and you use the moment of stillness to touch up your makeup. If nothing else, maybe your reflection will look less distraught with a signature swipe of dark red. You long for a sense of familiarity that you can control.

Above the trickling from the luxurious spout, the door squeaks- or perhaps, it cries- as it’s pushed open, revealing a mirage basked in artificial light and a custom-tailored suit. As your fingertips graze the fixture responsible for the steady stream of distraction, a thud sounds, and seconds later, the unmistakable click of a lock latching into place seals your fate. A wave of emotion- a tsunami of feelings- brings forth a myriad of everything, all at once. Just as you suspected you always would, you’re drowning- caught in a riptide of your past and present, finally merging in a deadly current that threatens to pull you below the depths of your worst fears and direful imagination. You swallow thickly as you close your eyes. It fills your mouth with delusions of saltwater.

This isn’t supposed to happen- at least, not like this, it’s not- but the one thing you’ve been running from has finally caught back up to you. Now’s the time to set the record straight. No more ties. No more draws. Tonight, the victory is yours- regardless of his intervention. He’s taken too much from you to take this too, and you’re done letting him.

“I already told you that this is pointless,” You don’t even look at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of meeting his overbearing stare. A swirling sea of darkening blue attempts to sail back to shore- pleading to find refuge within familiar comforts and intimacy- but you cast your gaze back to your reflection, focusing on fixing the corners of your lipstick and leaving him afloat. “You’re not going to stop me.” The promise is backed by conviction- though, you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him, or yourself.

The muscle in Dick’s jaw flexes as he grits his teeth- forcing ivories to clench and grind against each other, creating a perfect, white prison to cage the words he wishes to speak. Stifling his emotions is conventional. It’s a routine he’s perfected through years of reluctant practice. Though uncomfortable and daunting, the void in which he sentences all that’s repressed is secure. It’s safe- if only in the sense that it’s familiar.

You’re familiar- rather, you were once familiar- but he can’t cross a bridge that’s been burned, molten ash still ablaze amongst the rubble, and expect to be welcomed back with open arms. Not after everything that’s changed. Not after everything that’s happened.

Not after what he did.

“I need a list of names,” The determination in Dick’s voice contradicts everything he feels inside. His face hardens- a mask, a shield, protection- and he stands a little taller, fixated on resolving the one problem he could actually solve. “Names of the officers involved in whatever this is,” He clarifies with an uneasy edge to his voice- like he already knows he’s bit off more than he can chew, but he can’t stop himself from going back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.

For all that’s changed, Dick remains the same. A phantom- a spirit, a memory, a ghost- of the boy you once knew disappears just as quickly as your imagination teases familiar red, yellow, and green. He’s not the same. You know it to be true, and yet, you find yourself distracted by glimpses and figments from a different life entirely.

“Grab a pen,” A scoff, an eye roll, and the gentle shake of your head, disbelief and credence existing in tandem- contradicting each other when your eyes finally meet his. “It would be a shorter list if you started with the people who aren’t guilty of committing some type of fraudulent activity.”

You’re not a bad person. Despite varying beliefs, you’re not evil. Mayhem doesn’t bring you joy. Confrontation doesn’t get you off. There’s little pleasure to be found in being the itch that people can’t scratch. You’ve never sought out violence or peril, and you seldom plan on causing either. Just like Dick- just like Bruce- you operate under a different moral code, but a moral code, nevertheless. Even if the only thing it provides is an excuse to justify why you do what you do, you still hold yourself to a standard. Unlike the vile, chaos-thirsty cravens that would happily light the match and watch the world burn, you’re selfless- bound to your morals, if nothing else.

What you do, the sacrifices you make- everything that you’ve lost and everything you’ve fought for- is fueled by benevolence. You’re in a position to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, to speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves. The power to defend those who have had their rights stripped from them- those who have had their power stolen by greed corruption and profit- is in your hands. You’ll be damned if you let anyone stand in your way and prevent you from doing what you know is right.

Through the reflection in the mirror, you recognize the face that stares back at you. Gone is the fear and doubt that mangled your features unrecognizable. With a heavy sigh, you unclip the earrings that dangle from your earlobes- and the buzzing sound of static fades away completely.

You know what you have to do.

The sound of your heels against the tile might as well have been deafening in contrast to the silence that follows your remark. As you cross the room, your resolve sharpens. Dick Grayson has taken so much from you, you won’t let him take this, too.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me-“ You feign saccharine, your tone phony and filled with counterfeit regret, as you reach for the locked door handle, but Dick blocks the latch, stepping in front of you before you have a chance to wrap your hand around the lever. He knows exactly what buttons to press and genuine annoyance, anger, and frustration fill the space where your poor imitation of remorse once occupied. Through gritted teeth, you command him, lowly, “Move, Dick.”

“You know I can’t do that, sweetheart,” He says it so easily, with a sorrowful sigh and undisputed repentance, that you almost buy the sincerity he’s trying to sell. Unfortunately, for him, you’re not in the market for his misery. He’s a few years too late. Dick can turn his charm up to ten thousand- he can say all the right things and plead with his perfect crystalline eyes- but you won’t risk everything you’ve fought for for a few crocodile tears. You know, now, that you’re better than that. One way or another, you’re getting out of this bathroom- and if you have to go through him to do so, then so be it.

“And you know I’m not above fighting you, right?” He’s entirely unprepared for your snark, the bite that fuels your reply nearly nipping his sense of control straight from the palm of his hand. It’s obvious that this isn’t the same game that it once was, but something much more dangerous. “The dance wasn’t enough?” With your arms across your chest, you challenge, and he hates the way you’re looking at him- like your eyes are piercing straight through him instead of actually looking at him. If you bothered to look closely enough, you’d be able to decipher all of the blatant emotions he’s never been the greatest at hiding. One look and you’d see him- and his heart beating proudly on his sleeve. It’s why you don’t spare him a glance. “You still feeling nostalgic for old times? Because this feels awfully familiar, doesn’t it?”

“What are you going to do with the money?” He asks, fighting to keep his voice stern. His poker face was never the best- or, maybe you could just read him better than most people could. Still, as he stands before you, he grapples with his devotion to whatever this competition is. This clash will never see a winner- only two losers- and he knows it. You do, too- but unlike him, you’re not willing to back down without a fight.

“Give it back to those who rightfully deserve it.” He doesn’t deserve your honesty. He has no right to the truth, but you don’t have it in you to scheme an elaborate lie. However gratifying it might’ve been to feed him false information and watch him fly in circles, you’re too exhausted for mental gymnastics. Like clockwork, you give, and he takes- his stare narrowing, almost accusatorially.

“And who are you to decide who rightfully deserves it?” There’s an edge to his question- like he can’t fathom justice without his divine intervention- and it’s grating, the way he can make you feel so small, and worthless with a single sentence. His arrogance is astounding. Who was he to seek vengeance against Slade Wilson? Who was he to target Heartless? Who was he to sentence Tony Zucco to his death- by placing him behind bars, and granting other enemies easy access to the crime lord, which ultimately led to his demise? The self-righteous guilt trip nearly gives you whiplash from how fast it makes your head spin. He’s no different than you are- no better or worse, since you operate on the same playing field. He doesn’t get to act like he is. Someone needs to knock him down a few pegs, and you’re happily up for the challenge.

“Who are you to try to stop me?”

“Someone who knows you,” He replies, instinctively. “Someone who’s a friend, not a foe.”

“Hmm,” With a bitter laugh, your stomach churns- twisting, clenching, and swirling with swells of irritation, regret, and sorrow- and although it’s a familiar discomfort, it’s been years since you’ve felt the threat of splintering cracks, chipping away at the stone-cold facade of your exterior. Come to think of it, the last time you felt this way was when Selina had told you that Dick left for San Francisco. The reminder fills you with a bitterness you’ve long tried to suppress, and as it bubbles to the surface, so do all of the repressed thoughts and emotions that’ve haunted you for years.

For a moment, you ache- chasing forgotten remembrance plagued by wistfulness. Then, you burn.

“Friends call every once in a while, and if they can’t make it to a phone, they send a postcard to let you know that they’re still alive and well.” Vexation forces your eyes to narrow, the color of your eyes morphing into something much more bleak. With a heavy exhale- filled with frustration and a semblance of humility- you remind him, “Friends don’t disappear into thin fucking air without letting you know why- especially, after those friends, were always a little more than just friends.” There’s a darkness behind your eyes that Dick’s not familiar with, and a weight settles in the hollow emptiness of his chest before sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. His jaw clenches and he swallows thickly- the tastes of bile, rue, and shame all indiscernible from one another as he forces them back down.

He knows you’re right.

While his absence was abrupt, it had nothing to do with any ill will towards you. There was never a falling out- no crossing a line of no return or being pushed past a point that shattered a shared fantasy. Though the bullet posed no real threat of death by passing through his arm- beyond the phantom agony of lead tearing through flesh, and the hot, wet feeling of crimson pouring from the wound- a part of Dick Grayson did, in fact, die that night, at the hands of the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime set off a domino effect when he fired at the young Boy Wonder, inevitably altering the course of his life forever. Acts of violent intent seldom harm a single soul, and as if it were fated, you became another casualty from an attack that was never meant for you.

When Bruce fired Dick, he was angry. Back then, thoughts of hanging up the cape never, ever, crossed his mind. Back then, he was content with fighting crime alongside his mentor, and never really considered what would happen next- or if there’d even be a next, or an after. He felt betrayed, abandoned, and filled with cynicism. As selfish as it was, you weren’t even really an afterthought in the downfall of his life caving in and swallowing him whole. He needed time to heal- time to rebuild- and prioritize who he was when he wasn’t hiding in the shadows left behind by a cape and cowl. Years passed, and with time to reflect, Dick’s bitter resentment morphed into a new kind of devotion to himself, and the few that started to look to him for guidance.

Before the Titans, he never really considered himself to be a leader. He spent most of his life abiding by rules and plans- roles and paths- that were set for him by another. Had he been hungry for control before, his first real taste solidified an insatiable appetite for the very thing he felt himself deprived of for too many years. Though, he’d come to learn that there was an ugly side to the power he wielded. Some days, the responsibility felt like a burden, and others, he felt like his guilt and uncertainty would swallow him whole. He bottled up all of his doubts, packed them somewhere deep inside the closed-off caverns in his heart where darker demons haunted, and forced them elsewhere- out of sight, and out of mind, but never truly gone.

It’s not fair that, somehow, you’ve come to possess the key that matches the lock on his Pandora’s box. Every emotion, every feeling, and every thought meant to be suppressed and banished to a place where they couldn’t torment or harm him, refuses to go gently when one simple, magnetic look threatens to release them from their cages of skin and bone. The most daunting realization of all, however, is that he’s the one to blame- for everything.

For all of it.

Selfishly, he’s hoped for an ember amongst the carnage he’s created. He’s held onto some convoluted idea of hope that whatever was once alight could be reignited again if he fully committed himself to an apology, but he failed to acknowledge the amount of ashes he’d have to sift through for a hint of a spark. There’s too much disappointment, too much duplicity, regret, and time passed between the two of you for things to ever revert back to even a semblance of what they once were.

He looks to you now, and he sees it- your anger is a mask for your pain. It’s so faint he almost misses it, but your lip threatens to wobble. Beyond the wrath you try to convey with the narrowed glare of your eyes, he watches as thinly veiled yearning mingles with what’s left of the color of your irises- simultaneously faint, yet prominent to the only other person who knows what it’s like to push away the person you love. What Dick and you shared wasn’t love, but it could’ve been and that’s what you’re both mourning- what could’ve been.

“You and I aren’t friends, Dick.” He hates the finality behind your conviction. It’s so cold, and void of the warmth he associated with you once upon a time. A split second threatens to expose the façade, and you blink back tears instead of allowing them to fall- swallowing emotion and banishing it elsewhere. Feelings have no place here. Instead, you grit your teeth, clenching them together so tightly that your jaw begins to ache. He watches you struggle to commit to the act- because that’s what your rage is, an outlet for your passions- and as you take a step closer toward him, his breath hitches. “Now, get out of my way,”

Toe to toe, you meet his gaze, and no matter how hard you try to fight it, despite your best efforts to disguise what you truly feel, Dick sees right through you- recognizing the parts of you that you try to mold and shape into something else. After all, he’s your greatest weakness- and you’re his. You always have been, and he always will be.

He dares to move. This close, he resists the urge to reach out for you and never let you go again, but this isn’t about him. It’s about you. Hesitantly, he raises his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as the shaky tips of his fingers graze your chin with a tenderness you’ve sought since the last time you felt it. The air is tense, passed back and forth by sharp breaths and thundering pulses- intimate with warmth and affection that mimics that of a simpler time- and when his palm rests against your cheek, cradling it with such gentle endearment in the face of betrayal, you let him. Dick’s throat bobs, and he pours everything he can’t bring himself to say into such a delicate touch. Every apology he wishes he had the courage to speak aloud, every declaration of devotion he was too afraid to voice, and every inevitable truth he attempted to ignore lingers, and you can feel it- in every shy stroke of his thumb across your cheek.

“You’re not going to distract me,” A single tear merges with the pad of his thumb- a testament to your resilience, but no match for the broken, battered, beaten bond you share with the man before you- and your certainty begins to dwindle. There’s a string that ties you to him- an invisible thread strong enough to stitch the two of you back together when you should remain apart- but you’re destined for him, the same way he’s always been destined for you.

It was foolish to believe any differently.

“I’m not trying to distract you,” Barely above a whisper, he pleads, desperate to make you understand, “I’m trying to apologize.”

He hangs his head with defeat, his shoulder slumping forward as he peers down at you. He’s never known such cruel torture. Such sick and twisted suffering is self-inflicted. The past erodes his future, but he can’t stop himself from resurrecting his demons. Foolishly, he invites them to haunt him further- and you’re no exception. His tightrope is stretched taut, and it’s a long way down. How much longer can he balance between anemoia and actuality before tipping one way or the other? It’s insanity- repeating the same act and hoping for a different outcome- but Dick can’t bring himself to accept that this time won’t be different. If nothing else, the possibility that this never-ending game could crown two winners is enough for him to play the martyr, and suffer whatever repercussions might follow after barring himself whole. What more does he have to lose, if not everything he’s already lost, again?

It would be so easy to reach past him and turn the lock in your favor, granting your escape. Hell, with the way he’s looking at you now, you know that he wouldn’t even put up a fight. He’d let you waltz right past him, slipping through his fingers for the umpteenth time because he knows that this time won’t be the last. It never is. Visions blurred by uncertainty flash before your eyes- infinite possibilities, each with consequences and punishments, rewards and sacrifices- but the unknown doesn’t elicit the same adrenaline-filled excitement that it once did. Maybe because this time, Dick isn’t fighting back. Surrendering his shield, he abandons resistance- instead, entrusting you with the vulnerability that spills from his heart, blood crimson against his fingers as he squeezes it with each thump and thud- crumbling before you, and submitting everything he has to give to you. Even if he can’t bring himself to support your cause.

You lean in closer, drawn to him- the same way you always have been, and likely, always will be- and your palm hovers over his chest. For a second, it’s unclear whether or not you’re going to reach out for him or push him away, but when your hand meets the fabric that covers hard muscle, you know you’re done for- because in the same ways he’s willing to fall before you, you’re willing to fall before him, too. Over and over again. Repeatedly and infinitely.

“Well, you have impeccable timing,” Your reproach is close enough for him to taste. It wavers against his lips and slips past his tongue, allowing him to savor parts of you he hasn’t been allowed to indulge in for so long. There’s no mistaking the invitation of your reprover, and Dick’s palm rests against your lower back, coaxing you closer towards him as his nose brushes against yours. It’s dizzying, and your arms find their way around his neck to steady yourself when he rests his forehead against yours with a soft sigh. The irony of the situation isn’t lost upon you- even when the two of you have ceded to one another, you’re still fighting to see who will give in first. As if he’s come to the realization at the same time, a large hand- rough and callused, but soft and tender in the way that it trembles against your cheek with anticipation- encourages you to tilt your head back, and you follow his lead. You hold your breath as your lips part, and Dick surges forward, slotting his mouth against yours in a kiss that’s fueled by the release of years of pent-up longing, need, and want. The gesture is foreign, yet familiar. Reminiscent of the past, yet entirely new. Everything you remember and everything you’ve ever dreamed of merge together in this moment and bring life to what had only ever been fantasy before his lips found yours once more.

It’s exhilarating.

“I missed you,” The affirmation rumbles against your skin, warm with fervor and urgency, and it’s completely unnecessary- considering that each movement acts as a balm to soothe wounds of time, fear, and doubt- but he vows with each breath, relying on words to convey what his actions can not, and vice versa. Masks are off. Shields have been abandoned. Capes remain long forgotten at the door. This is no longer about duty or morality. No, this moment is about two people seeking confirmation for what they’ve always known to be true- that a love unspoken, but never absent has always existed between them. Two people- not vigilantes or heroes- two hearts, beating to guide the other back, are bare, open, honest, and raw without the theatrics of a chase or the pretense of a game. Surrender invites you to balance on the edge of a precipice, and you’re the first to lose your footing.

Desperation is an influence, and his lapels wrinkle with the severity of your hold. Through the haze of everything unknown, he’s the only thing that’s clear, and you reach for him- blindly, but intentionally- clawing at the fabric that keeps him from you. Clashing teeth and bruising grips don’t elicit pain, not when real suffering exists in the absence of the other, and you allow him to paint you violet, blue, green, and red with desire, becoming the embodiment of his want. Your only regret is that the evidence of this divine crime will eventually fade away to nothing more than a memory- another ache that will never dull, a moment so unique that it can never be replicated. As you rejoice, you mourn.

“Sure you did.” His blazer drops to the floor as you follow your script, hardly taking a moment to realize that the page you’re reading from is blank- without word or direction- as you venture into unknown territory. Even when you don’t mean to be, you’re combative. Even when you don’t want to be, you’re still on edge. This is different. This already feels different than before, and maybe it’s because there’s a lot more at stake now that both of you have already lost one another, but for as overdue as this homecoming is, something subconsciously prolongs it further.

“No, really, I-“ He begins, ready to mold rhetoric and force it to take on a form that would allow you to see just how much you mean to him, but that would make this real, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for this to be real yet- because if this is real, if this isn’t just a cruel imitation of memory like so many variations before or a concocted fantasy so vivid you can feel yourself shaking, then that means you can lose it all, again. Just like last time. Within your grip, one minute, slipping through your fingers the next.

“Don’t.” Fear sounds different when there’s a bite to it. It could almost pass as annoyance, if you’re able to keep your voice just steady enough, and he mistakes the command for irritation, rather than the timidity it actually is. Whatever you’ve intended and he’s interpreted gets lost along the way, and he takes a hesitant step back. It’s impossible not to lunge for him as he retreats, but you remain still- your breath hitching when he holds both hands out to you, surrendering his palms while he shows he meant no harm.

“Can I…”

“You don’t have to ask,” You silence his fears quickly, closing the space between you before you even realize that you’ve taken a step. This self-sacrificial eagerness to light yourself on fire just to keep him warm has always been one of your greatest downfalls, but a most ardent gesture, and with ash on your tongue and soot in your lungs, you strike a match the minute he begins to second guess himself. “Just pretend it’s like before.” The suggestion sounds just as unsure as you are, but with a heavy breath, you encourage, “Pretend that nothing’s changed…pretend that we’re still…” You can’t even bring yourself to say it, because the kids you were back then are gone. They’re never coming back. You can’t avenge them or try to seek vengeance for what they’ve lost. It’s over for them, but this is just the start of this new beginning for the two of you. “Just for tonight.”

He moves promptly, gathering the skirts of your dress in one hand, fisting the fabric- a blue so dark he mistook it for black, or perhaps it was, until his fingertips were close enough to paint the illusion with light, making it appear different than it was- without any regard for creases or lingering proof of your affair. Support rests at your back, his chest firm and protective as you lean into the rippling muscle, and Dick continues to illuminate shadows of the past with each touch- eager to help you forget all of the agonies suffered at his hands in favor of remembering glimpses of peace. He’s ready to give you more than just a taste. Now, he wants to gorge you with the pleasure he’s reserved.

His hands shake- not with hesitancy, but anticipation, and when you catch his eye in the mirror, you shiver. You’ve never seen a blue so dark it looks black- until now. Without warning, he mouths at your neck- kissing, sucking, biting, any part of you he can get his lips on- reacquainting himself with parts of you that were once so familiar, and you allow him to explore. Blindly, you reach for one of his hands, taking it in your own, and he begins to intertwine his fingers with yours, but you gently guide his hand where you want it most- and he lets you, following your lead just as impulsively. You jolt at the first brush of his fingertips between your legs, even though you were expecting it, and he lets out a few ragged breaths against the back of your neck. It’s paradoxical, the chills that contradict the flush of your skin, but this relationship has never really made sense before. Why should that change now?

Almost as if he’s in a trance, Dick is overwhelmed by the twists and turns of the evening, but the whiplash is starting to subside in favor of something much more exhilarating. He never thought he’d have this again. He believed moments like these to be lost to time, and he wasted years grieving memories he could never replicate, only to feel the weight of your body against his once more. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything he never knew he wanted or needed until it was stolen from him, swiped right out from under his nose by his own negligence. He won’t make the same mistakes this time. No, this time, he’s going to do it right. He’s going to-

“Fuck,” When you grow tired of his stalling, you force his hand, again. This time, when your fingers meet his wrist, you press your palm on top of his- coercing him to mimic the shape- and maybe you’re the one in control, or maybe he finally rises to the occasion, but with a newfound determination, he cups your cunt- a choked sound catching in his throat when he feels how wet you are. You briefly wonder how something so vulgar can sound so pretty, but you already know the answer- it’s him. It’s always been him. Had it been anyone else, the effect would cease to exist, but it’s Dick, and that desire- that pull that you can’t ever deny- will always bind you to him.

You can’t help yourself from rutting against his palm, and he presses himself further into your back, allowing you to feel the hard outline of his cock against your ass. The hand that isn’t between your legs rests on your arm, and when he tries to hold your hand, you don’t deny him. There’s just too much fabric for you to hold in just one hand and some of it drapes over his forearm, but you manage to keep most of it from obscuring his movements. It’s a strange angle, and both of you are fumbling to make it work, but you crane your neck in search of him, and he answers your call with an eager kiss. Your tongue caresses his, savoring the feeling and committing it to memory, just in case-

He swallows your surprised gasp when he nudges your panties aside and begins to circle your clit. With just a bit of pressure, a crease forms where your eyebrows pull together, and you untangle your hand from his hold to brace yourself against the counter. It’s been a while since someone else has touched you, and it’s been even longer since the last time Dick had, but it’s so much better than evocations of pleasure. You swear figments are tangible. Spurred on by the reaction his touch has coaxed from you, he’s torn between making the moment last as long as possible or picking up the pace. He settles on the latter, considering that if this is heading the way he hopes it’s heading, he’ll have all the time in the world to make it up to you, but right now, he’s on borrowed time. You both are. With the reminder looming overhead, he adjusts his hand so that he can continue to work your clit while lining up a finger with your pussy. You’re so wet, and warm when he curls his middle finger inside, and he can’t remember why he ever left in the first place. What persuaded him away from Gotham when you were always right here? Would you have waited for him? Would you have followed him if he asked you to? He supposes none of that matters now, but he can’t help but wonder…

He adds a second finger, and even though your body gives little resistance to the intrusion, you groan at the feeling. His fingers are so long, reaching that spot inside of you that your fingers are just too short to reach, and they’re thick enough for you to feel yourself stretching around him with each thrust- not enough to cause pain, but an ache that serves as a reminder that it’s been too long since the last time you’ve had him like this. You vow not to let another ten years pass before you let him have you, again.

He continues a steady pace, curling his fingers in such a way that sweat begins to glisten across your chest, and when a third finger threatens to join his others, you wrap your hand around his wrist- abruptly halting his movements.

“N-not enough time,” He doesn’t even get the chance to ask before you supply him with an answer, but he nods in understanding once you offer an explanation. He’s already reaching for his belt, unbuckling the clasp and roughly shoving his slacks down before you have a chance to catch your breath, and you’re grateful- if the speed in which he undresses is any indication of his own eagerness- that he’s just as desperate for you, as you are for him. Taking a moment to adjust your skirts so that you don’t have to hold them, you bunch them above your hips and lean forward, resting your forearms against the counter while Dick frees himself from his boxers, and when you look back in the mirror and catch sight of his cock behind you, you can’t help but swallow thickly.

He strokes himself a few times, smearing the pre-cum beading from his slit down his shaft as he prepares to take you. This doesn’t feel like last time. As he reaches for your waist and lines himself up with your cunt, this doesn’t feel like last time at all. This is new, and different and everything he’s wanted ever since the last time he had you in his grasp. This time, he won’t let you get away. With as much self-restraint as he can manage, you feel the tip of his cock against your opening, slowly splitting you open, and your back arches. Your own strangled cry prompts a groan from him he sinks into you, inch by inch until his hips are flush against you. You’re so full that you’re not sure if it’s too much or not enough.

“I’ve got you,” Dick assures, his grip on your hip tightening when he feels you struggling to accommodate him. He tries to be a gentleman. He tries to give you a few minutes to adjust- even though he wants nothing more than to take what’s right under his nose, what’s always been his- but his restraint snaps when he feels you begin to rock back against him.

“Move,” You command, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. With your permission, he’s happy to follow orders and obliges with a sharp thrust upwards. The sound you make is a mix between a sob and a moan, and his fingers flex against your hip as he repeats the action.

“I forgot…” Through clenched teeth, he confesses, and you don’t think anything of the admission, too lost within your own feelings to attempt to decipher his. Instead, he wraps an arm around your waist, offering thick muscle to serve as a buffer between your body and the stone he has you pressed up against- relying on intimate gestures to make up for words lost in translation. Even now, when you’re not on the same page, you still know. Somehow, you know, and he does, too. Every time. Without fail. Always. Your head rolls back to meet his shoulder, and your fingertips claw at the back of his neck awkwardly, with transparent desperation to pull him closer. Within reach isn’t close enough. Near is too far. With a muted gasp, you push back to meet his next thrust, and he hisses softly before elaborating, “I’m so sorry if I made you forget.”

“Dick-“ Realization begins to splinter the mirage of bliss, and you manage to say his name with enough caution to serve as a warning. You don’t want to think about the past. Not right now. Not when you can see your future so clearly in the foggy reflection of the vanity. He wraps his hand around your neck, encouraging you to bare your throat to him and he licks at the vein that calls out to him.

“I won’t let you forget, not this time.” He vows, bucking his hips faster and faster as you whine in his hold. In some sick twisted way, he loves that he’s the only one who has this power over you- that he’s the only one who could ever elicit such a reaction- and it’s a testament to how much the two of you care for one another; the influence both of you have over one another. “This time, I want to remember.”

It’s going to be impossible not to.

“I-“ He can barely get a word out with how good you feel around him, and he takes a breath before trying again. “I know you want to pretend, but fuck…I can’t.” Dick wraps his arm around you, guiding your back to rest against his chest, and one of his large hands splays across your stomach, where he can feel himself inside of you. “I really did miss you,” Somehow he manages to find his voice. “Not just like this, either,”

“I-I missed you, too.” You don’t seem certain, not with the way you stutter, but your reply is genuine. It only appears dubious because Dick’s palm begins to press against you, and you all but choke on your confession. He can’t help himself, but neither can you.

“I’m close,” He rasps, brokenly. “Shit,” His thrusts begin to falter, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Are you-“

“Yes!” You yelp when his fingers start circling your clit, and he doesn’t relent, even when he feels you start to tremble beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by him, in the best way possible, and as eager as you are to chance your release, a part of you never wants this moment to end. “Dick, please d-don’t stop,” Your muscles grow taut, and when his thrusts lose their precision, you know that he’s almost there. “Just like before,” You encourage him, clenching hard when he bites your shoulder and your orgasm washes over you. “J-just like before.”

He knows what you’re asking for. He understands what you’re practically begging for, and in a fleeting moment of clarity, he catches a glimpse of the faded scar on your arm- his only regret being the fact that an implant still stands in the way of what he truly wants with you- but the thought disappears as quickly as it materializes.

A few seconds more and he grunts against your neck, pulling your hips to meet his and spilling himself inside of you. It’s even better than you remember and your body shakes with aftershocks of pleasure. Luckily, he’s there to keep you upright. Your vision starts to blur and the only sound you’re able to make out is both of you struggling to catch your breaths. With a heavy sigh, he pulls out, and you can feel his cum start to leak from you, but you’re too disoriented to clean it up. Instead, you lean forward, relying on the countertop for support as you hang your head and try to come back to your senses.

Dick leaves a trail of soft kisses down the back of your neck and his forehead is both warm and damp when it meets your shoulder, resting comfortably against your skin while he takes a minute to catch his breath, and these sensations- these tiny little reminders that he’s here, this moment is present and real- ground you. Where your mind is a mess, reeling with indecision, emotions, and thoughts you can’t yet process, your body is at ease.

As your eyes flutter shut, greedy gulps of air fail to satisfy your lungs, and you swallow thickly, allowing pressure to build up in your chest until you simply can’t take it anymore. Darkness saturates all that you can see, and you’re caught in a void- trapped, without any light to guide you back home. The gentle caress of his touch along your arm brands you, flush enough to make you burn with reminders of this fleeting moment- when embers of devotion inevitably fade into ashes- and you stiffen in his hold, not that he’s coherent enough to notice.

He seems to be in his little world as he tucks himself back into his pants and presses another gentle kiss to your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you. Violent delights really do have violent ends and it’s not fair that you let it get this far without thinking about the consequences of your actions. None of this would’ve happened if you just let yourself love him- without fear, without judgment, without regret- and if you had just been honest with yourself all those years ago, this mess would’ve never spiraled so far out of your control.

Whatever repercussion await you, you’ll brave. Regardless of what happens next, you know that you have to tell him the truth- even if it kills you. The thought is often more daunting than the action itself, but as you turn yourself around in his arms so that you’re facing him, you’re petrified.

“I’m sorry,” The magnitude of your apology isn’t supported by the handful of letters that arrange themselves as they slip past your tongue. There has to be a better way to express your remorse, but if one exists it evades you. Over and over again, the same words come to mind and it’s not fair that you know exactly what you want to say, but you just can’t find the right words to absolve your shame. At your inability to voice your regret, frustration overwhelms you. Your lips part, ready to divulge your sins, but only a pathetic, meek sigh comes out. Why is this so difficult? You know the answer, and yet, you play the part of the fool- leaning on ignorance as a crutch for what you can’t bring yourself to brave. He deserves it, doesn’t he? The truth- not something partial, but whole. Transparency is the only piece left of a nearly complete puzzle, the only thing keeping this tragic tale of two lovers who break each other’s hearts only to stitch them back together again from reaching its inevitably doomed end. When your lip begins to tremble, Dick reaches for you, pulling you into his chest and embracing you in a hold that’s absolutely suffocating. You don’t deserve his kindness. You don’t deserve his love or affection- his tenderness or his forgiveness.

You don’t deserve him.

“Me too,” He sighs into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before resting his head on top of yours. You can hear his heart- how steady it beats- and the sound rivals the racing of your own where it threatens to burst straight from your chest, and your eyes flutter shut, savoring the gentle lull of his own serenity before you poison his relief with your own disruption. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how difficult it may be, you know that you have to tell him. With a breath, you prepare for carnage.

“No, Dick, I-“

“Dick? Are you in here?” Barbara’s voice seeps through the wooden barrier that separates the two of you from the rest of the world- from reality- and as soon as she calls out to him, the illusion of tranquility is broken. Of course, it’s her. Of course, she’d be the one to interrupt you before you had the chance to speak, and of course, it would be her that drives a wedge further between the two of you with one simple revelation, “They’re getting away!”

It’s almost impossible to miss the sounds of commotion that follow her declaration. Faint screams and chaos replace the background of symphony strings and he turns to you then, a divot dividing the smooth skin of his forehead while his eyes narrow. Blue is black. Dark, and unmistakable. The muscle in his jaw looks like it’s about to burst with the severity of his clenching and his nostrils flare with a shallow exhale. It’s excruciating to watch him slip back into consciousness after being caught up in a dream, but a nightmare unfolds before you, twisting your stomach into knots so intricate they threaten to snap. You can’t breathe, and when you gather enough courage to finally take a step forward, he takes a step back. He’s never looked at you with so much hostility before, and you open your mouth to explain, to shower him with honesty and desperate pleas to make him understand that this wasn’t meant to happen like this, but no sound comes out. Not even a sigh. Not even a huff. Not even a pathetic, broken whimper. Nothing.

Unfortunately, Dick’s left to draw his own conclusions- to fill in the gaps in which your silence fails to atone for your crimes- and he paints a picture so drastically different from the truth, relying on his interpretation to establish a story so vivid he believes it to be real- even if it’s a figment of his own imagination, a product of his own devastation. Dispelled doubts come rushing back, and he allows them to influence the narrative- since you still can’t seem to find your voice- and everything left unsaid becomes louder in the silence. He mistakes your tears for guilt, instead of recognizing the regret and shame that mingle with saltwater. As gutted as he is, he looks to you for an explanation, but you can’t bring yourself to justify what you’ve done- even if it wasn’t your intention. Distracting him was part of the plan. Keeping him occupied was your mission, but confessing your true feelings and allowing yourself to fall back in love with him- not just the idea of what it would be like to love him- wasn’t part of your job description.

The second your paths crossed again, you were done for. It was never about seeking vengeance or getting even for the hurt that he caused you, because the minute that Dick waltzed back into your life, you knew you were doomed- because he makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak- and you let him. Every single time. Always and forever. Infinitely.

When he looks at you, he looks past you and towards your belongings on the counter. No. You shake your head, vehemently encouraging him to look away. If his eyes would just meet yours, if only for a second, you know you could save this. If not for the sake of putting broken pieces back together you could at least salvage fragments amongst the wreckage, but he doesn’t spare you a glance. No, no, no. His attention is solely on the expensive stone behind you, and when you reach out for him, your fingertips shaking as you grasp his bicep with all of the strength you can muster, he shakes you off of him.

Everything splinters.

When he reaches for your earring, you know that this is the end. It’s all over. A new moment will erase everything you thought you knew about pain, heartbreak, suffering, and betrayal. This moment, as it unfolds before you, will plague you until you meet your demise, because the second that he dares to bring the jewel up to his own ear, the exact moment that he hears Selina’s command through the gravely static of the earpiece you discarded earlier in the evening, you know that any hope for a future together vanishes- ripped straight from your fingers before you even had the chance to hold onto it and guard it with your life.

Even with his back towards you, you can see his face harden in the reflection of the mirror. Through the thin material of his crumbled dress shirt his shoulders tense and when he finally looks up to meet your stare through the glass, all traces of red, green, and yellow are gone. A piece of him- the piece of him that you’re most familiar with- dies, sprawled out and oozing across the marble. It’s too late to try to revive him. All that’s left in the wake of his slaughter is blue and black.

Blue and black, forevermore.

There’s nothing left for either of you here. Not anymore. Hope begins to decay, and the hollow hole in your chest that only he could ever fill begins to die from rot. Nothing will ever be the same. Not after this. Perhaps the final thought passed back and forth between a glare is the last thing you’ll ever share- beyond moments of destruction and beautiful chaos- but it’s clear to you both, that not all ghosts are meant to be resurrected.

Some ghosts should just stay ghosts.

a/n: hey, I’m raen and I’m down bad for this man lol…anyway, I’ve been working on this story for months. I literally poured bits and pieces of my soul into this (so if you wouldn’t mind interacting or providing feedback I’d be forever grateful) but I just wanted to write a tale of doomed lovers who care about each other in such a way that it leads to their downfall. I wanted this to hurt, and I hope it did- in the best way possible! I’m not above begging, so please, please, please feel free to send some feedback- as this is my first time writing for Dick and I would love to hear what people think! that being said, requests are also open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

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cloudcountry · 3 months

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SUMMARY: people say suffering is what it means to be a shroud. you could not think more different.

WARNINGS: mentions of blood & self mutilation.

COMMENTS: PHEW THIS ONE WAS A DOOZY!!! idia stop being my muse pls 🙏🙏 i keep writing 2k - 3k word fics in one sitting because of you

“Don’t you wish the world treated him better?”

You blink, entranced by the swirls of green. The voice beckons you closer.

How was that door open...? It should have been closed, right...?

“Don’t you wish you three could live up on the surface, like everyone else?”

More voices have joined.

“Don’t you want that for him and his brother?”

It sounds beautiful, like a symphony.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud.”

You step closer, muscles relaxing as you slip under their spell. The voices are right. They deserved better. They should have been able to live where they pleased, to escape this island and their fate.

The voices giggle—they know they’re right.

They’ve reached you.

Black consumes your vision, blocking out the glowing green. You shut your eyes. Your world grows darker. There's a seizing in your chest and a fluttering in your heart as something pours into your body, staining you.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud.”

“Set us free, and we’ll set all of you free.”

—

The hallways are blaring red, but all Idia sees is the floor swimming in his vision. Ortho is by his side as he punches access code after access code into the door panels, running like he’s never run before. He has a stitch in his side but he keeps going, your face flashing in his mind.

He lost Ortho once. He’s not losing someone again.

It’s like the stairs last forever, winding deeper and deeper into the Earth. Idia doesn’t stop running once, even though he feels like he’s going to fall over and throw up. He’s almost one-hundred percent certain Ortho has carried him at some point but his mind is too messy and his vision is too muddled to care.

Time seems to slow as he reaches the bottom. He raises his head as his ears ring, and the second he lays eyes on you it’s like his vision is clear again. Ink pours out of you and the black markings on your face are all too familiar. Blue fire spits out from behind you and your shrieks are heartbreaking, like you’re wailing for something you want so badly but could never have. Wings sprout from your back, broken and crooked, feathers twisted and clumped. Your hands are worn and bloody from stretching at the walls, and that’s when Idia realizes—

You want to be free.

Guilt crashes over him and it's a critical hit. Of course. He should have been sure this is what you wanted. He should have known you’d get sick of life here, even though you said you loved him time and time again, even though you held him on all those nights that he couldn’t sleep because the thoughts were too much, even though you bonded with Ortho and stepped back for him, letting him set boundaries even though that meant not doing things you wanted to do, like holding his hand or kissing his forehead or playing with his hair.

He should have known this wasn’t the life you wanted.

The ring on his finger feels like nothing more than a heavy stone now.

—

It took years for Idia to open up to you about his family situation. In fact, he seemed to be braced for the possibility that you’d leave him in a heartbeat after hearing it. Your heart ached for him when he explained his past and his inevitable future in a soft, low voice, rushing through the whole thing as if it was the scariest thing he’s ever done.

You placed your hand on his knee once he stopped, letting his words trail off into the night.

“I understand you.” you’d said, looking him straight in the eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkness of his room, flickering like a fire about to be put out.

Idia curled in on himself that night, dragging a clump of his hair over his shoulder and twisting it into knots. You’d reached over and gently grabbed his hands, stopping him from tangling his precious hair. You’d gently smoothed out the fiery strands before kneeling in front of him, looking up at him as if paying him reverence.

“I want to stay with you.” you’d said softly, cradling his shaking, fragile hands in yours.

In that moment, it felt like his very heart was beating between your intertwined hands.

Soft sniffles filled the room that night, and you kissed each tear away. More kept coming, more and more and more, his eyes blotchy and red as he tried to keep quiet. You kept quiet too, whispering how much you cared about him and how if he would let you, you’d stay with him forever because you loved him and he deserved someone by his side. You kissed each tear well into the night, fighting his overwhelming sorrow with your love.

—

Your memories are patchy. It’s like you don’t remember who you are, or where you are. In the dark expanse of your mind, you remember two things.

Idia Shroud and Ortho Shroud.

Your throat feels heavy as your heart starts to palpate—what happened? Where is the green glow? Where are all the comforting voices that whispered your new future to you?

Where were the people you were fighting for?

“Vitals stable.” a faraway voice calls, a sharp clatter piercing through your quiet, inky haze, “Commencing full body scan for blot.”

Blot...

Your eyelids pry themselves open. All the energy has been sapped from your body, your limbs heavy and useless. The strings holding them up have been cut, and it's scary that you can’t remember how you were strung up in the first place.

“Mx, we ask that you please stay still.” the man above you is in a white coat, his hands holding a clipboard and a pen.

You nod passively. Something about him seems familiar enough.

His voice drones on statistics about your well being as your eyes slip shut again, and arms of sludge reach out from your mind and pull you back under the ink, into a deep sleep.

—

Idia is chewing on his fingernails again.

He wishes you were here to scold him for it and paint a new coat over them so he wouldn’t chew on them anymore, being too sentimental to mess up your hard work and too repulsed by the taste, even though he would only ever tell you the latter and—

You were still asleep.

Your vitals are stable, You are fine.

You are fine but there are still black scars all over your body.

Your vitals are stable but the marks will stay there forever.

You almost died and it’s his fault.

You want freedom and he took that away when he said “I do.”

He kissed you and he sucked the soul right out of your body, keeping it clutched in his hands because he’s selfish and stupid and why in the world did you even fall in love with him in the first place?

He has nothing to offer you.

Nothing but this.

Suffering and loneliness and contempt and headaches and cold nights and machines that fill your whole day, leaving no room for the whimsical leisure you enjoyed before. There are no more board games, no more trips to the school store, no more fresh air and nighttime walks, no more watching movies and eating gummy worms, no more talking to anyone who isn’t him.

The ring on his finger burns.

—

You don’t know how long it's been since you went to sleep.

You wake up to a room with dark walls and metallic shelves above your head. The bed (cot?) is firm underneath your body, which is adorned by a gray uniform. There’s a desk right across from you with a tablet and a chair. You can’t see anything it’s hooked up to. The one constant among all of these things seems to be the triangular details, criss-crossing and curving and connecting with each other.

They make your vision spin, so you look away.

You stay in bed.

For some reason your face and neck sting, as does your back. You trace the parts of your face that burn, finding that the areas are almost symmetrical on both sides.

What happened?

“...Idia?” you whisper, your left hand resting over your smoothly beating heart.

The door opens.

Your heart lurches into your throat when you see a dark uniform, fiery blue hair that swings well past his elbows, and eyes that are sunken in. His skin is as pale as ever, his lips chapped and bitten by worry, his nails stubbed and torn, but—

He came.

But it’s him.

He came when you called.

“...Idia—!” you gasp, choking on your words as you lurch forward and cough, black ink splattering all over your gray shirt.

“Easy!” he yelps, rushing to your side. You feel his cold hand press against your back and you lean into the touch, starved for it.

“What happened?” you ask between smaller coughs, following his hand and he lays you back down.

Idia bites his lip. He does not answer.

Instead, he turns his back to you and moves over to the desk grabbing the tablet. He still doesn’t look at you as he taps a few bottoms. He gnaws on his lower lip before twisting the chair to face you and sitting down.

“How much do you remember?” he counters your question with another question, eyes heavier than usual.

“I remember green.” you whisper, the intriguing whispers poking into the corners of your mind again, “I remember voices...they said sweet things to me.”

Idia winces as if that’s the last thing he wants to hear.

“You overblotted.” he says, so blunt it surprises both of you, “You went...deeper than you should have, and you overblotted.”

You touch your face. The burning sensation wiggles as if it’s been recognized, and is pleased. It’s like there's something under your skin, something alive and yearning,that was waiting for him to say it.

“Oh.” you whisper, and in turn, the voices begin to beckon you again.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud. Don’t you wish you three could live up on the surface, like everyone else? It’s not fair, is it? He deserves better. His brother deserves better. You all do. We can help you, we can make that happen, you just have to help us—”

“They were phantoms.” you breathe, tracing the lines on your face over and over and over and over and over—

You don't notice when he gets up and reaches for you. Idia grabs your hand when it looks like you’re pressing too hard, your nails digging into your skin. You stop immediately, looking up at him with glossy eyes and trembling lips.

“Idia...is this what it means to be a Shroud?” you ask, forming each word carefully.

The phantoms said as much.

But he says nothing.

“I don’t blame you if you decided this isn’t what you want, you know.” he says, tone flat and disinterested, like you’re someone he doesn’t even know.

“What do you mean?”

“Your phantom looked like it wanted to be free.” he says, tablet still in his hand.

He pulls up the footage of your rage and shows it to you—your crooked, clumped wings and your bloody, inky hands and your screams as you cry for freedom, freedom—

He misunderstands.

“Not for me!” you seize his wrist, squeezing it so hard you fear it’ll break but this important, “For you! Freedom for you! It’s always you and it always will be you! I wanted you to be free and Ortho to be free. I wanted all of us to be free—!”

You start coughing again, this time even harder. Ink splatters on your bed and this time Idia is on you, he’s truly with you, cradling you against his chest as the ink stains his uniform as well. It pours out of you like a dead, polluted river, and yet in a twisted way it’s a symbol of how much you care.

You vaguely feel his nose pressing against your head in the haze, whispering what sounds like swears and pleads but none of it reaches your ears over the sound of your coughing. By the time you’re done, both of you are thoroughly painted with the remnants of blot.

The voices are gone.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” he whispers it into your head like it's a confession, meant for your ears and your ears only, “I thought you...wanted to leave here. Leave me.”

His arms are around you like a vice grip.

You’re grateful you’re alive to see him be selfish.

“Idia...my love.” you say, equally as soft, “How many times do I have to tell you that I want to be with you?”

“It’s hard to believe!” he protests, voice cracking.

He pulls away from you, just enough to look over your face. His eyes are watery and he’s so vulnerable—you really scared him. His thumb traces down the parts of your face that burned, the parts of your face you know will be scarred for life now.

“Good thing I’m still here then.” you smile weakly, cupping his face, “I’ll remind you every single day.”

His ring no longer burns.

His left hand rests over your left, and your rings clink together as they connect.

You’re okay. You still want him. You’re alive.

“You’re crazy.” Idia groans, stepping forward and falling into your arms, “You are absolutely crazy. Any normal person would be running for their life right now, calling me a freak and hyperventilating. A normal person would never want to come back—”

His slumps over you like a big cat, arms encircling you in warmth once again. It’s his way of hiding his expression when he’s getting a bit too into his feelings—you know this by now.

“Goodness. It’s a good thing I’m madly in love with you then.” you laugh, hands splayed out on his shoulder blades as he hugs you again, “You know what they say about love making you do crazy things.”

“Please don’t ever do that again—oh Great Seven.” he squeezes you even tighter and you let him, putty in his hands.

“I’m not planning on it. I promise.” you reassure him, “I don't want to leave you—”

“It’s not about leaving me, you could have died!” he protests, cradling the back of your head, “I’d be fine if you just left! If you were somewhere else...somewhere safe!”

“You would not be okay with that. Don’t pretend to be.” you chastise him quietly, and you know you’ve won when he goes quiet, “You want to keep me here, and you want me to stay. I want the same thing. You don’t have to pretend I’m a sacrifice that can be made. I didn’t fall in love with you because you’re noble or a goody-goody.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Then—

“I love you so much.” he mumbles.

It’s a rare confession, one that has never lost his sweetness even after years together.

Now this, this is what it means to be a Shroud.

It means staying with each other no matter what.

It couldn't be farther from loneliness.

“I love you too.” you murmur back, and his thumbs trace your blot scars as he presses a single, barely noticeable kiss to your forehead.

#auburn's fics <3 #flops on the ground. guyss i NEED to stop doing all this in one session omg #i keep coughing WHY AM I STILL SICK #anyways married idia <333 my favorite version to write <333 muah muah #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud angst #idia x reader #idia angst

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queen-of-the-avengers · 14 days

Text

Break Free

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Warnings: angst, prison!wanda

Summary: Four new prisoners get admitted into the Raft, and you now have four new clients as the resident psychiatrist. Wanda is an interesting person and the more you get to know her, the more you understand the position she’s in. She’s a hero even if she doesn’t see it.

Squares Filled: "I won't let you be hurt anymore." for @scarletwitchbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

When you got into the psychiatric field, never did you think you would be at one of the most dangerous prisons on Earth. The Raft houses the most dangerous criminals known to man. They started letting superhumans into the prison since it’s the only safe place to put them.

Never did you think you’d ever see any of the Avengers here, either.

You’ve seen some of the worst humans known to man, so why the hell are heroes locked up here? They didn’t do anything wrong. It’s no secret that the Accords were put into effect, and you know some of the Avengers signed it and others didn’t. Everyone heard about the fight at the German airport.

If you were on the team, you wouldn’t have signed it, either.

Thaddeus Ross walks with you down the hallway where the Avengers are staying. You’re the on-call psychiatrist where you work with each prisoner one-on-one and provide them with a bit of therapy and medication to help them. Since they’ve just arrived, Ross is introducing you to them since they are now your new clients.

“We will be giving most of the other prisoners to Dr. Farrow so you can focus solely on our new guests.”

“Are you sure this is the best option? They didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ross stops walking and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“They violated the Accords. They’re criminals.”

He won’t listen to reason so you don’t say anything more of the matter. Everyone knows who the Avengers are but Ross takes you to their cells to do introductions anyway.

“Meet Sam Wilson a.k.a the Falcon.” Sam paces the entire cell and only pauses when he locks eyes with you. “Steve Rogers right-hand man. If he gives you any trouble, don’t hesitate to punish him how you see fit.”

“Real mature,” Sam rolls his eyes and goes back to pacing.

Ross takes you from his cell to the next.

“Clint Barton a.k.a Hawkeye.” Clint looks at you but doesn’t say a word. He’s known for being stealthy and not making any noise. He’s not a big talker which is going to be a problem for you. “He’s one of the most notable spies besides Black Widow. Don’t let him manipulate you.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Clint bites out.

Ross takes you to the next cell.

“Look, I have a family. They’re going to be worried about me. I’ll do whatever, just get me out of here.”

“Scott Lang a.k.a Antman. He’s a talker. Won’t shut up. Wouldn’t blame you if you skipped his session every once in a while,” Ross scoffs.

“Come on!” Scott begs, but Ross ignores him.

The final cell he takes you to is the one you’ve been looking forward to the most.

“Wanda Maximoff.” She is sitting on the ground with a straight jacket on and a blank look on her face. She looks so broken. What have they done to her? “The witch.”

“Why is she in a straight jacket?”

“We can’t allow her to use her magic. Be careful with her. She’ll get in your head.” Ross takes you back to his office before you can say anything else about it. He must know that what he’s doing is wrong, right? “You’ll be given two hours with each person a day while also tending to some of the other prisoners. I don’t care who you start with but plan your time however you’d like. Any questions?”

“Are you sure they belong here?”

“Yes. They’re criminals. They went against the Accords that over a hundred countries had signed.”

You don’t think the Accords should have ever happened, but you keep your opinions to yourself. You start the day by having sessions with the other prisoners because you’re unsure how you’re going to go about treating the Avengers. They have nothing that needs to be treated but if you don’t do your job, you’ll get fired.

After lunch, you decide it’s time to talk to the Avengers. You wanted to start with an easy one, Scott, but you find yourself in Wanda’s cell with her.

“We didn’t get to meet last time but my name is Dr. Y/N. Can you tell me a little about you?” Wanda doesn’t speak. She looks at you but you don’t think she’s seeing you. She’s distancing herself from the situation. “Wanda, don’t do that. Don’t disassociate.”

“What do you know? You have no idea how I’m feeling,” she says and looks at you.

“You’re right. I don’t, but I do know that disassociation hurts more than it heals. I’ve been doing this a long time, Wanda. I want to help people and understand them better. I believe in the power of medicine which is what I give out.”

“Do you think I need help like that?”

“No. I don’t think what they’re doing to you or the others is right.”

“It’s fine,” she sighs and looks down.

“No, it’s not. It’s not humane.” She looks at you. “I don’t think you did anything wrong here.”

“They seem to think so.”

“For now, don’t think about them. Think about us. It’s just you and me in this room. I just want to get to know you.”

“Because you have to.”

“Because I want to. I could just sit here and pump you full of so much medicine you’ll forget your own name or I can get to know you and understand you as a person.” You hate that she’s in a straightjacket. You fight the urge to take it off her but then Ross will blow a fire under your ass for doing it. “Your choice.”

Wanda doesn’t say anything for five minutes as she contemplates her options.

“What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with your interests. What do you like to do in your free time?”

“Before… Sokovia… I loved going to the movies with my brother. We’d sit in the back and make fun of the characters.” She has a faint smile on her face from the memory. “We’d do everything together.”

“You must miss him.”

You’re no stranger to what happened in Sokovia.

“He was my best friend.”

“What about afterward? How did you cope with the loss of your brother?”

“I didn’t. My home was ruined. My parents were gone. My brother was gone. I had no one left. I was living in a place with strangers. I usually kept to myself. I liked playing guitar. Tony got me one. I watched a lot of TV.”

“What were your favorite shows?”

“The Dick Van Dyke Show. My family and I used to watch those when I was a kid. It makes me feel close to them.”

“What made you feel safe?”

“Vision.”

“What will make you feel safe now?”

Wanda looks at you in surprise. She didn’t expect you to ask her that question. Normally, prisons don’t care about the comfort of their prisoners but you do. She looks down at the jacket wrapped around her and you nod in understanding. She flinches back when you approach her but she doesn’t move away from you. You step behind her and undo her jacket so that her arms aren’t restricted. You take the jacket off her and lay it over your arm.

“I can’t do much but I can do this. You don’t deserve this.”

Wanda looks up at you with unshed tears in her eyes. Your phone rings and you look at the message Ross sends you.

My office. Now.

“I gotta go. I look forward to talking to you again.”

You leave her cell and make your way to Ross’ office. He doesn’t look too happy and you have a feeling it has something to do with the jacket still over your arm.

“Who gave you the authority to remove her jacket?”

“Me. I did what was best for my patient. Isn’t that why I’m here? To help them become the better versions of themselves? Isn’t that why you hired a psychiatrist and not a psychologist so I could prescribe them medicine if needed?”

“Yeah, but--”

“Then let me do my damn job. No one who isn’t clinically insane deserves to be in a straightjacket.”

“I don’t like your tone, Y/N.”

“You want to fire me? Go ahead. Good luck finding someone who will want to come out here.”

“You’re dismissed,” he says through clenched teeth.

You’re the only one here who doesn’t put up with Ross’ bullshit and he knows it. Everyone else is afraid of him but you won’t let him control you like he does everyone else. You respect yourself too much to let him.

Scott is the easiest to talk to since he won’t shut up. You ask him one question and he’ll go off on a tangent that has nothing to do with what you asked him. Clint is more reserved and will only give you one or two-word answers. It’s clear he isn’t interested in talking with you. Sam is more talkative than Clint but loves to compare this to his experiences with the Air Force. Wanda is the only one you connect with on a personal level. There’s something about her that’s pulling you to her, and you know it’s not her magic.

The next time you see Wanda, you’ve brought her something to eat. She is lying in her bed when you enter, and she sits up to greet you.

“I don’t like what they serve. I brought you something from my personal stash,” you wink at her.

“Thank you,” she smiles.

You sit down on the other side of her bed and share your food with her even though you let her eat most of it.

“Tell me, do you like your powers?”

“I’m kind of stuck with them so I have to, right?”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you like them?”

“Sometimes, no.”

“How did you get them?”

She knows you know how she did but talking about it helps the mind come to terms with what happened so that it may start to heal from it.

“Do you want the short version or the long version?”

“Whatever version you’re comfortable with giving.”

“My parents were killed by a bomb hitting our complex. The bomb came from Stark Industries. Pietro and I grew up to hate Stark and anything that he did. We attended every protest against him, did everything we could to try and stop him from making weapons and destroying cities for his selfish purposes.

“Hydra saw us and gave us an opportunity to strengthen our country. They gave us a way to fight back those who had too much power. They had Loki’s scepter. Apparently, I was born with the ability of magic but it was so weak that had I not been with Hydra, it probably would have diminished into nothing. The experiments they did allowed the mind stone to reactivate that side of me. It gave me my abilities.”

“Did you want to volunteer for their experiments or do you think Pietro had to convince you to?”

“I think we wanted to matter. I think we were looking for a reason for why all the bad things were happening to us.”

“Do you think you’d do the same thing if you had the chance?”

“No, I don’t,” she sighs. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you do what you do? Why prisoners?”

“I believe in helping everyone regardless of what they’ve done. Some prisoners think prison is a rehab and use that to get better. Some don’t, but I believe in the power of medicine. I just want to help people.”

“And us?”

“I’d use medicine if I thought it would help. Honestly, I don’t think you guys have done anything wrong. I don’t think you guys deserve to be here. You’re heroes in my eyes, especially you.”

Wanda looks into your eyes and tries to understand what you’re thinking. Her cell has power-dampening technology in the walls so she can’t use her magic. She glances down at your lips. Time stops and the only thing that matters is Wanda. She barely moves an inch when the alarms go off and the red light flashes in the hallway.

“Shit, I gotta go.”

“What’s happening?”

“A prisoner escaped. Finish the food. I’ll be back for it later.”

Wanda watches you leave and she doesn’t realize she’s smiling until she sees her reflection in the glass. Ross got a handle on the prisoner who escaped. One of the nurses came by to administer medicine for him but they didn’t know that the prisoner doesn’t like to be touched without warning. He knocked her out. You’re the only one who knows this about him since he’s worked with you since he came here.

That took the next three hours of your time, so it’s nearing dinnertime when you’re finished. Wanda deserves more than the slop they serve, so you’ll fix her a plate from the nurses’ station. You’re plating the food when you hear commotion come from the other nurses.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Tony Stark is here.”

You drop what you’re doing and head over to the command center where you spot Tony talking to Ross.

“If Sam’s going to talk to anyone, it’s you, Tony.”

“Yeah, let me see what I can do.”

Steve and Bucky are men on the run, and Ross is searching for them since they violated those stupid Accords. Ross thinks if Tony talks to Sam, he’ll tell him where they are. Tony leaves Ross’ office and you rush to catch up to Tony.

“You’re not on Ross’ side, are you?” you whisper.

Tony pauses and looks at you. He doesn’t know who you are and he doesn’t trust you to reveal his true motives.

“Get back to work before you get in trouble.”

Yeah, he’s not on Ross’ side. Tony and Steve are best friends. He’s here because Steve needs him. If he is going to get Sam to tell him where Steve is, then he can’t let Ross know. Tony has a plan. You’re not sure what it is but you’re going to use it to your advantage. If this goes sideways, you’ll get fired but if it works, you can get Wanda out of here. You rush over to her cell and open the door without letting it close.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“I need you to trust me for the next ten minutes. Come on, I’m getting you out of here.”

“What?”

“I don’t have much time. Tony is here talking to Sam. I don’t even know if this is going to work but I have to try. You don’t belong here, Wanda. None of you do. I won’t let you be hurt anymore. Come on.”

Wanda jumps out of bed and follows you out of her cell. She feels her powers heighten inside of her now that she is no longer under the influence of the power-dampening technology. All eyes are going to be on Tony so you’re banking on none of them seeing you and Wanda escaping.

You hold her hand the entire time you’re running with her to where Tony’s helicopter is. Of course, there are guards patrolling the area and moving shipments in and out of the area. If you go now, you’ll be spotted and she’ll be in even more trouble than she already is.

“Shit, that’s a lot of guards. I really didn’t think this through.”

“I got this,” she whispers.

She uses her magic and puts each and every one of the men to sleep. They all fall to the ground like dominoes, and you know you’ll have even less time to get her on that helicopter.

“Yeah, that works,” you nod. “Come on.” You run with Wanda to the helicopter and practically shove her inside. “Keep your head down and don’t let Tony see you.”

“Wait, what about you?”

“I have to stay and make sure they don’t find you. Don’t tell me where you’re going but I’ll find you, okay?”

“No, it’s too risky. You have to come with me.”

You pull her in for a hug and run your hand down her back.

“I have to help the others. It’s what I do, remember?” You pull away but keep your hands on her. “Wanda, you deserve to be free. Now, go before Tony comes back.”

You’re about to leave when she pulls you back into her. This time, her lips plant themselves on yours. You kiss her back feverishly, not knowing when the next time you’ll be able to do this again. You pull away seconds later and run away so that Tony doesn’t spot her. He comes walking out moments later with Ross on his heels.

Wanda peeks her head out one of the windows and looks at you. You give her an encouraging nod and disappear back into the prison. You have to have faith Friday disabled the audio and video but you’re prepared for the ugly alternative.

In case Ross figured out Wanda is gone and you helped her, you have to get the others out as soon as possible. They don’t belong here. They’re heroes and it’s time people start seeing them as that.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

298 notes · View notes

niiine · 2 years

Text

𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐋

Character(s). Xiao, Scaramouche, Kazuha x Reader (Separate, ofc). Mentions of Venti, Heizou, and Aether.

Synopsis. In which they keep on denying having feelings towards you but then becomes hella possessive and gatekeeping experts when someone shows interest.

Modern! AU, Fem! Reader (I'm so sorry for putting this so late T^T)

Fluff

Tsundere! Scara and Xiao, as usual, and Shy Kazu bebi.

NOT PROOFREAD, please don’t expect.

Xiao

He’s just tolerating you.

Or so he says. But Aether always finds it amusing how you can pester XIAO from time to time and get out of it with just a sigh from the golden eyed lad.

Like today, for example.

- As an introvert, powernap at the university’s roof top is like a holy grail for Xiao. He treasures it so much that the moment the bell signifies lunch, he’ll dash out of the room in a heartbeat. His friends know better than to disturb him else they receive some icy words. But somehow, much to Venti’s amusement, Xiao let you crash his solace and talk his ears out on days that you feel like doing so. Pretty privileges. Venti thought, before gushing it out with their friend group.

Heizou tried to make him confess that he is head over heels for you. He just finds it so funny how Xiao keeps denying his very obvious crush on you. Come on, he’s pretty sure that he’s not the only one who notice how Xiao’s sharp eyes keeps drifting back to you every time.

“You don’t look at me like how you look at her!”

“No. It’s just that it hurts my eyes when I see you.”

It’s the talk of the group for like a week. How they would see Xiao being such a gentleman when you’re in the room, his patience longer than they’ve ever seen, and more.

“Just admit it lover boy. You simp for (name)” Scaramouche pointed out. A sinister thought playing in his mind.

- “I told you, I don’t. She’s just much tolerable than the rest of our classmates” The questioned man rolled his eyes, not entertaining the idea because even if he does, he’s a hundred and ten percent sure that you’re not in love with him. “Well, if that’s true, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I go after her?” the indigo haired man piped, only to be met by daggers sent through Xiao’s eyes. Eerie silence filled the room until Scara raised his hands in the air, satisfied smirk decorating his lips, “I’m kidding.” (Much like what he had done in this one.)

“Thought so.”

Scaramouche

This man is so obvious it hurts.

And also, he’s extra mean to you. He wants your attention babe, believe me.

“Hah! I can do that better. You suck.”, “What? Speechless because you’re so in love with me?”

No, it’s the other way around and SCARAMOUCHE KNOWS IT.

But like, you don’t believe his attitude towards you because his actions say otherwise.

- “You’re an idiot. Acting so high and mighty while being pathetically weak.” And then he proceeds to help you pick up the books that have fallen from your grasp and took the remaining ones on your arms to carry it himself.

- “Heh. You think he’s gonna like you back by helping him out? No way you’re uglyyy” “I don’t like him idiot. I have to do this, so he’ll pay me nice and good” you rolled your eyes and he sighs in relief.

He’s actually pretty close to you since you’re friends since middle school.

Venti and Heizou will call the two of you an old married couple because of the continues bickering. Of which Scara will return with disgusted look because no, He can’t have it get to him because he will lose you if he does.

But his friends know otherwise. They notice how careful the man when it comes to you, how observant he is when you’re involved, etc. And besides, Venti just feels it.

And Venti turns out right (again) when their group passed by two students who are obviously gushing over you and one of them spot Scara.

- “Just confess to (name)! You wouldn’t know until you try.” One of them says, and Scara’s ears perked up at the sound of your name. “But aren’t they like with that scary dude?” cue Venti and Heizou snickering in the background. This resulted to the two met gazes with them. Their knees tremble at the sight of your bestfriend. His usually playful eyes now dark and looming—and it’s directed at them.

“Yes,” he started menacing look present in his lovely, porcelain face. “they’re taken by the scary dude.”

The two ended up running and Venti and Heizou needs to be intervened by Aether for them to stop laughing.

“Hey scary dude. I thought you didn’t like her?” Venti teased, and Aether just sighed.

“Shut up”

Kaedehara Kazuha

This man is a gentleman you wouldn’t notice anything if you’re not as observant as Heizou.

He smiles so gentle with anyone, he talks with utmost respect, this guy right here is the epitome of prim and proper.

“But he’s always giddy when he’s talking to them” Heizou pointed out to Venti one day, to which the latter ended up agreeing to. Because now that he mentions it, Kazuha really seems so excited talking to you.

His eyes literally sparkles when you’re in the room, and his smiles are wider and brighter than usual when talking to you.

And in addition to that, KAEDEHARA KAZUHA always go out of his way for you.

- “Kazuha?” The man turns to you, a tender smile immediately making its way to decorate his face, “Yes, (name)?”. “I made a (a dish with gourd in it). Would you like some?” And oh, the man will munch on it like it’s his most favorite thing on the whole Teyvat, only it’s not. He hates bitter gourd. But to make you happy? Give it all to him and he’ll eat it with the sweetest smile.

The lad also does everything in his capability to be near you. You need something from the cafeteria? He needs to buy something as well. You suck at this one subject? He’ll offer to teach you. You accidentally have no partner in light stretching for P.E? He, too!

But it seems like this fact hits Venti and Heizou earlier than him, as they can also see clear signs that Kazuha is not aware of his own feelings.

That’s why they took it to their own hands. They must help their friend in need you know! So, they did the most obvious thing one should do,

They asked him.

- “Zuhaa,” Venti piped in as Heizou placed his arms around Kazuha’s shoulder. “We’re wondering, do you perhaps fancy (name)?”. They received a soft chuckle from the lad. A very composed answer left his lips. “(Name) is certainly beautiful and wonderful individual,” he smiles and cleared his throat. Bashful and shy from his words, “But I am afraid I have to say no to you question.” The other two expected this. ALL their friends are like this, Kazuha is not the first one, so they know what to do. “Ohh That’s great!” Venti exclaimed, as if excited at the new found information before turning to Heizou, “You can pursue them then!”

Kazuha’s heart almost stopped at his friends’ words, so Heizou like you? Of course, he does. You’re beautiful and kind and gentle, and more. It’s only natural to like you. But he wants you! And words left his lips before he can keep it shut.

“No, they’re mine!”

Awe, the usually composed and collected Kazuha now red and ashamed of what he has done. The back of his hand failing miserably at trying to hide the red hue that painted his face down to his neck.

The other two looked at the outburst of their friend before erupting into laughter.

“Not if you don’t confess soon enough” Heizou said in between laughs and Kazuha sent him a sharp look. Face still beet red.

“Don’t do that again” he warned the other two, now caught up on their antics.

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azsazz · 4 months

Text

Lost

Vampire!Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Azriel's worried he's drunk you dry.

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 1,022

Notes: Woohoo, look at that. Finished it already. Directly follows Might Bite Back

_________________________________________

Azriel goes the only place he can think of.

He’s long since forgotten the feeling of cold. Of the wind spilling chills down his frail, human skin. Of the sting in his nose, the bite in his chest with every inhale of the crisp, winter air. Of the prickles of blood returning to frozen fingertips after spending too long in the snow.

But the night has always been his safe place, since even before he was turned. The familiarity of the moon looking over him would normally ease the knots in his stomach, the urge to flee in his veins.

If he could feel right now, it’d be the rolling of his stomach with sickness. It’d be embarrassment, a white-hot lance of regret burning through his blood for the things he’s swore he’d never do to you, lying unconscious on his settee before the fire, your pulse slow and your breathing shallow, tow punctures in your neck.

It doesn’t take long to get where he’s going. It’s a path he’s taken many times, through the winding trees of the forest his home resides in. Deep in the thicket of the Night Court forest between the Steppes and Velaris, bordering the Prison. It’s up in the mountains where he belongs, the very same ones that house other wild beasts just like him; the ones who should never be let out of their cages.

He lost his cool tonight. Went too long without feeding because you hold his interest all too well. It’s been like that since day one, even though he keeps himself scarce for your safety.

Fucking fat lot it’s done tonight.

Azriel can still taste you in his mouth. Not your sweet little cunt, but your blood. He swipes his tongue over his lips, chasing the delectable flavor.

His marred hands shake, because with just one drop of you, he knows he’s addicted to you.

It settles in his bones just like it had when he had the realization that he’d become the very thing he swore he’d never become. Azriel has known that you are the very thing he’s been destined to find, and he’s been very strict on himself, keeping away from you, giving you nothing but the cold, empty shell he’s been for hundreds of centuries. He’s been addicted since you wandered into his senses, the thunder of your blood calling to him like a beacon, the unmoving heart in his chest rattling with a recognition only he seemed to feel.

Azriel’s not even had close to his fill. The nagahound he drained on the way hasn’t done anything to satiate his hunger, not like your blood had. He can’t stop thinking about it, about the warmth, its heady taste, it’s fruity scent. He’d felt like a man again, despite the irony of the situation.

He emerges from the trees, landing in the backyard of the towering home of his High Lord. Azriel stumbles on weak knees like an Illyrian babe just learning how to fly. Once he rights his footing, he sprints for the doors.

The warmth of the faelights spilling across the cobblestones are a welcoming view. They always are, especially when he feels like he’s spent years too long hiding away in his secluded home, away from the hustle and bustle of the City of Starlight. All of his other clan members reside here, but their company has never interested him. Not when they’ve all become respectable parts of the city of night.

Rhysand meets him at the door, the High Lord’s hearing keener than most. He already knows there’s something wrong by Azriel’s stature. The dilation of his pupils, eyes mostly black instead of the familiar and less-than-friendly hazel. The clear flush to his skin after a feeding, the pale glow of his skin golden with the obvious signs of ingesting human blood instead of animal blood and there’s a scent clinging to him that is utterly human.

“Azriel—”

“You have to help her.”

Rhysand startles at the rawness of Ariel’s request. His frantic gaze searches his High Lord’s, hands that he always hides reaching up to grasp onto Rhysand’s to drag him over the threshold. They hit the invisible barrier keeping him from moving into the house to shake his High Lord into action, having not have been invited into the house. Azriel bares his fangs, mind still a spinning loss of thoughts about you and your well-being.

“Help who?” Rhysand asks. He doesn’t bother inviting his friend inside. He stalks out into the night, joining his brother.

Azriel’s plea is broken. “Please.”

Rhysand has only seen Azriel like this one time. The night he was turned into the creature he is now. Pain fills his voice, tightening his throat, dark brows knitted together in a distressed manner. There are often instances where Rhysand wishes that his stoic friend would show some semblance of emotion, but this gut-wrenching one is not the one he wishes to see.

“Okay,” he consoles, using the way Azriel is clinging to him help with their trip back. His shadowsinger’s fingers are digging deeply into his skin, through his finely pressed jacket and nearly breaking his skin. There’s a pinch of pain when his blunt nail does break skin, but Rhysand refrains from saying anything. He will heal, and fast. The human Azriel is leading him to will not. “I will help you, Azriel.”

On a whisp of nighttime, the pair appear on Azriel’s porch.

Azriel growls at the magical powers that keep them from entering homes that they do not own.

“Get inside,” he spits, more to the house than his High Lord, leading the way through the door as quickly as he can. “She’s in the sitting room, before the hearth. She needs help,” he directs, leading the way to where he’s left you.

In Azriel’s haste to get inside, he’s failed to realize one very important thing. It’s the one thing Rhysand catches, halting in his tracks, trying to calm the hellhound that is his shadowsinger when he spins on his heel and snaps his fangs at him.

“Azriel, there is no one here.”

#acotar #azsazz #azriel #acomaf #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #acowar #vampire!az #vampire au #vampire!azriel

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samkerrworshipper · 8 months

Text

initiation | barca femeni x reader

part 2 -> part 1

warnings: pure smut and filth

this is not made for anybody under the age of 18, you are responsible for your own digital consumption.

Lucy opens the door without any hesitation, and almost as soon as she does the silence is broken by the sounds of a series of gasps and moans.

It bounces off of the walls surrounding you, and you jolt a little bit when it finally makes it to your eardrums.

“Lucia, te tomaste tu tiempo.” Lucy, took your time

Lucy steps into the room, and it gives you your first view of what’s happening.

“Buenos Noches.”

Keira’s hand grabs onto your own, pulling you into the room with her.

Your eyes flash around at a hundred miles an hour, taking in all of your surroundings.

It’s a oddly set up space, which makes you think that it’s been preorganised specifically for this. It’s a overly open living space, a kitchen to the left as you walk in, but the rest of the living room is completely empty besides massive couches that really are the size of beds.

The lounge room is massive, but the big couches and seats surround the space.

It’s not the couches that actually capture your attention though, it’s all of the women on them.

Everybody is in different stages of undress, and doing different things, it takes a few seconds for you to absorb.

Then, you spot an actual bed sitting about ten metres in front of the couch, pushed up against a wall.

It’s a big bed, but the size of the bed definitely isn’t what captures your attention.

It’s whats happening on it, which is enough to make your eyes almost fall out of their sockets.

There are three people on it, people you quickly recognise as Mapi, Aitana and Ingrid.

Aitana is crammed between the two women, Ingrid’s behind her and Mapi in front.

Mapi’s mouth is directly on her clit, whilst Ingrid is fucking her soundly and roughly from behind.

You feel rude for staring but you also can’t manage to tear your eyes away from the view directly in front of you.

It’s the definition of erotic, watching as Aitana’s mouth goldfishes open and closed as the two women work away at her happily.

“Hola carino, come over here.”

It takes you a nudge from Keira to realise that Alexia is talking to you.

The captain is sitting on a couch, alone besides the fact that Jenni is on her knees in front of her licking gently at her.

Besides from that Alexia still has a bra on, a fairly simple but beautiful black lace piece that looks perfect against her tanned skin.

With a push from Keira you walk over to her, unsure how to approach.

She opens up her arms to you though, and you carefully, without disrupting Jenni climb into her lap, resting on top of one of her ridiculously muscular thighs.

It gives you a perfect view at what is happening below you, but you can’t help but let your eyes wander.

Keira and Lucy have already joined Pina and Patri in the corner of one of the couches, the two had been lazily making out but upon the appearance of the other couple they’ve now begun to kiss each other, with pina now grinding down on Lucy’s lap and Keira below a Patri who has straddled her and has her mouth on her neck and chest.

On the other side of the couch, Ona, the other newbie who you know from Man U is in the arms of Caro, Marta and Frido, who are all touching her in different places. Ona looks completely blissed out, something you hope to feel soon.

After you are done observing everybody else, your eyes naturally fall back to the bed, where Ingrid and Mapi are still going at it with Aitana, who looks like she’s on a completely different planet to everybody else.

“You like what you see, bebita?”

You absentmindedly nod at Alexia, your lip between your teeth as you continue to keep your eyes on the two women.

“Y’know, I’m sure Ingrid and Mapi would be happy to give you the same treatment, they like to reward pretty girls like yourself for being so good.”

The praise has you weak from below the knees, your tense body slowly relaxing against Alexia’s.

“Really?”

You’re well aware that you’ve been told multiple times that people are interested in having fun with you, but that doesn’t mean you find it easy to accept.

“Oh si, ellas están muy desesperadas por ti.” oh yes, they are very desperate for you

You understand that Spanish well enough, even if you don’t know the words. The way it falls from Alexia’s tongue is enough of an indicator.

“How about Jenni and I get you nice and ready for them then?”

You look down at jenni, she’s taken a break from Alexia to look up at you, a big smile on her face, which is glistening with what you assume to be Alexia’s juices.

“O-Okay.”

Alexia beams at you, her smile big and bright as she fiddles with the material of your sweater in between her fingers.

“Let’s take this off, hmm?”

You nod shyly at Alexia, everything about this whole situation is completely different to your previous experiences, and it’s not that you don’t like it but you can’t deny the fact that it’s making you feel a little bit anxious.

Alexia begins to tug the jumper up, over your stomach and then over your head.

You feel exposed, and your hands gravitate up to cover the skin almost immediately, but Alexia’s own hands grab at your wrists, pulling them down to rest at your waist, before you can protest Alexia’s lips are on your neck, biting at the exposed skin around your bra.

“So pretty carino, red is definitely your colour.”

Her praise makes your hands relax, allowing her to manhandle you on her lap so you are resting directly on her hips, your legs parted on top of hers.

“Is it okay if Jenni takes off your pants, carino?”

You nod your head, looking down at Jenni as her hands hook into the waistband of your sweats and begging to gently tug them down your legs, you lift your hips up for her, allowing her to slip them off with ease and reveal the matching lace panties underneath.

Jenni groans, and it makes you feel a little bit more confident, as the Spaniard looks at you like you are a meal to be eaten.

Once your pants are off and resting on the floor somewhere, she parts your legs properly, so they are hanging off of Alexia’s, leaving you exposed to the room.

Subconsciously, you are aware that there are eyes on you, but it doesn’t really set in for you because all of your attention is on Jenni, watching as she gently begins to litter kisses up the insides of your thighs.

It elicits a series of dirty noises to fall from your mouth, breathy groans as Alexia continues to nip at your neck and collar bone whilst Jenni worships the skin between your thighs.

“P-please.”

Your voice is quiet, quiet enough amongst all of the noise in the room that you aren’t sure whether you’re heard.

“What do you want carino?”

You groan as Alexia’s lips move further up your neck, somehow, even from behind you she manages to get the perfect angle, her neck craning around your own to peck at the sensitive skin.

“P-please.”

You’re brain is short circuiting, all you can do is look down at Jenni with complete disbelief as her lips nibble at the edges of your panties.

“You’re going to have to use your words carino, otherwise how are we supposed to know what you want?”

Alexia’s voice is teasing, a little bit mocking as her hands work their way up and down your hips, scratching up and down the skin, over and over again, every once and a while randomly they will stray up to your bra, drawing little circles around the underwire and lace trim.

“Jenni, please, more.”

Your words are murmured, your confidence still low as you work up the courage to ask for exactly what you want.

“More of this?”

Jenni moves her lips further down your legs, closer to your knee, earning her a sigh of annoyance from you and a big shake of your head.

“I’m going to need you to be more specific then, bebita.”

Jenni is quite frankly, in your opinion, the picture of desire.

Resting on her knees, her feet tucked underneath her thighs, legs spread, juices dripping down her chin and a big wolfish smile on her face.

It’s an out of body experience in itself just to look at her, but to feel her own desire to please you, it’s something else completely.

“Jenni, please, anything just touch my pussy.”

You don’t like top use vulgar language, but you know that there isn’t going to be any way to get her to do what you want without asking for it directly, so you do.

You are granted immediate validation, Jenni’s hands reaching up from her sides to the waistband of your panties, tugging them down at a speed that even you don’t even realise that they are off until Jenni’s lips are pressed directly against your heat.

The feeling ignites something in you, Jenni, doesn’t miss a beat, her mouth applying a pressure to you clit that in your opinion is absolutely perfect.

She knows what she’s doing, she reads your body like it’s an open book, parting your lips and folds apart with her tongue.

You’re a moaning mess, your hips thrusting on top of Alexia’s as Jenni eats you out like you are her last meal, savouring every single part of you, parts you weren’t even sure existed being worshipped.

You’re to much of a mess to even realise Alexia’s unclipped your bra, until her lips are on your nipples, her two hands resting on your belly, just above Jenni’s head.

It’s so amny sensations, so many fireworks bursting all over your body with every touch, nip and lick. You understand now what Alexia had said, about all of this being an atmospheric experience, about the magic of being in a room full of women who are experiencing just as much pleasure as you are, it’s a whole other energy you’ve ever experienced.

You’ve played at a a Euro’s, you’ve played at a full Wembley, and yet it wouldn’t come anywhere near this, in any form of excitement or pleasure.

Jenni is a expert with her mouth, alternating between sucking at your clit with so much pressure that your eyes roll into the back of your head, and flicking her tongue in and out of your hole, slurping up any new juices that are coming from it.

“G-god feels so good.”

Jenni seems to take the praise as even more of an incentive, the pressure applied to your clit somehow increasing, making you thrust directly into her. Alexia’s grip on your stomach and hips is strong, holding you down directly against her but you can’t stop the movements.

“How good does she feel carino? Is she getting you all ready for Ingrid’s cock?”

Your eyes stray from Jenni, up to the bed, where Ingrid is still pounding into an almost lifeless Aitana, who looks so blissed out that you wonder if she’s even remotely on the same planet as any of you anymore.

“S-so good.”

Your words are stuttered out between moans, your mouth hanging wide open as you continue to watch Ingrid, Aitana is bobbing up and down with every single thrust, her body almost ragdolling, the only thing holding her up behind Mapi, who has her hands securely on her hips, her fingers rubbing big circles over Aitana’s clit.

Ingrid looks wild, her hair all splayed out and sweaty, sticking to her face and neck, not that she seems to mind, all of her focus is on Aitana and the dildo that is connecting their two bodies.

“Are you going to cum for us carino? Going to cum all over Jenni’s face? Be a good girl and cum for me.”

You don’t even really notice that you are on the edge until Alexia’s reminding you, and suddenly you feel it all wash over you, the coil in your stomach snug and tight as Jenni focuses on your clit, applying pressure with her tongue and moving it in deep, tight circles.

“G-gonna cum, please can I cum?”

Alexia’s lips focus on your nipples, one of her hands reaching up from your hips to pinch the other one.

“Such good manners, go ahead carino.”

In synchronisation, Alexia pinches your nipple just hard enough for the pain to turn into pure pleasure and Jenni sucks down on your clit so hard that you see stars.

The mixed sensations have your body thrashing, Alexia’s hands being the only thing to stop you from falling off of her lap.

It’s unlike any other orgasm you’ve ever experienced, everything heightens for a few seconds, and then it all comes crashing down, your body going limp and shaking, your toes curling and feet arching as Jenni pulls all of the aftershocks from your body with her mouth.

Her focused sucking turns into big licks, from your clit down to your hole, parting everything as she runs over and over the same stripe.

It doesn’t take you long to recover, your body slowly becoming more aware of its surroundings as Alexia’s lips and Jenni’s mouth slowly bring you back down to earth.

You’re over sensitive, so you begin to tug your hands from Alexia, reaching down to gently push Jenni’s face away from you, well aware that if she keeps going you’ll be forced into a premature orgasm that will be nowhere near as pleasurable as one that’s properly built up.

Jenni coos at you from down below, if you weren’t floating on a happy cloud then you’d probably find it a little bit condescending, which is a big juxtaposition considering that she’s on her knees below you.

“How was that, carino? Jenni is quite skilled with her mouth, if she could she’d spend every day of her life on her knees for a pretty girl like you.”

You want to say that Jenni most likely does spend a lot of her time on her knees for a pretty girl like Alexia, but the compliment is lost on your tongue.

“So good, thank you Jenni, I’m here any time you want.”

Everything is back into focus, and suddenly you feel overly shy, but also with all the endorphins rushing through you it’s hard to control your words until they are spilling out of your lips.

Alexia chuckles and Jenni just grins up at you, her hands resting on either side of your thighs whilst her mouth is blowing hot air directly onto you, it’s a nice sensation, less stimulating but still something.

“You are very welcome, bebita, I’ll definitely take you up on that in the future some time.”

You look over your shoulder at Alexia, who is just grinning at you.

“I don’t mind sharing, carino.”

You suddenly feel extremely shy, your head tucking itself into Alexia’s neck as you feel both the couples eyes on you.

“Is that not something that you’d want bebita, you don’t want to have some more fun with Jenni or I in the future?”

You shake your head into Alexia’s skin, it’s certainly something that you want, but it feels awkward asking for it, especially with the both of them staring intently at you.

“I need a verbal answer, carino.”

Alexia’s voice is a little bit taunting, she knows what she’s doing, trying to get a reaction out of you, and you play directly into it.

“If you guys wanted it, I’d be happy too.”

Alexia tugs your head out of her shoulder, just for her lips to hit yours as soon as they meet daylight. It’s a dominating kiss, Alexia taking over without any fight from you, it’s less sweet and soft to Keira and Lucy’s kiss, but the intention is all the same.

“Now, how about you go and put on a show for me, Ingrid, Mapi and Aitana are ready for you.”

You pull your lips from Alexia’s looking back over to the bed.

It’s a different scene to previously, Aitana is sat up the very top of the bed, pressed up against the headboards and pillows, her legs spread eagle whilst Ingrid and Mapi are sitting at the bottom of the bed, lazily making out. Aitana’s eyes are starry and glazed, she looks orgasm drunk, completely inebriated with whatever pleasure she’s experiencing.

“María, I have a present for you.”

Alexia gently pushes you out of her lap, your body stumbling towards the other couple as you adjust to the different sensation of walking. Your legs are wobbly per say, more so that your head feels a lot heavier on top of your body.

Mapi and Ingrid break apart, just in time for you to stagger your way in front of the mattress.

“Hola.”

You nod your head meekly at Mapi, it’s your first time meeting her, and the both of you are butt ass naked in a room full of women fucking.

Lucy has Pina bouncing up and down on her lap, whilst Patri has Keira sitting on the couch, one of her knees strung over Patri’s shoulder as she slowly but deeply fucks her, the couples are making out with each other diagonally across each others body. It’s something that you’d see in a porno, not in real life, and yet there they are, a couple of metres to the side of you. Whereas Ona is being stuffed to the brim, her pussy filled with a vibrator, ass stuffed with Caros fingers and mouth filled with Marta’s strap whilst Frido is softly grinding herself up and down Onas toned stomach. You can’t see her face, but you can picture it in your head, her face titled to a side, mouth filled with dick, her eyes full of ecstasy as she experiences all the different sensations, her own slobber dripping down her chin.

Mapi reaches out for you, guiding your eyes to her own.

“Tan bonita, did Jenni treat you well?”

You nod your head, unsure how to put what you just felt into words.

“She’s good with her mouth, the best way to shut that one up is to put her on her knees.”

You gulp, definitely unsure what to say to that, Mapi is smirking cavalierly, like she’s somehow getting off on your awkwardness.

“María, play nice, or else you won’t be getting your reward.”

Mapi almost immediately shrinks backwards, suddenly your attention is captured by Ingrid, the Norwegian woman’s voice is commanding and you can’t for the life of you ignore it.

“You’re quite a cute little thing aren’t you?”

Ingrid’s voice towards you is very different to how she’d been talking to Mapi, it’s gone up a few octaves, much softer, like she’s talking to a stray cat or a little kid.

“Mm not cute.”

Your words are gruff, more like you are trying to convince yourself not Ingrid, she breaks out into a big smile.

“Oh of course not, you’ve just got a cute little face and a cute little frown and cute little shaky legs.”

You feel your skin flush red, you feel like you’re under a microscope in front of her.

“Oh honey, don’t take it so seriously, I'm just teasing you, take it as a compliment, I find you very cute.”

You bite down on your lip, shivering when Ingrid’s hand comes up to your shoulder resting gently on it.

“Look at Tana, isn’t she so pretty all fucked out? You’d look so pretty like that, your body all spent from being stuffed full, do you want that? Want me and Mapi to fill you up all nice and full?”

You nod your head eagerly, Ingrid is still strapped up and fuck is it the most bewildering sight you’ve ever seen, she towers over you, literally looking like a goddess.

“Yes, please.”

Ingrid smiles at you, a big toothy smile, her thumb rubbing skilled circles into your shoulder muscles as she looks down at you.

“Such good manners, Lucia and Keira must have taught you so well. How about you hop up on the bed and show Tana what your mouth can do?”

You practically jump onto the bed, crawling your way up to the top, slowly clawing your way closer to the naked body in front of you.

Aitana is quite literally dripping, her thighs and the sheets below her soaked in what must be the multiple orgasms she’s already had.

Her body is completely limp, the only proof that she's alive is her chest rising up and down slowly. Little puffs of breath that leave her mouth every few seconds, like she’s trying to regain her composure but it’s a losing battle.

“Go ahead, amor.”

You look over your shoulder to Ingrid, who is nodding encouragingly at you.

You don’t want to disappoint her, so you swiftly turn your head back around, gazing down at the pussy sitting right in front of you.

Aitana’s clit is puffy and sticking out of its hood, a clear sign that she must be pretty sensitive, so to

begin with you sticking to the edges of her folds, gently running your flattened out tongue along the sides.

Her cum and arousal is a salty sweet taste, one that’s addicting and tastes exceptional on your tongue. When she moans, you jolt a little bit, surprised by the evidence that she is in fact alive and not completely passed out on the bed.

It eggs you on a bit, enough for you to move your tongue down to her hole and lick up the pool of arousal and cum from her previous orgasms.

Aitana’s arm's reach down to your scalp tugging at your hair gently, pulling you further into her and you let her.

It’s just as you begin to nudge your nose against her clit and probe her hole with your tongue that you feel a finger enter your own pussy.

Your back arches almost immediately, you’d felt the want in your stomach but having it finally be catered to is exceptional.

Ingrid’s finger is long and slender, and after a few slow strokes you are desperate for more.

You know they are Ingrid’s fingers, because in the very short amount of time that you’ve spent with your head in between Aitana’s legs, Mapi has managed to make her way up to the bed and straddle Aitana’s face, the Spaniard already rocking up and down the Ballon D’or winners face.

“More, please.”

Your words are hushed and mellowed out against Aitana’s sex, but Ingrid must hear them because on the next thrust she adds another finger.

It’s a little bit more of a stretch, but your body accommodates it with ease, Ingrid’s fingers slowly opening you up with every thrust of her fingers.

Aitana’s hands stay laced in your hair, tugging you up to her clit.

Her moans are now silenced by Mapi’s pussy, but the way her legs tremble on either side of your head and the way her hips cant up randomly every once in a while.

When ingrid leans over, breathing hot air directly into your ear, it makes your spine shiver.

“You want my cock baby girl? Want me to fuck you hard from behind? Make you scream my name into Tana’s pussy?”

You nod your head vigorously, your head nudging Aitana’s clit making her hips thrust up into your face.

“You make her cum and I’ll fuck you, how does that sound?”

It sounds like music to your ears, and as soon as the words have left Ingrid’s mouth you are diving into Aitana’s sex, sucking down on her clit.

She screams out, loud enough that it’s heard underneath Mapi’s pussy, chances are that she is very overstimulated and over sensitive and the sudden pressure is probably sending shock waves up and across her body.

You don’t give up though, to focused on your own impending pleasure, which is practically at a stand still with Ingrid’s fingers leisurely thrusting short and shallow into you.

It doesn’t take long for Aitana to get to the edge, you can tell because the shaking in her legs turns to spasms and they clench down on the sheets, as soon as this happens you bite down on her clit, not hard, but enough for it to be enough pressure for her legs to completely seize up.

As soon as it happens, Ingrid’s fingers disappear from your cunt and are replaced by the silicone cock slowly beginning to slide into you.

If you were a religious woman, you’d call whatever it was you were experiencing a godly encounter.

Ingrid didn’t waste any time, once she’d bottomed out in you with out any protests from you, she started to slowly fuck in and out of you.

You busied yourself with licking up the aftermath of Aitana’s orgasm, she was on a whole other level of over stimulation though, and you didn’t push it when she forced your head away from her thighs.

Instead Ingrid took a hold of your hair, pulling you up onto all fours as she began to thrust in and out of you at a faster pace.

“How does it feel being filled up with my cock amorcito? How does it feel to be my little cock slut, just another hole for me to use?”

Ingrid’s words are feral, and they only spur you on no further, your hips pushing back to meet her at every single thrust.

It’s inexplicably the most intense but perfect thing you’ve experienced in a while. Ingrid's hands on your waist are soft, but her words and thrusts are so rough, it’s a perfect balance between the two.

“I-Ingrid, please, faster.”

Your words are forced out between thrusts and moans, your mouth trying to articulate your desperation without it turning into a mess of sounds.

“Does my little cock slut want it harder? María, do you think she deserves it harder?”

You look up at Mapi, the Spaniard is lent up against the headboard, but she turns around to take a good look at you.

“I don’t know, is she being a good girl, or a bad girl like Onita over there?”

Your eyebrows raise up your forehead, and before you can even ask Ingrid is swivelling your body around, so you are met face to face with the sight of Ona, who is bent over the sofa, still stuffed with toys, whilst Alexia is spanking her with what looks to be a riding crop of some sort.

“This is what happens when you cum without permission, maldita puta.”

You cringe into yourself when the sound of the whip connecting with Ona’s skin rings out, the sound is almost immediately followed up with a moan, you aren’t sure whether it’s one of pain or pleasure, but the way that Ona’s hips push back to meet the leather tells you that she definitely doesn’t hate it.

“You’re good right bebita? You wouldn’t disobey me would you?”

You shake your head vigorously, the last thing on your mind right now is disobeying. You can be a brat, in certain circumstances, but in a room full of people who literally bleed confidence you're a little bit more cautious of your actions.

“She’s too much of a people pleaser to disobey, isn’t that right little one?”

It’s Lucy’s cocky voice from the couch that pulls Ingrid’s and your attention.

“Is that right? So how would you feel then if I switched to fucking Tana?”

Subconsciously, you know that if Aitana is far to gone for Ingrid to even try to fuck, but your dicked up brain does not know that and it is completely terrified of Ingrid pulling through with what she’s just said to you.

“Please no, please i’ll be good, please keep fucking me.”

You hear Ingrid snicker from behind you, all you can do is watch on as Ona continues to be brutally spanked by Alexia, Ona being a more than content participant.

“Ingrid, be nice, she’s so young and new, we need to test out her stamina.”

You pivot your head to look at Mapi, who is no longer sitting on Aitana’s face, instead, she is sucking marks into Ingrid’s neck whilst the Norwegian continues to fuck you at a slow but steady pace.

“Mm, she has been good so far, how about we see just how much you can take?”

Your brain doesn’t fully articulate what Ingrid is saying, until a wet solid comes up against your asshole.

It takes you a few seconds to realise that there is a finger, pressed straight up against it.

You flinch away from the contact, but Ingrid’s hands hold you still and keep you from moving away from it.

“Has anyone fucked you back here before, hermosa?”

You shake your head deftly at Mapi’s voice, gulping as she gently begins to push her finger inside.

“Joder, a little virgin? It’s going to be so fun opening you up, I’ll be nice and gentle, just focus on Ingrid.”

You nod your head, taking a deep breath and focusing on the feeling of Ingrid’s hips slamming up against your ass cheeks with every single thrust of her hips.

As Ingrid thrusts, Mapi slowly begins to work a finger into you.

It’s a weird kind of stretch, but it doesn’t hurt, and you are so focused on pleasing the couple that you hardly notice it. To caught up in the sight of Onas fate and desperately trying to avoid it. Punishment, can be fun, but tonight you want pleasure, you crave it with every single cell in your body and your positive that if you don’t achieve it then you’ll be broken.

Before you even realise, Mapi is easily slipping one of her fingers into you, and once she’s certain that there is no longer a stretch, she begins to work a second finger in.

This definitely gets your attention, having two different people penetrating you is something you’ve never experienced before, at first it hurts and is weirdly tender, but as time goes on, you slowly begin to fade into a mellow state of pleasure, a cloud of happiness and ecstasy.

The duo of the two forms is fantastic, and you find yourself in the edge once Mapi is easily sliding her two fingers in and out of you.

“I-Ingrid please, I’ll be good, let me cum, please.”

Your almost whining, the sight of Ona, being held open, her pussy and ass both stuffed with vibrators whilst Alexia spanks her clit, is something else entirely and it’s making you even more aroused.

“How do María’s fingers feeling bonita? How does it feel to be stretched out around two people?”

Your answer is strung together quickly, the desperation for your release only heightening.

“So fucking good, please, let me cum for both of you.”

Ingrid’s thrust suddenly become far more frantic, her hips canting upwards, the strap rubbing directly against your g-spot.

“Cum for us bebita.”

As soon as the words leave Ingrid’s mouth you are coming undone.

Your whole body goes limp, your body completely inebriated with pleasure as Ingrid continues to fuck you through the after shocks.

Mapi pulls out, instead moving to begin gently rubbing at your back and whispering reassurances in your ear.

“Such a good girl, so perfect for us.”

When you start to come down, Ingrid slowly slips out, leaving you legless and boneless in front of them on the bed.

Before you can say anything, Mapi is turning you over and cleaning you up with her mouth.

After the two orgasms everything is far more sensitive, but you’re still recovering and don’t have the energy to stop her even if you wanted to.

You lie on the bed, Mapi eating you out, Ingrid gently massaging the inside of your thighs until from somewhere across the room, a voice tells out to them.

“Maria, bring her over here.”

Mapi’s mouth leaves your sex and much to your displeasure, she lifts you up and sits you down on the edge of the bed.

Your head is still spinning a little bit, but after a few seconds in the vertical position you manage to stop your surroundings from doing somersaults in your head.

“Carino, come over here.”

Alexia is sat on the couch, legs wide open, Ona sitting on her knees in front of one of her legs.

Mapi helps you to hoist yourself up off the bed, your legs are definitely shaky but you manage to make your way over to the captain without any major struggle.

When you do, she gently direct you to her thigh, helping you to straddle the muscular skin.

“See Ona, this is what good girls get, good girls get to get themselves off on me, whereas bad girls just have to sit and watch.”

You look down at Ona, shocked by the little red lashes across her ass and how willing she is to partake in whatever this is.

“You can move carino, be a good girl and get off on my thigh.”

Before you can do anything, Alexia’s hands are at your hips, gently helping you to begin rocking against her.

It’s a completely different sensation, and it takes you a few seconds to figure out the exact way to run up against the flexed muscles to hit your clit in the right place, but once you do it feels impeccable.

“Such a good girl, not like our Ona who just can’t seem to behave, you would never disobey, would you?”

You shake your head at Alexia, your mouth wide open as you moan happily on her thigh, rutting up and down it with absolutely no care for your partner on the floor.

“Alexia?”

Alexia’s eyes are on Ona, but as soon as the words leave your mouth, her attention falls back to you, her eyes wide in question.

“Yes carino?”

You continue to rub yourself up and down, chasing another high like the two previous.

“Can I please cum?”

Your not quite on the edge, but a few more hits of Alexia’s quads flexing up against your clit and you might very well be.

“Of course carino, you’re our good girl, such a perfect girl, go ahead. Ona, watch as our good carino gets exactly what she wants because she’s been a good girl.”

Suddenly Alexia completely flexes her muscles, and as you’d predicted after a few good thrusts into her thigh, your coming undone, your body collapsing into Alexia’s chest as you moan happily and cum all over her thigh.

Alexia lifts you up, gently placing you down on the couch beside her before ordering Ona to clean up her thigh and then refocusing back onto you.

Alexia waits until your just about to come down, before she pulls out a little bullet vibe and presses it directly to you clit.

The sound of you screaming out is music to her ears, and she doesn’t let up on the pressure at all, watching as your legs spasm and thrash from the overstimulation.

Before you can say anything, you’re being forced into another orgasm. It’s not as good as the other ones, less satisfaction over the work that you’d done to get to it, and it hurts like a bitch, but it’s the final straw for your body.

Your whole body completely goes limp, similar to Aitana on the bed who is now being cleaned up by the couple and force fed a protein bar and water.

Alexia brings you to her side, letting you rest in the cranny in her neck.

You’re happy there, her skin is warm and familiar and you feel more protected with your head in her shoulder then you do with it exposed to the outside world, so you stay there until Lucy and Keira come over to collect you.

Lucy manhandles you to somewhere, a bedroom maybe but your head is so high up in the clouds you aren’t sure of anything.

You just know that you are comfy and very happy in the arms of Keira on the bed.

“You did so good honey, so proud of you, so very perfect you were.”

Keira’s praise doesn’t really register in your mind, but the kindness behind her words does and that’s enough to put your mind to rest.

Lucy takes her time in cleaning you up, running a washcloth between your thighs and gently massaging at any cramps or locked muscles in your body.

Once she’s done, she joins you and Keira in bed, the two cradling you between them.

In the morning, or whenever you wake up, they’ll tell you how proud they are, how brilliant you were and how next time they’ll just keep you all for themselves instead of sharing you around. Alexia will try and claim you as her own, her love for you stemming a lot deeper now at the connection that’s been formed.

One things for sure, this will definitely not be your last escapade with the barca girls.

1K notes · View notes

fallingdownhell · 8 months

Note

Hiii! Can I request Aether, Kaeya and Dainsleif (or just one of them!) Angst where they’ve been dismissive of reader for days but then they forget a date reader took a long time planning so they can spend some time together, so reader comes home late to find them there and angrily unloads and breaks up with them and starts trying to leave but they beg for reader to stay (whether reader stays or not can be up to you <3)

*rubbing hands toghether, laughing evily* Hehehe.. Characters Included: Aether; Kaeya; Dainsleif Content: gender neutral reader; established relationship; angst; hurt/no comfort; breaking up; hurt/comfort; not proofread yet Word count: 3,9k words And just to say this from the get go.. THIS IS A STAND ALONE. THERE WON'T BE A PART 2 TO THIS! With that out of the way... enjoy!

Aether

You were tapping your fingers on the kitchen table. It had a somewhat rhythmical sound to it, yet inside, you were feeling restless and defeated.

The food you had spent almost the entire afternoon preparing and cooking, has already gotten cold in front of you. Keeping hope that Aether might still show up, you had reheated it three separate times. And yet, he never showed up.

He was three hours late at this point and you have lost all hope that he was actually showing up any time soon. Even though he had promised you a hundred times that he would not forget this time.

With a sigh, you stand up from the table, collecting the food and bringing it back to the kitchen. You contemplated wether it would be worth it to keep, but in the end, you just threw it away, thinking that it would be bad from all the reheating you had done.

Cleaning up took you longer than expected, your movements slow as your thoughts contined to drift off all the time. Wandering back to the absence of your boyfriend. How he promised to be here today, with you, since he already missed or had forgotten about other dates in the past.

You understand him, you really do. Travelling the entirety of Teyvat, trying to find his missing sister. But then again, why get into a relationship with you when he knew he would be absent the entire time? Why did you even agree to dating Aether in the first place?

Thoughts like that continued to plague your mind until you were done washing up, putting the damp towel away as you decided to head to bed for the day. A part of you still hoped that he didn't forget, that he was just running late and would burst through the door anytime, apologizing profusely for the delay. You hoped for this the entire time you got changed, brushed your teeth and then tugged yourself in bed.

Yet it never happened.

A single tear ran down your cheek as you turned around and fell asleep, the dissapointment having settled deep within you.

Over the course of the next two days, you contined to hope for Aether to come back, while you were also reevaluating the entirety of your relationship with Aether at this point.

He was gone 90% of the time, and even if he did come back to Mondstadt, he only stayed for a couple of days. And even in those few days, the time you actually got to spend alone with him was very limited, making you feel like you barely even had a relationship with him at all, at this point. He was always so focused on finding his sister and helping others, that there just wasn't any time left for you.

You took your time to thourougly think things over those two days, and in the end, you came to the decision that this whole thing wasn't worth it anymore.

You were done waiting around for him. You were done feeling lonely and isolated, hoping for Aether to come back to you just for him to leave again. You wanted to feel loved and appreciated, like you deserved to.

So, on the third day after he missed yet another date, you pulled through with your decision and packed up all of the things he had left at your place. Which wasn't much since he wasn't around that much. It all fit pretty much into one single backpack.

You were just finishing up when you suddenly heard the sound of the front door unlocking, a sound that you desperately had hoped to hear just a few days ago. A sound that usually sent butterflies flying through your entire body. And a sound that now made your heart sink. You had made the decision to end this relationship, and yet, you didn't feel ready to face Aether just yet. But there was no running away anymore.

"(Name)? I'm back!", you heard his soft voice call out to you as he closed the door behind him gently. You took a deep breath in, trying to put on a tough facade, then grabbed the backpack and headed out of the bedroom to face your still-boyfriend for the final time.

Aether's face lit up into a bright smile upon seeing you, but when he didn't get the same reaction from you, his face dropped a bit.

"What's wrong, (Name)? Did something happen?", he asked, concern evident in his voice.

"It sure did. Remember when you promised to show up for our dinner date three days ago? The one you swore up and down you wouldn't forget this time and actually be there for?", you asked him. Your tone of voice was utterly calm, no hint of accusation found whatsoever.

You could see his face drop in sudden realization and he already opened his mouth to say something, most likely apology after apology, with the promise to do better in the future. Like he always did. But before Aether could get out a single word, you extended the backpack towards him, waiting for him to take it.

"..what's this?", he asked as he hesitantly reached out and took it from your hand.

"All your stuff you had lying around here. I'm breaking up with you, Aether. I'm done with all of this. Please leave."

"Wait, (Name)! I'm sorry, okay! I know this is purely my fault, but please don't do this! I promise this won't happen again! Please, give me a chance to prove myself!", he started begging as soon as the words of breaking up with him left your lips.

Your heart clenched at hearing his words, you wanted to trust him so badly, but it was finally time to prioritize yourself.

"No. I'm sorry, but that's not happening. You've had chance after chance to prove yourself. To prove to me that our relationship actually meant something to you. But time and time again, you only proved to me that you don't care. You only care about finding your sister. And that is fine. But I'm done hoping to become just as important to you when that's never going to happen."

"No, you're wrong! I love you, (Name)! Please, don't do this!", he was begging now, almost falling to his knees when he saw how serious you were in your decision.

A single tear ran down your cheek and you couldn't help the small smile forming. "I love you too, Aether. I do, but this just doesn't work anymore. Maybe, this is just a case of meeting the right person at the wrong time. But regardless, I can't do this anymore. I can't contine to wait around for you when I could be with someone who appreciates me like I deserve to. So please, just.. leave."

He was silent after you said that, staring at you. You could both feel his heart shattering into pieces, tears threatening to fall, but he kept them in. After a moment, he just nodded, gripping the backpack with his stuff close to his chest as he turned around and headed towards the front door.

But before he left, he turned to face you once again. "I really do love you, (Name). But if this is what you want, I won't fight you on it. I honestly wish you the best in life, and that you find happiness."

"...Good luck with finding your sister.", you said after a nod, which he returned. And then, he opened the front door, leaving both your house and your life.

Only then did the reality of it all sink into you and you couldn't hold back the tears anymore. It hurt, but you still thought it to be the right decision.

You'd heal, but it will take some time..

Kaeya

For a few weeks now, your Cavalry Captain boyfriend has been swamped with work, to the point where he spends entire nights at the Knights headquarters to try and finish up, but every time, a new pile of work gets added on, so he just never quite finishes with it.

Thanks to this, your relationship and the time spent with him has suffered quite a lot. You try to be understanding and support him with whatever you can, but it's hard not seeing him at all.

The few times he comes home, he almost instantly gets into bed and falls asleep, only to be gone again when you wake up. Or, when you still used to go visit him to bring him something to eat. But when he yelled at you for distracting him from his work, you also stopped doing that.

You had been feeling neglected for some time now, but every time you bring this up to Kaeya, he brushes you off and tells you that it'll be over soon. That he will be done with his work soon and then everything will go back to the way it has been. You want to believe him so bad, but it's hard.

But after that talk, nothing seemed to change for yet another week, so you decided to try and talk to him again. This time, it seemed to go a lot smoother than last time, and you actually got him to see things from your point of view, which led to the two of you agreeing to just take some time for the relationship again and go on a date, since you haven't been able to do that for some time.

Nothing too fancy, just going out for some nice dinner and having the time to talk to each other again, maybe a walk around the city or outside for a bit before heading home again. You didn't need anything fancy or big, it would be enough just to spend some time with your boyfriend again.

At the night you two settled on, you arrived first and got seated. Since you didn't see any harm in it, you ordered yourself something to drink while waiting for Kaeya to show up.

And wait you did.

After twenty minutes, you ordered some wine.

After another half hour, he still wasn't there, no sign of him ever showing up.

You saw the pityful looks of other patrons and the staff, which only led you to drink even more.

When Kaeya didn't show up after another twenty minutes, you decided to pay and leave. The entire way back to your home, your head hung low and you were fighting the tears that threatened to escape.

Only when the front door was finally shut behind you did you allow the floodgates to open, the tears now freely running down your cheeks as you sank down along the door, hitting the floor and finally breaking down.

The alcohol in your system helped to rile your feelings up and your cried and sobbed for what felt like forever. When the tears finally stopped, you felt like running on autopilot when you got changed and walked into the bedroom.

To your utter surprise, there was Kaeya, fast asleep on the bed, like nothing was wrong. You just stood there, mouth hanging open when you saw him sleeping peacefully.

So, he totally forgot about the date and just went home and to sleep without a care in the world.

You had half a mind to wake him up and confront him, but decided against it, seeing as the alcohol would probably not contribute to you making smart decisions. So, you decided to wait until morning to do so.

When morning rose, you were woken up by Kaeya as he got himself ready for work. Normally, you'd just go back to sleep, but not this time. Instead, you sat up and looked at him, and when he turned to you, he noticed your red and swollen eyes.

"You've been crying? What happened?", he asked you. He was concerned, but while asking you, he continued to get himself ready, only half his attention on you, even when noticing something wasn't right with you. It ticked you off, but you still tried to remain calm for now.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that I got stood up by my own boyfriend yesterday. Maybe the fact that I was worried about something happening to him, only to find out that he totally forgot about our date and just went to sleep without a care in the world.", you said, sarcasm rooted deep within your statement.

Hearing that, a quiet string of curses left Kaeya's mouth before he came facing you again. "Yeah, I totally forgot. Sorry about that. But it's not like it was that important anyways. I had a pretty exhausting day yesterday, I was tired, so I forgot about it."

You were stumped by his words, your eyes widening. "That's it? That's your excuse for not showing up?"

"Relax. It's not like it was a life or death situation. We can have another date at any given time.", he just brushed you off like that, waving his hand like it all didn't mean anything to him.

And you realized at that point that nothing was going to change if you didn't do anything about it.

"I want to break up.", you said, tone cold and controlled, and you finally caught Kaeya's attention with that. He froze in his steps and turned around to face you, now finally putting his full attention on you.

"...What?", he asked, his one eye that wasn't hidden by his eyepatch widening in disbelief, like he couldn't believe those words you just spoke.

"You heard me. I want to break up with you."

"Over that? Because I forgot one date?"

"No. Because I barely get to see you anymore. You're never there to spend time with me anymore. And when you promised me to finally do so and go on a date with me, you stood me up! I know my worth and I know I deserve better than that."

"You know how busy the Knights have been recently! Everyone has to work hard these days!"

"And yet, everyone else still seems to care enough about themselves to leave when work is over and spend some time away, maybe with their families. Except you.

Have you ever considered asking for help with all the work you have? Asking someone else to take over a portion of it for you? Or just going to Jean and telling her to not add anymore for you to do when you haven't even finished your other work?"

You listed off all the things he could have done to handle the work better, and knowing that Kaeya hadn't done anything to ask fo help, he remained silent, averting his eyes as the guilty conscious caught up to him.

"I tried to be understand, and I tried to help you. But I can't keep going like this without anything changing. Your work is becoming more important to you than anything else. And I'm not about to sit back and watch you destroy yourself."

After that, silence ensued between the two of you, where you were staring at Kaeya, waiting for him to say something, while he was intently staring at the floor, thinking over everything that had happened and realising that you were right. He has been neglecting you and the relationship. And because of that, he was about to loose you... He couldn't let that happen!

"You're right..", he said, his voice quiet, but growing stronger with every word he said. "You're right. I was to caught up with everything and I didn't even think to ask for help. I didn't even realize how I was treating you as a result. I'm sorry, (Name).

I.. I know this isn't an excuse for anything, but I promise I'll do better. Just please.. give me a chance to prove it to you. I promise to treat you better from now on, like you deserve to be treated. Please, give me one last chance."

He was walking over to you, as you were still sitting in the bed, and dropped to his knees in front of the bed, taking one of your hand between his hands, holding it close in front of his face, and you could see a single tear run down his cheek from his blue eye that was staring at your intertwined hands.

You wring with yourself, contemplating your choices and wether you wanted to go through with the breakup or not. With bated breath, Kaeya remained where he was, just waiting for your answer. He didn't know if he could accept it if you did decide to break up with him. He never wanted to loose you.. especially not over something like this...

In the end, you let out a sigh as you leaned towards him, lowering your hands so you could look into his eye properly.

"Okay. I'm giving you one chance. One only. If nothing is changing, I'm going through with the breakup. I can't go on feeling like not even a second choice to you."

Relief washed over his face, evident by the first shocked expression, then the smile that soon followed. Kaeya leaning into you as well, putting his forehead against yours, his eye closing as he soaked up the feeling of you so close to him again.

"You're always my first choice, (Name). I'm sorry I made you feel like that wasn't the case. I love you, and I promise I'll do my best to prove it to you from here on out."

Dainsleif

You thought you knew what you were getting yourself into when entering a relationship with Dainsleif. You may not know everything about him or his past, but you didn't need to in order to love him. That's what you had thought, at least...

Now, after some months of dating... you did slowly realize that maybe, love isn't always enough.

How often was it that he was gone, claiming to be searching for something, yet never telling you what it was, aside that it was important and had to do with his past.

How often did you wait for him when he told you he'd be back after a week, only for him to never keep the promise.

How often have you told him how lonely you felt without him, only for him to spend a bit more time with you, before ultimately having to leave again? And every time he left, it hurt more than all the times before.

And now, it seems you've reached a breaking point.

Today was your six month anniversary with him, and although you weren't usually one to celebrate such things, you decided to use it as an excuse to spend some alone time with him again. When you told him about your plans, he seemed excited and promised to be there to celebrate the event with you.

But he never showed up.

You've been waiting the whole day for him, but seeing as it was almost the next day already, you were certain that he wasn't going to show up anymore.

It wasn't even like you had something big planned. You just wanted some nice and quiet alone time with him, to celebrate you staying together for so long. But now, you felt stupid for it.

Why were you even wasting so much time and energy into this when it didn't seem like he was doing the same thing in the first place?

You thought back to the time you asked him about the celebration, and how he seemed excited. Was that for real? Or was he only faking it to appease you? You couldn't tell anymore.

He promised to be there, but here you were, all alone. Like you seem to be almost every day now..

But even then, hope was a traitorous little thing. It made you stay, hoping for him to show up and apologize for making you wait. Only for that hope to be crushed again and again with every day that passed after it.

And yet, you kept hoping and waiting for Dainsleif, for a whole week. And still, he never showed up.

He told you he would only be gone for a short while, that he would be back on time for the celebration.

He promised it... and broke it so easily.

As the week had passed, and you didn't get a single sign of him, all the hope you had left had finally been crushed, with no hope of it ever coming back. You were finally done. You couldn't handle the pain and heartbreak any longer. On the inside, you were done with this relationship. It hardly felt like it even was one to begin with.

You took your time when you were packing up your things, since you didn't think he'd show up now, of all times. And you should be proven right, once again.

Still, you felt bad if you just up and left without a word of explanation, so you decided to write him a little note. Which turned out to be more of a letter that you then left on the kitchen table.

Getting the help of an old friend, you managed to grab all of your stuff in only one trip. You did feel bad for leaving just like that, but it also felt... liberating.

Like you could finally breathe again.

A huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders. And although you still loved Dain, you also felt.. happy.

....

It took Dainsleif another whole week until he finally returned back to the small home he shared with you. He couldn't wait to finally see you again, hold you in his arms, feel you against him again. He'd missed you so very much.

He'd wanted to come back for so long, but the Abyss has been relentless in hunting him down, and he couldn't risk to lead them to you, so he had to stay away until he was certain that it was safe to return again.

But, upon entering the home, he immediately knew something was off. It just felt... empty.

He called out your name, but when no response came, he went to search for you. When Dainsleif couldn't find you, panic began to settle in him. He was about to run out and look for you, when some pieces of paper caught his attention.

The letter you wrote for him.

The more he read through it, the more his hands began to shake, crumbling the paper between his fingers.

When he finished reading through its contents, he didn't know what to feel.

There was anger, despair, some resentment, but most of all.. guilt. And longing.

A longing to go out and search for you, to clear things up and, if he had to, beg for you to take him back.

But he couldn't.

You had made it very clear in your letter that you didn't want to see him anymore. And no matter how much it hurt him, Dainsleif had always respected your wishes. To act against them now, would only make him feel worse.

He would honor your wish for now, hoping that, maybe, in the future, you'd seek him out to talk things through with him. Maybe then, he could ask for your forgiveness, and hopefully, another chance.

But until then, he'd make sure that you'd be safe from afar, watching over you and keeping his love for you alive..

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact scenarios #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #aether x reader #aether x you #aether angst #aether x reader angst #kaeya x reader #kaeya x you #kaeya angst #kaeya x reader angst #dainsleif x reader #dainsleif x you #dainsleif angst #dainsleif x reader angst

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initialchains · 8 months

Text

shadow of a heart | luke castellan.

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: luke’s last day at camp and everything that comes with it.

wc: 3.1k

warnings: book spoilers and (shocker) luke being a bit toxic but its all internally

a/n: this is based on cosmic love by florence and the machine !! aka one of my fave songs of all time. sorry ik i disappeared for a while :( i hope this fic is good enough as an apology <33 also i think it is impossible for me to not talk about the stars and sky in a fic …

Luke could swear his heart was about to burst out of his chest. The sound of unclaimed children snoring and the sight of his siblings peacefully sleeping didn’t seem to help him calm down, he ran a hand through his face before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He had to calm down. He couldn’t risk fucking this day up. After all, waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and with his heart running a marathon wasn’t the most pleasant way to kick off his last day at camp. His last day ever.

“Don’t fail, Son of Hermes. Unless you’re a coward,” The Titan’s voice rang in his ears, causing his breathing to come out short and his chest to rise up and down at a fast pace. Luke gasped for air, pressing his free hand against his chest.

His body reacted faster than his brain. His mind blinding him with a fog of fear. Fear of not being strong enough for the Titan Lord. Fear of being too weak to take out the scorpion he currently had hidden under his bunk. Fear of losing his only family. Fear of losing you.

Luke had to take a second to remember the reasoning behind his actions. Reminding himself to not be scared, because why should he be scared? The gods should be scared, not him. If they hadn’t neglected and abandoned their children he wouldn’t have to do this. How dare they make him feel scared? After everything they’ve done to him, after all his losses, after all the times he had to press his hand against his mouth in the shower to muffle his sobs… why should Luke be scared?

His heart slowly returned to its normal pace and Luke took advantage of it to throw his bedsheets to the side and step out of his bunk, walking in careful steps towards the door, making sure to skip over the pieces of wood that always creaked under his feet. The six years he spent under the roof of the Hermes Cabin helping him learn the best ways to sneak out without getting caught.

At least something good came out of it, he thought.

And even if he got caught, what would the children do? They admired him. He was The Strong and Brave Luke Castellan, the most skilled swordsman in the last three hundred years. The campers would be too intimidated to rat out their counselor.

The certainty of his dominance over the campers was enough to fuel his last steps and open the door. Luke was greeted with a starry sky and a quiet night, the wood nymphs not humming in their sleep for probably the first time ever. He thought this was fitting. Camp Half-Blood being quiet on his last day. It’s almost as if the Camp was silently begging him not to leave.

Look at us. Look at how quiet it will be. Look at how dark the safe haven of the demigods will become. You’ll take the stars with you when you leave.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the loud thoughts he was having. Luke had it all planned out, all he had to do was pack his things and leave.

No.

All he had to do was pack his things, make sure the Son of Poseidon dies, betray his sweet and brave little sister, betray you.. and leave.

Stay. Just stay. It won’t be dark if you stay. Don’t take the stars away from your family.

Luke was sure he was going crazy. He probably has been for a long time but he became certain of it when he gave up everything just to prove his loyalty to The Titan Lord.

But despite all the rage he had inside him, a part of him wanted to run straight to the Big House and tell Chiron all about his wrongdoings. He wanted to get on his knees and repent for stealing The Master Bolt and The Helm of Darkness. He wanted to cry into your arms and reassure you of all the love he held for you.

How could a silent camp be so loud at the same time?

Luke walked to the combat arena and took Backbiter out of its hilt. The weight of it not even coming close to the weight he felt on his shoulders. His hands shook as he stared at the blade, the mix of tempered steel and celestial bronze making him feel sick. A feeling of impending doom settling in his gut.

“It can kill mortals, demigods, and immortal divine beings,” He remembered his master’s words. Luke’s reflection on the blade stared back at him, his scar being more prominent than usual.

Was he cursed? Maybe he was doomed from the moment he was born.

He was fourteen years old when he stopped believing in salvation. The thought of there being a paradise where he’d end up happy and in peace seemed impossible to him, almost unimaginable. He had been fighting his entire life, not ever knowing peace or unconditional love a day of it. Sure, he assumed his mother loved him before she turned into... whatever she was now. But he stopped believing in the goodness of the world when he packed his bags at just nine years old and ran away from his house. After all, that’s what it always was: a house, not ever really a home.

He was sixteen when he found his home. After two years of grieving Thalia’s death and sobbing silently in the showers—not ever daring to let Annabeth see him as weak, he found his home. He met you. Someone who would listen when he’d ramble about his mother’s homemade sandwiches and cookies, the ones he always claimed were “Kinda bad and didn’t miss at all,” never forgetting to mention that his mentally unstable mother is probably so far gone by now and probably doesn’t even remember the recipe.

Luke twirled the sword with his right hand, trying to get comfortable with the newfound weight. He stared at Backbiter, noticing how it even made him feel scared, the darkness it held made him want to sneak into the Forge and melt it down.

He tried to calm himself down by remembering one of the thousand times he shared stories about his mother while you silently listened.

“I mean it, she thought those sandwiches were the peak of cuisine and yeah, I was nine so I guess it probably was, but... really? She could’ve done so much better. I suppose I can’t blame her for it, I would be a mediocre parent if someone like Hermes was co-parenting with me,” He explained while playing with your hair, his slender fingers moving in a delicate way while he kept his eyes on the campers risking their lives as they flew higher than they should with their pegasi.

You didn’t miss the way he laced his tone with disgust when he said his father’s name, but you knew better than to reprimand him for it. “Beckendorf is totally going to fall off that damned horse,” You chose the safe answer, changing the direction of the conversation to something more lighthearted.

Luke snorted next to you before poking your side with his free hand, “You’ve been in this camp for three years and you’re still calling them horses? Gods, what would Zeus say?” You could hear his smile even though he tried to mask it in his faux angry statement.

“What would Zeus say? I’m sure you would love to know, Castellan. You should ask him in two weeks,” You replied, turning your head to the left to face him and poking him in the chest. You took notice of Luke rolling his eyes when you reminded him of the most dreaded time of the year: The annual winter solstice visit to Mount Olympus.

“Don’t tempt me, angel. I’ll even tell him my sweet girlfriend was the one who ordered me to ask him about it,” He said, before leaning closer to you and pressing a soft kiss against your forehead, his hand moving from your hair to your jaw, caressing it in the tender way he always did.

“Alright, alright. I get it, you win.”

A bright smile made its way to Luke’s face, “Just another day on the job.”

“Just another day of you being a huge—” Your statement was interrupted by a loud thud and the sound of campers screaming, begging for a medic. The two of you were quick to stand up and run to the stables just to be greeted with the sight of a group of campers surrounding a clearly injured Charlie Beckendorf.

“Fuck, Beckendorf. I’ll go check if there is a free spot in the infirmary for you but you need to be more careful when you play around with that horse.” You turned around, trying to ignore how worried you felt for your Son-of-Hephaestus friend, ready to sprint all the way to the Apollo Cabin.

You were a few feet away from the stables when you heard a yell coming from behind you, “It’s a Pegasus, baby!”

You screamed back a “Shut the fuck up, Castellan!” and tried to ignore the wide eyes you got from the younger campers who heard the not so pleasant word come out of your mouth.

Luke didn’t know how long he spent in the combat arena trying to get comfortable with the weight and darkness Backbiter had, but the sun was out and shining its bright rays down on Camp Half-Blood by the time he finally got tired. He panted and closed his eyes as he felt a wave of exhaustion take all over his body.

He just didn’t know if he was exhausted from training or exhausted from keeping secrets from you.

“Don’t get mad but that new sword looks kinda..” Your voice had him snapping his eyes open, the sight of you walking towards him making his body feel lighter. Luke felt so relieved to see you that he considered dropping down to his knees and breaking down crying over the weight he was carrying. If he hadn’t been in a public space he might as well have done it.

“It looks kinda?” He answered, running the back of his hand through his forehead, trying to get rid of the sweat trickling down from his hair.

“Kinda shit,” You continued. “I think the sword being double edged is cool but it’s stupid to have that. When would we ever maim a mortal? The tempered steel is useless.”

Luke gave you a small smile before looking away from you. When would we ever maim a mortal? You’d be surprised, he thought. He looked up again to meet your eyes, a frown taking over your features. Luke’s heart sank when he saw your worried demeanor.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You whispered, walking closer to him and cupping his cheeks, running your thumb under his scar before leaning closer to him and kissing it.

Luke hummed at the sensation, he always felt less ashamed of himself and his actions whenever you kissed his scar or caressed it. He didn’t understand why but he liked having the knowledge of someone not seeing the scar as proof of his blatant failure, he liked knowing you saw the scar as another beautiful part of him—a part you loved.

He turned his head to the left, kissing the palm of your hand and replying with a low, “Don’t worry about it. You know how I always get when it’s the last day of Camp for the summer campers.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. Luke always felt sick whenever this day arrived because he knew half of the campers he met this year wouldn’t be coming back. They’d be lucky if they even survived all the way to December.

“No, Castellan. I will worry about it. If it’s important to you then it is important to me,” you answered, matching his low tone as you stared into his eyes, feeling captivated by the light they held inside of them. You were sure a star fell straight into them and that’s why they always reflected light and love.

Luke sighed and took your hand that was cupping his cheek, intertwining it with his. “Fuck, I’m going to miss you so much,” he whispered, almost as if he was talking to himself.

“You do know I’ll come back to camp for Christmas, right? Plus, we can Iris Message whenever you want. You don’t have to miss me, Luke,” you reminded him. Luke almost keeled over and vomited at the knowledge of you thinking you’ll see him again in Camp.

“I always miss you, angel. I’m even missing you right now,” Luke answered, leaning down to steal a quick kiss just to be stopped by a hand pressed to his chest. “What the fuck?”

“You’re sweaty as shit, Castellan. Go take a shower and maybe I’ll let you kiss me when you’re done.” That was enough motivation for Luke to mutter an annoyed “Fine,” and walk to the showers.

Luke spent more time under the showerhead than usual. It was his last day at camp, he reminded himself. He deserved to take a long cold shower without the worry of Mr. D getting mad at him for “Wasting the cold water on just himself.” He could use all the water he wanted because he was never going to step a foot inside this place ever again.

Plus, he could use this alone time to think. Think about the finality today will bring. An end to his years at camp. An end to his loyalty to the gods. An end to his bond with Annabeth. An end to his relationship with you.

That’s probably what scares him the most–the thought of you deciding to go against him. He doesn't know if he should let you know about the things that were bound to happen tonight or if he should just keep you in the dark.

Two frightening options: Bringing you to the light and showing his true self to you or keeping you in the shadows.. never fully knowing how broken and rotten he truly is.

He tried to not think about the second option for too long. Because even if you did find out and he went through with Kronos’s plan causing the sky to remain starless forever, he knew you would choose to stay in the shadows for him. He trusted you and knew you would rather stay in the darkness than go against him.

The rest of his day went by faster than he wanted. He sparred with a few campers, got used to Backbiter’s weight by fighting some training dummies in the combat arena, spent time with his siblings, and sat next to you in the dining pavilion. It all seemed like a normal day at Camp Half-Blood.

Well, at least that’s how it felt until Percy Jackson came back from his visit to Mount Olympus.

The campers celebrated his return by lighting up fireworks and cheering his name every two seconds. It all made Luke feel sick. Why didn’t he get treated like that when he came back from his quest? All he got was a scar, looks of pity, and dead quest companions.

No heroic welcome and no fireworks. Just burnt shrouds, mourners, and a feeling of self-loathing taking all over him.

“Hey,” your voice made him drag his gaze away from the green fireworks lighting up the night sky. He turned his head to the right, meeting your eyes and raising a brow.

“I am pretty sure you owe me a kiss,” he said in a playful tone, taking notice of how the light of the fireworks illuminated your face just right, making the light look like a halo around you.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it is impossible for there to be no light and for the sky to be starless. There will always be light as long as your heart is beating and your eyes are set on him.

“Huh, do I? I don’t think I do,” you replied, biting your lip trying to prevent a smile from taking over your face.

“Oh, shut up,” Luke answered, finally taking your face in his hands and kissing you. He almost fell to his knees at the feeling of your lips moving against his. The kiss was like a comet’s trail, leaving behind luminous particles of Luke’s hidden secrets and unspoken desires.

You pulled away first, trying to catch your breath as you kept your eyes closed and your forehead pressed against his. “What’s wrong?” you whispered, asking him the same question you did in the morning.

“Why do you ask?” Luke answered in between pants, his breathing uneven due to the intensity of the kiss you shared.

“You were.. somewhere else when I walked here. Lost inside your pretty little mind,” you explained. Luke hummed when he heard your answer.

“I just,” he sighed, pulling his forehead away from yours by raising his head. “What would you–” he cut himself off. “Never mind.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to hear it.”

“What would you do if you woke up one day and the earth was consumed by darkness? And I mean complete darkness, no sun and no stars.”

“Holy shit. Did you hang out with the Apollo and Athena cabin?” you held back an amused laugh.

“Just humor me for a second, please.”

“Alright, um..” you looked down, trying to formulate an answer to Luke’s strangely philosophical question. “I guess I wouldn’t mind as long as I could find you. I know I’d be able to find my way to you so I wouldn’t really worry too much.”

And that answer was everything Luke ever needed.

He spent some more time talking to you, memorizing the way you looked under the lights of the amphitheater in your Camp shirt and necklace. Trying to enjoy it because he will never have this sight again.

Luke excused himself with an “I have a gift for Percy, but I’ll come back to you. Just give me some time,” before walking all the way to the cabins and taking out the Pit Scorpion he had hidden under his bunk.

There was no fear in his actions this time. His heart was beating in a steady rhythm and his hands weren't shaking anymore. The weight of Backbiter in its hilt felt perfect against his hip.

There would be no fear in any of his actions anymore. Because he knows if he keeps you in the shadows you’ll eventually become a dark starless sky just like him.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #magnolia’s fics!

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stevieschrodinger · 6 months

Text

TW for Eddie getting hurt (but he's okay). And Human Trafficking.

Link to Part One

Link to Part Three

“Again? Seriously?”

Eddie knows he should keep his mouth shut. He knows he should. He just...doesn’t seem to be able to.

It probably doesn’t help that Eddie is one hundred percent done with this. This isn’t a life. A gilded cage is still just a cage, and Eddie’s getting to the point where antagonizing the guards is a hobby.

“Wear it, or I’ll make you wear it,” the lackey snarls, shoving the flimsy white fabric against Eddie’s chest.

“You fucking wear it!”

And that’s it. The guys an Alpha, he’s like, literally twice the size of Eddie, and it all happens so fast Eddie’s winded by the floor before he knows what hit him. And then it comes, the whistling noise of the cane singing through the air. Eddie is intimately familiar with the noise.

And just like usual, Eddie can’t keep his noises in, he curses, he calls the guard every name under the sun, he screams and starts to cry but in the end is reduced to a compliant heap, the same as every other time.

They strip him naked and splash freezing water on his face, gets rid of the snot and tears and no doubt the flush he has on his cheeks. His feet are burning, throbbing, and Eddie wants to collapse back to the floor to take the pressure off.

He’s shoved into the white dress, “you so much as blink wrong out there and you won’t be standing for a fortnight.”

Eddie dips his head; he knows it’s true. They’ve done it before. So he gives in. They’re breaking him more and more easily. Eddie doesn’t want to give up; he just doesn’t feel like he has the energy any more.

He’s been here the longest, he’s the only one that’s never sold. It’s only a matter of time before his body ends up in a shallow grave out on the ranch somewhere.

He limps into the dining room, freshly sprayed with heavy duty scent blockers. Eddie’s vaguely aware they’re eating lunch, and if his feet weren’t fucking stinging the way they are, he has no doubt his stomach would growl at the smells.

Eddie doesn’t make it that far before he catches Hagan waving a hand at him, “get him out of here, he's bleeding on the rug.” Eddie does his best to oblige, but he can only move so fast with the injuries on his feet.

Hagan, out of everyone here, is not someone you want to piss off. Eddie learned that too, very early on.

"Him," someone says behind Eddie, "I want him."

Eddie turns back again, despite the fact that it can’t possibly be him the Alpha is referring too, there are other male omega here, after all. But no. The Alpha is standing now, and he’s looking right at Eddie.

Well, fuck.

Because as much as Eddie has dreamed of this day, of getting the fuck out of here...that Alpha could be worse. The possibility is always there. This could be a frying pan into fire type situation, and there’s fuck all Eddie can do about that.

Hagan makes a noise, scoffs, "Steve, come on, have a proper look. Don't pick that one. Get a pretty one."

The Alpha is irritatingly good looking at first glance, and he becomes even more so in Eddie’s eyes when he flashes a look of irritated disgust at Hagan, "no, he'll do."

Oh, Eddie ‘will do’ will he? Okay, maybe the Alpha isn’t that good looking, after all.

"Oh," Hagan laughs, "I get it, just gonna' wreck him anyway, right? That's fair, can always get another," and he's laughing again and suddenly Eddie is ice cold with fear. Hagan called this guy Steve; clearly they know each other. Is that the type of Alpha this Steve guy is?

Everyone else is shooed out of the room, and Eddie stands there on his throbbing feet, hearing, to the dollar, how much he’s worth.

More than he thought, if he’s being honest.

Alpha Steve doesn’t even flinch at the price.

Eddie’s certain Steve must be doing fifteen over the limit, which, honestly, he doesn’t care. It means Eddie’s traveling fifteen over the limit away from a place he never wants to see ever again, so it works for him.

"Look, uh, hey, you have a name?"

"Eddie," he answers, but only because he genuinely doesn't want to antagonize this guy right out of the gate.

"Right. Eddie. So. This is...well it's going to sound a bit wild but...I'm kind of here for the FBI. I mean. I don't work for them, or anything, but...I was...asked, I guess, to get evidence. So don't worry about everyone else, they're getting rescued later so. That's. A thing, I guess?"

Eddie just sort of sits there for a moment, feeling stupid. FBI. Rescue??? Maybe he hit his head or he's dreaming or something but...no, his feet are stinging like a bitch and he can very clearly remember how the whole day has gone so far. He’s awake, and this is real.

"Yea. Yeah, I guess that's a lot to take in. But we can talk about it...later? Do you have family? Like, shit, do you have somewhere to go? I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to actually like...buy, a person. Couldn't leave you there though."

The Alpha’s...rambling. Which, Eddie kind of figures now that this guy wasn’t joking when he said he doesn’t work for the FBI. He looks nervous, actually, white knuckling the steering wheel. In Eddie’s experience, if something seems to good to be true, then it almost definitely is. This guy is giving off no scent, and there's no scent in the car anyway. Either it's a rental or something, or this guy wears blockers most of the time. There's even one of those fancy scent diffuser things plugged into the dash. So other than being visibly unsettled Eddie’s got nothing to go off of.

But then, why would he lie? He’s bought Eddie fair and square, and like most Alphas, he’s probably carrying double Eddie’s body weight, plus he knows Eddie's already injured. Eddie could be going from one prison to a...worse prison. But...again, this guy has no reason to lie, right?

"I've...I've got an uncle. Haven't seen him for years. I don't...know,” it’s pretty true, without giving too much away. The possibility that this guy could be serious is...it feels to big of an idea to absorb. Eddie might be free? He'll maybe see uncle Wayne again? This guy is going to just...let Eddie go? Eddie's known, for literal years, that he had two ways out of the ranch, out front, bought and paid for, or out back, in a body bag. The sudden possibility of a third option is so out of left field Eddie doesn't know what to do with it.

"Right, right okay. We can talk to Hopper about it," Steve spots a drive through, "you hungry?"

Eddie has absolutely no fucking clue what a ‘Hopper’ is, but at the sight of the beautiful golden arches, his priorities shift drastically, "oh fuck me yes," Eddie says it with such vehemence that Steve laughs, he’s got a nice laugh, this Alpha. And unless he’s playing the long con...why the fuck would he even worry if Eddie’s hungry? "I haven't left the ranch for two years, and they never let us eat anything like that, it's bad for our skin. Plus, we have to stay thin and pretty."

Steve’s expression changes in an instant, he looks genuinely horrified by what Eddie’s just revealed, “you can have absolutely anything you want.”

Eddie takes him at his word and orders half the damn menu.

Well, Eddie figures, the FBI thing is true, and this is a Hopper, and man he looks like he’s had enough, "you were not supposed to buy a human being," he very clearly tells Steve. Eddie’s feet are stinging a little on the asphalt, but as long as he doesn’t move too much, it’s bearable. And even though he’s still wearing the fucking nightdress, like hell was he missing this conversation.

"I know but-" Steve starts to protest, which Eddie thinks is kind of brave, because if Steve is twice Eddie’s weight, Hopper is basically a giant. Hopper stops him dead with a glare, and Steve hands over his phone and strips off his suit jacket and hands that over too, leaving him in a pristine white shirt.

Hopper waves him off, "you did good."

Hopper does something to the back of Steve's phone, peeling something away from it, before giving it back and then turning his attention to Eddie, "somewhere I can take you kid? Any family?"

"I only have an uncle, but I don't...it's been years, I haven't seen him since I was little."

Hopper rubs is hand over his face, the rasp of stubble loud, before he lights another cigarette, "I'll have to find you a motel somewhere while we figure this out." And that sparks a twinge of...fear. Eddie has lived with a group of Omega for years, and the ranch was a lot of things but...they had meals provided, they didn't have to think about money, or clothes, or anything mundane like that. The prospect of suddenly being completely alone...completely alone and potentially vulnerable, is not in any way appealing.

"He can stay with me." Steve suggests out of fucking no where, "I've got...a lot of space," he trails off, looking kind of sheepish that he even suggested it. At some point, somewhere between the rescue, the McDonalds, and right this moment, Eddie kind of decides, tentatively, at least, that Alpha Steve might just be an alright guy.

Hopper raises an eyebrow at Eddie, Eddie shrugs, playing down his relief, "not like I've had any better offers lately."

Hopper snorts, but he hands over a business card to Steve, "this is highly unorthodox, but...I don't care. I've got bigger things to worry about. Text me any details the kid can give you on the uncle. I'll be in touch."

And then Hopper just...drives away. Steve fiddles with the card Hopper just gave him, and Eddie can see it says FBI and all that good stuff on it. This is feeling more and more real as time stretches on.

"So is there anything you...want? Need?" Steve asks him.

Eddie feels kind of bad about the sheer amount of money he’s already cost Steve today, "I mean, I don't have any cash, obviously, and I heard how much money you shelled out- I mean, do you think you can comp me from the FBI? Man, you didn't even get a receipt for me."

And that...makes Steve laugh, like really, makes him laugh. And Eddie joins in, not that he thinks he’s funny particularly, but because Steve is just so...well. Maybe it’s a relief too, that Eddie is finally out of that place, and the truth of that is finally sinking in. He’s free. Feels a little delirious with the possibility of freedom.

And there’s only one way to celebrate something like that, “can we get milkshakes?”

@stylelovechild @steddieonthen @marklee-blackmore @sticknpokelightningbolt @resident-gay-bitch @somegirlsomewhere @mugloversonly @cryptid-system @weekend-dreamer7

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #fbi agent jim hopper #long suffering hopper #jim hopper #alpha steve harrington #omega eddie munson #human trafficking #steve to the rescue

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watermelonsugacry · 1 year

Note

Could you do a blurb showing how Harry and 1dbandmate!yn reacted over the years when asked in interviews if they were a couple?? please 🙏

Always Asked

A/N: been in a writing funk lately but i'm happy i got this one done since i miss writing and posting to you all!! 💚

SUMMARY: Snippets of interviews over the years from when YN and Harry were asked if they were dating. (3.4k)

GENRE: 1dbandmate!yn, famous!yn

SINCE 2010 masterlist

2011:

Never in a million years did YN ever think her dream career would start so soon. It’s only been a year since she auditioned for the XFactor and now she’s sitting at a table next to her bandmates as hundreds of fans go down the line to get a copy of their freshly signed album.

With copious amounts of screaming comes along an abundance of questions thrown at the teenagers. Most of the time, it’s YN giving the screaming fans a beautiful smile, asking them how they are, and thanking them for their kind words before passing the signed CD case to Harry. With all the excitement in the air, she feels like she’s truly living the pop star lifestyle she’d seen many others live out.

“Hiya, love,” YN smiles at the preteen girl who’s practically vibrating with excitement at seeing the famous band. She also gives a polite greeting to the supportive dad of the young girl who has his hands on his daughter’s shoulders. “How are you? I love your shirt.”

She compliments, smiling at seeing the young girl wearing a shirt with YN’s face on it.

“My dad got it for me for my birthday!” The little fan beams.

“Did he?” YN animatedly gasps with a smile. “Well, it was nice of him to take you over here, yeah?”

She signs the CD case with a heart over her name before sliding it over to Harry. His fingers brush over hers and the two of them catch each other’s gaze. A smile tugs on their lips before looking away just as quickly.

“Are you two dating?” The young girl practically screams out, her eyes bouncing back and forth excitedly between YN and Harry.

The two teenagers tense up, thrown off by the question in such a crowded place. Their management team is still media-training them and while they’ve learned so much already, they’re still getting used to taking what they’ve learned out into the field.

YN and Harry give each other a look, already knowing the answer but searching in one another’s eyes for maybe a smidge of something more.

“Lilly!” The dad scolds before letting out a chuckle. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” YN shakes her head with a smile, hoping it's convincing enough to not cause any suspicion. “Sorry Lilly, but Harry and I aren’t dating because quite frankly—” She beckons the little fan closer, cupping her mouth but still being loud so her bandmate can hear, “—he has cooties.”

Harry’s immediately furrowing his brows together and lets out a long and playful, “Hey!”

“Ew!” Lilly laughs, seeming satisfied with that answer before waving goodbye and walking towards the rest of the band.

Before they can dwell on what just happened, thankfully the next fan shuffles over for their own interaction and signed copy.

2012:

The band is at their first Brits Awards show and needless to say, they all got a little tipsy after their win. Their team didn’t even have time to give them a snack or water bottle to help sober them up a little bit before their backstage press interviews.

“Harry, how will you guys be celebrating tonight?” A journalist asks from the crowd.

“Erm,” Harry giggles to himself and it makes YN tipsily follow from her spot next to him. The hand that isn't gripping onto their award goes to cover her smile. “I think we’re just gonna hang out and stuff.”

“YN? Is there any lucky man whom you will be celebrating with?” Another voice in the sea of reporters asks.

“Nope,” YN raises her eyes with a tipsy smile and a slow shake of her head. She shakes her thumb towards her boys with a click of her tongue. “Just these lads.”

“Any lucky lad in particular? Perhaps a curly-headed one standing next to you?”

Almost as if it was planned, the two teenagers comically look beside each other, cranking their necks in playful search of who the intrusive lady was referring to.

“Me?” Harry dramatically questions, pointing to his chest with a bright, open-mouthed, dimpled smile gracing his face.

“Well, I mean he is part of the band, is he not?” YN sassily purses her lips together, her media-training to retain her “good girl” image slipping out of her alcohol induced brain.

Thankfully, before anything could be escalated further by the tipsy girl, the intrusive press, or the snickering boys, a member from their management team instructs the audience to move onto another person.

2013:

“You guys have known each other for what seems like forever now and your bond with the rest of the guys is so strong...”

YN reaches forward for a sip from her glass of water on the panel table in her seat in between Harry and Niall. It’s been a long week for the band as they do press for their new movie, This Is Us. They’ve been thrown left and right with interviews that YN can’t help but already be done with the repetitiveness of some of the questions.

“So then we’re all clearly curious to know if you and Harry are dating?”

“Nope,” YN pops the ‘P’ and shakes her head as if her actions were automatically programmed to respond in that way. She casually waves her finger between the two boys beside her, “But him and Niall are though.”

The crowd of press people laugh and chuckle as they see Naill gasp and Harry raise his eyebrows in playful shock.

“I mean, you kinda pointed it out,” YN puts on her media-trained smile good enough to win an Oscar. “These lads are like my brothers and our bond is so strong because we see each other more like family than anything else. I see them more as annoying than someone I'd rather date, to be honest,” she forces out a light laugh.

“Plus, as YN so kindly pointed out,” Harry leans on his elbows on the table as he looks to his crush next to him. YN can see his dimple dig into his cheek as he fights off a smirk. “M’happily in a committed relationship with Niall.”

Harry doesn’t take his eyes off of his bandmate as he leans back into his seat. He watches as she tucks her chin into her chest, her fingers rubbing over her lips to cover her giggle as the rest of the room breaks out in commotion.

2014:

“Can we assume that the rock on your finger is from a certain curly-headed lad?” The woman who’s interviewing them for the band’s new book Who We Are excitedly asks.

The band are all sat on an L-shaped couch as they discuss the contents of the hard cover book. Sat in between Zayn and Niall, YN purposely avoids her gaze from Harry as she answers.

“No,” YN lets out a forced chuckle as she looks down to fidget with the diamond ring on her finger. Anyone who has looked at more than three pictures of YN can tell that her favorite pieces of jewelry are her assortment of rings along her fingers. But only true fans know that part of her liking to the small jewelry is to help her fidget with them when she has anxiety. It’s an odd feeling however that the newly gifted one has been the cause of her increase in nerves. “It’s um, from me boyfriend—well, fiancé now—Matthew. Harry is like a brother to me so that would be quite weird.”

“Of course! I was only teasing, love.” The woman laughs with an over-exaggerated smile, clearly disappointed in the answer she was given. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” YN forces a smile, still twisting at the shiny ring that sticks out like a sore thumb.

2015:

“YN.”

“James.” She says with the same amount of playful seriousness, the audience in front of them laughs along. As the date of the band’s long-awaited hiatus comes closer and closer, their good friend James Corden interviews them in the same location where they filmed the music video for Story of My Life.

“Harold,” the host directs his attention to the band member sitting next to her.

The fans in the crowd only giggle in giddiness even further as Harry playfully throws a hand up in confusion with what the fans call his ‘frog’ smile.

“Now, we are all truly devastated when we heard the news that you and your long-time partner had called it quits a couple of weeks ago.” The audience laughs when James comically shakes his head no. YN even lets out a laugh when she sees the fans in the audience cheer at the news of her new relationship status. Despite the support she feels from the fans, it doesn’t necessarily calm the nerves at why the host brought the topic up in the first place. “Now we’re also all wondering if this may have possibly opened up, I don’t know, an opportunity for you to seek something with another lad?”

“Um,” YN lazily holds her microphone to her lips as she gives James the news that will hopefully shut down the conversation. “I think m’gonna just focus on myself for a bit. Yeh know, take a break from dating and all that.”

The room breaks out into chuckles when the host makes noises like he doesn’t believe her. He wags his interview cards in the air as he says, "I mean, both of your writing credits on some love songs tell me otherwise..."

Truthfully, the two friends can't deny that logic. They've either individually or co-wrote a plethora of love songs...that may or may not have been about each other. But will they ever admit that to a room full of their fans who have been shipping them since their XFactor days? Hello no.

“Well, the beauty that YN and I see in music is that songs are always up for interpretation," Harry interjects. "They can mean anything you want them to be, in any sort of scenario.”

“Yeah, like, lyrics don’t always necessarily have to come from a place of experience,” YN adds on, professionally keeping her voice from wavering in nervousness. “It certainly helps but that’s not always the case. Especially now.”

She can’t help but laugh along with the rest of the crowd as James holds an expression like he doesn’t believe a word they said.

“Okay, fine. Deny it all you want,” James puts his hands up defensively. “I just...I don’t know, I just think that this could really be Something Great.”

The room of fans (and die hard ynrry shippers) squeal and scream out in a mixture of excitement and disbelief from his use of the One Direction songs that are heavily speculated to be about YN and Harry.

“Whatever, it’s your guy’s decision at the End of the Day,” James continues nonchalantly, trying to hide the smile that shows that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Fans’ eyes bounce back and forth between the two band members in question. They see as YN has her hands clasped together on her crossed legs, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her witty comments to herself. Harry, on the other hand, leans his elbow on his knee with his index finger over his smirk. He tries to cover up his chuckle with a cough to his fist before pushing back his long curls.

“All we want is for you guys to live Happily ever after, is all.”

2017:

“Now, both of you little sneaky sneaks went to Jamaica together to make his album. Come on, tell me I’m wrong,” Nick Grimshaw teases, wiggling his fingers in a beckoning motion.

The two were currently on BBC Radio with their good friend that they’ve known since their days in the band. Dropping their first solo albums in the same week caused their fan bases to go into a frantic frenzy. The two have a full day ahead of them as their record labels and management teams paired the two up for a day jam-packed with press and interviews together.

“You are not wrong,” Harry laughs, adjusting the chunky headphones over his ears. He’s already rolled up his white button-up sleeves and discarded his picnic table-looking blazer to lay on the back of his chair.

“Sneaky sneaks?” YN chuckles next to him, leaning her elbows on the counter and moving her hips to rotate her swiveling seat from side to side.

“Well, I only say that because you guys are obviously dating now, right?”

“Do girl and guy best friends always have to be dating?” YN easily swerves the question back to the radio host.

“Well,” Grimmy tilts his head from side to side. “Not necessarily, but wouldn’t that be a good story? For your future kiddos perhaps?”

YN and Harry bark out a laugh.

“Sorry, m’getting ahead of myself. Maybe you lads would want to save that for your wedding day instead.”

“Can I swear on the radio?” YN playfully yet genuinely asks the host which makes Harry giggle.

“But I mean, what are your fans—and quite frankly, the rest of the world—supposed to think when a good majority of the songs on his album are about you, Miss Two Ghosts?” Nick teases with a wiggle of his eyebrow.

YN’s jaw humorously drops, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as a nervous laugh threatens to escape. The two knew that they would get poked and pried with questions and accusations like this since their trip to Jamaica. There’s no use in trying to deny their close relationship with one another, spending more time with one another than any of their fellow band members since the start of the hiatus.

Unable to quickly come up with an explanation, being so caught off guard, she turns to the only other person she can trust.

“Jenny?” YN playfully calls for her manager who’s behind the glass window of the radio studio, leaning forward to look at her despite Harry in the way.

“Help me, Jeffery,” Harry playfully pleads to his manager as well.

“No, no Jeffery. Jenny, get back in your chair, young lady.” Nick points out for the listeners who can’t see what’s currently happening. “Alright, I’ll stop, I’ll stop,” The host waves his hands, seeing the two visually calm down at the news. “Now, I’ll just play the one Harry wrote about YN. This is Two Ghosts!”

Harry playfully yells out an “Oh, no!” as he pushes himself away from the desk. YN lets out a humored scream at the same time, taking off her chunky radio headphones and tossing them onto the desk.

2020:

“Okay, a big question that I’ve been getting on Twitter since it was announced that the two of you would be on here today,” Roman Kemp waves a hand in front of him at the Capital FM Breakfast Radio headquarters as he looks onto the two pop stars in front of him on the Zoom call. The couple can be seen in two separate rooms: Harry in a naturally lit room while YN sits against one of the brick walls in her bedroom.

Harry has his purple robe on that his girlfriend gifted him a couple of years ago, looking as comfy as ever since he doesn’t have to get dressed up to go outside for anything lately due to being on lockdown.

YN on the other hand, didn’t want to miss the opportunity to get dolled up. Well, at least from the waist up. She wears one of her silk button-up blouses with her last name embroidered on the left chest, her hair neatly done up in a slick ponytail and her make-up nicely done. When she got complimented on her look, she clumsily lifted her leg up to show off her heart-decorated, fluffy pajama pants.

“And I feel like both of your fan bases combined would come out of quarantine to quite literally murder me if I don’t ask you guys this...” YN and Harry keep a mutual face on as they wait to hear what the host has to say. “We all know that you guys are an official couple now, but are you guys physically staying together at the moment? Like, are you guys living together or at the same house or...?”

The couple takes a second to process the intimate question. As Harry parts his lips to answer, he’s interrupted by his girlfriend speaking first.

“Y’know, we’re kind of tired of getting questions like this. I don’t think it’s really appropriate for other people to know about that kind of stuff,” The crease between YN’s eyebrows becomes more apparent and her shoulders move sharply after letting out a deep sigh.

“Oh, I-I’m so sorry if I offended you guys—” The radio host quickly begins to retract.

“M’sorry but I think m’actually gonna log off now. Erm, thank you for having us.” YN curtly nods before the host and Harry’s faces fill the screen, both with wide eyes at the unexpected reaction from the go-happy pop star.

“Wait, did that really just happen?” Roman and the other two interviewers are deers in headlights, his eyes bouncing around the screen to make sure what just took place.

“I think so,” Harry sighs. “It’s just a sensitive topic for us, y’know. I can’t really blame her for what she did,” He professionally hides his smile as he hears the quick pad of footsteps coming down her spiral staircase.

“I really meant no harm, it’s just—”

“It’s just really hard to keep our private life private, you know?” Harry drags on with a deep sigh. “And it's just really hard for us to have to answer things like this. Like, we don’t really know what you guys expect us to do when...” Harry’s dimples dig into his cheeks, a boyish giggle comes tumbling past his lips when YN peaks her head sideways in front of his laptop camera.

“YN!” Romans scolds with a bright smile, infinitely relieved he didn’t just make enemies with the world’s favorite female pop star. He dramatically throws a hand over his heart.

“Sorry, I’m sorry! It was just too good and Ro, I think you’re the only one that would be able to handle a joke like that.” YN laughs as she slides in close to her comfy-looking boyfriend.

“So I’m assuming this confirms my previous question?” The host asks excitedly.

“Yeah,” Harry smiles fondly at his love, discreetly wrapping an arm around her waist that’s low enough to not be shown on camera. “We’ve been living at YN’s place in LA for a couple of weeks now. And yeah, it’s been fun.”

2022:

In a full black suit, Harry is escorted to the next interviewer on the red carpet for the premiere of My Policeman. After a couple of initial questions, the eager woman asks, “Last thing before you get whisked away, on behalf of the fandom and everyone else on this planet, we just want to send a massive amount of love to you and YN.”

“Thank you very much,” He nods, putting a hand over his heart and trying his hardest to keep the growing smile on his face at bay.

“And we are all just dying to know,” She takes a quick, excited glance back to the camera. “If you’re going to drop the big question soon?”

Harry can’t help but huff out a laugh, the kind where his dimples dig into his cheeks and the crows feet appear next to his eyes. If they only knew that YN kept the ring he gave her—the ring that signifies their promise to become husband and wife on their anniversary—at home for the sake of privacy and for this very reason.

“Um,” He looks up in fake contemplation before giving her a cheeky shrug. “I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?”

“Well, best of luck to you both.”

After being escorted away, the camera doesn’t stop filming Harry as he goes over to stand next to his fiancée on the red carpet. Although the camera can’t pick up what YN says to Emma Corin that makes the actress laugh, her beaming smile turns to Harry when she feels his hand on her back. He can’t hold back from planting a loving peck on her cheek before the two are escorted to their next section on the red carpet.

2023:

On a show in Cardiff, Harry adjusts a flag on his shoulder as he walks around the catwalk on stage. As he begins to sing Satellite, he makes a stop to sing to a group by the barricade.

It’s nothing new to YN and Harry’s respective shows when fans bring signs with something on it to get the artists’ attention. Honestly, it’s become one of the parts of the show they look forward to the most.

So when Harry’s eyes move over to a newly raised sign that says ‘shag?’ on it, he breaks out into a smirk. Part of the fun of when fans bring signs is that there’s always a handful that asks these sorts of questions: Are you single? Can I have your number? Are you dating?

It’s not so much the content written on the signs that makes the interaction so enjoyable; it’s the response that he gives.

Because all Harry does is break out into that dimpled, love sick smile that YN can’t get enough of and happily points to his wedding band.

Taglist:

@ashtongivesmebutterflies @cacapeepee

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