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platinumshawnn · 1 month

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Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood - pt vii

Synopsis: On the morning of the much-anticipated wedding, the feud between the Brackens and Blackwoods comes to a head, leaving everyone on edge. Benjicot’s first day as a husband sees him as the acting Lord of Raventree, as Samwell heads to the Redfork to confront the Brackens despite Benjicot's eagerness to go on his houses' behalf. Nonetheless, Serra and Benjicot celebrate a successful wedding.

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A/N: hi sorry this is late, I wanted to make sure ch 7 was done as well as I could physically manage it but will probably come back and edit more later. also, sorry again if it’s a mess, I’ve been busy getting ready to move back to uni which depletes me of any last will to live every time <33 also peep the special edition banner lol

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content (i.e. m/f smut), mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation -- basically drama and porn idk

Word count: 17.5k

She did not like to describe them as nightmares — vivid and coming at her too fast it left her dizzy, but sometimes she did not know any other word for the dreams that kept her awake at night, plagued by images of her mother. Sleep had been a fleeting thing the past two nights, Serra’s head pounded and she felt nauseous that morning when she woke after a dream of her soft face, sad as she had cupped her daughter’s young face, only to be torn away by the Stranger in death — they had previously only happened every other moon, giving her a break at least. But they had been relentless as of late, never allowing her more than an hour of rest, leaving her aching for her mother to soothe her like a child when she woke. She had sobbed the first night after her kiss with Benjicot, just as she normally did. By the third night, she was drained and had no more tears left in her body to shed.

She wanted to speak to Kermit about it, just as she always had, but he seemed to be avoiding her since that day in the yards — his face still ingrained in her memory, angry and disgusted as she knelt by Benjicot, tending to the wounds he had inflicted. It seemed Benjicot was too, as she hadn’t seen much of him since.

The few times she saw him were only when it was necessary and he had no choice but to sit across from her at the table during breakfast and dinner, but he avoided her eye. The most she had gotten was a subtle shake of his head when she had stopped, seeing him training alone with a wooden doll in his usual spot; Ser Alistair at her side and dragging her away too, his eyes darting towards something above her — she assumed by the defeated expression, it was her eldest brother by the clench of his jaw.

The room smelled of lavender, thick with the scent from the several bunches that had been brought in and placed strategically around the chamber as she was dressed in the meantime. Her eyes were closed as her handmaidens continued to flit around her like a group of nervous birds; busy with the last touches to her dress fixing the red and blue maiden cloak around her shoulders and fixing her hair — she swore she had felt fingers on her neck, startled by their cool touch as her necklace was twisted, a soft hum of hushed voices around her.

Her head turned, whipping towards the sound of where a distant voice had come from, her eyes finding Grace, who looked at her with a concerned gaze, “My lady?” She asked.

Serra froze, delirious with exhaustion she presumed as she let out a sharp exhale, turning to look away, “Sorry, I…” she stammered. “I thought you said something.”

“I asked if you slept well last night,” Grace replied, touching her shoulder.

“No,” she admitted. “Sleep has not come easy these past nights.”

Grace smiled, small and sweet as she stepped in front of her — it was a weird thing to no longer have Orpheus at her feet, mulling over her, “Wedding day nerves?” She softly asked.

She let out a short laugh, tired and strained, “I suppose so.”

Her handmaiden looked down, smiling as she fixed her cloak’s clasp one last time, “You’ve nought to worry about, my lady.”

“And why is that?” She asked, looking down at her.

The girl shook her head, smiling, “I’ve seen the way Lord Benjicot looks at you.” She simply replied as though it was the most obvious thing. The words confused her because as far as she remembered, it was not — her mouth opened to reply, but she was silenced by the soft knock against her door.

She turned as it slowly crept open to reveal her father, who scanned the room with his eyes as he entered, slower than usual and visibly uncertain of his presence there.

Serra was nothing less than radiant in her wedding gown, the deep red silk contrasting beautifully against her skin. Her auburn hair, a trait she had inherited from him, had been painstakingly woven into an elaborate braid, adorned with small, delicate pearls. But it was her eyes, so full of uncertainty and quiet resolve, that held his gaze.

“Father,” Serra said, her voice soft but steady. She inclined her head slightly, a gesture that made Elmo’s heart swell with both pride and sorrow.

“Serra,” Elmo replied, his voice more gruff than he intended. He cleared his throat, stepping forward to take her hands in his. “You are… you look every bit the lady I always knew you would become.”

Serra’s lips curved into a small, wistful smile. “Thank you, Father.”

There was a pause, a brief moment of silence where neither spoke. Elmo searched for the right words, something to ease the tension he knew she must be feeling, but he found himself at a loss. What could he say that would comfort her when he felt the sting of the day so acutely?

“I know this is not easy,” he finally managed, his voice low. “But you are strong, Serra. Stronger than you think. And this marriage… it will bring much-needed peace to the Riverlands. That is something to be proud of.”

Serra nodded, her eyes downcast for a moment before meeting his again. “I know, Father. I understand what this marriage means for our house, for all the houses of the Riverlands.”

Elmo squeezed her hands, then released them, stepping back slightly. “Are you ready?”

Serra hesitated, glancing toward the window where the ancient trees of the godswood could be seen in the distance, their black leaves whispering in the wind. She took a deep breath, then turned back to him with a more confident expression.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

Elmo smiled, a fleeting expression that quickly gave way to something more sombre. He extended his arm, and Serra took it, her grip firm and steady. The hallways were quiet, the only sound was the soft rustle of Serra’s gown against the stone floor as they descended the stairs and approached the entrance to the godswood, Elmo could feel the change in the air. The cool breeze carried with it the scent of earth and leaves, a reminder of the ancient roots that held Raventree Hall in its grasp.

When they reached the edge of the godswood where the two sons of Elmo Tully and Samwell waited along with Maester Edric, their eyes turned to watch as Lord Elmo Tully led his daughter forward. At the centre of it all stood Benjicot Blackwood, dressed in the dark colours of his house, his young face set in a mask of calm reserve.

Elmo felt Serra’s grip on his arm tighten as they approached Benjicot, and he gave her a reassuring pat. When they reached the heart tree, the weirwood’s blood-red leaves rustling above them, Elmo turned to face his daughter one last time.

“Who gives this bride?” Lord Samwell asked.

“I, Lord Elmo Tully, of House Tully, give Serra Tully, my one and true daughter, to Benjicot Blackwood of House Blackwood in marriage.”

Her hand shook as his arm slowly slid away from hers, fighting the urge to reach out for her father and drag him back to her side as he stepped back. She looked back at him, eyes wide and scared as he gave her an encouraging nod -- she looked straight ahead, facing the large weirwood tree that hung dead over them, Benjicot’s back still to her. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled -- once, two, thrice before she slowly approached him, her feet sinking into the earth with each step. It was then that she noticed Benjicot’s head was lowered, bowed to the tree with his eyes closed as his hands remained clasped behind him -- she looked up at the Weirwood, its face staring back at her, horrifying and sobbing.

“Do you, Serra Tully, take this man?”

She hadn’t realised she had been standing there, in a daze and lost in thought until Lord Blackwood’s voice drew her back to reality. She looked down from the tree, looking at him and finding those familiar dark eyes that held such intensity, she had to force a breath inwards -- Benjicot’s head lifted, turning to look at her, “I take this man.” She echoed.

There was a moment of silence, Benjicot’s hand emerging from underneath his cloak to extend to her and waiting expectantly for hers; steady and confident as she looked at it. She finally lifted hers, her right in his left, palms pressed together and fingers laced -- his touch felt searingly hot against hers as she was guided to a kneeled position, moving her cloak back with her free hand to prevent herself from getting tangled in it as she sunk to the ground. The ground beneath her was damp from the rain, soaking through the white dress that had been meticulously chosen for her.

Benjicot’s head bowed again, lowered and looking towards the ground as he took a deep breath, closing them again. She watched him from the corner of her eye, swallowing thickly before she mirrored his actions and lowered her head, her eyes however open and fixed on her lap. She could hear Samwell’s voice from the day prior still, explaining the ceremony to her step-by-step so she didn’t make a fool of herself, the breeze the only noise that passed through them. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling as Samwell gently laid a hand against the crown of her head for a moment, along with that of Benjicot’s, withdrawing after a moment. She did not know what prayer to offer at that moment, her thoughts still racing as she tried to slow her breathing -- she could only imagine what Benjicot’s only silent plea was as she fought for a word of prayer to come to her.

Mother above, guide my heart and his in this union. Bless us with love, patience, and understanding, that we may grow together in harmony and strength. Grant me the wisdom to be a worthy partner to him, and the courage to face whatever trials may come. May our bond be as unbreakable as the vows we speak today, and may we find joy in each other’s company, now and always. I ask this humbly, with hope and faith in the path before us.

The silence lasted too long for her comfort as she finished her prayer, peering towards Benjicot again in her peripheral vision. His head rose after a moment, not daring to look at her yet as he opened his eyes, looking up at the tree -- he seemed to feel her stare on him as his head turned slightly, just enough to catch her eye and subtly raise an eyebrow at her. His eyes darted up as a way to gesture to her to stand before he slowly pushed up from his knees, Serra fumbling to follow him to her feet — his hand steadied her, still holding hers as she clutched her dress with her free hand.

He released her hand as they stood, turning to face one another. Benjicot’s hands lifted to her chest, his knuckles brushing her skin as he unfastened the clasp of her cloak; her eyes fixed on his face and watching the look of concentration that etched itself into his features -- his movements were cautious, careful not to damage it as he unclipped it and slowly slid the cloak from her shoulders, finding her eyes as he pulled it towards him. He looked away, holding the cloak out to her father who stepped forward to gather it, turning to look at her again. Samwell held out a cloak that resembled Benjicot’s, large and of their house colours — it was daunting to look at, unsure if it would fit her or leave her swimming in its fabric as Benjicot lifted it, holding it in front of her and shaking out the fabric — he swung the fabric up and around her, letting the cloak rest against her spine and enveloping her shoulders. The cloak was heavier than her own, a thick wool that would keep her warm amidst the rainy weather, rough against her fingers as she fisted it; her head lowered. She avoided his eyes as he fastened the cloak around her shoulders — his hand nudged her chin as he withdrew, encouraging her to look up at him again.

A gentle breeze blew through the Godswood, the silence filled by the distant sounds of ravens that seemed to constantly hover over the estate, his hands moving to cup her face — his hands were hot against her cheeks, gentle in handling her and holding her gaze. Her attention was drawn to the freckle on his forehead, down to the scar on his nose, his mouth that lingered close to hers but not yet touching, igniting reminders of the memory of his kiss in her room days earlier; though there was a restraint that was not there the time before, hesitating.

Benjicot leaned forward finally to close the gap, her eyes fluttering shut as his mouth found hers in a kiss that was slow and sweet; tame in comparison to the ones she had the memory of, exploratory and shy as his lips melded into hers. A warmth spread throughout her chest and limbs until it radiated to her fingertips, her heart rate increasing with nervous excitement as she instinctively reached up to touch his cheek.

Serra withdrew when she felt a trickle of rain land against her brow, her head tilting to look upwards towards the grey skies, covered in thick, full clouds that threatened to downpour -- Benjicot’s eyes followed hers for a moment, scanning the sky before he looked down at her again. When she looked back at him, she was met by a shocking tenderness that she didn’t recognise in him, his mouth pressing into a small, lopsided smile.

His eyes briefly darted towards where his father stood in front of them, looking to his wife then. She let out a startled yelp as he moved forward, sweeping her off her feet by hoisting her over his shoulder; her hips pressed against him, knocking the wind from her lungs for a moment as her right hand flung out towards his back -- she felt him sway as he adjusted his stance, bouncing her slightly over him so he could adjust her positioning as well, her eyes stuck on his heels.

She heard a low snort, quiet and unable to source who it belonged to as the ground beneath them moved; swaying with each step he took towards the house. Her father reached out to touch her shoulder as they passed, Benjicot’s body shaking with a laugh as her father uttered a soft, “Don’t drop her please.”

Serra was terrified to move or squirm as he walked, his cloak clutched tight in her hands as if somehow that would help break her fall if she slipped off; struggling to breathe with his shoulder pressed into her stomach. She watched as his feet led them inside, the dirt path covered in a layer of leaves that crunched under every step, the rain beginning to pick up -- the men who had joined them in the Godswood followed in silence behind them, her head briefly lifting to find her brothers, her father, and Samwell in tow. The doors were opened for them as they returned inside the grand halls of Raventree, the halls lit and lined with guards and staff who waited for their arrival -- she counted the pairs of feet as they passed, her eyes lifting every so often to catch the odd look of subtle amusement from a young guard or the giddy smile of a handmaiden as he carried her towards the hall.

They arrived to open doors, the room already lined and filled with several men and women from the Riverlands; other highborn noble couples, lords, and their children. It was only then did she feel him crouch and let her down, her feet making contact with the floor as he slowly placed her down. She stumbled back a step, red-faced and flustered as she quickly fixed her dress, steadied by a hand of his around her elbow and looking ever so proud of himself as he grinned at her -- she let out a breathy laugh, wide-eyed. A sudden chorus of applause erupted within the room, her head whipping around to face the room that welcomed them, lit and basking in the warm glow of the lighting of the ornate chandelier that hung over the rows of tables; Benjicot’s hand finding her back and sliding up her spine as he moved to stand beside her.

Serra could not remember what it was like to attend a wedding under the old gods -- the few she had attended had been in her childhood, whilst most of the ones she attended in her life were of cousins and relatives who followed the Seven -- but it stunned her how extravagant and beautiful the tradition was, the familiar house colours of burgundy, silver and grey lining the walls; the streamers and banners of their sigil reaching every corner of the space. The tables were lined by gold silverware and utensils, the smell of wine and food wafting towards her and overwhelming her senses as she blindly found his free hand and held it.

“I hope it is all to your liking,” He quietly said, leaning into her side.

She admired the candlelit room, the faintest hint of the dwindling sunset casting in through the window that overlooked the hall; the familiar symbol of House Blackwood over the head table at the front of the room, “And more.” She replied, eyes sweeping over the crowd once more. She looked up at him with big, doe-like eyes and smiled wide, his expression softening with a look of adoration.

“Good.”

Serra was startled by the sudden announcement as Samwell joined them, his voice loud and carrying to every corner as Benjicot guided her forward and in the direction of the head table that awaited them;

“Presenting Benjicot Blackwood, heir to Raventree Hall and scion of House Blackwood, and his bride, the Lady Serra Blackwood, daughter of House Tully. Let all bear witness to this union, a bond forged in honour and sealed in love, uniting the ancient houses of Blackwood and Tully!”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Benjicot was never much of a dancer.

He did not particularly enjoy it, although he knew a few basic dances as had been expected of him; it was not something he ever found himself eager to do so willingly. In fact, in his twenty years and as a man, he had only found himself on the dancefloor if it was by his father’s order and he had no other choice — he lacked the grace for it, all long limbs and clumsy as he had to think hard about every step.

It was an embarrassment, he assumed, for a highborn man to not know much beyond basic steps — but even as a boy, he had gotten strange looks, watching as he struggled through each dance and having to consciously count himself through the steps without tripping over himself. He knew he looked ridiculous doing it, and despite that he was not keen to admit it, he was a prideful man who did not enjoy putting himself in a position to make a fool of himself if he could help it.

He relented though for Serra’s sake, unable to find it within himself to deny herself the little pleasure of three dances when they had first arrived; despite cringing at the thought while she looked at him with big eyes, pleading and childishly excited — she had tried to conceal it, but there was no denying the giddiness when he had reluctantly agreed and been pulled immediately towards the dance floor. He had hurried back to his seat as soon as he could as he had met his part of their deal, leaving her to Emrys, who had swept in immediately and asked for a dance himself; Benjicot didn’t have the heart to object, because he trusted her, and he trusted his cousin to know his limits. He quietly sat at the head table, nursing a chalice of wine that he slowly sipped, his eyes fixed on the dance floor and watching slowly as the drunken stupor of wine took hold of the guests as the band continued, the sound of joyous laughter and discussion present over the soft lull of music as Lord Elmo and his father conversed among themselves with Benjicot sat between the two men — even his father who did not care for the taste of wine had taken to indulging himself to a couple of cups.

“I do not mean to interrupt, my Lords,” Maester Thaddeus said as he approached the men from behind, appearing between Benjicot’s chair and his father’s on his right as the conversation ceased.

“Then do not,” Samwell said, visibly already annoyed by his presence as he waved him away and looked back to Elmo who raised an eyebrow.

“It is urgent.”

Samwell froze, sighing and looking up at him again, “Very well,” he replied. “What is it?”

He stuttered a moment, “I’d first like to offer my congratulations to the young Lord Benjicot on his union of course,” he said, earning a tight smile from Benjicot.

“Thank you, Thaddeus,” He replied.

The elderly man nodded, a forced smile on his face — however, he sensed there was more to the conversation as he glanced between him and his father, “I have also come as there has been news from the borders— there have been more men spotted near the boundaries again…”

Benjicot frowned, looking at his father.

“—This is hardly the time for this conversation, Thaddeus,” Samwell muttered, his voice sharp with irritation as he lifted his drink to his mouth.

“—Amos Bracken among them.” He added.

His father stilled, the chalice at his mouth frozen in time as he then lowered it to the table and turned his head again, “Amos has joined them?”

“It seems so, my Lord,” Thaddeus admitted,

His father let out a gruff hum, the news hanging over them as he brought his wine to his lips and downed its content in silence; eyes turning to look over the crowd of guests and friends who were blissfully oblivious to the news, “Let me go.” Benjicot pleaded, leaning towards his father, “I can be there within less than an hour on horseback. I can take Emrys and Henry, we can provide support to Davos and his men—”

“And repeat the mess you made last time?” Samwell snapped, looking at him then.

Benjicot hesitated, “No.”

His father contemplated his answer, staring at him and setting his empty chalice down, “No, Benjicot.” He finally said, looking away.

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” He answered quickly. “You are hardly married yet, your marital bed still cold and untouched, and you would sacrifice yourself to Amos Bracken before your wedding night is over?” He asked, dumbfounded by the suggestion and turning his head to look at him with a frown.

He swallowed, glancing towards the room as it dawned on him that there was more to consider than just throwing himself to the wolves of battle — he had grown so used to carelessly throwing himself into these waters, that he had forgotten to consider his new wife, “I can come right back— go there and confront him, I can be back before midnight—”

“Benjicot, you have duties here,” Elmo said. “I admire your enthusiasm, I do, but your duty is here with Serra.”

“—and I will perform my duty, I assure you,” He insisted, “but this was my doing, let me go and put things right back as they were. Let me fix the mess I have made.”

“Your father and Lord Elmo are right, Benjicot,” Thaddeus said, interrupting him before he could utter another word. His eyes darted between the three men, blindingly rapidly, “that brings me to the second matter at hand.”

“But…”

Samwell reached over quickly and grabbed his wrist on the table, silencing him and only shaking his head, “What is it, Thaddeus?”

“There is the matter of the bedding ceremony,” He suddenly said.

Lord Elmo choked on his drink, practically throwing his cup down and eyes bulging as he coughed — Kermit, from his left, grabbed his shoulder and grabbed the napkin in front of him. It had been the first time Benjicot had even noticed the eldest Tully son, making eye contact briefly as Benjicot shoved his chair back to avoid the spill of wine, his hands flinging up, “Shit,” Benjicot exclaimed.

“Sorry,” Elmo coughed, “I apologise— pardon me. There will be no bedding ceremony.”

Samwell let out a sudden snort of laughter, earning a series of shocked expressions as he wiped a dribble of wine from his chin that he had accidentally spit out while laughing at Elmo’s horrified expression — the conversation had never risen before this moment, a tradition that Samwell himself had participated in as a young man on his wedding night. He had neither had this conversation with Benjicot, as it had slipped his mind in the days leading up to the wedding but he had expected a better reaction from Lord Tully. Benjicot looked at his father, a frown etched deep into his features as he set his chalice down.

“I will not have a dozen overweight, elderly men in the room with my daughter to watch her…” Elmo muttered, disgusted by the idea as he stammered, “engage in the marital act.”

Samwell laughed again, bringing his cup to his mouth for another sip, “I do not see what is so funny about this, Samwell.” Elmo said, turning to look at him. “I find the whole bedding ceremony utterly repulsive.”

Lord Blackwood shook his head and held up a hand, still chuckling as he swallowed his drink and set the cup down again, “Forgive me, Elmo, I…I do not mean to offend you.” He sincerely said, his voice low and quiet. “I just assumed you were a man of tradition, given your house’s reputation.”

“Not that one.” He readily snapped. “Do you not recall how mortified Alannys was? Serra is too fragile for that, I could not subject her to that.”

“Oh, I have never forgotten.” Samwell smiled, leaning into the table with his elbows and clasping his hands together as though he was praying; his knuckles pressing to his mouth as he eyed the Lord Tully, “It is only a mere suggestion, right, Thaddeus?” He asked, his eyes lit up with amusement as he looked to the maester who stood over them. Thaddeus hesitated, glancing between the two men before he offered a reluctant nod.

“It is…optional I suppose,” He slowly said. “It is just a precaution as a means to ensure the marriage is properly consummated.”

He reached across towards where Benjicot sat, grateful that his sister had whisked the young bride away, as his hand clasped his son’s broad shoulder with a firm squeeze, “I do not doubt that my boy here will be able to fulfil his duty, isn’t that right, Benjicot?”

The young man avoided his gaze as he stared at the table, sighing deeply and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment; humiliated enough as was, he heard Kermit let out a quiet snort while he too looked away. His eyes briefly glanced across the table, looking up through his lashes towards where Elmo grimaced and rolled his eyes — his father let out a final chortle, “There is no need to make more of a spectacle of the young bride and groom, no need to further embarrass them.” Samwell said, waving his hand dismissively and standing up from his chair. The maester nodded, still wary as he stepped back.

Benjicot watched as he scanned the room in search of Serra, soon finding her all flushed cheeks and smiles as she laughed, the pair at an appropriate distance as they danced — the sight could have bothered Benjicot, but he was comforted by her smile, relaxing in his seat. She appeared at ease — he assumed the blush on her face was in part from the wine as her head tipped back in laughter. His father waved towards Alysanne who stood in a nearby corner of the dance floor, her dark eyes lifting to catch the movement and standing up and away from the wall to gently push her way towards his wife.

After a whisper in her ear, Serra nodded, still breathless and smiling wide as she politely thanked his cousin for their dance before retreating with Alysanne from the floor. The two women quietly spoke as they walked towards the doors that exited the great hall, his wife’s head twisting to look back over her shoulder and finding him with her eyes before she exited — her smile softened, nodding her head in his direction as Benjicot pressed a hand over his mouth to conceal the small smile the sight of her brought to his face. At last, she turned and left the room, Samwell’s voice loud and clear as he spoke over the room, the music ceasing, “Honoured guests, the hour grows late, and it is time for our young lord and his bride to fulfil the ancient duties of marriage. Let us raise our cups and bid them a fond farewell for the night, wishing them a fruitful union and a blessed future."

His father raised his chalice, the room mirroring his actions for a moment before there was applause — the sound caused Ben to internally cringe as he took one last drink from his cup with clammy hands, forcing down whatever contents remained. He tuned out the sound of cheers of his name, wishing him well and blessing him as he stood slowly. His chair dragged across the ground, his father looking at him and offering a tight smile — for the first time in years, he found a look of pride and adoration in his eyes. His father moved to meet him as he circled the table, a hand touching coming to the back of his head and bringing his forehead to rest against his own.

A moment of silence passed between them, the music resuming as they stood together.

His father released him, stepping back and nodding, “You’re going to make a fine husband and father, my boy.” He said, blinking rapidly.

Benjicot sucked in a deep breath through his nose, nodding as he forced a smile that was small and timid, “You will be a great Lord of Raventree.” Samwell added, his voice quieter this time as he spoke.

He couldn’t put a finger on it, but his tone was off and held an edge of emotion that caused a shiver to run down his spine; the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge. His brows furrowed, head tilting slightly as he opened his mouth to question the sudden need for vulnerability but he was interrupted again, “Your bride is waiting for you. Go on.” Samwell said, his tone stern again. His father’s smile was something melancholic as Benjicot nodded and slowly parted ways, heading towards the doors; feeling the room’s eyes on him as he walked. The doors closed behind him as Ser Eryn followed close behind.

“Is he aware of your intention to go to Redfork tonight?” Elmo asked, the two men staring after the young Lord who had taken his leave.

Samwell shook his head, “Not yet.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Alysanne and Serra walked in silence a majority of the journey back to her newly shared rooms — the only noise that passed between them was the sound of fabric and heels with each step, the music from the great hall growing quieter the further they walked from it, her head down and watching her feet. Every so often, Serra could hear Ser Alistair’s armour from behind them clank, his footsteps heavier than both of theirs.

It was only once they reached the door did Alysannespoke, touching her elbow in a comforting gesture, offering a small smile that resembled her brothers as it did not quite reach her eyes, “This is where I leave you, my lady.” She softly said.

Serra reached to take her hand, pulling it from her elbow and holding it with her own as she let out a breath, “Thank you.” She replied.

The elder of the two women nodded, squeezing her hand, “I pray that my nephew is at least respectful.”

Serra let out a choked laugh, nodding again. She did not know how to approach the question, her gaze dropping briefly and refusing to release her hand just yet, “Something troubles you.”

She swallowed, “What is it like?” She asked, her voice small and shy.

Alysanne’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening as she processed the question with parted lips that formed an ‘o’ as she glanced towards the guard who stood only feet away. She pondered her next words carefully, shifting uncomfortably as she glanced towards the guard who tried to keep as much distance as he safely could manage, “I’m not sure I am the best person to talk to you about this.” She quietly said, “Did your mother never teach you about such things?”

Serra shook her head, looking up at her.

“Oh, my dear.” She said, letting out a breathy laugh that hinted at her uncertainty, “You will be okay. It can be uncomfortable at first, but it becomes…tolerable. That is as much as I can tell you. The rest will come naturally.” Alysanne said, using her free hand to gently cup her cheek and brush her thumb over the skin there in a soothing manner, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

The door opened beside them, a handmaiden stepping out and curtsying to the pair, “We are ready for you, my lady.” She quietly said.

Alysanne withdrew from her, gently guiding her by her shoulder toward the room as Serra took one final, deep breath and shakily exhaled with one last look to the older Blackwood woman before she walked in behind the young woman who had come to retrieve her.

The servant girls had helped her in stripping down to the simple, cotton chemise that fell to her ankles, her dress being neatly folded away for her while they made work of the pins that held her hair in place; allowing it to fall freely down her back while another pulled back the blankets for her. She was grateful once for the help for once as her hands shook the moment she entered her chambers, frozen and unsure what to do as they got to work. Her eyes had just watched, silent as they brushed out her hair with nimble fingers, pulling down the blankets, quick and quiet -- they were gone just as quickly, one young girl mumbling a soft comment of, “Good luck, m’lady” as she left. Serra wasn’t fully sure what she was to expect — her mother was gone before she’d even had a chance to ask these questions, and her brothers and father did not believe in entertaining such improper conversations. She did not even know how to ask about the events of one’s wedding night — she was the first to be married, but surely, her brothers would soon follow with their betrothals and she supposed she was the one to have those answers.

Her gaze was fixed out the window, picking at her nails as the moments seemed to drag on, alone in silence as she awaited for…well, she wasn’t sure. It felt like hours before the sound of the door opening again startled her, turning to find Benjicot entering the room, his gaze timid and to the ground as he entered; briefly raising to look at her from across the room as he closed the door behind him. She could faintly hear the distant shout from the celebration hall on the other side of the house, her shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath as she turned to face him, her lips parting. Benjicot’s movements were wary as he slowly walked further into the room, yet to say anything to his new wife as he approached the settee; his left hand rising to reach across his chest to his right shoulder and making fluid, easy work to undo the pin that secured his cloak, allowing the fabric to come apart. He pulled the cloak from his shoulders and draped it over the seat, the pin reflecting the light of the fireplace that had been lit before her arrival before bending to unlace his boots. She watched his actions closely, unsure if she should approach him or let him come to her; twirling her fingers anxiously as she took a couple of shy steps towards him just as he stood upright. Benjicot’s gaze rose from the task, looking at her and watching as she moved toward him and straightened up — the light of the fire cast light across half his face, enough to make out his features as his eyes scanned down the length of her body.

His hands reached next for the belt that hung around his hips, undoing it and placing it with his cloak, the metal of it clinking with the move. His head dropped to look down as he moved to lift towards the strings of his leather vest, beginning to fumble them undone just as she closed the gap to approach him until she was stood directly in front of him and reached out towards the strings his hands were preoccupied with, “Here…let me.” She quietly mumbled, his gaze going to her face, allowing his hands to drop to his sides after a moment and nodding once. She sheepishly glanced up at him, her fingers trembling as she undid the laces until the vest could be discarded amongst the growing pile of his clothing.

There was a break in the discard of his clothing, Benjicot instead distracted by her features, a hand reaching up to take the ends of her hair between his fingers and playing with it, fiddling with the strands before his hand rose to brush some behind her ear. His thumb brushed along the shape of her cheekbone as it came to drop down, slow and curious, as if he was trying to map out every curve and dip of her body head-to-toe; the hand ceasing at her jaw and taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She swallowed, her attention fascinated by his features up close in this light -- even in this light, if not even more, he was strikingly handsome. Her right hand lifted, palm and fingers placed to his chest, splayed out as her hand pressed flat against his sternum to feel that familiar thrum of his heart just beneath his ribs; feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Her gesture prompted a smile from him, mouth curving upwards and a dimple appearing on his left cheek as she felt his heartbeat quicken under her palm.

He let go of her chin, stepping back just enough to be able to pull the burgundy doublet up over his head and remove it fully, leaving him half-undressed in just his underclothes. Serra fought the urge to reach out and once again touch him, feeling a jolt in the pit of her stomach as her eyes explored the skin, letting him come forward to her again as he stepped closer until he was chest-to-chest with her; hands coming to her waist as his fingers pressed into her sides. Even through her clothing, as little as it was, she could feel the heat of his touch radiate through the fabric as his face hovered so close over hers, his breath brushed over her lips; close but not quite touching as her eyelids fluttered, her breath quickening and instinctively finding hold of him by his shoulders. She felt as he drove her feet backwards and towards the bed until her knees met the frame, so close but not yet kissing her, leaving her in the balance of anticipation and desperation. She practically pushed herself forward into him as his hands slid up her sides at a tantalisingly slow pace before coming to a rest at her ribs, just below her chest and using one hand to cup her right cheek.

The dam of anticipation in her broke as his lips finally and fully pressed to hers, relieved as he truly and completely kissed her without restraint. His lips and tongue still held the lingering taste of wine from dinner, sweet and warm as his tongue slipped between parted lips to lick at her tongue with his own. The combined sensation of his mouth on hers and his touch left her feeling hot and flustered, a warmth pooling in her belly as she sharply inhaled a breath through her nose; sharing a breath with her husband, whose hot breath tickled her nose and cheeks. It seemed as though any thoughts of battle were long gone and left at the door as Benjicot put his all into the kiss, leaving her dizzy and breathless.

She was grateful for the moment of air, catching her breath as he parted from her to lean away just long enough to guide her into sitting back on the mattress. She scuttled backwards to give him room to follow between her knees, watching instead amidst the dim glow of the orange flames, as hands went to his waist to untie the lace of his breeches and push them down, leaving him completely and fully bared to her once the final layer of his undershirt was discarded. She sat up against the pillows, knees pulled to her chest as he crawled up to her, too anxious to look anywhere but his face as he approached her on the bed. Soon enough, he was face-to-face again with her, kneeling between her knees that were guided down and apart with one hand that then settled against the bed over her hip as he pressed a kiss to her mouth, simple and sweet in contrast to the kiss moments ago. She lifted a hand to his face, stroking his cheek.

“How much do you know about…” He quietly asked, mouth parted from hers as he sought the words. She shook her head in reply.

“Not..a lot.” She admitted.

He inhaled, letting out a breath against her lips as he nodded too, hand closing around her hip, “Move down, lie back.” He instructed in a hushed tone.

She shyly moved to shimmy herself down and onto her back underneath him, her hands withdrawing toward herself and resting over her abdomen, flat against her belly as she waited for his next move. Her wide, curious eyes watched his movements closely as he readjusted himself between her legs, his thighs brushing hers and running fingertips down from her collarbone; down her body, his touch leaving a trail of heat in their wake as they trailed down the thin fabric until he stopped at her thigh. He grasped her chemises’ skirt and gently tugged it up until it could be bunched at her waist, leaving her bare to the elements as the breeze from the room tickled the flesh of her thighs, raising gooseflesh along the skin as her thighs rested over his, leaving her hips angled towards him.

“I have heard that it hurts.” She announced, his eyes going to her face. “The first time…I have heard from other ladies that it hurts.” She further explained, restating herself to clarify her point. She could see the small smile on his face as he leaned over her, mouth coming to hers in another sweet kiss, though she could feel that same heat simmering below the surface from earlier.

“I cannot guarantee it won’t…it is different for men.” He said, pausing. “Though I can promise to do my best not to bring you too much discomfort. Try to relax.”

Her breath quickened, her heart hammering beneath her ribs as her hands slid up from her belly to the neck of her gown as she nodded, her lips brushing his. She watched as he moved back further on the bed, one hand over one of her knees while the other rose to his lips, pressing the digits to them — she couldn’t help but watch, curious and fascinated by his actions, gathering saliva with his fingertips; ensuring they were coated to his liking before his hand lowered between her thighs. It was then, that his stare caught hers once again, her bottom lip being taken between her teeth and sucking in a deep breath through her nose; shy and burning with embarrassment as her gaze turned toward the roof of the canopy of her bed and fidgeting with her fingers as his hand finally made contact with her skin again. She felt the pressure of his touch, the pads of his fingertips gentle in sliding up along her folds, his saliva combining with her slick arousal to allow the movement to glide with ease as fingers pressed against the pearl above her entrance. She could hardly control the clench of her belly, the warmth pooling there spreading like wildfire and igniting every nerve in her body when his fingers slowly began to rub against it with circular motions, his eyes stuck on her face and watching her from his place between her legs, gauging her reaction.

Her chest rose with a deep breath in, too engulfed by embarrassment to move under his watchful gaze and swallowing when she dared to meet his stare, startled by the soft expression on his face — for once, he just existed peacefully, no signs of frown lines around his brow or mouth. He was just the boy Lord of Raventree — youthful and handsome. His actions caused a charged jolt to shoot up her spine, the warmth once in her lower belly intensifying as her right knee moved to press against his side, with a soft mutter of ‘oh’, her hips shifting against his touch.

“Does that feel okay?” He suddenly asked.

She had to muster the courage to choke out a reply, afraid of her voice at that very moment, instead giving him a small nod. She could see the relief on his face as he leaned into his free hand that pressed flat against the mattress beside her waist, buried in the deep red blanket that covered the bed. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch him amidst the battle of figuring out where to place them — did she grab hold of the blankets? Of him?

“You can touch me, you know.” He stated like he had read her mind. She could make out the smile on his face and the tone that teased her, leaning forward to kiss her, a small muffled gasp of air being drawn in; every inch of her body aflame as the heat that spread down her belly, her thighs, until the sensation rested in her toes, tingling. At his words, almost like she had no control over her body, her right hand reached out towards him, leaned over her and made contact with his abdomen; the lean muscles rippling with movement as he adjusted himself so the hand by her waist could move to plant beside her head, his face hovering over hers. Benjicot withdrew from her lips, leaving her mouth chasing after his for a moment, her chin lifting while her fingertips traced down his abdomen until they stopped just between the dip of his hips. The feeling of his skin and the lewdness of the entire situation was thrilling, inciting an involuntary whimper.

He readjusted, his hips coming closer to hers, enough so that his pelvis brushed hers while his hand moved; taking her whimper as a cue to proceed. His hand dipped, using the slick her arousal created as a lubricant to gently ease a finger into her, slow movements, readily on the lookout for any sign of discomfort that would prompt him to stop — her eyes widened up at him, mouth falling agape and walls fluttering around the digit at the intrusion; he could see her brows furrow, audibly withdrawing a sharp intake of air through parted lips as she seemed to be trying to decide on whether it was a sensation she welcomed. Benjicot stilled, his thumb reaching to brush against her clit and resuming the slow and steady movements against her.

The hand that had been awkwardly placed at her chest finally moved, gripping his bright bicep tightly — he watched as she dropped her head back against the pillows, a whine of approval leaving her mouth that eased any worry in the back of his head. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her throat, the dip between her collarbones and dragging his lips up along the length of it, before settling at her pulse point and gently using his teeth to nip at the skin there, earning a content sigh as her head turned to bury into the pillow. Once he felt her muscles loosen, he edged a second finger in, his eyes never leaving her face; her hand at his hips sliding to his back and dragging her nails down his spine.

Benjicot had no desire to overwhelm her — as much as his primal desires wanted nothing more than to fuck her senseless into the mattress, quick and relentless, he bit back his impulsive urges. His face nuzzled against her chest, nose brushing along the curve of her breast, feeling as her hand rose to lace itself at the roots of his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp and earning a groan of approval at the sensation. His fingers curled upwards as they slowly thrust into her, his fingertips pressing up into her walls, a sensation that felt as though his fingers worked in behind the delicate bundle of nerves — her mouth opened with a sharp gasp, moaning as her hips shifted against his hand, lifting into his palm. Her hand in his hair tightened, tugging him upwards and back to her face, her mouth messily finding him in an open-mouth kiss that was more pants of air than anything; his mouth wandering to proper kisses to her chin and cheeks.

“Oh.” She softly breathed, his thumb picking up pace against her bud.

His chest pressed to hers as he laid his weight overtop her, hips between her thighs as the heel of her left foot pressed into the back of his thigh. In the move, Serra was reminded just how little separated them now; feeling the weight of his hardened cock brush against her pelvis -- relishing in the sacredness of the intimacy shared between husband and wife, in the privacy of their chambers. She was suddenly grateful that there had been no public spectacle made of their departure following the feast, no bedding ceremony that involved several ageing men standing in their room to witness it — she had heard the stories of others' bedding ceremonies at supper, mortified by the thought.

Her thighs ached as a pressure built in her belly, warmth pooling there like the embers of fire, stoked only by the ministrations of his hand; his forehead resting to her collarbone as his gaze lowered between them. His nose brushed her chin as he moved to watch the movements of his hand as his fingers moved in and out of her, coaxing every gasp and choked moan from her he could — Serra felt blessed to have a husband who had been gifted with the generous gifts the gods have given him, her chest arching up into his and clinging to him as a cry left her. The coil wound tight within belly snapped finally, her thighs clamping tight around his waist as her head pressed as far back into the mattress it could, stuttering out a mantra of his name as pleasure wracked through her body; her walls spasming around his fingers, “Fuck!” She sobbed.

His head snapped up towards her at the curse, his eyes on her face as her peak consumed her, body and soul — it seemed such a vulgar expression from a girl who usually presented as demure and calculatedly proper, cautious of ever behaving as anything less. It seemed harsh coming from her mouth but piqued his interest as he pushed himself back in line with her eyes as he eased her through the aftershocks that shook her to the core. His lips grazed hers, pressing a kiss to her mouth and swallowing the whine that left her, her eyes still squeezed shut — harsh as the sound was from her mouth, he ached to be the reason she cursed again, to push her over the precipice of pleasure until she could not find any other words. Pride swelled in his chest as her lips met his in a kiss that was eager and desperate, pulling her up with his free hand by the front of her nightgown.

She slowly sat up with him, an arm hooking around his shoulders as she leaned up into his kiss — skin hot and heavily breathing as his hand withdrew from between her thighs, earning a shudder from his wife. He sat back on his knees, his mouth parting from hers briefly to reach for the hem of her chemise with eager hands, her eyes on his and chest heaving with each breath as he pulled the gown up and over her head. He sensed her hesitation as her arms lifted with the task, dropping back to her sides once the fabric was discarded off the edge of the bed and gripping the pillows with nervous hands as his face hovered over hers — his right hand rested against her ribs, sliding down her side to the hinge between her hip and thigh as she gripped his shoulders. His nose nudged hers in an affectionate gesture, her lips parting as she let out a content sigh, exhaust already clearly written on her face as she lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

His hand at her ribs slowly trailed upwards, his thumb coming up underneath her breast and brushing over the hardened nipple there, “My lovely wife,” he breathed, his hand fully moving to envelop her breast in his palm and squeezing gently, “My Lady Blackwood…”

Her head tilted backwards with a soft mewl of appreciation, leaning back into her other hand that was still buried among the pillows, her eyes fluttering shut. His mouth connected with her sternum, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he abruptly slid down the bed, utterly consumed by his lust as he laid on his stomach; her thighs being dragged up and over his shoulders with his face eagerly coming between her legs. Serra released a startled gasp as his mouth attached itself to her, tongue swiping up her folds and finding her bud once again with his lips this time — his tongue dipped into her, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her womanhood as she clutched tightly to the bedding. One of her hands found its way back to his hair, fisting it between clammy fingers as her chest heaved with heavy gasps for air, “Oh gods.”

Benjicot released a guttural groan from below her, the grown-in facial hair scraping the delicate flesh of her thighs with each desperate lap and kiss, only heightening her senses as her thighs attempted to close around his head. He could feel her thighs tense, trembling underneath his touch as his mouth continued its ministrations, her body slumping back into the pillows with a cry, “Ben— Ben.” She breathed out, voice cracking with a weak cry of pleasure.

He could have stayed there forever — between her thighs, listening to her cries if time would have allowed for it, drinking in the image of her as he glanced up; her chest pushed up and arched against him as she writhed against the mattress with whines tumbling from her mouth.

She tugged him desperately away from her, her body ablaze as he eased off the mattress and was guided up until he was pressed against her; bare chest to hers, her soft skin slick with perspiration against his as he caught his breath. His hands planted against the mattress behind her, her thighs loosely around his waist as his pelvis brushed her own, “Do I satisfy you, wife?” He softly asked, ducking his head to briefly capture her lips with his.

Serra whined against his mouth, his hips reflexively grinding against hers and brushing against her sensitive skin. Her arms moved around him, coming up underneath his arms and palms pressing to the planes of his back as she pulled him flush against her, “Yes.” She gasped against his mouth.

It was a simple enough response, but it stirred something in him, causing him to release a moan of his own. His left hand moved to reach between them, his hand wrapping around his cock and bringing the head to her entrance; swiping up through her folds. He felt as she tensed, releasing a gasp that caused him to hesitate — the heels of her palms pushed against his back, pulling him into her again, the cue he needed to proceed; his hips aligned with hers as his hips angled into hers before slowly sinking into her.

His mouth opened with a soft groan, her face pinched up in a wince as she let out a sharp gasp at the intrusion, “Fuck.” He muttered.

Her hands adjusted against his spine, slipping down to his waist from his shoulders, her fingernails digging into the flesh of his hips. His gaze rose to her face, breathless as he withdrew his hand from between them to lift and cup her cheek as her head pressed back into the pillows with a strangled whimper, his thumb tilting her chin down and bringing her face back towards his, “Okay— you’re okay,” He soothed, her mouth agape as his hand held her chin in the crook between his thumb and forefinger with a delicate touch as he bottomed out; her walls tight and clenching around him.

Her chest heaved, eyebrows furrowing as she squeezed her eyes shut; Benjicot’s hips slowly withdrew, his movements slow as he rocked into her, another whimper on her lips at the stretch and burn of him embedded into her. She felt his mouth over hers, lips brushing hers as he spoke, his forehead pressed to hers, “There you go…” He encouraged her. “Just breathe.”

The hand at her jaw removed itself, reaching to find one of hers and lacing his fingers through hers as his palm pressed against her own; her hand being pinned against the mattress above her shoulder. His mouth captured hers in another heated kiss, a subtle distraction from how full of him she felt — his pelvis brushed hers with a slow roll of his hips, drawing a soft moan from her. It was a relief to earn some noise of approval finally that did not hint at pain, Benjicot leaned his weight into her and supported himself by his free arm as he leaned into his elbow, “Gods.” He breathed out, his hips rutting into hers.

Just as Alysanne had warned, there was discomfort — tight and feeling as though she could have split right then and there, beneath the weight of him, but it stoked a flame within her; a flush of warmth spreading down her body as her hips lifted into his, Benjicot’s face burying into her neck and arching into him. Her chin lifted towards the ceiling, a sharp breath being inhaled as she then let out a high-pitched moan and moved a hand to grip the back of his hair; her thighs opening further to welcome him. She gasped, the sounds of them both echoing within the room as Benjicot held her in place; pinned beneath him as he mindlessly fucked himself into her, his pelvis brushing against hers in a way that could have brought even the kingdoms to their knees. She felt his mouth find the corner of hers in a kiss, her mouth agape and lazily responding to him as another soft meek of appreciation slipped from her mouth — her senses were still raw, the hair on the back of her neck standing at attention.

A guttural moan left her husband, clamouring to come back to her face as his nose bumped hers, his mouth hovering over hers. The hand that previously pinned hers released, his hand coming to cup her cheek as she instinctively hooked a hip around his waist to pull him into her — her eyes found his, half-lidded and looking at her with nothing shy of awe and adoration; a warm glow in his eyes that elicited a flush of colour to spread across her face, mouth opening in another cry as she felt herself spiral, losing her grip on that last thread of reality that kept her grounded; tumbling through her peak as she clung to him, her nails digging into his flesh.

His forehead pressed to hers, slick with sweat and hair clinging to his skin. His hips snapped against hers twice more before he let out a euphoric sigh against her mouth, spilling himself into her and screwing his eyes shut. His weight moved off his elbow, laying full into her after a moment; her arms still around him and holding him against her as the room was filled by the soft pants of the husband and wife catching their breath, warmed by the fire that still burned across from them. Benjicot did not move, with his belly pressed to hers and lying between her thighs, still buried inside her as his head soon found rest against her neck — even if Serra had the desire to move, she couldn’t with her thighs around his waist and buried into the mattress underneath him. She blindly found the hair at the nape of his neck, fingers carefully carding through the roots as she slowly came to her senses; her eyes scanning the canopy above her and processing what had just happened — was this marriage? Was this what she had to look forward to?

In the fog of things, with the last traces of euphoria still coursing through her veins, marriage did not seem so daunting — it seemed pleasant and blissful.

Benjicot stirred against her, moving just enough to press a kiss to the crook of her neck and then another to her collarbone; lips wet against her skin as he licked them. His left hand found her ribs, sliding up her body and stopping below her breast as his hot breath tickled her skin, moving finally to look at her face again and slowly scanning every little fine detail his eyes could find. Serra gave a breathless smile, letting out a soft laugh — in the dim lighting, she saw Benjicot’s mouth quirk upwards, “You’re alright?” He asked, voice barely a whisper.

“I think so,” She answered.

He pressed a kiss to her mouth in that same breathtaking way that she craved for an eternity of, before he withdrew his hips; his body pulling away from hers with the action as he shifted — she was painfully aware suddenly how empty she now felt, besides that warm sensation of him between her legs. His head lowered to press a kiss to her chest as he shuffled back on the mattress and rolled over beside her; sprawled out on his back and let out a tired sigh. Her head turned to look at him, watching the way his chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths with his eyes closed with a hand over his chest — she wasn’t sure what came next exactly, staring at him, waiting.

An eye opened, turning his head slightly to look at her, visibly exhausted as they shared a look -- his eyes averted from hers quickly, his mouth opening as though he wanted to say something but instead, she was met by silence; his hand moved to find hers, lacing his fingers through hers and gently squeezing it as they closed again, relaxing as her thumb brushed along the back of his hand.

A sudden bang on the door was followed by a shout, “Plant the Blackwood seed deep, cousin! Make us all proud!”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he already has.”

Benjicot leaned up on his elbows, his gaze fixed on the door and opened his mouth, his brows furrowing as a series of drunken cackles followed. He listened to the clamour of his cousins, stumbling over one another as a thud followed, presuming one of the boys had fallen; Serra shifted beside him, his head turning to look up at her with an incredulous look, eyes widening as he then rolled them; a shy smile on her face as she let out a quiet laugh.

“Don’t take too long! The boys are missing you!” Emrys shouted.

“Shut up— take your time!” Henry silenced his younger brother, the sound of their clamouring footsteps heard from under the door, “We’re entrusting you two to create the next legendary Blackwood heir!”

“I could kill them, you know,” he suggested, voice quiet and looking back towards the door, “kill them, we flee to the woods and live in a modest little hut of our own. It’s sounding oddly appealing right about now.” He grumbled.

“Not like this,” She replied, shifting to lean over and press her lips to his shoulder in a kiss. Benjicot looked at her, his nose brushing hers in close proximity, “We will have to return sooner than later, you know.” She mumbled.

“We don’t have to,” he remarked. “We could just stay here the rest of the night— surely, I think the council and my father would understand if we were busy trying to secure the Blackwood line.”

The suggestive tone in his words left her speechless, face warming as she could only muster a shy smile against his mouth as he leaned in, closing the gap to press another kiss to her mouth, “You’re the heir. We can’t.” She quietly managed to mutter against his mouth, feeling as he let out a hum into her lips. Her right hand lifted quickly and wrapped around his neck, fingers gentle as she nudged him back, “We can’t.” She repeated, her voice firmer.

She watched the look cross his features, a grin on his face as his gaze dropped to her mouth for a moment, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, “If you say so,” He teased.

Benjicot moved quickly, lunging to his feet and bending to sweep up his clothing; finding his pants rather quickly and pulling them back on, leaving them on his hips untied. Her eyes watched him, entranced as he found his undershirt and slid it on — while collecting his clothing, his fingers plucked up her shift that had been strewn on the floor in the moment. He looked proud of himself, smug as he sauntered towards her, a hand lifting to gesture her up and towards him with a summon of his fingers.

Serra felt the urge to shy away under the heat of his gaze, a self-satisfied smile on his face as she slowly moved to slide off the bed and stand in front of him in all her entirely; bare beneath his gaze. One of his hands reached out to graze up her side, nudging her arm to cue her to lift them to which she complied, her arms raising to allow him to easily glide the fabric down her arms and over her head. Nimble fingers worked to tug the fabric down over her chest and belly, the fabric enveloping her thighs with touches that lingered, brushing along the expanse of her body as he gave the gown one last fix.

Her hand reached out suddenly, his eyes darting towards it and back to her face — he relaxed, allowing her to proceed and reach out. She avoided his eyes as she moved to tuck his shirt into the pants, straightening out the straps over his shoulders; her hands then began to make swift work of lacing him up at his waist, fastening the article of clothing around his hips. She finally glanced up as her hands dropped once the task was completed, finding him still watching her with that same look; he chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, dimple prominent with the action as he seemed to be lost in thought.

“Do you need help with your dress?” He asked, voice hushed.

“I can summon Grace,” she said, smoothing out the shirt over his chest. “I don’t imagine you have any experience with dresses, you need not worry.”

Benjicot withdrew and walked backwards towards where her ladies had previously neatly folded her dress over a table to keep it from being wrinkled, a grin on his face, “You underestimate me, my dear wife.”

Her eyebrows shot up, following his steps in moving forward towards him with slow, tentative steps, “And pray tell, why might you know such things…husband?”

“I’m observant,” He nonchalantly replied.

She stepped forward until she stood in front of him again, her husband reaching for a flagon of water that sat atop her writing table; searching for a cloth but coming short and instead settling on a handkerchief among her things. Benjicot tipped the flagon enough to wet the piece of fabric by pouring water into it, offering it to her with a look that flickered between her face before lowering south between her legs — she eyed it, sucking in a breath as she dawned on the realisation of his suggestion when he gently shook it. She reached out to accept it and retreated to a stool to clean herself near the fire; the sound of rustling fabric behind her as the once pristine handkerchief was stained by a light spotting of blood and the reminisce of their duty, wincing.

She glanced briefly over her shoulder towards him, finding him delicately handling her dress and holding it over his arms, waiting expectantly.

She huffed as she tossed the handkerchief to a nearby bin for soiled clothes, standing and straightening her shift. Benjicot offered her an arm as she stood, her thighs clamping together uncomfortably as she uttered a soft ‘thank you’ — he only let out a hum, seemingly focused on the task with a knitted brow as he helped the dress over her head; circling her to straighten out the back. Serra was used to the routine of others dressing her, feeling hands at her waist and neck, fixing her dress; but it dawned on her that Benjicot was too — it was a thought that she found discomforting, but unable to find it within herself to say anything as she felt the cloak of his house colours settle on her shoulders; his fingers sliding underneath the fabric to fix it against her skin. His hand closed around her shoulder to turn her, facing one another as he reached to fasten the cloak but was stopped by her hand, “I can do it.” She insisted.

He looked up at her, nodding. She did not mean to become so irritable the more she thought about it, but the words had come out before she could even think to restrain herself — she leaned up and kissed him, to soothe the wound before she backed away. The thought lingered, however, her father’s words echoing in her memory; angry as he rambled on about ending their betrothal on the spot — she pondered the tone of his voice when he denied the claims of a child, running through that moment a thousand times since and analysing every little detail; the sincerity of his words. He had been exhausted from the beating and she had never thought to question it before.

She couldn’t help but picture a child with his bright eyes and matching dark hair, chubby, rosy cheeks and all smiles — dawned in yellow and red to match their mother’s house, and the thought made her feel sick and dirty, feeling as though to some degree she could have been responsible for taking the father of a child away from them before they were even granted the chance to know him, true or not. The thought made her want to crawl out of her skin that she could have been responsible for such an idea — the anger and shame she held within her body could only be directed at the man in front of her, not towards a child who had no say in the matters of their conception; they were not responsible for bearing that burden of accountability for something beyond their control before they were even born. Serra swallowed.

She learned that Benjicot seemed to have a way of making dressing look like an art form that he had mastered; in his own oblivious world and doing it with such ease, practised as he walked throughout the room whilst tying his shirt closed, and pulling the doublet over his head. He had hardly paused as he fixed his hair with his fingers, plucking up the leather vest and pulling it on; Serra watched as he easily tied it back together and snug against his body, barely giving any mind to her task at hand. His eyes briefly lifted as though he felt her watching him, and there it was again — that small knowing smile on his face, looking up through his lashes as he tugged the vest to straighten it against his chest; that smile that made her heart swell within her chest, a juxtaposition to her resentment towards him for betraying her before he had even allowed her to do right by him and prove herself, and bringing a child into the world that he had no intention to claim — the flurry of emotions that coursed through her veins and haunted her thoughts involved nothing but shame.

She lowered his eyes from his, embarrassed at being caught staring as she collected her stockings from the table and sat once more to roll them up her legs underneath her dress, the fabric rising with the task. Her skirts were shoved back down and smoothed, turning to find her husband waiting with her shoes in his hand, having already pulled his boots and cloak back on — she hesitated, looking at them and his face before he slowly crouched to set them down in front of her. He helped her into them, offering her a shoulder for her to lean into as she stepped into them; her hand planted against his shoulder for stability as she swayed, legs ready to give out underneath her. Once she released him, he stood and stepped back, letting out a breath as he rolled his shoulders.

“Are you ready?” He suddenly asked.

She silently nodded.

A thought dawned on him, his eyes going to the bed and holding up a finger to her as if to signal one moment — he moved to brush past her, bent over the bed and observing it; she internally cringed at the sight of the blood stain where she had been moments prior, but Benjicot seemed unfazed as he quickly made work to strip the sheet from the bed. She watched him lazily fold it up, balling it and holding it against him as though that would do anything to conceal what it was he was carrying — his cloak half hid it as he returned to her side, taking her hand in his free one and sliding his fingers through hers.

The walk back towards the great hall was a long one, silent as she felt all the eyes of Raventree on her; servants and other house staff bowing their heads whilst uttering blessings to them as they passed — she hated to admit it, but the only thing that grounded her at that moment was Benjicot’s hand, his shoulder bumping hers as they walked, his pace slow to accommodate hers; and every so often, his gaze occasionally drifted to find hers, his eyebrows raising when she made eye contact as if he was checking that she was okay. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Benjicot summoned Ser Eryn towards them and muttered something to him.

“Can you summon the council and maester?” His voice was low enough that she could hardly make out his words, her ears ringing as she briefly looked into the room that was still bustling with celebrations; the room still buzzing with men and women who were drunk, stumbling over themselves and dancing as music filled every corner. She could vaguely see her father had remained at his seat, joyfully laughing as he spoke to a Lord who she recognized from House Piper — Ser Eryn quietly replied with a question, “Yes, the Lord Tully as well— and my father.”

“Your father is…preoccupied, my lord.”

“Where is he?”

“I’m not too sure, unfortunately. He stepped out shortly after you, but he should return soon.” Ser Eryn replied.

Serra looked towards the two men finally, Benjicot’s expression one of confusion as he reluctantly nodded and dismissed his sworn protector. The guard bowed his head before he retreated into the room before she was pulled out of sight from the room, around the corner towards the wall. They were silent, hand-in-hand, the sound of laughter and shouting from the room; listening to the drunken lords and ladies who excitedly whispered as the council crossed the room, the Lord Elmo in tow as Ser Eryn had been instructed to do. Benjicot’s gaze fixed on the side of her face, her eyes up towards the ceiling as he trailed a thumb across her knuckles in a soothing gesture. She briefly turned to look up at him, a small smile on his face as she gave his hand a reluctant squeeze.

“My dove,” Elmo sighed as he entered the hallway, shoving past the men of his council to get to her.

Serra’s eyes tore from Benjicot’s, looking to her father as he immediately reached out to grab her by her shoulders with a gentle hold and looking her over — he cupped her cheek, “Are you alright, my dear?”

She shyly nodded.

Her gaze darted over his shoulder, watching as the maester was handed the bed linens by her husband — the exchange was quiet, Maester Edric unfolding the sheet and assessing them, as everyone seemed to wait in silence for his response. Serra felt the need to curl up and die, mortified by the display in front of her father, while her brothers were hidden amongst the councilmen.

“The union has been successful— I can confirm the marriage has been consummated,” Maester Eric stated after a long pause, looking at Elmo. His old, wisened eyes looked then towards Serra, his voice softening, “You have both done well.”

Elmo clapped his hands together, startling his daughter, a relieved mutter breaking out amongst the men who surrounded them; the enthusiastic congratulations being extended immediately to the young boy lord, “Oh, the Gods shine down on us today— Serra, my dear, you make our house proud.” He excitedly said, his attention turning to Benjicot as he approached her side, “Benjicot— you too.” He rambled, reaching to shake his hand.

“I should make the announcement,” Her father suddenly announced, eyes widening as he brushed past them in a hurry.

Serra’s mouth opened to protest, embarrassed enough by the bows of heads and congratulations that now surrounded her; feeling as though there was a hand at her arm or grabbing her hand every second — she found it overwhelming as she leaned into Benjicot, who steadied her against his chest. His hands rested on her shoulders, holding her against him as she let out a breath, forcing a smile in the direction of Robbard Mooton as he begrudgingly offered his congratulations with a mutter before shuffling away with a scowl. She could hear her father clinking his chalice with a utensil, drawing all eyes to him as his drink was held high.

“This sacred bond between our houses is now complete, sealed in the eyes of gods and men. The honour of House Tully and House Blackwood stands strong, and this marriage shall fortify the ties between our families for generations to come.

May this union bring prosperity and strength to our houses, and may the love between Benjicot and Serra grow as deep as the rivers that nourish our lands. Tonight, we celebrate not just a marriage, but the forging of an alliance that will endure through the ages."

“Congratulations on your union, sister,” Kermit spoke from behind him as Robbard excused himself quickly. He stepped forward, hands clasped at the hilt of his sword and visibly tense as he spoke from behind gritted teeth.

Serra could tell he was avoiding Benjicot’s eyes and had no desire to be there — she could see the tension in his shoulders, forcibly squared and trying to appear as large as he could, stiff as a board as he stood upright, looking down his nose at her, “Thank you, Kermit.” She softly replied.

He hummed, not yet leaving as he stared at her, his expression tense with annoyance as though being there in that moment was a burden forced upon him. To see him so withdrawn from her, denying her of any genuine warmth and kindness that she had always known him for caused her heart to ache, fidgeting with her hands for a moment before she stepped forward to reach for one of his hands and took it between hers, “I should hope that soon enough you will be married too— happily and blessed by the Gods.” She nervously said, offering him a timid smile.

Benjicot’s hands squeezed around her shoulders, as though he was trying to soothe her from the anxiety that washed over her in that moment, staring at her brother with intense focus.

“I suppose I will be,” He replied, the answer cold and distant as he glanced at her husband behind her. She could faintly see the twitch of his eye as he found Benjicot, hardly suppressing the scowl of disgust that crept across his face, “Thank you, sister.” He said, pulling his hand from hers.

Benjicot fought the urge to scoff aloud, his eyes rolling in response to his friend’s attitude and the comment -- it took everything in him not to lunge at him and violently shake him like his father had done to him several times as a boy, hoping to shake some sense into him. Kermit wasn’t stupid, Benjicot had grown fully aware of that after years of friendship, but his behaviour was childish and ridiculous in his eyes -- that despite the bond he had with his sister, he was willing and quick to resent her for a mistake that was not hers to bear the consequences of. His jaw clenched, withdrawing his hands to his sides and watching as his sister attempted to reach again for him.

“Kermit, I—“

“I should let you get back to your celebrations,” Kermit snapped. “I’d hate to ruin your night.” He muttered, looking back down at his sister who let out a quiet ‘oh’, small like a child and blinking rapidly a couple of times whilst his gaze darted one last time towards Benjicot. The way he toyed with his wife enraged him, letting out a low growl of annoyance that came from deep within his throat -- how could he torture his sister over some petty feud that had nothing to do with her?

His eyes turned back to his sister. Benjicot witnessed the way a look crossed his features -- a look he could only describe as a moment of remorse as she looked down, his features subtly softening like he wanted to take it all back -- Benjicot wanted him to. He wanted him to regret it and take back his attitude; for him to apologise and beg for her forgiveness, prove to them both that it was a mistake and insist he was happy for her. Benjicot could bear the thought of him being angry with him -- he had grown used to it after several squabbles as boys that led to Kermit being angry with him for days and avoiding him like he was the human embodiment of illness; Benjicot was used to that silence and knew he would come crawling back with some subtle hint he had forgiven him with some excuse of training together, or whatever he could muster. But he knew his sweet wife could not.

Kermit visibly hesitated, his shoulders slouching with a breath, reaching forward to gather one of her hands with one of his own and lifting it. He kissed her knuckles, his head bowing as he lowered her hand, her head whipping up to look at him as her hand fell back to her side.

Serra timidly nodded, too worried she would worsen things if she pressed further — she longed to reach out, to bridge the widening chasm between them, but the words tangled on her tongue. Her eyes followed him as he turned on the ball of his foot and descended back into the hall that still roared with festivities, disappearing among the crowd and straining her eyes to catch one last glimpse of him. She hardly noticed as Benjicot stepped closer, his head lowering until his lips brushed the shell of her ear, “It’s not you that he is angry with,” Benjicot assured with a whisper.

She instinctively sought his hand as the familiar, soothing weight of it rested again on her shoulder, her hand lifting across her chest to entangle their fingers at her left shoulder, “It does not make this any easier,” She admitted.

His lips pressed to her temple in a comforting kiss, “I know,” Benjicot hummed, her cheek leaning into their hands as he stood upright, “But he will come to see reason eventually— he could never stray too long from you. You are two halves of the same soul if I ever saw one.”

Her head turned, looking up at him — he offered a small smile, his hand pulling from hers to brush some hair behind her ear and neatly tucking it away from her face, “Come now,” he instructed, finally pulling from her and finding her hand in his once more. “You only get one wedding night, we mustn’t squander it worrying about things we cannot control.”

Benjicot waited, looking at her expectantly as he gently tugged on her hand, encouraging her to move — her eyes had turned to stare after where her brother had gone, hesitating still to join him, “Please,” He said, forcing her forward a step as she looked back at him, “Do not let your brother sour the mood tonight. I will make amends with him in time, he will forgive us both. He will always care for you, no matter how he feels now— this does not reflect his true feelings.” He reasoned.

“I just want my brother,” she sighed, relenting and allowing him to lead her back into the hall as she found rest against his side; nestled under his arm that held her against him, seeking respite in his warmth and calm demeanour among the overwhelming chaos of the celebrations that were not yet close to dying down still. The room remained loud, the lights too bright for her eyes as she closed them, trusting him to lead them both through the crowd.

His hand found her waist as they walked, the moment brief and intimate, “You do have him.”

She was reminded of Oscar’s presence as he greeted them at the doors, his smile one of pride and warmth as he stood just inside the hall; her father was too distracted by a conversation with two men as he rambled excitedly to notice her arrival and acknowledge her further.

She felt guilty that she seemingly had forgotten he too was there, in all the chaos of getting ready, exhausted from a sleepless night of tossing and turning in bed; when her youngest brother was present and participating in the celebration of her new union, unable to conceal his giddiness, his hands clenching around the hilt of his sword as though it would somehow hide in plain sight that he was itching to approach her.

Oscar, in his wisdom and knowledge despite his youth, had always been skilled at reading a room and understanding the importance of timing -- he also knew Serra and knew that she would be overwhelmed amidst everything happening and had restrained himself from unintentionally contributing to things.

She realised that he was correct — despite Kermit’s current tantrum, she still had a brother — boyishly smiling at her like she had hung every star in the sky, proud and eager for her arrival that he was borderline bouncing on his feet as she entered; she was relieved to see a face that did not overwhelm her with thoughts of duty and expectation, nor guilt for experiencing even the smallest amount of bliss on her wedding night. Her youngest brother, proper and pristine as ever, turned to face her and Serra could only feel relief. She relaxed against Benjicot’s side, pulling from him to hurry towards her brother, her hands extending for him before she had even reached him — Benjicot was right that she at least had Oscar at that moment. It had dawned on her that she had hardly seen him all day, even after the wedding ceremony, only having caught brief glimpses of his hair in the crowd.

His hands found hers, bringing one to his mouth to place a kiss across her knuckles quickly, “You look radiant,” He commented as she stopped in front of him, “just like our mother, you know.” He commented, his compliment flowing with such ease she knew he was sincere. She could never doubt Oscar, because he was truthful and did not make it a habit to say anything that he did not mean.

Embarrassed, Serra felt herself become choked up at his words, emotion crawling up the back of her throat and tearing up as she blinked to rid herself of the tears that threatened to spill. She could not pinpoint the exact root cause for the tears as she let out a sad, melancholic laugh that was strangled; but she was painfully aware that in the weeks since her arrival of loneliness and isolation that she had carried since she had stepped foot into Raventree, that childish need for her mother gnawing at the back of her mind, “Are you not happy?” Her brother asked, concerned by her tears.

She shook her head quickly, “No, it’s not that,” she assured. “I am…I am happy.”

“Then why do you cry?”

She hesitated, “I just wish she could have been here.” Serra admitted, pulling a hand from his and cupping his cheek affectionately, “She would have been proud of the man you have grown to be.”

Her brother stilled as a look crossed his features, unreadable and unblinking as he stared at her the weight of her words rested heavy over them and visibly swallowed. He let out a small noise that resembled a forced laugh from his nose, “Is this what marriage does to one?” He quietly teased, touching her hand on his face.

She laughed, leaning forward and pressing a tender kiss to his forehead and brushing over his head, smoothing out the stray curls that she knew to be unruly since he was a babe.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Benjicot did not feel the need to intrude on the tender moment between the two siblings, watching as his wife soon became distracted by a conversation with her younger brother -- he had stayed a majority of the interaction but felt it necessary to give them a moment of privacy. As a boy, he envied what it must have been like to have siblings that ran about the castle, filling its halls with noise as they laughed, played, and fought -- he had watched them a majority of their childhood; and witnessed the unconditional love and bond they shared, expressed through defending one another, loyal to one another even when the others were not present.

He was fortunate enough to have his three first-cousins who grew up only down the hall from him, the sons his Uncle Willem’s pride and joy, and becoming something of his playmates -- but he yearned for what it would have been like to have had brothers and sisters of his own, who shared his blood entirely.

He had tugged at his sleeves, fixing them and looking away as Serra leaned in to press a kiss to Oscar’s forehead, his gaze scanning the room and averting anywhere else they could. The room had begun to stink of wine and old food that had been left to go cold, their guests too distracted in dance and song to pay it any mind, too drunk to even stay on their feet as he witnessed several men stumble over their own feet and scarcely catch themselves. His thoughts were distracted by his disgust at the sight, never quite understanding the appeal for impairing the mind of its ability to think clearly and act in better judgement -- even at his wedding, he felt no desire to join in and follow their lead. Even as Emrys and Henry approached him, breathless from laughter and red-faced as Henry slung an arm around his younger cousin’s shoulders and pulled him into his armpit to ruffle his hair, “There’s the man of the hour,” Henry remarked, a laugh in his voice as Benjicot strained to pull himself from his grasp, “Way to do us all proud, Benji.”

Benjicot fought the urge to wretch at the nickname, finally freeing himself from his grasp with an exasperated sigh, “How’s it feel to be a man now?” Emrys snickered, being shoved by the young heir who rolled his eyes, face reddening in embarrassment.

“A husband no less, aye,” Henry added.

Benjicot straightened his tunic, casting a wary glance around the room before turning back to his cousins with a strained smile. “Well, it feels like I’ve been handed a rather heavy set of responsibilities,” he said, trying to sound lighthearted. “And as for being a husband, I suppose I’ll have to adjust to this new role, just as you two seem to be adjusting to your wine-soaked festivities.”

He cast a sidelong glance at the revellers, his voice lowering slightly. “I’ll leave the grand display of ‘manhood’ to you, Emrys, and you too, Henry. For now, I’m more inclined to focus on not making a fool of myself.”

Emrys feigned an insulted pout as a hand pressed to his chest, mimicking a wound, whilst the eldest of the three laughed with his head thrown back, “So he’s too good for us now, you hear that?” Henry teased.

“Always was,” Benjicot taunted, teasing him as he shoved his cousin back a step. He paused, allowing for the sound of the festivities to fill the silence as his two cousins snickered, looking around again -- he suddenly noticed his father’s absence, despite looking around twice before he settled on the realisation he was nowhere to be found. His brows furrowed, mouth ajar, “Henry, do you, uh…happen to know where my father went?” He asked, looking at his cousin who took a sip from his chalice.

He appeared visibly confused, looking at Emrys who swayed absentmindedly, drunk as he seemed to be oblivious to the fact, “I don’t actually. Oi-- Emrys,” He called, drawing his brother’s attention back to the conversation, “Where did our uncle go?” Emrys snorted suddenly, “He went to the Redfork, you know this.” He said, his tone suggesting it was the most obvious thing.

Both men snapped upright, tense and confused as Henry lowered his head, frowning, “What?” The two men asked in unison.

Emrys let out a small laugh, grinning as he looked around, his eyes slowly returning to face them -- his smile dropped when he faced them again, “The Redfork…Davos and a few men went out to patrol this afternoon, there was some spat at the borders with some Bracken boys, Aeron Bracken among them,” He said, his tone again suggesting it was a widely known fact as he looked between his brother and Benjicot but instead met by silence, “It escalated into a full-blown battle, Samwell and Alysanne left a half hour ago with Robb and some of his men at the borders. More are to join them within the hour.”

“What the fuck do you mean they left?” Benjicot spluttered angrily.

Emrys attempted to force a laugh to lighten the mood, but the sound was cut short as Benjicot’s eyes narrowed, shaking his head, “You…” He started to say but stopped himself, “You truly didn’t know?”

He twitched, fist coming up quickly and ready to grab him by the shirt but stopping himself, and forcing out a frustrated sigh, “Obviously not, you dumb…” He growled, once again having to stop himself, his cousin’s eyebrows raising, “And what of your father?”

Emrys glanced around again, slow to process and blinking in shock as he stuttered for a moment. He frowned, “He, uh…he has stayed behind by instruction of your father, I believe.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Figure it out then,” He snapped, grabbing his tunic by the shoulder and forcing him to move a couple of stumbling steps as he began to seek his uncle. His head turned, scanning the room and trying to look through every face that his eyes could find, coming up empty.

“Get your bloody hand off…” Emrys began to argue, trying to pull from him. Benjicot shoved him, his anger bubbling over, releasing his shirt to allow him to tumble forward.

“Benjicot!” Serra exclaimed, catching his cousin as he merely missed falling into her and Oscar, wide-eyed and helping him up to his feet, “Are you alright, Emrys?” She asked hurriedly, her tone panicked as she looked at him, visibly concerned.

The blonde straightened his clothing, scowling as he brushed off her hand from his shoulder, “Yeah, your husband is just being a moody cunt.” He replied.

Benjicot’s head whipped towards him, pausing his search just long enough to scoff, “You fail to tell me my father has gone off to battle and I’m moody?” He spat.

“I’m sorry,” Emrys sarcastically shot back, “what would you have had me do? Barge into your room while you were fucking your wife? Yeah, I bet you would have listened to me then.”

Benjicot lunged forward, being caught by Henry as his arm wrapped around his shoulders to force himself between the two men; the youngest Blackwood being dragged back and out of the way of his grasp by Oscar and Serra. Her body acted as a barrier, forcing Emrys behind her as she flinched away from Benjicot’s hand.

Benjicot’s gaze was forced upon her by the action, a look of hurt crossing his features as he looked at her, “What the hell is going on here?”

His gaze tore from hers to the sound of Willem’s voice, stood behind Oscar with Kermit and Lord Elmo, who appeared visibly annoyed by the disruption -- the music had since ceased and all eyes were now on the group who was all heavy breathing and oblivious to the attention their argument had drawn to themselves. Serra quickly stepped away from Emrys, whose hand had instinctively found her elbow, her gaze down as Willem’s eyes focused on the simple gesture with a confused frown.

“Did you have any intention of telling me my father had taken it upon himself to go off to battle?” Benjicot curtly questioned.

His uncle hesitated, “Yes, we were going to tell you in the morning. Though I was not expecting you to return tonight, nephew,” He slowly explained. “You were expected to be busy with your… new wife.”

He tensed, jaw clenching as he roughly shoved Henry’s arm off of him, “And yet here I am.”

“It appears so,” Willem responded, his tone firmer now.

“Why did you not join him, then?” He asked.

“I was given strict instruction to remain here.”

Benjicot let out a bitter laugh, “For what reason?”

“To ensure you remain here, should you be stupid enough try to ride out and join your father.”

Benjicot stared at him, stunned by the admittance as they stood in silence. He shifted his stance uncomfortably, looking around at the crowd that watched, looking down suddenly before he looked up after a long pause, “Why would he do that?”

Willem sighed, “Because he knows you, Benjicot.” He said, slowly stepping past the young Tully’s and towards his nephew, “As do I. We cannot afford to possibly lose more than is already at stake, especially when that involves the heir, should he be slain in battle.”

He felt like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum over not getting whatever it was they wanted, swallowing thickly as his face burned with shame and clenching his fists at his sides, “We cannot guarantee Serra is with child yet, even if the marriage was successfully consummated-- you remain the apparent heir until that happens. You are where you need to be, Benjicot,” He quietly explained, stepping closer until he was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with him, “Safe and alive, as we need you. So please…do not make any more of a scene than you already have. Enjoy your wedding. Behave.”

Benjicot felt the need to look down to avoid his gaze that was pinned to his face, looking down at him and speaking to him with that familiar edge his father possessed whenever he did something that was out of line like a petulant child, his voice calm and low enough that only he could hear it. He hated it with his father, but he hated it more coming from his uncle. He nodded after a moment.

Willem mirrored his actions by nodding and forcing a strained smile as he muttered, “Good,” he said, turning to face the crowd and clasping a hand on his shoulder, “My apologies, honoured guests. There was just a misunderstanding, but it has been resolved. Please! Continue, enjoy yourselves!”

His hand dropped from his shoulder, stepping past him to return to wherever he had come from, leaving him frozen in place -- Benjicot felt nauseous again, his heart pounding as he stared at his feet, unwilling to face his family and that of his wife’s that he knew had yet to move on from him; even the room hesitated to move past the scene. His uncle clapped his hands loudly, barking an order at the orchestra, causing the slow resumption of music that could not alleviate the tension within the room.

There was a slow shuffle of feet, the crowd dispersing around him, “Benjicot?” Serra called out to him, her voice soft and quiet among the whispers.

He watched as her feet appeared in front of him, visibly pausing before she reached out to him and pressed a hand to his chest, “Benjicot.” She repeated, attempting to gain his attention.

He could feel every violent thrum of his heart against his ribs, feeling as though his head was trapped underwater while his eyes fixated on the hem of her dress. Her other hand came up to his cheek, her head ducking to find his eyes, “Look at me, Benjicot.” His eyes finally snapped up to hers, teeth and jaw clenched tightly, “It’s okay.” She softly said, her thumb brushing his cheek as his expression softened, leaning into her as if his life depended on it as his body gave out from beneath him. She wrapped an arm around him, her hand moving from his cheek to his nape and bearing his weight against her own.

“It’s okay.” She repeated.

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ronance4everbrainrot · 2 months

Text

Some even even more little descendants incorrect quotes with mostly Glassheart/CharmingHeart

(and other ships)

Chad: Adulting is hard.

Chad: How do I quit?

Chloe: Time travel.

Red: Die.

(sheesh. Also CHAD! HIII)

---

Chad: So you’re dating Chloe?

Red: What? No! I’m just buying them an accessory since they have terrible fashion sense.

Chad: That’s literally a wedding ring.

(To be fair. Maybe they don't have wedding rings in wonderland, and Red is genuinely just buying her accessories. But not because Chloe doesn't have style. She just wants to give Chloe stuff.)

---

Cinderella: Red, when’s your birthday?

Red: Why? So you can look up my natal chart? So you can figure out my weaknesses? So you can destroy me?

Chloe: …So we know when to wish you a happy birthday.

Chloe: You have some serious intimacy issues

(canon)

---

Chloe: You know, I really wish you’d just admit you made a mistake sometimes.

Chad, stirring their coffee: I prefer it with salt.

(he would never admit he's wrong. He'd just word his way around it)

---

Chloe: How stupid do you think I am?!

Dizzy: You really want an honest answer to that?

(Chloe is oblivious to her attraction to Red. Their fighting is actually flirting)

---

Chad: If you don't stop talking, I'm going to jump out of that window.

Chloe: ...We're on the ground floor.

Chad: I know but I want a dramatic exit.

(Go off drama king ✨)

---

Chad: Ow!

Dizzy: What’s wrong?

Chad: I have this weird pain right above my eyebrow.

Dizzy: It’s called a stress headache. I got my first one when I was four.

(canon. Also oof)

---

Computer: Please enter a password.

Chad: *types in Chloe*

Computer: Your password is too weak.

Chad: How fucking DARE YOU-

(Slay big brother. He knows what's up)

---

Audrey: Hey!

Chad: What do you want?

Audrey: Remember what we were talking about yesterday?

Chad: Nope.

(Yes king. Stand your ground. keep away from her)

---

Audrey: I'm not mean. Name one mean thing I’ve ever done.

Chad: When we were younger, you convinced me eggs weren't real.

Audrey: They're not.

Chad: Haha, very funny.

Audrey: I'm serious. Didn't you hear?

Chad: No... what happened?

Audrey: ...Why would you fall for this again-

(I think that's what they were talking about. And he's mad)

---

*The gang's thoughts on stabbing*

Audrey: Would never stab anyone.

Chloe: Would stab someone in retaliation.

Dizzy: Yells "I won't hesitate, bitch!" first.

Celia: Would stab without warning.

Red: Would stab as a warning.

Chad: It depends, I guess

(the charming siblings +cousin and their girlfriends)

---

Chloe, singing: I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need—

Red: A family.

Audrey: A better love life.

Celia: Mental stability.

Dizzy: Money

Chad: *clueless* Bagels?

(... yeah-)

---

Chloe: Go to hell!

Red: Where do you think I come from?

(Wonderland basically is Hell with The Queen of Hearts)

---

Dizzy: You got a date yet Celia?

Celia: No...

Dizzy: Well you do now! Get your ass up and hold my hand!

(Slay ✨🙏. Which I had that confidence)

---

Dizzy: Hey Chloe, wanna third wheel on my date with Celia tomorrow?

Chloe: Sure.

Dizzy: Red! Wanna third wheel on my date with Celia tomorrow?

Red: ..sure, I gues-

Dizzy: Great! I've always wanted to go on a double date!

Red & Chloe: ...

Chloe: Dizzy...

(You'll thank her later, Chloe.)

---

Dizzy: I honestly feel like some of our conversations here are almost word-for-word accurate to the generator.

Celia: Yup.

Red: Maybe the generator is watching us.

Chloe: Wouldn't that imply this conversation will be added?

Dizzy: ...

Dizzy: Wait—

(Oh no. They found out! Got to run!)

---

Hope you liked it!

I ship Chad and Audrey as Exes

Also I want Chad and Chloe interactions in the next movie. Would love it if Dizzy was also there.

Anyway

Byeeee

#redcharming #rise of red #chloe charming #glassheart #charminghearts #princess red #red of wonderland #rise of red incorrect quotes #red of hearts #descendants 4 #chad charming #audrey descendants #celia facilier #dizzy tremaine #celia x dizzy

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vagabond-umlaut · 1 year

Text

gojo satoru x reader fic recs (I)

‣ now that i've got loads of free time, thought why shouldn't i use it well by showing (few of) my fave authors their much well-deserved love, respect and attention? ^_^

‣ this is merely a list of works i've enjoyed reading. kindly heed the tags and warnings in each of them and consume content responsibly, at your own discretion. that being said, i own neither these fics nor the characters nor the above gif. enjoy reading! 🥰

⌀ all that is solid [series] by GrilledTandooriSmoke on ao3

one of the best series there is. period. the fluff, the angst, the drama, the humor, the romance, the friendship, the plot, the dialogues - everything is top-notch in this series, i'm telling you. bonus points for being narrated in both reader's and gojo's pov.

⌀ The King is But a Man [series] by Petrichorium on ao3 (@petrichorium on tumblr)

royal!gojo who's terribly in love with the reader x reader who's equally (but way more discreetly) in love with gojo. add to that, the trope of childhood sweethearts reunited as adults, excellent communication between the couple and a wonderfully-crafted world and dialogues - what more could you ask from a series?

⌀ Ten to None (Soulmate AU) (oneshot) by Oreosmama on ao3

a fic which i adore with every fibre of my being. i will not say anything more about this, except to request you to go read this. you'll love it. (especially the fantabulous ending. btw, did i already say how much i'm in love with how well-written this fic is?)

⌀ Scarred [oneshot] by cainis on ao3

one of the best angst-with-a-happy-ending fic there is. i wish i could give thousands of kudos for the heart-wrenchingly amazing way the author has portrayed gojo's character here.

⌀ Mother of otherness, Eat me [oneshot] by itsbaby on ao3

one of the most beautiful works i've read so far. told from yuuji's pov, it explores gojo and reader's relationship and its nuances in a way seldom done before. however, what stole the show for me, was the soft and sweet mother-son duo the reader and yuuji grow to be in this fic. i really love this one-of-a-kind masterpiece.

⌀ something sweet [oneshot] by heresan on ao3 (@pretty-toru on tumblr)

i love love love this fic. it's so fluffy, so funny, so cute, so heart-warming... just read this fic, people. you won't ever be disappointed by the dynamics reader and gojo have in this one. one of my all-time faves, tbh.

⌀ teen dad Gojo [series] by pantao on ao3 (@seravphs on tumblr)

a sweet and realistic depiction of reader and gojo being teenaged parents to young megumi, all the while they try to figure out their feelings for each other. a perfect mixture of fluff, angst, drama, slice-of-life and romance, imo. (also, the author's notes are pure gold. whatever you do, please don't miss reading them! :D)

⌀ To see those eyes I prize above mine own (twoshot) by koyama on ao3

if you wish to watch godlike!gojo willing to let go of his powers, out of guilt and immense, immense, protective love for the reader, this is the ideal fic for you. i'm in awe of the way the writer wrote gojo's complex persona and the way the sorcerer realized his feelings for the reader. (the second chapter's the cherry on the cake. it's so good!!!!)

⌀ keeping up with the fushigojos (series) by @augustinewrites on tumblr

fluff? A+; angst? A+; drama? A+; characterization & dialogues? A+; humour? A+++++. a sureshot way to end a long hectic tiring day on a happy note is to read this series. (my go-to comfort series, ngl. :])

⌀ CAT & DOG (oneshot) by @mimiriko on tumblr

an adorable fic of gojo being in love with the reader, who knows, yet doesn't really know, much about it. plus, the feline-like features of gojo are sooo cute... and this fic is sooo sweet... the story left me smiling when i finished reading it.

⌀ surely summer wasn't over yet [3 chapters] by 3rdgymbros on ao3

an amazing fic set against the backdrop of the hidden inventory arc. the portrayal of the characters and their dynamics is simply impeccable. despite my kind-of-dislike towards this particular arc of the manga, i really enjoyed reading this one.

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk fluff #jjk angst #kit's fic recs 📚

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jiminjamms · 6 months

Text

sex therapy :: 28. perfect timing

chapter tags/warnings: therapist! toji. manipulative! naoya. toji defends you. naoya 100% has anger issues. infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. family drama.

word count: 3.8k

notes: hugs to everyone! been a while, and my busy days at work (plus straggling mental health) have not been doing me favors. writing, reading, and interacting with you all have been bringing me joy. i spent extra time on this chapter to make this piece what i hoped it would be. enjoy. likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Toji loved working on Sundays.

With his colleagues off, Sundays were the only day in the week when Toji could be the sole person in the therapy office. He appreciated the slowness that came with working on the weekends, allowing him to balance his time for scheduled appointments with unoccupied windows used to strategize and decompress.

He relished in the lull. The tranquility. The peace.

But alas, the serenity was cut short on this particular Sunday, as someone barged through the entrance like a wild boar, causing a rambunctious racket as the front door flung open with immense force.

The doorknob clanged against the wall, and Toji—sitting behind the reception counter—looked up from a patient file on his computer screen.

With both curiosity and annoyance, he peered above his monitor.

The black tips to blond hair. The sharp brown glare. The permanent frown.

Who else could this have been but Naoya Zenin, presenting himself in the flesh?

The incomer’s expression consisted of nothing but antipathy as he bared his teeth at the doorway, his hands balled into fists by his sides. Based on how he glared upon seeing his older cousin, anyone could safely conclude that this man was beyond livid.

Must he pester me on the weekend? Toji thought as he mentally shook his head, clucking his tongue faintly in disapproval. He had not seen Naoya ever since his official departure from the Zenin Corporation and household, which was months ago. From his recollection, the manchild before him had a fickle personality, bursting into immature fits that easily made someone younger (like his son Megumi) seem like the actual adult around.

Given this, Toji legitimately did not understand how you had been putting up with Naoya as your husband.

As for himself, Toji did his best to ignore the new presence, clicking his mouse as he resumed analyzing the file on his screen. He did not wish to spare a moment longer than necessary tending to the human tornado on his way. If Toji had wanted to deal with Naoya in person, he would have confronted him long ago. Rather, he had decided strategically to watch his cousin wreak havoc from afar to avoid interacting with his burdensome family. Everyone in the Zenin household, except for Mai and Maki, was not worth the aggravation that came with mere association.

Now, especially with today’s booked schedule, Toji would not be able to make an exception to soothe Naoya’s upcoming tantrum.

On the other hand, Naoya had no better choice than to drag himself to his older cousin’s doorstep.

Had circumstances been any different, he also could not bother to see Toji again. He hadn't talked to Toji in months. Why would he? After many years of neglect and inferiority, Naoya finally achieved everything he wanted.

Or so he thought.

This was why, to face his estranged relative again—after recently learning that you had been seeing him for weeks—was a grand ego blow to Naoya, who could not accept the possibility that he was losing his reputation’s very foundation to the man he had envied all his life.

Recognizing the indignation that fumed from the current Zenin heir, Toji seized the opportunity to inveigle his cousin and greeted him with a cheer.

“Good morning!” he beamed, raising his hand in salutation. The scar by his lips flexed from his grin. “Do you have an appointment?”

Naoya scowled awfully.

"Great to finally see you again, Toji Zenin."

Immediately, the said man’s smile fell at his cousin's overly casual tone. "Woah, there,” he shot back. “Show some respect, will you? First, my last name is Fushiguro. Do not refer to me as Zenin. Second, calling me by my first name is bad manners. I'm older than you, kid."

Without question, the comment irked the blonde. Of all people in the universe, this was Naoya Zenin in question, a hubristic man who hated humiliation and the need to concede. His demeanor hardened with resentment while he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Fine, Mr. Fushiguro."

Toji quirked another smile.

Theoretically, he had no problem demanding more but decided to be nice by saying, “That’s better.” He locked his computer as he shifted his attention, crossing his arms as his back rested against his chair. “I haven't seen you in a while. Remember the days when you used to work here, too? Good times, hm?" All rhetorical chit-chat and pleasantries and, as expected, there was no response. "Well, I have only a few minutes to spare, after which I have business to attend. So...what brings you to visit?”

Another ironic question, as Toji already knew the answer.

Over the phone, he had spoken with an irate Naoya who demanded to speak to his wife and have her back home. Despite his insufferable treatment toward you, the Zenin CEO could not stand how his apartment remained empty the past few nights, meaning he hadn’t gotten his dick soaked by his lawful spouse like he should be doing.

But then again, Toji thought, he already has a mistress to satisfy himself with.

Meanwhile, Naoya might as well be digging holes into his cousin’s skull from how his glower fizzed with malice. He opened his mouth, only to promptly purse his lips again to choose his reply carefully.

“Did you make her see you?”

Quite a question.

Toji blinked rapidly through an empty stare.

Where did that come from?

“‘See me?’” he had to clarify.

In one smooth motion, Toji stood from his seat, his chair bouncing back slightly when he did. With his arms still folded over his chest, he meandered around the counter area that separated the client and employee zones in the reception area, stopping mere steps away from the younger man.

Then, he repeated, “See me who?”

Naoya did not appear amused in the slightest.

His hazel eyes all but narrowed from vexation. The paroxysm of negative emotions on the blonde’s face made him appear ready to snap. Like a button ready to blast everything around him, he was close to letting his wrath take over. “Did you send my wife your therapist information just so that you could talk to her and figure out how to get revenge on me?”

What an oddly specific accusation.

“Why would I do such a thing?” It was more of a statement than a question, and Toji could see how his nonchalance profoundly irritated the other man. “She found me like how all my other therapy clients find me. But me reaching out to her personally merely to spite you? No. That's only some shit you would think to do. Unlike yourself, I'm not that petty."

Toji was blunt in his response, he knew.

In his defense, he would rather cut to the chase than beat around the bush.

He no longer headed the Zenin conglomerate, but he still had a therapy practice to manage and a family to look after. With his packed schedule, every second mattered and he wasn’t the type to waste his time lingering around and dealing with non-important business matters, such as the grouchy kid with him.

His observations definitely blew a fuse within Naoya, though.

"Excuse me?!" In two sharp steps, he closed the distance between Toji and himself, jabbing a finger into the other's chest. Bold. “You’re fucked, you know that? You’re so damn fucked," he hissed, and the edges of his mouth contorted into a derisive sneer. “You…You’re goddamn obsessed with Y/N, and you don’t even realize that! Give me a fucking break. You only give two hoots about the bitch because she’s my wife, but you don't actually give a shit about the woman herself.”

At that, Toji immediately swatted the hand from his pec.

“Incorrect, I do,” he retorted, his tone firm. “But do you care about her?” and he didn’t need to hear a response for that one, so he went on. “No, you do not. You know what? I found her situation sad because every time your wife talked about you, she told me about how you neglect and can’t satisfy her. This entire time, I was sorry for her precisely because I know the person you are. Fine, you call her your wife. What that means is she's not just a pussy for you to play with. You can’t just pick and choose different parts of her. But where were you when your wife was crying?” He paused briefly, letting his words sink into his silenced cousin’s head. “Where were you, hm? Where were you when she was upset? Anyone with eyes could’ve seen that she’s been having a hard time! But where?” and Toji gave Naoya one pointed glare. “Where…was her husband?”

In the sheets with an older woman.

Of course, that very husband would not admit that aloud, especially since he had yet to realize that his older cousin already knew about his affair with the other’s ex-wife. Instead, Toji saw Naoya twist his lips into a deeper frown.

“I have a company to lead,” was the excuse he spat out, and he ran both hands through his light strands in evident frustration. “I can’t believe our family thought that you were a capable leader. I, however, saw right through your facades, alright? Despite all your fucking degrees and licenses, you left the Zenin Corporation as a shithole for me to manage.”

“No, I had set the company to run efficiently,” Toji retorted, keeping his levelheaded demeanor. “You turned the Zenin Corporation into—in your own words—a shithole. You decided to fire everyone I had hired. So currently, your managers are inept, your shareholders are unhappy, your daddy is getting angry, and the most convenient person to blame is me.” He shrugged dismissively. “Rookie mistakes. E for Effort, I guess. Luckily for you, Y/N is a good way to cover up the competence which you lack. Thus, she’s only useful when you deem her as such.”

Naoya scoffed, and his shoulders rose and fell with each enraged breath. “Because you don’t understand what a burden she can otherwise be. Besides, I can treat and use her in whatever way I please!”

He might not display this visibly, but Toji felt disgusted.

“Don’t talk like you own her. That’s disrespectful. She's a person, not an object.”

"What—" Naoya paused, and his eyebrows creased in annoyance. "Who the fuck do you think you are? That woman is my wife.”

“Then treat her like one,” Toji shot back. While matching Naoya's hostility with his own, he could see the latter's eyes widen at the remark. Not that Toji paid him any mind, and he continued staring at his younger cousin with an unfazed demeanor that showed how willing he was to defend. "She might be your wife, but she is not your property.”

As if Naoya would care.

Rather, he clenched his hands into tight fists by his sides. “You need to stay away from her. You’ve had your chances with marriages. Y/N is mine and not yours. I swear, if you talk about her with your gross lips again, I'll—" He stopped, as he wasn’t quite sure what would be a good threat. “I’ll—”

“You’ll do what, kid?” Toji interrupted, knowing just how pissed Naoya would get from every reminder of who the older person was and who the actual successor to the Zenin inheritance should be. “I’ll keep her since you can’t. You call her a burden, but I don’t find her to be one. I don’t know about you, but I like her. Have you ever had a civil conversation with her? She's sweet and quite interesting to talk to.”

The continuous comments unsurprisingly make Naoya bristle further.

“I said don’t talk about her like that!” he snarled. “Here you are, bossing me around and telling me to treat her better, but listen to how you talk about the woman! Holy shit, you're such a fucking creep.”

“Me?” Toji repeated, appalled by his bravery to say those words. “Mind you, boy, she is the one who wanted to talk to me first. As her concerned therapist and the more mature adult, I believe I must listen to her complaints and make her feel better, especially when she keeps whining she’s not being fucked good.”

Naoya breathed heavily, his chest undulating while he boiled with rage. Yet, as the younger, more naive, and less physically adept challenger, he could not make himself fight back against the other man. “You...You don’t know shit, Fushiguro.”

Immediately, Toji arched a brow.

“Really?" Was that supposed to be an insult? "I don't know shit?" This was hilarious! "Oh, boy. I know a lot of fucking shit alright. About ‘your wife’ or whatever you want to deem her, there is not a single chance in hell that she’d ever think about calling you her husband anymore.”

Naoya stared back, rather stupefied.

In any other situation, he would simply take the remark as a cheap way to rouse him. Of course, talking about you would be the easiest route to do so. This time, though, Toji’s suspiciously happy visage as he retraced his steps to the counter and positioned himself comfortably against the surface had him uneasy.

He did not like what the other man insinuated.

"What...do you mean?" As much as he tried, Naoya could not hide how affected he appeared. “Our marriage is none of your damn business.”

Toji shrugged. "Marriage? What marriage? I don't see the rings on her finger, kid. Heard she tossed them. Apparently, you made her upset enough for her to take them off."

Without a better way to retaliate, Naoya clenched his teeth to signal his displease. “Ring or not, she’s still my wife,” he spat. “Plus, I do not want my wife around a womanizer like you.”

Instead of taking umbrage from your husband’s words, Toji tossed his head to the side and let out a deep, harrowing chortle. “Wow! You’re one to talk," he rebuked. "The whole household used to joke about how you brought a different girlfriend to each of our family dinners. At the moment, you’re married, and what? You want your spouse to come home, but you then drive her away. You want her to be a good partner, but torment her when she does. Please, you are embarrassing yourself. Why don’t you make up your fucking mind?” With his emerald gaze returning to the younger man, Toji then added, “Now, if you excuse me. My next client is arriving and I have an appointment."

Still, Naoya was not ready to let the conversation end. “We’re not done. You think you’re all ‘high and mighty.’ But, you’re low, Toji. So, so low. Your last wife was a divorcee, and now you’re a motherfucker into married women, huh?”

"So were you."

"What?"

"Baby?"

And, in one go, all signs of life drained away from Naoya swiftly at the new voice.

No fucking way, his expression seemed to read as he craned his neck around in rigid and robotic motions. Naoya had to blink twice to confirm the woman by the door before he placed his arms down and froze.

Mari, who returned the man’s aghast expression with perplexion, had her dark brows crinkled. “What…Why are you looking at me like that?”

Even with Naoya’s face presently angled away, Toji could see his eyes widen at the ludicrous question. Yet, they both thought the same thing: did she forget where she was?

“What are you doing here? I did not expect you,” she continued. “But, I’m here for an…an appointment.”

Her voice trailed off.

When the woman finally seemed to remember that Toji was also there, her dark eyes rounded in alarm. Wait, her expression seemed to say as she very, very slowly dragged her sights to the man by the counter. Once her eyes met Toji’s, her jaw fell slack before she promptly slapped both hands over her gaping mouth.

With the two visitors transformed into Medusa's stone statues, Toji took great gratification in the perfect timing. This coincidence far exceeded his expectations because he honestly did not anticipate ever being in the same vicinity as Naoya and Mari, yet here he was. Presented this chance, Toji pushed his bottom lip out in fake thought and furrowed his brows, pointing at Mari then Naoya then at Mari again.

“Seems like you two know each other?” he asked in mock confusion, his finger swinging between the pair. “How come I didn’t get invited to the party? Has something been going on between my baby cousin and my ex-wife?”

No response.

So, he continued.

“What? Were you two spying on me or something?” (He knew the answer was yes.) “Or…wait,” and his voice dropped to a dangerous low, “Don’t tell me that you two…have been having an affair?”

Naoya—realizing the trap they had been set up in—swung his arm forward, prepared to defend them with whatever good lies he could spin (which Toji knew that he had a talent for), only for the woman to speak up first.

“We’re acquaintances.”

The manner in which Mari snapped caused Toji to pop a brow in surprise.

Oh? he noted. His suggestion on their illicit relationship appeared to strike a particular nerve. Even Naoya could sense the danger in his mistress’s overreaction as his eyes widened in horror. He tried to give her a warning expression, but she failed to see him.

By the way, did Naoya, know that Mari—well—wasn’t very streetsmart?

Maybe, but he likely prioritized keeping her in his bed to pay her absent wits any attention.

At this, Toji could not pass on the excellent opportunity to simultaneously provoke the two people who betrayed him.

“Just acquaintances?” he pressed.

“Yes.”

In another curt response, Mari pressed her lips into a firm line and shot Naoya a ‘shut the hell up and play along’ look, thinking she was slick when Toji only felt second-hand embarrassment from how utterly blatant the communication had been executed.

Pretending to nod along, Toji added, “Interesting. Because I never knew acquaintances called each other ‘baby.’”

Checkmate.

But the woman must not be thinking, as she sensed her inevitable defeat but hurriedly explained herself by saying, “It’s not what you think, Naoya and I haven’t had sex since—”

“Stop,” Toji interrupted before she could finish her sentence. That statement truly crossed the line. The lady must be inane. To talk about her dirty deeds with his relative as if that was appropriate! Clearly, she was oblivious to common sense and proper etiquette, given how she was desperate to try to save some face, resorting to the most crass justifications as if that would ameliorate the issue. Toji felt ashamed to think that he used to be married to this woman for years. While he noticed a fit of pique boiling within him, he ultimately let the ill feelings go. “I never asked about your sex lives. I don’t want to hear about what you two have been doing.”

Plus, the tabloids have shown him enough already.

Nonetheless, Mari’s face brewed with annoyance. She folded her arms firmly and tucked her chin outward. “Well, if that’s the case, then when and where I’m riding your cousin's dick should not matter!”

“Oh my fucking lord, stop talking already!” and this time, it was Naoya who spoke, shouting into his hands and cupping his face from sheer exasperation. He had been stunned speechless for a while but could no longer contain himself. When he picked up his head, he growled with rage as he raised a shaking finger at the woman. “You,” he seethed. “You’re saying all the wrong things! Holy fuck, bitch, how fucking blind are you? Unbelievable!” He leered to the side as if shaking off part of his rage, only to add on, “Just…Just shut the fuck up!”

The sudden, scathing comments soured Mari's mien in seconds. “Wait, but babe—”

“No.” Naoya cut her off right there. “Don’t ‘babe’ or ‘baby’ me with your bullshit anymore. Can’t you fucking see the atrocities you have fucking committed in the last ten minutes? You’re literally ruining my life! Even Y/N wouldn’t be stupid enough to say all the crap you just said! I should’ve never approached a dumb whore like you.”

While Toji had his eyes widened from silent bewilderment, tears began to roll down the woman's cheeks.

“That’s a lie!” For what must be her first time, she had to face the reality that, despite all the pleasure and company she offered Naoya Zenin after his tough days at work, he was an egotistical sociopath and a married man. "That's not what you've been telling me. You know I’m the only person who can make you happy, not the actual whore whom you have at home! These last few months, you would’ve been absolutely miserable without me!”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a reminder,” she hissed harshly. “You had said so yourself.”

At this point, Naoya found himself in the middle of a living nightmare.

To think about his wife who had been avoiding him for days, to see his loathsome cousin watch the scene like this was some sort of Netflix episode, and now to witness his mistress ridiculing him like a fucking fool.

“God dammit!” he roared. With animosity overwhelming his sanity, Naoya—who was already on the verge of destruction—only saw red as he lurched forward. He used his arms to sweep everything, all things, anything he could reach from a nearby tabletop onto the floor: a ceramic vase that shattered into shards, magazines that flew in all directions, a framed photograph that clinked upon descent. He didn’t stop there. Like a mid-tantrum toddler, he kicked angrily at the mess, sending paper and broken pottery flying in all directions without much regret for his actions.

In fact, this was cathartic for him. Because the very thing he wanted was to make his cousin's world wretched, just like how the latter had done to him.

“I'm going to find Y/N and bring her back to me, but if either of you…” the blonde warned several moments later, regarding the therapist and the woman with a deathly fire burning in his auburn eyes, “if either of you do more shit to ruin my life in the meantime, I...I will make you regret.”

With that, Naoya stormed off in a huff, releasing all the profanities that have manifested his anger throughout his life. Mari followed soon after, chasing after him in sobs.

Finally, as for Toji, well, he...was stunned.

He blinked thrice in the same second, processing what he had just seen.

He drew in a deep breath...

...and he chuckled.

He knew he looked crazy, laughing to himself in an empty and currently deranged parlor. However, Toji had not felt this triumphant and optimistic in years. He saw a hopeful gleam for himself, for his family, for his colleagues, and for you.

He picked up his phone with a languid grin, scrolling through his contacts and sending over a quick text when he found your name: Guess what?

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Throughout this fic, Toji and Naoya obviously have a very complicated and terse cousin-ship. For weeks and months, I have been thinking about how to orchestrate this scene, where we see them together for the first time...and with Mari too. Likes and reblogs are appreciated, and let me know in the comments how you all are doing!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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spiderink · 2 months

Text

LV posted another comment about shipping a minor and adult, Horror and Aliza.

More talking below cut for the sake of scrollers

They tried to make it seem okay, but that is still a child. Aging them up and aging the adult down will not change that. It is fictional, but many people have come forward and said they have been effected by people shipping those sorts of things. I myself have been effected by ships such as this, I’ve been desensitized quite a bit to it. It’s horrible how people have gotten used to horrible things like gore and things like this to the point people will just ignore it at times. But that doesn’t make it any better. No matter how they or any supporters of LV justify this, it will not be okay to ship. It hurts people. It has effected me and many others mentally.

The age of consent also does not make it any less disturbing, in fact that just feels like they’re throwing any sort of defense in there because they can’t think of any actual good reason it should be allowed. They aren’t even actually 16. They are canonically 12, and Horror is above 30. That is WAY BELOW the age of consent.

It’s disgusting that they are making Sans, who was created by Toby, and Horror, seem pedophilic. No one would want their OC displayed as that.

They could have gone back and changed some things and not mentioned they shipped the two. And none of the drama would have ever happened.

“Accusations of pedo are just strange” maybe it’s because it’s a 12 year old and a grown man above 30? Of course you’re going to be accused of such. Do not post a ship of a young minor and an adult and expect it to be fine.

“You may disagree with my opinion, and that’s okay. Just be polite. Remember that there’s a living person on the other side of the screen.” I do not believe people like this should be treated with respect. Pedo stuff is not a light topic, and to openly say you support it by shipping minors and adults together is disgusting, and cannot be justified in any sort of way.

Anyone who supports work like this are not welcome anywhere near me. If you do, block me. I do not need OR want you here.

85 notes · View notes

strayed-quokka · 27 days

Text

babydoll || ji changmin || act i

↳ Changmin isn’t popular nor is he rich, whereas you run on the other end of the spectrum, spoilt and living on your dads credit card. when you’re tasked with kicking him out of the biggest party of your year, you come to realise he’s not all that bad. unfortunately, falling in love with the ji changmin is your one way ticket to social suicide.

↳ pairing: ji changmin x female reader + ex lee juyeon x female reader

!!! this is not a love triangle !!!

~ rating: NC-17 minors please do not interact with this work

↳ genre: enemies to acquaintances to reluctant friends to lovers, slowburn, drama, angst, happy end but it takes a long ass time, rich girl broke ass uni boy

~ warnings: everyone kinda sucks, reader is a pain to deal with, alcohol, sex while on drugs, sex while intoxicated (consensual), condom where?, use of whore, degradation kinda, the classism is strong in this one, implications of eating disorder, body issues, body modifications (nipple piercings), changmin is basically a chainsmoker but we love him, cocaine is common, so is imported wine, swearing, juyeon is toxic, emotional abuse, manipulation (?), moaning the wrong name, bullying, pet names (little doll, doll, darling, princess), good girl, oral (male recieving), spanking if you squint, taller reader with long hair, is anyone redeemable?

everyone is an adult in their 20s

!!! if I missed anything or I remember something else I will add it !!!

↳ words: 14,838

a/n: this is a month late, i know. changmin broke my computer, it's simply not my fault, thanks.

I have said this previously but I will be stating this every chapter. There are some specific physical attributes to this reader which I usually avoid doing but for the story itself it was necessary.

Also, please note that the warnings are applicable to the chapter in question, not necessarily the whole story. You can find all the warnings on the masterlist to babydoll.

let me know if you wanna be on the taglist 🩵

babydoll playlist || teaser

You huff in frustration in your desperate attempts at wriggling yourself into your custom made corset without accidentally dragging the jewelry adorning your nipples with you, for the pain would be hell and you cannot be dealing with any of that on such an important night.

“Why do you still squeeze yourself into clothes that don’t fit?”

“It does fit,” your best friend raises his eyebrows, coming over to you and completely unbothered by your bare chest. He’s seen you naked before, and whilst there were many rumours of you and Chanhee being an item, you both laughed at the absurdity and simply played into it when you felt like stirring some trouble, “it has to be tight.”

“You can barely get it on,” but you let him take over, covering your chest with his own fingers as he tugs the moss coloured fabric over, until he’s sure your piercings are out of danger. You thank him and proceed to tug the rest down yourself, adjusting it so that your chest lifts further, creating the illusion of far more cleavage than you actually have, “looks good though.”

“I know,” he rolls his eyes, taking the white string of the corset between his fingers at your back, “how tight?”

“Break my ribs tight,” you’re yanked back with force into his chest, making you yelp though you ignore the pressure created on your body for the sake of beauty. For just a moment, you dare envy Chanhee, who despite being dressed beautifully in a dark red suit and a button down open far too low to be subtle, can at least breathe without feeling suffocated.

“You worry me,” and it’s genuine. His voice is sincere and it’s incredibly off putting, for you don’t do well with sincerity, nor do you do well with anything that isn’t bragging within your social circle to raise yourself above everyone else.

Out of all your friends, of which you had many, Chanhee was really the only one that you let yourself be true to, but the truth to who you were rarely came to light even for him. You hide yourself away, in favour of a rather stoic and icy personality, for it was so much easier to display power in arrogance than in empathy.

“Don’t. It’ll give you wrinkles,” he laughs, finishing up with a neat bow of the satin string down the centre of your back, your leather black shorts high on your waist and heels just above your knees. You looked good, lips stained a perfect red and eyeliner dangerously sharp with glitter over your eyelids.

Perfect.

“How do I look?” though you only expected one answer, one he gave you without missing a beat because Chanhee always knew exactly what you wanted to hear.

“Sexy as hell.”

The party is in full swing by the time you arrive. You never liked to be early, and arriving at the time given was what you considered to be a rather pathetic display of having nothing better to do beforehand. If anything, being late was being perfectly on time. You didn't care who might find it rude.

Your driver had taken a rather long and unnecessary detour upon your request so that you and Chanhee could down shots in the back of the SUV, a mess of small glass bottles littered across the floor that you’d pay someone to clean before your father ever found out. You didn’t care much for the damage you caused, mainly because there was never any repercussion for your actions.

The dents in your favourite credit card wasn’t even in your name, nor was the chaos you caused enough to cause much money to be lost. Your father allowed you to have anything you wanted, and the idea of having everything just made you want more. Your mother had no complaints either, for as long as you were out of her way, she didn’t care what you did. Well, it was partially true. You didn't like to think of the times she did say something to appeal to the idea that she was a good mother.

You were always greedy, but not only were you greedy, but you wished for your best friend to have whatever he wanted too. You took turns paying for things, weekend shopping trips more than a regular occurance, though where to most they may be simple and inexpensive, to you they were filled with luxury items that easily amounted to costs that most could never even dream to afford.

“Start of last term… how’d you feel?”

When stepping out of the car, it surprises you that you don’t stumble, Chanhee linking his arm with yours before thanking your chaffeur, handing him a large sum of bills in an excessive tip that he doesn’t need to give, “fucking finally. Can’t wait!”

He chuckles, leading you inside the house of none other than Lee Juyeon.

Juyeon was quite possibly the wealthiest young man on campus and your ex-lover, but neither of those made a difference in whether you were invited or not. It was a given that you were, even high up on the guest list along with your best friend's name as you were let in.

You’d been in these very walls a lot, could cross off many rooms on the list of where you’d been naked and bent over, sometimes high on drugs you’d barely remembered taking, creating a shift in reality and overwhelming pleasure that could never come sober.

“There she is, the little princess,” you scoff, glaring at Juyeon though accepting the delicate glass of expensive champagne that the man himself offers to you, handing another to Chanhee as if he’d prepared for this moment, knowing that if you came, the other wasn’t far behind.

Honestly, sometimes you think that Chanhee became the end to your relationship, but you were tired of it anyway. Whilst Juyeon could be fun company, the two of you were the opposite side of the same coin, far too similar in twisted and cold personality to ever be fully compatible.

“And the little prince. To what do I owe the honour?” His frown is immediate, frustrated by your constant reminder of being similar height, and he’s chucking his drink down his throat before dangling the glass between his fingers.

“Still the same bitch then, huh?”

“I learned from the best,” though Juyeon isn’t one to accept defeat. When he knows a situation can’t be won, he simply fades it out or ignores it, rather than arguing himself into a corner. He’s smart that way; something you’d taken onboard yourself for nothing was worse than realising you’d lost to someone else.

“And Chanhee, still gorgeous,” Juyeon sends him a wink, one Chanhee rolls his eyes to in a way that makes you laugh. The two of them were like oil and water, never getting along fully yet not hating each other enough either.

“I sent you the money,” your ex grins, digging into his pocket until a white paper box is between his jewellery-adorned fingers. There’s a cross displayed in the centre, ironic to you as your eyes seem amused.

“I’m aware,” he holds it out to you, though just as you grab it, he pulls his fingers back just enough for you to miss it, “just be careful. It’s good shit.”

"I would hope so with a price like that."

Juyeon wasn’t lying. When you’d cut down the white powder further with your credit card to create two equally sized lines, one for Chanhee and one for you, you hadn’t thought it would hit you so quickly. Given your quite frequent use of the drug, you’d actually become a bit immune to the first hit.

Chanhee had quickly decided that that one hit would be enough for you both. Whilst normally you’d argue with him and disagree, you let him place the rest in his suit jacket, storing it away from your glazed eyes that watched him lazily.

Your brain could’ve easily done a hundred thousand things in this moment, but instead you sat there with your legs bouncing and your hands only somewhat calmer because they were twisting in your lap, “let’s dance!”

You drag Chanhee to the living room that’s now the dance floor, back and forth in your movement before you’re easily brought to the centre of the room. With Chanhee, it was easy to grab attention, for he was a dancer before he was anything else, sober or not; he simply lived and breathed it, dragging you in by the waist to move with him.

You’re not sure how quickly the time goes. It could be hours or just a few minutes, but the cheering dies down and you’re wondering what could possibly be grabbing anyone’s attention so desperately that it’s not on you anymore.

Blurrily, you tear your eyes away from Chanhee, landing on a figure in the corner of the room alone. He’s disinterested, and it takes quite a long time for you to recognise him though when you do, you’re immediately filled with hatred.

Ji Changmin.

Beyond beautiful, sure, with his dark locks of hair and jewelry-adorned ears, his usual glasses sat over his face, framing it in a way that made him look innocent yet cute, but also completely worthless of anyone’s time.

And here he was taking yours away.

You’re not even sure how he got in. There was no way Juyeon would put someone who got into your university with pure luck and a scholarship, onto tonight's guest list of prestigious classmates who had it all. He didn’t even seem comfortable in being here, so why the hell was he here?

“Y/N,” Chanhee calls your name, though it’s a blur that fades somewhere deep within your drugged mind until you’re physically yanked back to pay attention to him. You notice Juyeon suddenly standing next to him, a lazy smirk on his lips while you have no idea where he suddenly came from.

“Explain, now.”

“Ah well, I wish I could. Don’t actually know how he got here. Impressive, though. Shall we keep him?”

He asks as if Changmin is a pet, though you suppose that’s not quite far off. To everyone in the room, the man in the corner meant very little. He didn’t have money, and whilst some of his clothes were nicely put together, they were mostly cheap. All in all, his appearance was a contrast to yours, and you never appreciated anyone who put in even a percentage less of effort into looks than you did.

You considered it lazy. Even if your rational mind told you he couldn’t afford better, it simply wasn’t good enough if he was going to be part of the world you were in.

“Mind telling him to leave?”

You hadn’t seen him all night, though here he was, Hyunjae, standing tall and proud before the three of you, dressed dark yet regal with a bottle of half-empty red wine between his fingers. It wasn’t unusual to see him avoid an actual glass at a party, for he saw no real use if he was going to drink the contents of a whole bottle anyway. Why pour it somewhere else first if the end result was the same?

“Juyeon, you’re the host,” Chanhee interjects, bitterly reminding Juyeon that he had to do most of the work unless he involved security. And when it came to using security, Juyeon liked to avoid it until it became the very last resort. He rather loved to manipulate people in conversation until they were uncomfortable enough to leave.

Whilst Changmin was a frustrating inconvenience, he was not worth causing a scene for.

“Y/N you tell him,” Juyeon yanks the bottle of wine from Hyunjae, chugging it down as you stare at him in disbelief.

“What? Why me?”

“You’re the only girl,” Hyunjae mumbles, not quite with the conversation as he attempts to get his drink back, mildly successful though there’s a fresh stain of liquid red on the carpet, earning him a rather rough punch to the shoulder from the host.

“Careful, that’s imported,” Juyeon scoffs.

“As if you paid for it,” and he couldn’t argue. His parents were often away, so he was often free to do as he liked and act like it was all his. In reality, only a small share of the luxury was, though the small share was more than enough for him to be incredibly well off and indifferent to anything.

“There’s other girls here,” you yell, spinning around as if to point them all out in an over-dramatic gesture in case all your friends were blind, but that doesn’t seem to matter, and now your head is starting to hurt as fatigue hits you from the alcohol, but your brain can’t rest to save your life because of the self-induced high you’re on from the drug you took.

“Very true,” Hyunjae confirms, though he seems to hold all the answers, so confident in the way he leans down to your level, a little condescending and dangerous in his tone, smelling of cologne and alcohol, “but none of those girls are you.”

Damn it, if Lee Jaehyun didn’t have a way with words.

“Fine,” you exasperatedly snarl, hands on your hips as you huff, annoyed, “what do I get?”

“What would you like?” Juyeon asks you, and it’s in the same tone he used to speak to you with when you were together. An attitude screaming you could have anything if you kept his bed warm at night.

“Shopping trip. Funded by you. No limit,” he’s considering it, rolling his eyes as he reaches for his pocket where his wallet lies, “and I get a plus one. Chanhee’s going.”

The smile on Juyeon’s lips immediately fades, but he nevertheless takes out the platinum card and practically shoves it against Chanhee’s chest, not trusting you to take it when you’re a little more than out of it, not to mention he’s fairly certain that you’re not even quite sure where you are in his house anymore.

“Fine,” he snarls, eyes angry but equally impressed. As if telling you you’ve played your cards well, exactly as he would’ve, but that he’s anything but happy about it.

You’re just as good as him, always unmatched and it’s his biggest frustration with you in his life. To him, you were a competitor, worthy of his time only because you pushed the limits.

Approaching Changmin should’ve been easy. He’d been standing in that corner for the past few minutes, simply unmoving, a drink in hand, alone and isolated, though as soon as you make your way towards him, he moves.

You’re not sure if he’d noticed you, or if maybe he’d grown restless and simply had terrible timing, but there was a growing anger in you at watching him walk away and go outside into the large backyard.

If there’s one thing you definitely didn’t handle well, it would be people walking away from you. And whilst sober, you may have been able to rationalise it more and thought that maybe, just maybe he hadn’t seen you, intoxicated you wasn’t as forgiving, not to mention insulted regardless if he’d known you were there or not.

It’s enough for you to angrily tear a drink away from the grand piano, a row of champagne glasses neatly lined up and filled to take, rushing after him blindly.

“Hey!”

Your voice is loud, enough so that people immediately stop their conversation to turn to you, only to realise that you weren’t paying them any mind, but the one person it’s meant for keeps walking as if he hadn’t bothered to hear you.

“I’m talking to you!”

You’re more secluded now, Changmin having chosen to rest his body against the fence furthest from the pool and crowds of people, though a few are still scattered about. He finally turns towards you, as if choosing to acknowledge your presence, though he doesn’t say a single word as he lights a cigarette.

“Do you not speak? Are you mute?”

“It’s Changmin,” he snarls back, and the way he says it makes you straighten your posture. You don’t actually think you’ve really heard his voice before, but there’s a certain dominance in the way he says his name to you that makes you still, “maybe try that, if you want my attention.”

Unbelievable.

You scoff, downing your glass in one go before you let it hit the railing to your side, hard enough to shatter and break at your feet.

“I don’t want your attention.”

“Then why did you run out here?”

There were many ways this conversation could go. Even more ways the conversation could’ve started, though you never thought the end result would be this, with Changmin getting on your last nerve before he offers a cigarette out to you, as if he’s completely unaware of how agitated you are. Or maybe he’s perfectly aware and is offering it as a means for you to calm down.

Either way, you surprise yourself by accepting it, practically ripping the lighter out of his hand. He watches you the whole time, and you’re not sure if you’re flattered or annoyed that he’s terribly good at maintaining eye contact with you when your chest is right there and everyone else has been looking down rather than up.

“You weren’t invited,” he smiles, jumping up to sit on the railing, and he doesn’t for one moment seem to disagree with you. You’d expect him to put up a fight, maybe tell you that you must be mistaken before you’d whip out the well I know Lee Juyeon personally card, but you never need to.

“You’re right, I wasn’t,” you’d say the thing that separates you both the most is how relaxed he seems to be carrying himself whilst seeming to be near or completely sober, whereas you at best only manage it either drunk or after sex for a few moments before you go entirely rigid again. You wouldn’t say you envy it, but it is something you wonder about.

“Why are you here?”

“My friend was invited. I’m just making sure he doesn’t drink too much-”

“What friend?” you interrupt, and it sounds harsher than intended but Changmin doesn’t seem very bothered. Either your words don’t affect him at all, or you’re unaware of how you’re actually speaking right now, maybe sounding far more out of character and far more gentle than you think in your head.

“That’s none of your business,” he answers and you scoff again. Any kindness you might’ve shown him is replaced with an anger that seems almost disproportionate to the situation.

“I’m making it my business.”

He doesn’t say anything first, watching as you take a drag from the cigarette he’d offered you. It bothers you, that he’s not really staring at your lips but rather what you’re doing, and you wonder why he doesn’t care. You’re giving him attention, why doesn’t he want it?

And then he walks away and you’re left standing there like an idiot. Something you absolutely refuse and detest and suddenly you’re the one chasing him again. You didn’t know a lot about Changmin, aside from the fact that he was likely smarter than you and had way less money, but what you were starting to learn, you hated.

You’d been told to kick him out and damn it, if that’s not exactly what you were going to do. You were as stubborn as anything and near yelling his name again before you simply huffed and attempted to run after him in your heels, something you weren’t really good at but you didn’t want to give the young man any more attention than he’d already gotten. From you nonetheless.

“You have to leave,” it came out weak, like you weren’t quite sure if you were gently asking or telling him, but it made him stop walking and look at you again. You ignore the way your heart lurches in your throat, clearing it and standing straighter, an attempt to make yourself seem bigger and more intimidating than you maybe were. You had to remind yourself that you were the one in charge, not him.

“Believe me, darling, I’m not here by choice,” yeah right.

“Then leave,” Changmin takes a step forward, exhaling the smoke from his cigarette near your lips, close enough to make you cough and you realise you need another fucking drink after this. Hell, maybe you’ll be dumb enough to find Juyeon to fuck the frustration away.

“I can't. I’m someone’s designated driver,” he answers back, and you see the way his knuckles clench just enough to indicate frustration. You’re getting to him, finally, though he still seems far too composed.

“You can’t afford tuition. How would you afford a car?”

“Well, you see, most people work for the things they get. I can send you a few job openings if you’d like?” God, any attraction caused by his appearance dissipated with the tone of voice he spoke in. He got under your skin and fast, nestling there with a comfort you didn’t appreciate.

“Bite me.”

“Where?”

“Fuck off.”

“Gladly. You’re dumbing me down,” your arms cross, yet even so he still doesn’t glance down when your cleavage threatens to spill over the corset you’re wearing and you huff. There were two options. Admit defeat and walk away, or hurt him. But any insult you thought of was lost on your tongue as you stared at him in near disbelief. He was waiting for you to answer, to say anything, but after a while he seemed almost bored and simply turned around again.

Unbelievable.

“Is your answer to just always walk aw-”

“You bore me,” he says, one hand in his pocket as he heads back towards the house that you’re meant to get him out of.

“You’re interrupting m- HEY!”

Never, ever would you admit defeat. It wasn’t like you to lose and you never knew anything other than getting your way, and yet here you stood frozen because someone had ignored what you wanted and it had left you speechless. He was embarrassing you and your character, both of which you knew to be strong and self-sufficient, and you were letting him.

“Did the little princess get ignored?” Juyeon looked thrilled, like he’d wanted this to happen, and yet you barely paid any mind to him suddenly appearing beside you. You hadn’t even noticed him approach, staring into a blank void of where Changmin had been walking back inside. Maybe if you imagined him still standing there, he’d appear and you could give him a piece of your mind, “Looks like I’ll have to take back that platinum card, little one.”

“What if I fuck you, can I keep it then?”

“Isn’t that a step away from prostitution?”

“Are you complaining about getting your dick wet?”

Juyeon shuts up in an instance, like even in his hazed slightly drunk high mind, he knew better than to complain. Chanhee would never let you live this future mistake down, but right now, you don't care. In this instance, you let Juyeon take your hand and tug you through a sea of people until you’re in his bedroom, shutting it quickly with your own body as he presses you against the dark wood. You grab his shirt and pull him close, tilting your head so he can kiss down your neck and you simply let him.

You were just so fucking frustrated and had already come here with the intention of fucking someone, and at least Juyeon knew you. He was insufferable, sure, but he was a source of comfort in familiarity that grounded you when you were too angry to fully think. Maybe you should learn to be more grateful for him.

Being grateful wasn’t exactly something you were good at showing, though, so instead you show your appreciation by sinking down to your knees, your shorts tightening around your thighs with your legs partially spread while you work on unbuttoning his pants. Juyeon chuckles, grabbing your hair between his large fingers, tugging in a way that shows arrogance and expectancy in your lewd behaviour.

You were both bad for each other, you think, but it’s something you don’t care about.

Juyeon’s arrogance and place in your life almost never played on your mind.

“Do you like whoring yourself out to me?”

“I can still bite your dick off,” he chuckles, low like he’s mocking you and it makes you shiver. You hate almost everything about him at this point, but he spoiled you and his cock was big and both were enough reason to keep him around.

“Maybe, but then your tight little pussy won’t get to clench around my cock when you cum,” and he had you cornered just like that, taking his cock in your mouth as you began to suck and wet the head with your lips. His free hand leans against the door, eyes cast down onto your own as you look up. You liked looking at him. He was beautiful, with sharp features and a cocky smile and your judgement didn’t matter when he stared back.

Your tongue dips into the slit of his cock before letting your teeth barely graze the shaft while you take him in your mouth, hearing him curse under his breath and his eyes finally disappear from your own in favour of squeezing them shut. You hollow your cheeks and angle your head in a way that lets you take more of him in, moaning around his cock when you do.

It’s become a little repetitive for you to give head, but you also don’t mind it because it was easy to do. You build up a pace and grab Juyeon’s thighs for support, digging your manicured nails into the flesh as he moves his hips in time with you, leaving you gasping for air each time he lets go. Your mouth releases his cock and a string of saliva falls between you both, your lips swollen red as you stare up at him with a blank stare.

You know you don’t have feelings for him, and he doesn’t have feelings for you.

“Get up,” you let him tug you, his hands moving to your back to tug the strings of the corset Chanhee had tied just hours ago, and it feels like a struggle to get it pulled over your head.

"Wait! My piercings,” you nearly yell, not ready to tear either of them because Juyeon decides to pull a little too hard. He huffs, frustrated, but he’s nice enough to listen and tries to be a little gentler while you finally allow your lungs their usual breathing capacity.

Your corset is haphazardly thrown to the floor and your shorts follow, but the minute you step out of them, Juyeon has lifted you up onto his waist. His cock presses against your lace panties, the wetness of your pussy felt through the fabric and he can only smirk against the kiss he gives you. You could verbally tell him anything you wanted, but your body always wanted him.

He sits on the edge of his bed, your legs wrapped around him while your body starts to grind down against him, making you mewl and whimper at how close he is while it still doesn’t feel like enough.

“Fuck me, Juyeon- ah!” Juyeon’s hand stings against your ass when he harshly slaps the skin, your nails digging into his shoulders before you add, “p-please.”

“Good girl,” his fingers tug the lace fabric to the side, his index teasing your clit and feeling your wetness gather on his skin and it feels agonizing and empty without him fucking you.

“Please, Ju- want your cock,” he chuckles, all too willing to oblige to your request, and you feel the tip of his dick by your tight hole, begging to be filled and dripping in your juices.

“Say please,” you whine again, but you both know he’s going to get his way in the end and you relent.

“P-please.”

His cock slips inside you with practised familiarity, but he hisses at the tight walls trying to push him out. Juyeon knows he should’ve taken more time in opening you up, but he also knows you wouldn’t have let him. He knows you like the sting of his cock pressing into you and opening you up just for him and you know not to ask for it because Juyeon knows you better.

It’s agonizing for you both, him waiting to fuck you while you lift your hips up and off his cock each time he goes a little deeper. Each inch stimulates you and makes you shake, and if he was a little less nice, he’d let his frustration get to him and have you sit down on his cock without warning.

“Princess, sit on my lap,” I’m trying. That’s what you think, but no words come out. You feel like you’ve gone dumb, which is an insult to your character but you don’t think it matters now, “let me fuck you.”

“Y-yeah-” you don’t know how much time passes, but you feel his thighs press to your ass and you nearly sigh in relief at the fullness you feel with him inside you and knowing every inch of him is in your cunt.

Juyeon slaps your ass again, hard enough that you jerk forward and a moan emits from your throat, and it’s like the sudden electricifying jolt wakes you up and has you moving against him, sinking down on his cock each time you move. It’s sloppy, maybe low effort, but given the routine you’ve both worked up, it’s almost too natural and easy to gravitate towards it.

Thankfully, the repetition is short-lived when your body strains and muscles tense, lifting your body up, though Juyeon presses you back down, hands digging into the flesh of your ass as you cum against him. Maybe it’s the drugs and alcohol in your system making this easy, tipping you over the edge way before you’re ready, but your exhausted mind doesn’t care and barely registers you being pushed off him so he can cum, a mess of white adorning your inner thigh like a decorative piece of lace.

Both your breathing is heavy and exhausted, the air thick and sweaty as you look up at the ceiling. You’re thinking, but you don’t quite know what about. You’re clouded, and you decide then that it’s time to find Chanhee and go home.

“I can drive you home.”

“Not like that,” you snarl, unwilling to get into the car with him intoxicated, but more so because you really don’t want to be near him right now. You’re not sure what it is, regret, frustration, maybe both, but you’re just ready to go home and forget this night ever existed.

“Take care,” you mumble something back, just loud enough so he knows you heard him, but you don’t find him to be very genuine. Juyeon was complicated, especially with you, and you wondered often if that circled back to the fact that you were both so painfully similar in your being.

“You fucked, didn’t you?” Chanhee is standing there, leaning against the wall by the corner you turned to go downstairs and it’s like he already knows. He looks disappointed, not because he cares about what you do or who with, but because he’s fairly certain he knows who you were with, “isn’t it a little pathetic to fuck your ex at his party just to get laid?”

“I wasn’t trying to get laid,” well, that could’ve been debated, but you could say with confidence that Juyeon hadn’t been on your list of plans for the night.

“But you fucked Juyeon, right?”

“I’m allowed to make poor decisions,” Chanhee follows after you, naturally stepping into pace with you as he pushes you both past crowds of people that cause him an abundance of frustration.

“Certainly true, you make plenty-”

“I don’t need a lecture,” you snarl, pushing your hair behind your ear after it falls from its place.

“Then don’t be fucking stupid.”

You want to turn your body around and argue. You’re good at arguing, but so is Chanhee and you’re fairly certain he wouldn’t back down from this, even if you’re both in a public setting, and it’s ultimately that and your desire to go home that has you say nothing at all. Honestly, you also know he’s right, that Juyeon is always a bad decision and will never fail to be, and that’s something you have yet to make your peace with.

A part of you still ached for someone you knew wasn’t good for you, but you refused to let any of it resurface. You weren’t going to be dumb.

Not again.

You were a little dumb. Your decisions were poor but your facade implied otherwise. You’d will away any thoughts of Juyeon and if they persisted, you’d be taking them to your grave. It was a Monday now, a terrible start to the week and you were very much ready to throw in the towel.

But you were smart and you enjoyed learning, at least to an extent, and really only your own ambitions and determination had landed you in a major that was far more mathematical than just theory, like you’d so naively believed, and it was really your own fault that you were burnt out from the amount of work you got.

It’s another reason why you feature so heavily in the university library, almost like a decorative piece, one of the statues that was carved out of stone around the massive two-story space, old oak woods and beautiful carpeted stairs spiraling up to a study area. One that you frequented more than any other place. Usually, Mondays were quiet. Especially Mondays that featured heavy rain and left most students at home. Honestly, you couldn’t blame them, which is why you were so agitated to see that almost every seat around you with a desk was taken.

Even the more comfortable chairs that spun and had a pillow as a rest but no table, were occupied and overflowing with students. You weighed your options, but given your time limit and unwillingness to stand around like an idiot and risk someone noticing it, you took a seat at a six-person table across a dark head of hair that you failed to recognise until you’d already sat down and it was too late.

Changmin.

You fucking hated Mondays.

The deflected way your shoulders dropped didn’t go unnoticed by him, you could tell, because he’d briefly looked up only to roll his eyes at the way you’d looked visibly annoyed, maybe even disappointed. There was the option to move, there was other space, but it would be far too obvious and you didn’t want to make a scene, not one that involved him. The last thing you needed was people talking, especially after you’d tried to kick him out of Juyeon’s party.

Did it bother him?

“You can quit staring at me.”

“I wasn’t staring,” but your answer came out too quick, too defensively and you knew he didn’t believe you. Honestly, you hadn’t noticed yourself staring until he’d said it, and at that point you knew saying the opposite was a lie. You just weren’t aware of it.

“About the party…” you’re not sure what you’re attempting, pushing your hair back and up into a bun to get it out of your way, using the distraction to think of what you might say.

“A pleasant conversation, certainly. Can I finish this?”

Changmin was strange. You couldn’t begin to pretend like you knew him nor could you understand him, aside from the fact that he was frustrating, a little bit too pretty and apparently smart. Two of those, you didn’t really care for.

“You weren’t invited. I was only doi-”

“Running Juyeon’s biddings because he doesn’t have the balls to do it himself?”

The temptation to say yes is on the tip of your tongue until you remember the weight of his credit card in your pocket, waiting to be spent with your best friend. You were not risking bad karma by allowing Juyeon to somehow find out and have it circle back that you agreed with Changmin on something. God forbid, you’d bury yourself alive if that happened.

“That’s not what I’m doing…”

“I already told you I don’t care,” Changmin looks back at his book, his glasses moving slightly as they do and you watch as he adjusts it with his slender fingers. You hate how nothing he says hides his intentions or feelings, it’s all right there on the surface and it drives you crazy because you know that he really doesn’t care, and it baffles you. It frustrates you.

Why the fuck was he so indifferent?

“Yeah but… that’s ridiculous…”

“Has anyone ever told you the world doesn’t revolve around you, or am I going to be the first?”

“This isn’t even about me. It’s about you being at a party uninvited,” you snarl, getting exhausted which is only exasperated when you hear someone shush you from further away. If you were speaking loudly, you didn’t care. Not enough, anyway.

“Yes, it keeps me up at night knowing I caused you such discomfort,” you scoff, feeling offended just by the tone of his voice, and yet you wish it wasn’t so obvious, just how much that bothered you.

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“What doesn’t?”

“Being at a party you aren’t allowed to be at?”

“And whose permission do I need? Yours?”

“If it were my party, sure. But in this case, Juyeon.”

“In which case, Juyeon can go tell me himself.”

“That’s bullshit!”

Except it isn’t. It bothers you so much because you know he’s right. It was Juyeon’s party. If he didn’t want someone there, he should’ve said it himself. Instead, you were left to do it, you accepted it because of the promised date with your friend on someone else's dime and it felt so incredibly shallow, not to mention you felt used.

But you weren’t ready to admit how shallow Juyeon made you feel. How lesser than you became for him. And you certainly weren’t ready to tell the person before you that he was right.

Unfortunately for him, you wouldn’t have gotten to say it either even if you really wanted to. There’s a weight of someone’s hand on your shoulder, making you look up to see the displeased face from the only male librarian, a name you never remember but a face you could go without seeing.

“I’m going to ask you to leave if you can’t keep your voice down at an acceptable level, young lady.”

“I was already leaving,” Changmin interrupts, packing his things into his arms before vacating the seat across from you, “she gives me a headache anyway.”

“I do not!”

Again, Changmin doesn’t care; it’s the way his lack of response that has a way of twisting your gut and boiling your emotions over, making you react and push against it whether you can justifiably reason with it or not. You just don’t like him.

Yet you feel like always getting the last word, he just barely seems to listen. He’s already left the library before you can think quick enough on your feet and now you’re on your own, alone and feeling humiliated because you know people are looking at you, heard you and him speak and they all know that he’s embarrassed you.

Your hatred for him had only grown tenfold in your humiliation.

Chanhee sits across from you looking almost doll-like with his black coffee in hand, your own drink before you on the table, untouched. You’d spent enough money that Juyeon might even notice it in his balance, bags surrounding you both and some already in the car because the weight on both your arms was overbearing, yet you still felt a void. You weren’t satisfied, nor were you happy.

It wasn’t good enough.

“You’re not listening. Do you want to keep insulting me?”

“Huh? Sorry… tell me again?”

“Forget it,” you sigh, feeling the guilt run through your bloodstream and settle in your heart with a heavy weight that you can’t shake.

“I’m sorry. I’m distracted…”

“Yeah, you’ve been distracted since we got here. Hours ago,” he was right, truly, but there wasn’t much you could do about it. Your mind was wandering and each time you told it not to, it persisted.

“Do you think… Juyeon should’ve kicked Changmin out himself?”

“Probably. But why do you care? You don’t like Changmin either.”

“Well… no… but he just… he’s getting under my skin.”

Chanhee laughs, but it’s caught in his throat and sinks when he realises you’re completely serious.

“Wait, this is actually bothering you?”

“Changmin is. He’s so… frustrating. I can’t stand him.”

“So, don’t? I’m not sure I see the problem?”

Because there wasn’t one. At least there shouldn’t be one. It didn’t matter. How Changmin viewed you, how he thought of you should mean absolutely nothing, and if it meant anything, it shouldn’t have been enough to get under your skin, and yet here you were, letting him get to you.

Like he meant way more than he does. Way more than you should ever let him.

“You’re right.”

It’s another Monday morning when Changmin makes you snap and you realise very quickly that Chanhee was very wrong. You absolutely should let everything about Changmin’s existence bother you. Even more now that he’s spilled excruciatingly warm fresh coffee on your white hoodie that cost way more than his entire outfit.

“I’m sorry,” it’s the most genuine he’s ever sounded when speaking to you. A part of you knows it wasn’t intentional either. You’d turned the corner too fast and he’d done the same, crashing into you before he even realised you were there and it was already too late, but your anger got the better of you. His apology meant nothing to you. He could say it twice, even a third time and it would only make you angrier.

“Are you fucking blind?”

“Actually, yeah. I don’t wear glasses as an accessory…”

“You- are you… do you think this is funny!?”

“Not particularly.”

“I’m not getting this out, Changmin,” you huff, looking down at your ruined clothes and remembering that it isn’t even nine yet, and your entire outfit is ruined. You’re sure if it wasn’t so thick of a fabric, it would’ve burned your skin too, “replace it.”

“I don’t hear a please.”

“You ruined it!”

“You bumped into me,” you’re about to protest but he comes closer to you, looking at your stained piece of clothing and then back up at you, “darling, you love to run your mouth on your riches, so put them to use.”

You don’t know what makes your head spin more. The fact that he’s directly insulting you, or the fact that he called you darling again. Your heart lurches up to your throat and threatens to beat louder, and that’s the biggest insult to you. Changmin shouldn’t call you that. You don’t want him to, and yet nothing leaves your lips to protest or tell him to stop.

He waits a moment, staring at you awaiting a response, any response, and yet he doesn’t get anything. Changmin wonders why, what silences your attitude now to simply stare at him, but he’s not going to ask and he’s not going to pick a fight with you unless he feels the need for it. He’ll defend himself, but not more than he has to.

Which is why he decides to be the more rational peace bringer in this mess of a conversation, pulling his own hoodie over his body to hand to you.

“Here, put it on and shut it,” you don’t move at first. Changmin wonders if you even heard him at all yet you stare at the fabric with such offence that he’s fairly certain you did, “what? Not good enough for the little doll?”

Doll. That was a first. You’d heard Chanhee be referred to as a doll plenty of times. Even you thought of him as one sometimes, with his delicate build and beautiful features and attitude, but never yourself. It was never you that was referred to as something that pretty.

You wondered, were you delicate to him, like porcelain, or maybe you were cheaper, not really dollike in the way that you wanted to be. Only when you realised again that it was Changmin that had referred to you as such, did you snap out of it and get annoyed, “absolutely not. I’d rather die than wear that.”

He shoves it into your hands anyway and the fabric is so soft to the touch, you nearly regret declining him at all. It’s way more comfortable than yours, at least in the way it feels against your fingers, and it’s warm too. Not in a way that feels dirty but rather like a heated blanket, like someone's body heat had been radiating off it to create a warm little shell you could nestle yourself into with hints of perfume.

“Wear it or not, I don’t care. Just… shut your mouth. Your voice is grating me, and now I have to get more coffee,” Changmin doesn’t wait for you to speak. He’s turned the way he came from presumably to go back to the coffee shop, and you’re standing there for the longest time wondering what to even do. You’re annoyed and angry, though it’s simmered down to just being incredibly confused. You stare at the dark blue fabric in your grasp, probably far too large for you and for just a moment, you consider it. You consider it until voices in the hall snap you out of your own stupidity.

“Yikes, what the hell happened there?” Hyunjae seems far from impressed, his clothing perfectly neat and ironed against his toned body, and you can feel the judgement from his eyes that makes you frown. You were being judged for your appearance and that cut deeper than anything else could.

“Changmin bumped into me,” you cross your arms over your chest, letting the darker borrowed fabric dangle over your forearm while he shares a look with Younghoon.

Younghoon was unbelievably beautiful yet so high-strung and pretentious that you couldn’t bare being near him most of the time. It was fitting, of course, that he’d be friends with Juyeon and Hyunjae in particular. You’d thought that out of the two of them, he’d be judging you far more for your ruined top but instead it seemed to be the man you’d consider yourself more close to, “look, I know it’s bad. I’ll probably call it a day.”

“Callin’ it a day this early?”

“Younghoon, do you not see what I look like?”

“Oh, I definitely see it,” that one stings. It really cuts, because it feels like a direct insult towards your appearance. Like he’s confirming what you’re already thinking. You’re unattractive and sloppy, with no effort invested in yourself. You look cheap.

Biting back with an insult is usually what you did best. It’s what you wanted to do now, to tell him to go to hell and leave you alone because you knew you were better than him. Yet you couldn’t, because something in you was threatening to break, like a vial with the sadness you were suppressing and all that was left to do was cry.

And you would not be caught crying in front of Lee Jaehyun and Kim Younghoon. Never.

“Fuck you,” you push past him with your usual aggressive tone, the one he was probably used to hearing and used to ignoring much the same, letting you leave without much of a fight.

You were a good student. You could miss a day, it wouldn’t kill you and you doubt your parents would even notice your absence here at all. If they did, you could blame it on feeling sick, but you weren’t staying here any longer today. You’d study at home, but at least you’d be at home.

Your cat greets you with an unimpressed gaze as you enter the front door, staring at you from the overhead railing above on the second floor. It’s like seeing a reflection of yourself, and maybe it’s intentional. Maybe she mirrors you, or maybe she’s just an asshole.

Chanhee loved her. She liked him, though. A lot more than you. She tolerated you, you supposed.

“Quit staring at me,” it’s not that you didn’t like her. She was a pretty ragdoll, elegant with bright blue eyes and you took care of her. But she was also a bit of a diva. Your best friend would simply say she took after you, and maybe he was right.

You’re standing fully naked in your bathroom after a long shower, wondering if you should put on this damn hoodie that’s practically mocking you at the end of your bed where you’d lazily thrown it. It was tempting you, not because it was Changmin’s but because it looked cosy and honestly, you didn’t really care if this one got messy. You could lounge with relaxed shoulders because you didn’t have to think about getting something on your clothes, because they weren’t yours to begin with.

Your body was completely dry by the time you decide to wear it and you’d been right in assuming it would be comfortable. It was long, which made sense, given that it had been big on Changmin too. It was cosy but no longer with the warmth from earlier. The only traces of Changmin came from his cologne.

And it was nice. It smelled like a mixture of rain and the burning of wood in a fireplace in the winter. Maybe pinecone. You weren’t sure, but it wasn’t overbearing to your senses. You could smell it, it was noticeable, but it didn’t make you shrink away in disgust. It wasn’t too much, just enough, and you liked it.

You wondered what it was he wore.

Chanhee would probably know. He practically swam in perfumes and colognes (mostly perfumes) and he could probably pinpoint it. But you were not about to ask him to smell Changmin’s hoodie for you. That would be humiliating to you, and you’d had enough humiliation lately to last you for at least a decade.

Assuming you made it that far.

You’d developed what you considered a bad habit. It wasn’t the parties or the drugs or Juyeon that you were worried about, but your growing comfort of wearing that godforsaken oversized hoodie at home.

Maybe if it had belonged to Chanhee or Juyeon, or even Younghoon at this point, it would not have felt so shameful. But it belonged to someone you barely considered acquainted, and it was definitely someone you didn’t and would never grow to like.

Chanhee had found out about it a week after you’d first taken the item of clothing hostage in your home. He’d come by when it was pouring rain with five bottles of wine and the remainder of your cocaine from your ex and in your drunken drugged-out state you’d confessed that what you were wearing wasn’t even yours. Property of Ji Changmin, you’d called it, before downing another huge amount of the bottle you were holding.

Your best friend’s first question was to ask if you fucked him. You hadn’t, of course, and you were honest in your protest. It hadn’t ever crossed your mind, at least not at that point. As attractive as Changmin was even in your judgemental eyes, you hadn’t thought about it.

Well, up until that point, anyway.

“I wonder what his cock is like…” Chanhee nearly spits his wine back out. He’d heard worse from you. In his opinion, he knew far too much about your sex life from back when you were with Juyeon, but it’s not like he was a prude. He could talk about sex, even in detail, but about Changmin?

“I think you’ve had en- hey!”

You down the rest of the third bottle, the one Chanhee had just been holding and he sighs and reaches to open the next one, away from your thieving fingers.

“It’s just a curious little question,” because you know that Chanhee is the only person in the world you can really ask this to. Chanhee is probably the only person in the world that you think shows genuine concern for you.

“I’ve never thought about it,” neither have I.

The conversation died quite quickly, maybe because Chanhee had no interest in discussing what Changmin might look like naked. You didn’t entirely blame him. Maybe you were just horny. Maybe you should call Juyeon.

It was a back-and-forth cycle, one that never ended, and maybe that’s what Juyeon expected. He always expected you to come crawling back either way because somehow, you always did. Tonight though, while Chanhee seemed to be sound asleep next to you, you refused to run to Juyeon. You wanted sex, but you did not want to have your tail between your legs knocking at his door and begging for it.

Staring at the ceiling was your attempt at tiring your body out to go to sleep but it wasn’t happening. Maybe it was the coke (probably), but you were so frustrated and you wanted to have an orgasm. Honestly, any drunker and you might’ve just asked Chanhee.

You did not just think about fucking your best friend.

So maybe there was some truth to the assumption that you and Chanhee had sex.

What was sex with Chanhee like?

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumble out loud, ready to just give up, admit defeat and go to Juyeon after all, but Chanhee’s voice interrupts you.

“What now?”

“You’re awake?”

“I had more coke than you, of course I’m awake,” your best friend snarls, though the intentions aren’t cruel. He’s probably just as frustrated as you, maybe more, because Chanhee loves his sleep and if he didn’t get it, he always found himself incredibly grumpy.

“I need to fuck,” you relent, throwing your pillow over your head.

“Call your precious Juju,” Chanhee answers, shuffling around before you feel his eyes staring at you.

“It’s Juyeon. And I’m not going to call him. His dick is mediocre at best,” you remove the pillow to look at your best friend and for a moment you feel unfairly sad for how pretty he is. Why couldn’t you so effortlessly, even in a drug-induced tipsy state, look so beautiful?

“Which is why you keep going back to it, got it.”

“Shut up…” Chanhee shuffles again and it takes you a whole five seconds to register that he’s on top of you, looking down at you with a frown on his face. You know that look. It’s pity and hurt for his best friend and it makes you feel even smaller.

“Quit being sad. Let’s order some food and we can forget about it.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t gain weight from eating at ungodly hours,” you catch him wanting to roll his eyes but you can tell he stops himself, maybe because he knows your weight is something you’re genuinely not secure about.

“Incorrect. I actually gained weight recently,” the scoff that leaves your lips is out of your control and you shake your head in amusement instead, but it’s more mocking.

“Yeah? Well, let me know when it’s actually visible. You’re perfect Chanhee.”

“So are you,” he lays a hand over your lips before the protest he clearly knew was coming, and you simply give up. You give up because you know you’ll both go in circles and given your current state, you’re very likely going to end up in tears. The alcohol had worn off, but it was still in your system and you were definitely upset enough to have a meltdown.

“Do you think Juyeon thought so too?”

“I think he’s an idiot if he didn’t. And I think you’ve had way too much tonight, because if you were sober you’d never even consider that question. Y/N doesn’t care,” but do you want to care?

There was no justifiable reason to care about Juyeon’s opinion, but you did. He ran in a well-respected social circle that you found yourself a part of, and you really didn’t want your reputation to dwindle. It was already dwindling just for the hoodie you wore and shame washed over you again for even wearing it.

“Go to sleep, seriously,” Chanhee mumbles, a little slurred but sweet as his leg drapes over your thigh. He wasn’t very affectionate usually, but the moments in which your best friend would reach to hold you like this, were moments you cherished. For you knew them to be rare, and whilst you weren’t very big on affection yourself, from him it was different. Because you knew that when he gave it to you, when Chanhee loved you with such tenderness, it was because he truly felt like it was needed.

You wished more than anything in the world in that moment that you could tell him you appreciated it, but you weren’t very good at expressing yourself with emotions that were deep and sweet. Things that made you vulnerable were impossible to face, you’d hit a wall until you avoided it all together. You were avoiding it now, the love you had for your best friend, because you simply couldn’t face the vulnerability that came with doing something so genuine in its feelings.

Understanding how to love was hard, learning to confess it was impossible, even platonically.

“Goodnight.”

It was raining heavily when you got into the main building, pushing the hood of your jacket down as you approached the left hallway. You were somewhat late, leaving everything deserted and empty aside from a few scattered students. In truth, you’d been up far too late the night before, overthinking. Hovering over Juyeon’s contact was once more a beautifully stupid temptation.

You felt obsessed and lacking control, and you hated it.

“Little doll,” your heels stop, turning sharply to the sound of a voice you wish wasn’t so familiar. The fact that you could pinpoint who it belonged to was incredibly frustrating, for in your mind it meant you knew Changmin too well, “where’s my hoodie?”

“Keep your voice down,” you hiss, grabbing his sleeve and sharply turning a corner into a deserted hall with one dark mahogany door leading into the auditorium. No one ever came here, “what the fuck are you trying to do?”

“Get your talon claws off me- ouch!” You dug into his skin before pulling away, making him glare at you sharply with discontent similar to your own. Changmin didn’t hide his displeasure of your presence and yet he’d sought it out.

“I want my hoodie. Or are you going to deny me of something that is mine?”

“You ruined mine,” you bite back, but he doesn’t care. He rolls his eyes and you have to suppress a sharp scoff as you move to sit on the windowsill, enough room to do so in marbled gorgeous stone that you’re far too tempted to bash Changmin’s head against.

“I apologised. Have you ever apologized for anything, by the way? You don’t seem to know how to do that,” crossing your arms, you lean up to see his eyes. They’re harsh, a dark brown that holds no real mirth. He looks at you like you mean nothing of value, like you’re beneath him and the realization makes you sharply stand back up to match his height with your heels. Actually, you might even be taller.

“I’m waiting for my replacement.”

You lied. In truth, there was a certain comfort in wearing it that you didn’t find with any of your own clothes. Maybe it was the length or how it sat over your skin. Maybe it was the softness of fabric or the initial smell of cologne that had since faded. Whatever it was, it made you want to curl up, but not in sadness, rather in contentment.

“It’s been two weeks. Possibly more, actually,” but as annoyed as Changmin was, a part of him looked like he wasn’t going to push any harder. It was his final attempt at getting it back, but he didn’t seem to be too displeased if he wouldn’t get it at all. That thought in itself confused you.

“I’m aware, thank you.”

“She knows her thanks. How endearing of you, doll,” doll. Again, there it was, flowing past his lips unbothered and gently, almost meaningless. The words didn’t hold weight to them, not for him, but for you, they felt constrictive. They felt like something you desired to hear, what you wanted to strive for in appearance, becoming the impossible similarly to how you viewed your best friend, and Changmin was handing it to you on a silver platter.

You just wouldn’t take it from him.

“Just keep it then, I really can’t be asked to chase after you.”

“What?”

Fuck. You hadn’t managed to hide your surprise and now he’d caught it, seeming almost amused as he leaned against the wall and watched you. He was dressed casually, as you’d always seen him to be, lazy even, but you couldn’t deny the comfort he probably felt in comparison to you. You, dressed in a short skirt and a top sat so tight on your skin, it was about to cut into flesh, heels high and digging into your ankle with your weight.

“Keep it. It’ll be a nice change of pace from… well… this,” he gestured, and your jaw nearly hit the floor.

“What the fuck is- Changmin!”

He was walking away from you, and you damn near couldn’t believe it. Changmin was walking away from you, ignoring you, insulting you, and you had no words for it.

“Changmin!”

“Careful, you wouldn’t want people to hear that we know each other, right?”

He’d caught you there. Stopped you right in his tracks because he was right. You were chasing after him, and the question was why? When had chasing after him ever become worth it to you? Since when did you want to prove a point to him. Since when did anything he thought matter?

You stood there, left in the hall like an abandoned, wounded frail animal, and he didn’t care. The question was, why suddenly did you? The temptation to chase him, to justify yourself and have him take back those sharp insults was near overwhelming, enough so that you debated skipping your first class altogether in favour for a cigarette and maybe a beer from the convenience store to calm your nerves.

Maybe you’d just go home.

“You still haven’t given it back?”

Chanhee interrupts your peaceful start to lunch on a bench outside beneath the overhang to shield from the light rain and you glare the minute he appears. You chip at your nails that need refilling urgently and he stops you with a hold of the wrist, making you stare back at him with a sigh, “how’d you find that out?”

“I saw it at your place this morning when I went looking for you.”

“You were looking for me?”

Had you made plans that you’d forgotten about? Maybe you’d agreed to drive to campus together, but if that had been the case, you couldn’t remember it.

“Thought if you were late we could have some breakfast on the way,” silence follows first, the wind blowing strands of hair in your face that you push away behind your ear, “I’m not judging.”

“Aren’t you? Why then bring it up?”

“I guess I’m curious. If you’re fucking-”

“I’m not. I already told you.”

“Yeah, I know, but I also know if you were, you’d probably feel like you can’t tell me. I don’t want you to think that.”

He was right. That was the worst of it, how well he knew you, truly, even with limited words spoken or a stoic expression, he could still tell. It did bother you, that you had tells. You wished nothing more to be the heartless bitch those who were strangers to you, assumed you were. Truth be told, you were heartless as an illusion to shield yourself from the reality of loneliness and isolation that came with maintaining the life you desired and wanted.

“We’re not. I’ll give it back to him. Just… haven’t had time,” or you keep intentionally forgetting it. Both are simultaneously true. It’s either not having the time to do so or conveniently going without it.

“You know… I don’t think he has really many friends.”

“Is that my problem?” Chanhee shakes his head, his lips frowning and he seems annoyed with you, like you’re too stupid to get the point and you nearly feel insulted. He was trying to tell you something without any words, and you failed to understand it.

And as if all the gods worked against you on this day, the man in question stood before you both, appearing almost as if out of thin air, his steps so light he felt weightless.

“Give me your hoodie. The one I so graciously ruined,” his tone, it was mocking you. He was speaking the way you would, but with a certain vanity and uptightness that made you grimace.

“Changmin,” your best friend acknowledged with a little nod of the head, biting his lip as he went to grab his purse and leave the awkward tension he’d stumbled into entirely without meaning to, but you grabbed his arm and pulled him right back down to sit.

“I’ll fix it.”

“Yeah, fucking right you will,” he crosses his arms first before moving his fingers up to adjust his glasses, and you note now how slender they are while adorned by silver metals. They’re almost graceful and delicate, shockingly so and you have to blink away and adjust your vision to snap out of it.

“It’s ruined, no? So either you keep it that way, or you risk me ruining it more trying to fix it. Both scenarios, you’re fucked.”

“His logic isn’t wrong.”

“Shut up, Chanhee.”

“So it’s not just me that you’re a tyrannical bitch to?” Chanhee coughed back a laugh, hiding the smile behind his hand and you felt ganged up on. You felt like your best friend was on the wrong side and it stung at your chest, making your heart clench as if it was constricting every part of you. Changmin seemed so effortlessly good at making you feel crazy, but it was worse when you felt like the person meant to be on your team was laughing because of the opposing side. He was humoured, at your expense.

And it hurt. It stung, far more than it maybe should.

“You don’t get to call her that. You want to fix her hoodie? Then do so. But don’t call her names you wouldn’t even use to refer to your own dog.”

Changmin narrows his eyes, intense in his gaze enough so that you cast yours away, his humour gone. You’ve never really been one to cower under eye contact, but it was the way in which he stared back at Chanhee that brought you unease and wariness.

For someone who looked quite gentle, maybe even kind, he seemed to hide a more dark intimidating side that you weren’t so sure you’d ever really come in contact with, despite the many times you’d thrown and insult or two his way.

“You’re right. I’m sorry little doll. Bring me that hoodie tomorrow, and I’ll see what the fairy godmother can whip up for me,” he was mocking you again. Blatantly. Without any regard for your feelings and it chipped at you. Things like this shouldn’t bother you. They didn’t bother you, so why did this? Changmin had a way of crawling under your skin, of settling deep into your veins and creating a constant sense of emotional turbulence to your feelings.

“Hey, do you wanna-”

You get up before Chanhee can finish, unbeknownst to you, hurting his feelings in the process because as rude as he knew you to sometimes be, you never acted this way towards him. You loved Chanhee, you were mostly kind to him, but suddenly something cracked in a mirror and he started to see that maybe you weren’t exactly all that he’d made you to be in his mind. Maybe you weren’t perfect.

You surely weren’t the little doll that Changmin referred to you as. A nickname that still tormented you because the question simply became why?

When you dig out the white hoodie from deep within your overflowing laundry basket, you briefly debate if it’s worth it. You could afford to go to the dry cleaner yourself, he couldn’t, and yet it was more about proving a point of exactly that. A spiteful, vindictive, evil little point, but one nevertheless. He ruined it, so he could fix it. You reap what you sow.

But the longer you stared at the offensive fabric, the more it felt pointless. You weren’t really sure what you were trying to prove, if anything at all. Aside from maybe the fact that he was worlds beneath you, that he’d never be like you, and that something as simple as going to the dry cleaners was somehow proof that you were better than him.

When you near shove the fabric against his chest the following day without even a hello, he seems used to it. Changmin doesn’t blink, barely budges or loses his footing, doesn’t really question it either. In a way, he was used to you.

In a way, you became used to his indifference, too.

It took a while. Days turned into a few good weeks and you were almost convinced that Changmin had ruined your hoodie entirely. That you’d never see it because he’d turned to some at home DIY of cleaning a stained white fabric and now it was done for.

And in those weeks, you’d felt like nothing was in your control. Younghoon had found a way to insult you twice, once with Juyeon standing right there. Though he’d stepped in and defended you, it seemed half-assed. As if he was trying to be diplomatic but his words weren’t with real meaning. It was yet another reminder that you and Juyeon lacked much real care for each other. You wondered if he ever really did, or if the doomed relationship you’d had with almost pure sex and unsober thoughts had always just been one-sided.

You were very certain, especially now, that Juyeon never loved you. But you could still care for someone without loving them, and yet you were starting to wonder if you’d meant so little that he hadn’t even cared. It made you question why you’d been in a relationship at all, if not just for the similar bank balances and the sex you’d once deemed good enough to satisfy you.

At one point, it had been good. You and Juyeon had been far from perfect, but it had worked. It had worked until it didn’t, and when it didn’t, it really didn’t. Deciding to be friends had been easy at the time, the consequences were barely existing because you still got to fuck him when either of you pleased, and yet now it all seemed to sink in in a far aftermath. It worked on delay, and your tumultuous feelings threatened to tumble over the moment Juyeon simply tried to keep the peace between you and Younghoon.

It had nearly made you cry, but you straightened your posture and adjusted your hair with a smile on your face as you thanked him instead and sent Younghoon a look that told him you hated him just as much, you just wouldn’t say it. Why you hated each other, you couldn’t quite say. Aside from his arrogance and way of looking at you like you were a whore on the streets and sending daggers at you in the form of words that were sometimes so smartly phrased, you were almost envious that you hadn’t come up with them yourself.

On top of Younghoon’s insults, Juyeon making you feel less loved and Chanhee and you being in a strange little place of not really talking but sharing glances almost to ask if the other was okay, Hyunjae had also run your way with the offer of an invitation to a party.

A perfect distraction. A much-needed one, definitely. You needed to unwind, desperately, to get really drunk and find a one-night stand that you’d wake up without and barely remember the next day. You would’ve loved to get it all out of your system while not thinking of any of them.

You should’ve known better than to assume things would go as planned.

It was one thing for Changmin to show up at Hyunjae’s house without an invite, though Hyunjae tended to be kind and hospitable in that regard unless he absolutely hated someone or if they’d wronged him in some way. Changmin had done neither.

It was a whole other thing for Juyeon to grab your wrist so harshly it bruised your skin, his fingers wrapped around as he stung the surface. You were shocked at first, mostly because Juyeon was a lot of things but aggressive in that regard was rare, but when you looked up into his eyes and saw a genuinely angry gaze, you didn’t really understand.

“Why is Changmin outside asking for you?”

“Don’t touch her like that!” Chanhee was smaller than Juyeon, both fairly slim in build but a difference in height and muscle mass that just made your best friend that much smaller in appearance, and yet he stepped between you two anyway. Chanhee was never really afraid of anything, even if he could get his ass kicked, and it was as admirable as it was stupid.

“I asked you a question.”

“I don’t know,” it was weak, but it was honest, and Juyeon let your wrist go but you were more thinking it had something to do with Hyunjae standing on the opposite side of Chanhee, ready to defend you too. It almost shocked you more, for Juyeon and Hyunjae were incredibly close, had been for years and even before you were in the picture, and yet here it didn’t seem to matter when you felt unsafe.

“Tell me why!”

“I said I don’t know, Juyeon!”

Silence. At least around you both, everything fell quiet. The music was still loud but those within ear shot had caught you both raising your voices, and now you were left having to keep appearances. Acting like nothing was wrong was something you were usually good at. Not caring is something you could do, but when everything threatened to topple over and one thing finally pushed your feelings over the edge to do so, it was hard to simply ignore it.

“I can go to him,” Hyunjae offers, but you stop him the second he takes a step with your hand to his chest.

“It’s fine. I’ll just go,” honestly, it was already a nightmare that he was asking for you so publicly at a party with so many people, but maybe if you played your cards right, it wouldn’t look so bad on your part. You weren’t friends, after all, so you supposed it wouldn’t appear to be that way. Sure, people could be fooled, but only if you played a viable part in it, and you wouldn’t.

Walking outside was a mistake. But when you realised it to be one, it was too late. Turning back might be worse, but walking towards Changmin wasn’t better. He was standing there, completely wet from the rain in a jacket that had no hood. You bit back from calling him stupid, moreso because you’d left your jacket inside entirely and it was cold. Despite the goosebumps on your skin, you refused to show discomfort, collecting yourself with a straightened posture in your short dress.

You stood tall, heels high enough that he was actually a little shorter than you, though it was only really noticeable because you were right in front of each other.

“I brought it for you,” the white garment is neatly folded between his fingers, and you note their softness, that they seem gentle to touch but you snap yourself away from the thought once you notice yourself having it.

“You brought it for me… here?”

You sound more ungrateful than you are. It’s the first time you actually reprimand yourself for the rude tone towards him because it’s not deserved this time, but you don’t quite take it back, reaching for the fabric slowly before you let it fall open to reveal a hoodie that looks good as new.

There’s no way in hell he did that himself.

“You can stop bothering me now,” he lights a cigarette, indifferent and suddenly the insulting tone you’d spoken in doesn’t feel as mean, for he doesn’t seem to care much. If he does, he’s very good at hiding it, to the point of being so good at it that you don’t believe it possible.

“Thanks,” all you can think about is how cold you are now, especially when the fabric is partially warm from where he’d held it and the fact that you know how comfortable this hoodie is. But you were at a party and it would fall awkwardly over your dress. You didn’t want to look awkward, so you choose to be cold instead.

“You should wear it. You’ll get sick,” you send a look his way, confused as a pout falls over your stained lips but again, he seems indifferent. He really, genuinely, doesn’t seem to care.

It drives you insane.

You want to say something, take the chance for once to not be rude and maybe try again to thank him because as frustrating as he is, he was kind enough to get it sorted for you, after weeks of back and forth and refusal of giving him his own hoodie back. Overall, maybe Changmin did show you kindness, albeit very terribly.

“I’d like mine back now,” you supposed that was fair, but the little candle of lit warmth faded to ashes because Changmin simply didn’t stop there. He bit back, and he did so hard in a way you knew to do, but weren’t prepared for now “but if you’d like I can wait. I’m sure you have Juyeon’s dick to ride first.”

The crushing blow to your chest feels foreign. It was something expected to hear yet not from him. Maybe as a joke from Chanhee or an insult from Younghoon, but not him. You weren’t sure why. Neither of you showed much kindness to each other and you couldn’t exactly say you’d expected him to be graceful in speaking to you, but you’d wished it.

“Fuck you.”

It’s an absolutely terrible idea to do as Changmin said. You know it, yet you storm off now wet from the rain to go inside and find the very person that would be a mistake. You know he’s a mistake. He’d left insulting bruises on your wrist just minutes ago and yet you find him in the kitchen pouring another mix of alcohol that has you convinced he’s at least reached a point where the alcohol no longer has to taste good to be drunk.

“Fuck me,” he turns, eyes sharp and dark but also just a hint of confusion.

“What?”

“Do I have to say it again?”

Juyeon shakes his head, a smirk appearing on his lips instead as he downs the little he’d managed to mix so far in his cup. You followed his gaze to a bottle of whiskey that was nearly empty and you reached for the puddle of golden brown liquid to down it, his eyes on you the entire time as you did so.

He waits for you to put the glass down and when you’ve done so, he lifts you up with his hands digging into the back of your upper thigh, the skirt of your dress rising so high you use your hoodie to cover up where your skin is revealed. This was already a mistake, you knew it to be so deep down, but you didn’t care.

Maybe you wanted to somehow prove that Juyeon did care about you. Or maybe you just wanted to spite Changmin. Maybe you just needed sex because your libido was high and you weren’t having enough of it.

Maybe it was all three.

You don’t know which bedroom you’re in but Juyeon is lazy in shutting the door, nearly forgetting to do so before he kicks it shut with the back of his foot. He’s quick to kiss you, sloppy and wet as you drop the clean white hoodie to the floor, discarding it just as Juyeon works on lifting the frustratingly tight fabric up to your hips.

“You’re not wearing underwear?”

You shake your head, wriggling out of the straps of your dress to push it down over your now bare chest, the little fabric on your body all bunched up above your ass and below your chest. You were essentially naked, and yet not quite, wrapping your legs around Juyeon’s waist as he fell on top of you and kissed you back.

You loved kissing. Especially when it was rough and desperate. Necessary like oxygen that you breathed. You loved Juyeon’s kisses, the way he bit your lower lip and roughly rocked against you, though the fabric of his pants against your bare thighs was rough and made you whine in frustration and discomfort.

At least Juyeon wasn’t entirely stupid in realising what the problem was, maybe usually willing and eager to tease and take his time a little more but now he was stripping himself bare so that the friction against both your warm skins wouldn’t hurt for you.

“What the hell did he want?”

You cursed. You cursed because you did not need to think about Changmin when Juyeon’s dick was right there, and yet he’d asked the question. He sounded bitter, angry, but not quite jealous. Maybe if it had been jealousy, you would’ve been okay with it.

“Was just giving me back the hoodie he ruined,” your hand wraps around his cock, stroking him lazily as he inhales sharply, a rough moan right by your ear before he bites down on your neck. Harder than you’re used to, but not enough to fully hurt.

Your body was used to his cock. You realise it more because when he pushes into you, the sting is sharp but easy to adjust to. The first time you’d had sex with Juyeon, you’d needed way more time and he’d given it to you. But now it was second nature and your body knew him. Your body clung to him, desperate to hold.

“You’re such a whiny little whore, d’you know that?”

If the dick wasn’t good, you’d slap him. Though you supposed he wasn’t saying it entirely without reasoning. You were whiny. That, and you were loud, unintentionally so as he picked up the pace, gripping your hip with his free hand to slam into you, your breasts pushing up from the force as your head tilted back in pleasure.

Sex with Juyeon was lazy, definitely without much care but it was good for what it was. He was rough and careless but you trusted him to never hurt you, and if he ever unintentionally did you knew he’d stopped if you asked. You trusted him, despite all his flaws, to see you like this, with your body near bare and vulnerable to him and anything he wished as he spread your legs and pushed you into the mattress.

It was natural and comforting, to find repetition in your behaviour with Juyeon. It was nice when things didn’t change, because change was something that didn’t find you very content.

“H-harder- ah-” your back arches just slightly, and Juyeon takes that moment to wrap both his hands on the side of your hips, digging his nails into the skin as he obeys your demand, your legs clinging to him. The sound of skin roughly meeting repeatedly is loud and penetrating, only covered by the vulgarity of the noises you make. If it weren’t for the loud music yet again, you’re sure everyone could hear you.

Changmin. Could he hear you?

The very thought of him pushes the orgasm you’d initially been building away, because you’re shocked. Why is he in your thoughts so suddenly, with his warm comforting hoodie over his skin that seemed so soft, with a far gentler touch than Juyeon’s?

Not that you minded Juyeon’s touch, but you imagined Changmin’s to be different, even if it might be rough.

You imagined his glasses slipping from behind his ears as he hovered over you, and you wondered if he’d try to adjust them first or if you’d eventually just take them off for him, lay them somewhere to the side while spreading your legs for him.

You wondered what it was like, very briefly, to run your hands through his dark hair and tug on it harshly as he fucked into you, his heavy breaths against your ear as you both shook in a joint orgasm as he came inside you.

You wondered what it was like, how different he was from Juyeon and if so, if it was better.

You can’t quite catch your tongue fast enough when your orgasm grows, not with your thoughts overlapping and twisting in your head and making you wonder about someone you’d never want near you this intimately. Or did you?

“C-Changmin- fuck!”

Your nails dig so hard into Juyeon’s back that you know there will be moonlike crevices on his skin, scratching down into a jagged line as your body shakes, your legs unstable and locked against the man who’s completely still. He’s unmoving, completely, and it takes you another moment of recollection to realise Juyeon didn’t finish.

You can’t say you blame him, when realisation and embarrassment and utter humiliation covers your crimson cheeks. Of all the names, you chose the worst offender. And despite alcohol being in your system, you knew you couldn’t blame it on that.

You’d just committed social suicide to a man you knew wouldn’t keep his mouth shut when he was hurt. And you could tell on his face that there was a pain in his eyes that even you couldn’t say you recognised. He felt insulted, and when you went to move up on the bed to reach him, he pushed off you so fast you thought he detested you.

“Don’t touch me,” it was stern, his tone so cold that you thought he hated you. Juyeon very well could and you weren’t so sure you could blame him. You knew if he’d done this to you, said someone else’s name, that it would cut a wound into you that would never go away and every thought of am I enough would threaten to break you.

You watched in an almost entranced state, the way he picked up all his clothes, and your few attempts at adjusting yourself and walking towards him failed because he slapped your hand away every time.

“Ju- I’m sorry. It’s not what… I- Juyeon.”

He stops, picking up your white hoodie off the floor and shoving it against your chest similarly to how you’d done the same with Changmin when you gave it to him, and it cut you all over again.

“Let me guess, you left this at his house when you let him fuck you?”

You were shocked. Of course you knew it wasn’t true but how could you prove it? Yet your silence was Juyeon’s answer. His assumption that he was right as he bitterly scoffed and rolled his eyes at you like he loathed you.

“I hope you truly end up miserable, Y/N. You deserve it, at this point,” the door slams loud and Juyeon’s gone, leaving you bare and vulnerable and so very lost as the very idea of your social circle and status dwindling into pieces, shattering beneath your feet, becomes a frightening reality to you. Everything you worked on attaining, on creating a you that everyone would envy and want, was potentially threatened with a secret that only you and him knew.

A secret that would ruin you, and you knew well that he loved to run his mouth where it gained him sympathy.

All you could do, was stand still naked with your hoodie covering you just enough in case someone came in, and yet no one did, not for a while.

You were well and truly alone.

act ii

taglist: @sanaxo-o @mosviqu @sunramzi @tbzhubrecs

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©️strayed-quokka, please do not steal, translate, reuse or rewrite as your own

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

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Jungkook/Platonic OT6

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝 [Intro]

The wolf pretending to be the grandmother, just to later swallow the poor red riding hood whole- is he attempting to gain your trust as well just to feast on your flesh later, once he gets hungry for a meal?

Tags/Warnings: Werewolf!Jungkook, Human?Reader, Platonic!OT6, strangers/enemies to lovers, fantasy AU, drama, angst, fluff, romance, suggestive themes and eventual smut, Alpha!Jungkook

Length: 2k words

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: how many different wolf-JKs can bonny write without it getting boring challenge

🌲── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─🐺─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──🌲

You've always been somewhat drawn into the forest far away from the cities, even as a small child.

You remember the family trips you'd take, camping out underneath the trees, your father showing you how to make a fire, and how to set up the tents. You always enjoyed weekends like these, even though they were incredibly rare. Your mom and dad had separated early in your life, and at some point, after your father had passed away, you simply never went back to the forest ever again.

Your mother, and stepfather would always warn you of the werewolves out there instead. 'There's a reason the government gave them those forests to roam around in.' She'd always scoff. 'So they'll stay away from us humans. So they can't hurt us.' She'd warn you.

Werewolves are beasts, hiding inside a human's body. Fierce animals, with no humanity inside them whenever they'd shift into their other forms. Their bones would break loudly, blood would spill and minds would change- and once they're shifted into their wolf forms, they'd eat people's children who'd wander too far from their families, never seen again after getting lost in the woods.

Nowadays, you hardly believe those tales.

You do however fear werewolf men- because statistics prove that they don't seem to have much control over themselves. Normally, just like your mother, you'd wear simple jewelry of silver to protect yourself- something many humans do, especially those that work with wolf people a lot, just to protect themselves. But you seem to have an allergy against that type of metal- it doesn't burn you or anything- at least it hasn't yet. You usually just get really nauseous and weak from wearing any silver- so you tend to not buy anything that contains the shiny metal.

Your mom said it's nothing too problematic. Just that you should stay away from it.

The birds chirp above you, some larger one's flying off while the small one's stay behind, curiously watching you as you sit in the grass, a blanket spread out that you sit on. You're grown up now. An adult, no longer really talking to your mother or your stepfather as much. Instead, you've created your own little life- something quiet, and easy, and simple. Nothing exciting, nothing adventurous.

You don't like things like that.

Excitement always brings a certain sense of danger with it, after all. And you've had enough dangerous experiences in the past to last you a lifetime, after all. You don't need more of that.

You'd rather stay like this- all by yourself, eating a simple prepared meal in the forest, surrounded by nothing but nature. Because nature doesn't look at you weirdly. Nature doesn't judge you, or ask you things that make you uncomfortable to answer. Nature just sees you as what you are- A simple human, not out here to harm anybody.

You suddenly spin your head around when a tree branch snaps in half behind you- and suddenly, there's a young man dressed in casual clothes, piercings in his face and very telling amber eyes looking at you, his hands lifted in front of him palms open to show he's no threat.

"I'm sorry- that was super rude of me to approach you from behind. Sorry." He sheepishly admits, before he walks a bit closer, hands in the pockets of his jacket now. "Where's your pack?" He asks, and you stiffen up.

"I- I don't have one." You deny. "I'm human." You admit to him, and he tilts his head a bit in question, as you watch his eyes seemingly glow for a split second while he- smells the air?

"Really? I could swear I'm smelling a wolf.." He wonders more or less to himself, before he shakes it off. Maybe someone had come by here earlier, and he's simply catching that scent instead of yours. "Anyways, I was just passing by and thought to check up on you. This is my pack's territory, so I kind of always keep an eye out for people who wanna cause trouble." He charmingly explains, shrugging his shoulders easily.

To think that that guy.. is an apparent 'beast' is kind of.. hard to see, really. He looks pretty innocent with his round eyes and soft facial features, hair a little wild in slight curls on his head. And you're sure, he looks more like a golden retriever happy to see another person, than a wolf.

A leader, at that.

"Your pack?" You ask, and he nods, almost proudly beaming at you.

"Yep!" He chirps, walking a bit closer now as he notices you not being weirded out or anxious. "Well- kind of. Namjoon is the head-alpha, I'm kind of his stand-in at the moment until he's back from his trip." He shrugs, pointing to your blanket. "Can I.. sit down with you? I promise I'm not gonna eat you like some red-riding-hood kind of situation." He jokes, and you scoot over a bit, letting him sit down next to you- though you make sure to pull your backpack a little closer.

"I have a silver knife in my bag anyways." You threaten. That makes his eyes widen a bit.. fearfully? "So don't try anything." You threaten, and again, he lifts his hands.

"I won't, promise." He promises, before he looks at you again rather curiously, leaning in a little. "But- do you have wolf-friends maybe?" He asks. "I swear you smell like wolf. Kind of. A little- it's confusing actually." He mumbles, and you scoot away from him at that. "Hey no- sorry, I didn't mean to come off as weird. I know you humans tend to be a bit wary of us here." He deflates, and you almost feel a bit sorry for him.

Almost.

"I don't have wolf-friends." You tell him. "And I'm sorry I trespassed on.. your territory. I'll make sure to go somewhere else next time." You say, but he shakes his head.

"Oh no, please!" He denies. "It's completely chill, really! Like I said we only don't want people wrecking stuff and causing trouble. Like, you know- parties and stuff. They always leave behind their trash and shit, and that's just awful." He shrugs, making you agree.

"I won't do that." You say. "Leaving my trash here, or wrecking stuff." You clarify, and he smiles.

"Thats good." He beams, getting a bit more comfortable. "So, what brings you here?" He asks, genuinely wondering. There's a clear sign at the entrance of the forest that this is werewolf territory after all- humans don't usually even go for a walk here at all.

They stay clear of this area, and usually, Jungkook likes it that way.

"I don't know, honestly." You admit, pulling your legs closer to yourself, hugging your knees. "I just kind of.. like it here." You shrug, and he watches you for a second, and you feel like his amber eyes stare right through you and into your very soul.

Like he can see something you didn't even know was there.

"Me too. I was born in these woods though, so that might explain why I'm so attached to it." He chuckles, no longer looking at you as intensely, and quite honestly, he seems like a nice guy to be around. The perfect balance of confidence, boyish-charm and the right pinch of gentle masculinity- if he wasn't a werewolf, you probably would've been a lot more open towards him.

But every time his gaze catches yours, you're reminded of what those golden eyes mean.

The wolf pretending to be the grandmother, just to later swallow the poor red riding hood whole- is he attempting to gain your trust as well just to feast on your flesh later once he gets hungry for a meal? You won't let it get this far. You're not a dumb child he can just trick by pretending to be a friend.

"I'm Jungkook, by the way. Alpha wolf, but I promise I've got myself under control. Even got a citizens' pass if you wanna see?" He proudly grins at you, and you can't help but look at him like you don't trust his words- so he grabs at his cotton zip-hoodie, patting down the pockets before he pulls out a black simple wallet, showing off the plastic card with his identification info, a small ID photo of his right next to it. He looks young in it- but a lot more serious. "There you go. Got an 85, makes me top 1% of all wolfbloods in the country." He shows off, shoulders high as he lets you examine the card.

It's true. His IC-score is a 85, IC standing for Instinct Control. You've never seen one this high to be honest- but then again, you don't have any wolf-friends or acquaintances. His name is Jeon Jungkook, he's born in the year 1997, and his ID states he's an Alpha*. You're not sure what the little asterisk on that means- but you also don't wanna pull the plastic card out of its compartment, so you just leave it at that.

"You're older than me." You say as you give it back to him. "Not by much, but a little." You simply mumble, and he smiles, happy that you now seem to relax a bit more. Suddenly, the first drops of rain begin to hit your head and shoulder- reminding you that you wanted to go back long ago to not get caught in the small shower the weather forecast had foretold.

"Oh wow, that's gonna bring a lot of rain." Jungkook notices, looking past you at a wave of dark clouds approaching, when the first thunder rumbles. "You should go back fast if you wanna stay dry." He offers, getting up to help you fold your blanket and back your backpack again.

"I actually hiked here." You sigh. "So I'm gonna get wet anyway." You shrug, and he looks at you a bit concerned.

"You can also just sit it out at my packhouse." He offers. "I promise you, we have multiple houses there. You can stay in one of the smaller ones just by yourself if you don't wanna be around the others." He explains, and you look at him, before glancing back down the steep path you'd taken from the city far away up here where the woods stand proudly on the high hills.

There's no way you'll stay dry on your way back down.

Then, you look back at him, his honey-colored eyes seemingly glowing underneath the darkening skies above. A warning from nature, maybe, that this young man holds a beast in his heart- a beast you've been warned about for years never to get too close to.

But there's something else.

Something that makes you nod at him, before he begins to grin and take your backpack for you, leading you through the shaking trees and treaded down paths through his woods, birds already flying towards their nests as well, chirping their warnings to others as well of the changing weather.

You're not sure why you keep holding his hand even after he's done helping you step over a large root of a tree bursting through the ground. Maybe because it's warm, and the wind now brings a chilling cold.

Maybe because you just don't want to get lost and be eaten like the children in the nursery tales of your mother.

Or maybe you just hold it because you've never held someone's hand before without them complaining about it.

He turns to look over his shoulder presumably to check if you're still keeping up fine-

Golden eyes shining like little fireflies as the woods become darker the deeper you go.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook imagines #hybrid jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #bts jungkook imagine #werewolf jungkook #werewolf bangtan

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cycle-hit · 4 months

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mahiru and autism (because i am insane)

Common signs of autism in adults include:

finding it hard to understand what others are thinking or feeling

finding it hard to say how you feel

having a very keen interest in certain subjects or activities

suki

have learned to hide signs of autism to 'fit in' - by copying people who do not have autism

often talking at length about a favorite subject without noticing that others are not interested or without giving others a chance to respond

repeating certain behaviors or having unusual behaviors, such as repeating words or phrases (a behavior called echolalia)

theres also this type of echolalia! from here

mahiru seems to talk a lot in love magazine/novel/drama/opera dialogue or quotes! she even gives fuuta a quiz above in that timeline like those quizzes you see in magazines

something else interesting in this article is this section

compared to what mahiru says here! (shes repeating herself from earlier on in the vd, when she said the same thing)

she does the same thing in t2!

the bullet points onwards are personal experience/from other peoples experiences

enjoyment of simple, repetitive tasks

difficulty making friends

you dont see this a lot in MILGRAM, specifically, with mahiru- but whats interesting about mahiru is that she doesn't mention having friends pre-milgram. or anyone else outside of her boyfriend and "love guru". at all! she doesnt even mention there being anyone she'd leave behind if she died! nor is she ever shown to be interacting with "friends" in any of her mvs- the wedding she's invited to is one from her relative. its very interesting to me that the prisoner known SPECIFICALLY for talking to people and socialising...never once mentions a friend pre-milgram. why? (AUTISM)

feeling, inherently, that there is something "wrong" with you that you can't understand, but it seems everyone else can sense it.

theres also the fact everyone repeatedly tells mahiru that she's too carefree, or an airhead, or not taking things seriously, or that she "isn't suited for milgram". there is something deeply autistic about that i think. personally. that everyone can tell shes "different" or "not behaving as she should" but to mahiru its perfectly alright behaviour.

anyways. thank u for coming to my mahiru autism tedtalk

sources:

1 2 3 and also meeeee :3 (<- autistic)

#UNDERSTAND MY AUTISTIC MAHIRU VISIONS PLSSSSSSS #THERE IS Something IN HER BRAIN #milgram #mahiru shiina #milgram analysis

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petalruesimblr · 25 days

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Hello and welcome back to my blog! This is another part-time career or internship for teens, which will offer a promotion into the Political career as they transition to young adulthood. This internship is inspired by a real program, specifically the NY Office of the Mayor Internship Program and as the The Sims 3 features a "Leader of the Free World" as the final level of the Political career, I named this internship the Office of the Leader Internship.

For those seeking a full-time career, I am currently working on a second one that will be released soon, so stay tuned!🌺

In the meantime, if you are interested in this one, click on ‘Keep Reading’ below for more information and pictures of the Office of the Leader Internship career.

Office of the Leader Internship

Sim File Share

Do you have a passion for bureaucracy, a knack for turning chaos into order and an unyielding enthusiasm for office coffee? We’re seeking bright, ambitious teens to join the Office of the Leader Internship Program! Dive into the heart of local government, where every day brings fresh adventures in learning bureaucracy. You’ll work alongside the best, gain invaluable experience and maybe even catch the eye of some influential Sims. With fixed hours, free office supplies and the occasional donut day, you’ll enjoy a unique mix of fun and professional growth. Apply now and step into the action!

Career Type: Part-Time Available for: Teens Available Languages: English Levels: 3 Rabbit Hole: City Hall Work Days: M, W, Th Work Hours: 4PM - 7PM Does it have Carpool? Yes Does it have Uniforms? Yes (refer to picture above) File Type: Package Min. Required Game Version: 1.42 Packs Needed: The Sims 3 📣All descriptions for the levels, tones and metrics as well as skills required, salary, uniforms and other details are provided on the pictures above.

NRAAS Careers Mod

I initially considered including logic as one of the metrics but decided to remove it. The Political career in the game relies solely on charisma as its primary skill and mostly depends on funding for promotions. It didn’t make sense to include logic, as it isn’t used in the long run for this career path. The work days for this internship are scheduled for Mondays, Wednesday and Thursdays. If you have the Seasons expansion pack then it will only be two days due to Thursday is considered as a holiday and Drama Club meetings are on Tuesday and Friday if you have the Generations expansion pack (which is useful if you want your teens to increase their charisma faster). 📣 Upon reaching level three in their internship, teens will be eligible for promotion to the Political career upon applying once they become young adults. Instructions are provided in the picture above; right-click on it and select ’Open image in new tab’ for a clearer view. As stated above, you will need NRAAS Careers Mod for this career to show up in the game and as long as you have the latest version of it, it should work for higher patches. You can also read my #psa regarding these careers, click here. I’m not fluent in any other languages to translate so if anyone is interested in translating this career, please don’t hesitate to send me a message here, comment on this post or let me know in my Ask/Contact form (if you don't have a Tumblr account) and will let you know the details. I have tested this career in my game, so far it is working and all scripts are showing up. All feedback is very welcome to help me learn and improve my skills so please let me know if you experience any problems on your end and I’ll do my best to sort it as soon as possible.

MissyHissy step-by-step tutorial Twallan for the Career Mod S3pe

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writtensturn · 2 months

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enamored lll | m.s

PAIRING : matt sturniolo x fem!reader

GENRE : drama, excess arguments, false beliefs.

SUMMARY : what will happen once y/n sees matt again?

!WARNINGS! : cursing, fighting, use of y/n, adult content.

this is a series, go read 1 & 2 before this!!

enamored & enamored ll

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

matt’s came home two hours before y/n left, he walked into the house and up the stairs too see chris already home.

“how’d you get home?” matt spoke in a confused tone

“uber.” chris said forward and nonchalantly, matt shrugged it off his feet leading him into his room, excited to see his girlfriend. as he opened his door he turned on his light, not seeing her anywhere. he walked in moving to peak his head around the corner where her suitcase was, his heart dropped seeing it gone. he walked into his room more his heart starting to beat quicker, his eyes came in contact with the paper reading “i wanted better for us”. matt bit the inside of his cheek, spinning on his heels and walking out his room quickly back into the living room.

“what the fuck did you do” matt let his anger out onto chris

“what did i do? what did you do.” chris’s words came out as harsh as his, while he stood up from the couch. matt stayed silent for a second before realizing the activities of the night.

“im not gonna sit there and see the girl that i love be torn apart and LIED too matt, i won’t do it.”

“the girl that you love??”

“the girl that i love.” chris paused taking a sharp breath in

“shes my best fucking friend chris, i’ve known her forever? i’m still fucking learning how to not be single, it’s hard when you have all these people running around us because of stupid fucking youtube!” matt ranted on.

“if she was your actual bestfriend, you wouldn’t have done her like that.” chris spoke, his hands coming out from his clenched fists, all he could do is shake his head at his brother and move back downstairs to his room.

matt stood there, in the quiet living room not knowing what happened, he just lost what he thought was the love of his life to.. his brother? no, he wasn’t about to let that happen. he moved back into his room, slamming the door shut while spam texting y/n.

“i’m sorry”

“i love you”

“its not what it looked like”

“y/n please”

“just listen to me”

matt shook his head, switching out imessage for a airline link. he searched for the quickest flight out, which was in three days.

chris stayed in his room, absolutely infuriated with matt’s attitude towards y/n. he’s always kept that secret to himself, he was never gonna admit ever since she started coming around alot he’s always felt something deeper for her, something he wanted protect.

“how are you angel?” chris finally pulled out his phone and texted y/n

“could be better yk?” y/n wrote back almost immediately

“can i call you?” y/n texted again.

the two spent hours on the phone, talking about the situation of matt to chris wanting to cheer her up with smaller talk, like memories of the past. the three days went on of chris and y/n getting closer and enjoying each others company, while matt gave up on texting her after the second day, deciding she wanted space and he was gonna give it to her.

y/n spent her days in mingle with chris, and ignoring matt, it still hurting too much. around 11pm on tuesday she heard a knock at her door, she moved downstairs with her blanket wrapped around her, her wiping the tears from her puffy eyes. she moved towards her door not realizing the time, she opened it too see the one person she didn’t wanna see.

“y/n” matt said just above a whisper

“what.” she let out, her heart already sunken in.

“just let me explain, please.” matt said his eyes apologetic and his face filled with nerves

“no let me, how are you gonna be all over me one day, then go out and kiss someone else. oh i’ve read your texts! i get how it’s hard being a influencer and going to parties, and how it’s soooo hard to realize you all AREN’T single anymore.” y/n rambled on her feelings, some of it making sense and the rest not so much. before she could speak again she felt matt’s hands move around her his lips reconnecting onto hers, she didn’t wanna pull him away, he was her everything after all. she moved him in, their kiss deepening as matt shut the door behind them.

matt’s hands grabbed under her thighs, picking her up, her legs wrapping around him as well as her arms. they broke the kiss for a second to catch their breath, and the second after matt pressed his lips back onto hers, him moving around her house and up the stairs to her room. she kept her arms around his neck and his hands were place under her thighs, as matt walked the two into her room, he placed her down onto her sheets while climbing ontop of her.

matt slid his tongue into her mouth, exploring as their lips moved in motion together, the pain slipping away slowly at the way his hands moved around her body. the way matt’s fingertip moved slowly around her body, teasing every inch. y/n watched as matt pulled away, his head sinked into shoulder while his arms came around to hold her waist in a hug.

“i’m so sorry, you don’t understand how sorry i am. i need you.” matt let out in a desperate whisper, his grip tight around her. she stayed quiet, knowing this has been the worse pain she’s felt yet. all she could do is nod, she had no more words left.

“i love you” matt spoke into her shoulder before coming up and adjusting his seat, his hands around her hips and his head laying on her chest begging for forgiveness.

“i love you.” she said back to him, allowing a tear to fall from her eye rolling down her cheek. she brought her hand up to rub alongside his back, she let out a deep sigh trying figure everything out.

“im sorry” he whispered again, his grip squeezing her as his words came out.

“i know you are” her final words spoke back to him, her cheek leaning against the top of his head. during the silence of the two, she fell asleep holding him against her. he was her bestfriend after all.

she woke up at least a hour later to matt’s voice, and her body leaving his grip.

“y/n why is chris texting you?” matt said sitting up, her eyes fluttered open as she looked at matt.

“oh you’ve gotta be kidding me..” matt spoke reading the text from her lock screen that read out ‘how are you feeling ma?’

matt knew chris’s feelings for her, and that fact that he was doing this, hurt him more than he hurt y/n. and as the second passed her phone starting to ring from a facetime, from chris.

“matt it’s not-“ she was cut off by him standing up and walking out of her room.

“at least listen to me!!” she followed him down her stairs and across her house trying to keep up with pace. she finally made it outside while he was already by his car.

“matt!” she let out running down her porch stairs as he began to pull out of her driveway, y/n beginning to feel the water droplets fall onto her skin.

“fuck.” she mumbled under her breath, her hands coming up to run though her hair.

what was she gonna do now.

#writtensturn #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #matt stuniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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autumnmobile12 · 3 months

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I am happy for Natsuo's decision to go no-contact with his father. I think that's the best choice he could have made.

But I am sad that it had to come to that.

I genuinely think there was a part of Natsuo that did want to forgive his father, not because Endeavor deserved forgiveness but because Natsuo did want the father figure he'd been denied his entire life. For every time he comforted Touya, he had to have held some bitter thoughts that encompassed, "At least he loved you once. I never even had that." Only he could never say that out loud for the sake of his suffering sibling.

Still, no matter how much he may have wanted that, he knew there was no way Endeavor could realistically make up for his ruined childhood and so there was no way he could forgive him.

So yes, I am sad that Natsuo's circumstances led him to the completely justified choices he made.

I hope he has better luck with his in-laws.

...

That said, there is one thing about that decision that concerns me and that is the fact he will not allow his future children to meet their grandfather. And I don't mean that in an, "Aw, at least let your toxic father meet his grandchildren."

No, this is my concern:

Does Natsuo plan on hiding his father's identity from his children entirely? I cannot stress what an emphatically bad idea that is. One, unless he cuts contact with both his parents and remaining siblings, it's impossible. Two, even in the unlikely event he does go that far, his kids will figure it out one way or another. And if they find out the hard way, that's only going to cause resentment/raise questions. "Why did Dad lie about Grandpa? What else is he hiding?" Transparency is the only option to avoid that kind of drama.

If Natsuo does tell his children about his family, will he be comfortable with the idea that they may want to meet their grandfather regardless of what they've been told? In spite of their upbringing, kids are their own entity and not a complete reflection of their parents. Even if they know Natsuo's side of the story, even if Natsuo paints their grandfather as the unspeakable monster who destroyed their family, even if he makes it clear exactly what happened, there is still a fifty-fifty chance they may want to meet the man in question regardless, if only to sate a curiosity about where they came from. Natsuo can say 'no, absolutely not' all he wants, but that's not a decision he can control once his children are legal adults.

And in that scenario, he would be putting his kids in an awkward situation where they have to choose between alienating their father and meeting their grandfather. If they choose their father, then they will spend the rest of their lives wondering, "What if...?" If they choose their grandfather, they run the risk of Natsuo resenting them for going behind his back. No matter how Natsuo feels, unless Endeavor dies before it becomes an issue, this is a boundary that's going to be tested in some manner when his kids get older.

...

I'm not saying Natsuo doesn't have good intentions in wanting to protect his future children from what he went through. He has no obligation to capitulate and play happy family, but the above scenario is a very real situation that could absolutely happen whether he likes it or not. If he doesn't navigate that carefully, his determination to keep Endeavor away from his new family could very well end up pushing his new family away from him.

I guess what I'm saying is, "Natsuo, however justified you are, don't become the next Shimura Kotaro."

#my hero academia #natsuo todoroki #todoroki family #manga spoilers #endeavor #enji todoroki #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #speculation #generational trauma #strikes again

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detectivemarvelingcomics · 11 months

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Not Your Classic Vigilante [Ch. 14]

Alternate Dimension AU TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Mild Body Horror, Gore, Graphic Depictions of Monstrous Attacks, Gun Use, Weapon Use, Past Major Character Death CW: OC Use, See the OC Guide [Here] Genre: Drama, Action, Angst, Light Comedy Pairing: Batfamily & Batsis!Reader, OC x Reader YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her) Word Count: 13.7K

(14/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next] [DC Masterlist] | [Not Your Classic Vigilante Masterlist]

Notes: I know I KNOWWW SHE'S THICKKKKKKKK it's for my dick grayson lovers what can i say?

Disclaimer: This series is originally by@fandom-meanderer who is a close friend of mine, but she has since fallen out of her Tumblr days and asked me to finish a few series for her, hence why I am now in ownership of the Not Your Classic Vigilante series, I hope I can still live up to her writing as I rewrite this series! (I promise not to change too much, hehe)

2006

“Dad!” You were quick to run down the stairs when you’d heard the door open. Bruce took notice to you as soon as you bounded up to him and the smile on his face was one that always made you happy to see. Alfred walked up next to you, greeting Bruce silently.

“Hello, (Y/N), what were you up to while I was gone?” He asks.

“Well, I finally cleaned my room,” you rocked on your heels.

“Very good.”

“Alfred taught me how to play Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star on the piano.”

“I have to hear that.”

“And I played a little, but that’s it,” you gave him an exaggerated nod and he smiles.

“That’s good, (Y/N),” he smiles. “Now, I have a surprise for you,” he says. Your eyes widened with a childish excitement. Then, from behind him, an older boy steps out.

“Hiya,” he waves. You step back, head ducking down in shyness while you looked up at your dad. “I’m Dick, you must be (Y/N), right?” He steps forward, bending down to meet your eyes. You nodded carefully before running to your dad. You hid behind his leg and he rubs your head gently.

“He’ll be staying with us from now on,” your father explains. “You’re always saying how lonely it is here, right? He’s a bit older than you, but you’ll be spending a lot more time together,” your father urges you to step out and introduce yourself. Dick, still at your level, smiles softly.

“I heard a lot about you, (Y/N),” he says, “and if you’re okay with it, I hope we can become friends,” he reaches out to shake your hand, but you shy further behind your father.

“She’s usually not this shy,” your dad says above you.

“I think we just need to get to know each other more,” Dick responds. He leans over so he can meet your gaze and waves again. You hid your face.

“Alfred will help you get settled in, Dick, let me know if you need help with anything,” your dad says and Dick nods at him before following Alfred upstairs. After a while, Bruce stepped away from you slowly. “(Y/N),” his voice had a stern, but gentle tone.

“Dad…” you matched his tone.

“What’s wrong? You told me you wanted someone to talk to,” he crouches down to your level and you hid your hands behind your back.

“I know…” your voice was quiet.

“So, what’s wrong then?” He asks. It’s true. You’d long been asking for a friend, and while both of your parents would spend time with you, it simply wasn’t enough. Your dad was always busy doing business stuff, some adult things you didn’t understand no matter how many times uncle Lucius tried to explain it to you. And your mom was… well, something. She had to make a living by “borrowing” things, but strangely enough she never gave them back. You really just wanted someone to talk to, someone who you could play with, or someone you could spend time with. Someone your age, someone who didn’t keep secrets.

Your parents acted like you didn’t know, but you knew something was up. There were nights where your dad would leave saying he needed to get groceries and then come home with no groceries. Your mom would leave saying she’s meeting a friend and would come back with a bag full of her latest ‘shopping spree.’ But you knew they were hiding something, and as much as they told you that secrets were bad, they had so many, you had a feeling. So you wanted a friend, someone who was just like you.

And now you had one. But, something about it felt… wrong.

“Nothing,” you shook your head. The boy he brought home, he seemed friendly enough, and you were curious about him. But you couldn’t ignore this strange feeling in your chest. “Where did he come from?”

“Remember that circus you wanted to go to?”

“Mmhmm.”

“He’s from there.”

“Then… where are his parents?” Bruce hesitated.

“They’re off for a while, and they asked me to watch their son for now,” he says.

“They didn’t want to take him with them?”

“No, where they’re going is not meant for kids like you and him,” he explains. “So, for a while, he’ll be staying with us. Why don’t you get to know him, (Y/N)?”

“What if I don’t like him? Will you return him and get a new one?”

“That’s not exactly how this works, (Y/N),” your father laughs. “If you don’t like him at first, you’re going to have to learn how to get along with him somehow,” he says.

“Okay…” you mumbled.

“Why wouldn’t you like him, (Y/N)?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged.

“Exactly, go talk to him, be friendly,” Bruce encourages you.

“Okay,” you nodded your head and Bruce smiles before shaking your shoulder softly.

“Good, I’m going to get cleaned up, why don’t you say ‘Hello’ to Dick on your way up? He’s in the room across from you.”

“I will,” you nodded again and ran up the stairs.

You stopped in front of Dick’s room, the door was open and he was speaking to Alfred, quickly you hid behind the wall, not wanting to get caught by the old man. But it was their conversation that kept you hidden.

“Now, Master Grayson,” Alfred’s voice was stern, you’d only heard him speak like that to your father on occasion and you when you stole sweets. “Miss (Y/N) doesn’t know.”

“Really?”

“This must be kept a secret between you, me, and Master Bruce.” Secret? Well, that’s not fair. You wanted to know too. So much for a friend who didn’t keep secrets. There were so many around you, you were starting to think that you should keep secrets just to be like everyone else.

“And she never suspected?”

“She is only seven, Master Grayson, and not usually here on weekends,” Alfred sighs. “Master Bruce asks that you be careful.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dick’s voice was quiet. “Does he plan on telling her?”

“When she’s older, yes. When she can understand it.” Does it count as a secret still if they’ll tell you when you’re older? You’ll just have to hurry up and grow up then!

“Sure, I got it.”

But, still, that’s not fair. You wanted to know now. But when you heard Alfred approaching the door, you knew better than to let yourself get scolded for eavesdropping, so you ran to your room and closed the door only slightly, just enough to watch Alfred leave, and once he was gone, you crept across the hallway. Dick was busy placing his items across the room, you peeked in slowly, waiting to see if he’d notice you, and soon enough he did. He raised his hand to wave, but you ducked behind the door frame instead.

“Hi, (Y/N),” he waits for you to approach him.

“Hello,” you said quietly.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Did you… want to come in?” He asks. You shook your head and he nods with a tight lipped smile. But, soon, you nodded your head and Dick let out a short laugh. “Come on in, then,” he invites you. You walked inside and sat on the desk chair while he continued unpacking.

“I have a secret,” you blurted. Dick turned to you, eyebrow raised.

“What’s that?”

“I… I have a secret stash of candy in my room,” you answered. It was secret enough, you’d been building a bit of a stockpile now. Dick cracks a smile, looking somewhat relieved.

“That’s some secret there, who else knows?”

“Just you,” you nodded. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Friendly secret,” he makes a zipper motion over his mouth.

“Hmm… okay, I trust you,” you hummed. Dick smiled again, this time a bit tighter.

“I’m leaving now,” you hopped off.

“That’s fine! Thanks for dropping by,” he says. You nodded your head and ran across the hall to your room.

Dick, meanwhile, took a deep breath.

This was not what he signed up for when he agreed to help Bruce.

2022

The beast roared and, above you, a storm started to roll in.

“Well, talk about about a warm welcome,” you glanced at Jason and he shook his head.

“(Y/N)?! We ran up as soon as we saw you leave!” Tim and Damian regroup with you and you usher them behind you. Tim looks at the monster.

“When you said monsters, for some reason I didn’t think you meant legitamate monsters,” he says.

“Cap!” Aldryn rushes out of the barracks, your rifle and rapier in hand.

“Aldryn, I need you to run back down, bring Tim and Jason with you. You two, grab what you think you all can use,” you instructed. “I’ll handle things up here until you return, we’re going to need all hands on deck.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Aldryn salutes and waits for them to join him before rushing off again.

“Damian, I need you on crowd control,” you looked at him.

“What?! I can help!”

“Too bad, this is an order from your superior,” your voice was stern, and it took him aback, “crowd control. Make sure everyone is a safe distance away, am I clear?” You waited for his response.

“Yeah,” he nodded his head curtly before running off. You readied your rapier.

“Alright… let’s see what we’re working with,” you sprinted forward and the beast reached for you.

It’s going to be long day.

“Where are we going?” Tim asks.

“Weapons barracks,” Aldryn responds, running in after Jason and Tim. Jason grabs his usual while Tim looks around. “What are you looking for? If you can think of it, we have it.”

“Do you have a bo-staff then?” He asks. Aldryn hums.

“Yes, but you’ll have to come with me. Marion was using it earlier,” he mumbles. He leads him and Jason to the elevator and they descend.

“What was that thing?” Jason asks.

“We call them Daemons,” Aldryn speaks quietly. “We’ve dealt with monsters before, but none like them. They’re on a whole other level of power and now, beause of them, we’re short staffed,” Aldryn’s voice was grim. “Not exactly the best first operation for you two but, Cap’s orders.” The conversation ends when the elevator doors slide open.

“Aldryn!” Marion was surprised to see him, but more surprised to see the two behind him. “Do they have clearance?”

“They’re about to fight one up there, so I’d say so, yes,” Aldryn nods.

“Holy shit, that’s one of them,” Jason eyes the beast in it’s cage. It snorts loudly but it becomes a low snarl.

“Don’t worry about this one, since it’s in here it won’t be hurting anyone,” Marion says.

“No time for introductions, but this one here will be joining your research team once things settle down,” Aldryn points at Tim.

“Right, well, I’m assuming the Captain sent you down here for a reason, right?” Marion’s and Aldryn’s conversation were the least of Jason and Tim’s worries though. Jason looked over at Tim, who was looking at the beast.

“What are you thinking of, Tim?”

“Look at it, it’s just there,” Tim says. “The one outside is raising hell. Why is this one complacent?”

“Maybe it’s got something to do with all that stuff stuck to its cage.”

“Or maybe there’s more to it then they know,” Tim glances at Aldryn and Marion before approaching the cage.

“Whoa, Tim! Do you got a death wish?” Jason grabs Tim’s shoulder.

“It’s fine, they said it can’t hurt us,” Tim shakes him off and Jason follows close behind. “Also… this one’s different.”

“Can you really say that? You’ve only ever seen one other one.”

“Jason, it’s looking at me.”

“Okay. Wolves look at rabbits, what’s your point?”

“I can’t really explain it,” Tim mumbles. He stares at the monster. And it stares back. Then, slowly, it moves its head down and closer to the edge of the cage to match Tim’s eye level.

“You! Get back right now!” Marion’s voice was shrill and Tim broke eye contact. “How did you get it to respond to you?!” She pulls him away.

“I… I just looked-”

“Just like the Captain,” she mutters. She looks at Aldryn before shoving the bo-staff into Tim’s hands. “We’ll talk about this later, the Captain needs you first.

“Right, yeah,” Tim nods shortly and Aldryn motions for them to leave. But Jason looks at the beast a bit longer. Come to think of it, Tim had a point. This one was different. And, before he left, Jason’s eyes moved down to the floor, looking at the disturbed section of it where Tim was standing seconds before. “Jason!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Jason catches up with them.

And they returned just in time too.

“Ma’am!” Aldryn returns with your brothers as soon as you’d been pushed back from the blows. You moved the hair out of your face and caught your breath.

“Good. Aldryn, stay close to the Royal family, tell them I have it under control. If you run into any of the new recruits, tell them they’re on civilian duty,” you instructed. The Daemon roars again and a gust of wind blows behind it. Aldryn runs off.

“So, what do we do? Where are its weak points?” Tim asks.

“Their stomachs, maybe,” you answered.

“Maybe?!” Tim steps back when the Daemon finally takes notice of the group.

“Better a maybe than none,” you looked around.

“Captain! What’s the situation?” Eve appears next to you with the rest of the Brigade stepping out of the portal after. You pointed at the Daemon.

“Only one for now,” you mumbled.

“Holy shit it’s huge,” Nixon swallows harshly. You heard someone scream and your eyes scanned the courtyard. Then, you spotted Lowen cornered by yet another Daemon, noticeably smaller than the other one and with a visible streak of red fur running down from the top of it’s head to the tip of its tail. You hope that didn’t mean anything, nothing bad at least.

“Make it two, you all focus on this one, I’ve got the second!” You slung your rifle over your shoulder and readied your rapier while you ran over to him. “Lowen! Lower your head!” Lowen did so and you used the planter to boost your leverage before burying the rapier into the Daemon’s shoulder. The monster roared and tried to blindly grab at you, but you held your ground, holding your rifle with your other hand while clutching onto the handle of your sword and you pressed it to it’s other shoulder and pulled the trigger. The beast roared again before it grabbed your arm and threw you back where you came. You slid against the ground before slamming into the next planter and you groaned.

“Shake it off, Cap,” Carter pulls you up.

“Oh my god! Your arm!” Tim shouts, tearing his eyes away from the first Daemon for a second. You stand up and pick up your ripped-off arm.

“At least it threw both pieces,” Nixon winces when lightning struck a few paces away from him. You held it in place while the muscles reattached and, while it did, you felt every nerve reconnect and every muscle bind itself back together. The worst of it was to come, the bones were always the last to rebuild. You grit your teeth through the pain and once enough has reconnected you readied your rifle again, confidently holding it in one hand, and you fired it while aiming for the second Daemon’s foot, staggering it long enough for Lowen to scramble back.

“Oh, that is sick and twisted,” Jason looks away, holding his hand over his mouth and you readjusted the previous death grip on your rapier.

“No time for that, focus on the big one,” you ran back toward the second monster and Tim followed you. He dashed past you, stepping in front of Lowen just in time to counter the blow from the Daemon. “Tim! Hold your ground!”

“I’m trying!” Tim tightens his hold on the staff, his knuckles turning white from the pressure alone while Lowen stays frozen beneath him. You slide under the monster, your rapier piercing the Daemons stomach just enough for it to stagger back.

“Eve!”

“Got it!” Eve waves her hand toward your Daemon and in seconds it is held by down by an invisible force, but it fought back, it struggled against its restraints until it broke free and Eve lost her footing. It stood on its feet and locked its aim on you, it foamed at the mouth while it took heavy steps toward you and made grabbing motions toward you. Tim stood at your side all the way, staff now in front of you, when two shots rang out and Jason was next to step in front of you.

“Jay, you can’t take this in a fist fight,” you told him.

“I know,” he says. The beast snorts, looking Jason in the eye. It growls lowly. “Take the kid and go, I got this,” he says. You shook Lowen out of his fear and pulled him to safety. “Alright…” Jason continues his staredown of this monster, and never once did it stop. But there was this strange feeling he got from it, like it was familiar in a sense. Maybe this was what Tim felt earlier. Then, once a few magic circles surrounded it, the monster was debilitated and held in a prison of light.

“Go help the others with the big one,” Eve strains and Jason stares a her.

“You sure you’ve got it?.”

“I’ll manage,” she says while a bead of sweat rolls down the side of her face. She keeps her focus as best as she can, “but that one isn’t going down as quickly as this one did.” She takes deep breaths in attempt to hold it steady between portals, while behind her Nixon’s attacks seemed to deflect off of the bigger monster. Jason spots you running back, this time with your rifle, and you aimed it carefully before taking the shot. The bullet lodged itself into the monster’s shoulder right before it could swing at Nixon, and it stunned it long enough for him to make her escape.

“They’re getting stronger,” you commented. This one was stronger than five of those beasts you’d fought before put together. If it was taking most of the Brigade to subdue it, then that much was true.

2010

“Okay, I’ll help you once, alright?” Jason sighed and you grinned.

“Yes!”

“Here, put this on,” he shoves a bag toward you and you nodded excitedly before running out of the room. When you came back, your excitement shone through your mask.

“You can call me the Girl Wonder!” You threw your cape behind you and Jason snickered.

“Whoa, I’m shaking in my boots,” Jason teased and you pouted. “Wait, wait, it’s too big.”

“Of course, it’s too big, this was Dick’s costume right?” You rocked on your heels, and it became more apparent that the shoes were too big too. Jason tosses you your usual sneakers

“Put those on, let me see what I can do,” he walks around you before disappearing for a second and coming back with safety pins, “don’t move, or else I’m gonna poke you,” he adjusts the costume on the shoulders, he didn’t want to make any permanent alterations with something basically historic.

“You think there’s gonna be a day you and I are fighting bad guys together?” You asked while he pinched up the fabric at your shoulders.

“Who knows, maybe,” Jason shrugged, his words muffled by the safety pins held between his lips.

“That would be cool, Jason and (Y/N), maybe Dick too, right? And dad?”

“Sure,” he feeds into your fantasy. “Only if I’m with you, though. You might trip over your cape.”

“Not true!” Still, Jason finds a way to shorten the cape.

“Yes, true! Look at your floor There’s trash all over it!”

“I’ll pick it up later! Geez!” You argued, but you calmed down just as quickly. “That would be so cool though… I want to be just like you.”

“Nah, you’d be better,” Jason chuckles. “There you go, kiddo,” he tests the stability of it and, once he’s happy with it, he pulls the cape over your shoulders to hide the pins.

“Now what?”

“We go to Titan tower,” Jason gestures for you to follow him.

“Oh, dad says I’m not allowed on that,” you eyed the Robin Motorcycle and Jason rolls his eyes.

“Pssh, it’s fine, you’re with me,” he lifts you and secures you to the seat before climbing on behind you and shoving the helmet onto your head.

“Is this legal?” Your voice was muffled by the helmet.

“Don’t worry about the details!” He starts up the motorcycle.

“Are you wearing a helmet?!” Actually you were wearing his.

“Yeah,” he lied and off you went.

You’d been in the batmobile plenty of times, seen the city in it just as much, but seeing it this way was different. Everything seemed closer, like you could reach out and join whatever scene was there. With the wind blowing around you and your hands firmly grasped onto the bike, this felt amazing! You felt like you were flying, moving faster than even some of the other cars, and every now and then an excited laugh would escape you.

Maybe being a Robin wouldn’t be so bad?

“Alright, kiddo, we’re here,” Jason parks the bike and helps you off.

“You lied! You’re not wearing a helmet!” You pulled it off of your head and eyed the ‘R’ decal on the side.

“Yup, I did. Anyway, let’s set some ground rules,” Jason kneels so he can look at you in the eye, “you tell no one who you are, yeah? If anyone asks, you’re Robin, okay?”

“Why can’t I say my name?”

“It’s dangerous,” Jason explains, “and when you’re looking for Dick, you ask for Nightwing.”

“Is it also dangerous if they know his name?”

“Yes, very.”

“Okay,” you nodded and followed Jason to the side of the tower. He pulls the vent cover off and crawls in. So… maybe Jason wasn’t exactly allowed in Titan tower after a few misfortunate events that included him losing his cool and his temper. But, what can he do?

Dick really pissed him off.

But, that was beside the point. You wanted to see him, and this was the only way he could help you do that, so fuck it. Plus, with the majority of everyone's identities still being secret, he couldn't have you just waltzing in here anyway without him.

“Follow me.”

“This feels illegal.”

“Shh!”

“Okay, okay!” You followed him carefully and, after some twists and turns, Jason kicked out one of the vents and crawled out, helping you down too. You landed in some kind of lounge area, a large sofa in the middle.

“Wait here, Nightwing should be coming soon, I’ll wait for you outside,” Jason says before leaving the way he came. You sat on the couch, kicking your legs for a bit. Then you started playing with the end of your cape. The material was pretty comfy, actually, you could see yourself falling asleep in it easily. You wondered if Dick ever did. You always liked this costume, actually, it was so different from your dad’s that in some ways you preferred it.

Your brothers were heroes. How cool was that? And your dad was probably the most heroic one of them all, and that was much cooler. If only you could show it off, you were sure everyone would be jealous of you. How often can anyone say that their family are superheroes? Dick always looked so cool in this uniform, and sure he still looks amazing with his new one, but this one? It was different.

Finally after waiting enough you decided to just find him yourself. How hard could it be anyway?

Very hard, apparently.

So you did what any preteen would do and wandered around the tower, he had to be somewhere, right?

Until you landed in the middle of what you assumed to be a training room. It was a spacious room with a kiosk off to the side, and you sat down in the middle, crossing your legs and holding them to your chest. This sucked. And you didn’t even know the way back out to meet Jason to go home. Then, off to the corner of your eye, you saw movement, and you turned your head toward it but… nothing. But you felt the stares, you felt the eyes, and it scared you. You couldn’t call for help, you didn’t know where Dick was and Jason was too far to hear, so you shut your eyes tight and covered your ears. But that never stopped you before.

“Help!” Your voice was loud and immediately you heard a vent clatter to the ground while Jason tumbled out of it, he stood in front of you with one hand up and the other on his belt, ready to pull out a batarang if needed.

“Stop! We’re not intruders!” He shouts.

“Relax, everyone,” Dick’s voice was firm while he held a fist up to stop all movements, and, slowly the Titans back off. Dick eyed Jason and gestured for him to move over before he approached you slowly, crouching down as soon as he was close enough. And he felt his heart tighten. He knew it was you as soon as he’d seen you, but to see you in that? His old uniform? That old thing that had been ripped apart after many battles and had been stained with blood many a time… To see you wearing it was almost wrong. The little girl who cried whenever her brothers had scratches, the one who called for help for the smallest of things, to think that you could be a Robin almost ripped him apart, he didn’t want you to go through any of what he did, any of what Jason did. Hell, you just called for help right now and this is probably one of the safest places you could be.

Jason, only he could’ve put you up to this, and he made his intent clear from the quick glare he shot him, but Jason replied by whistling and rolling his eyes. Dick only sighed and reached out to rub your head. You removed your hands just enough to peer over them, and once you’d seen him, your frown deepened and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight, and he held you back. You missed him, a lot.

“False alarm, everyone, she’s my sister,” he rubs your back gently before rising up and, once you’d looked around, you saw the other members of the Titans that Dick was always talking about. “And you,” he looks at Jason, “we’ll talk later, wait outside for her and I’ll bring her out,” he says. Jason doesn’t fight it, he just nods and leaves the room, looking back to see you watching him go.

“He’s not in trouble is he?” You tugged at Dick’s arm to get his attention. “It was my idea to come here…” you muttered. Before Dick could respond, you were surrounded by excited voices. And you recognized all of them, you’d seen them plenty of times on your dad’s big computer alongside the other heroes.

“Whoa, Nightwing! You have a younger sister?” Garfield was the first to approach you, looking at you closely as if trying to find any similarities between the two of you.

“Yeah, adoptive,” he explains, ushering you forward.

“What a cute little girl!” Starfire pinches your cheeks and you let her, feeling the warmth from her hands radiate into your face as she did so and you didn’t hate it, “have you come to visit your brother?”

“Yeah,” your voice was slightly stifled.

“Good, take him home with you, he needs a break,” Starfire grins.

“Come on, Star, there’s too much work to do here,” he shakes his head.

“Now, what’s your name? You got a cool one too?” Garfield asks and Dick clears his throat before you could answer.

“Obviously, we can’t tell you her name, but you can just call her Robin while she’s here.”

“That’s a little confusing with the other Robin,” Raven mutters.

“But the other Robin isn’t here right now,” Wally answers.

“Alright, how about Little Wing, then?” Dick tosses out the nickname he had for you and your eyes lit up.

“Cool!” Wally zips over to you. “You really a Robin?” You shook your head. “Whoa, I was about to say…”

“Alright, alright, let’s not crowd her, okay?” Dick pushes you slightly behind him now, “you guys filter out, I’ll talk with her for a bit, I think I know why she’s here,” Dick wears a knowing smile, and the others groan but leave anyway, leaving you and Dick in the training room.

“So, Little Wing, what brings you all the way here from Gotham?” He sits down and crosses his legs, and you sit next to him.

“I just wanted to visit, is all…” you muttered.

“Oh, yeah?”

“You’re never home anymore…” you mumbled. Dick sighs.

“Yeah… yeah,” he nods, “the team needs me here.”

“But I need you there,” you replied. A small frown settles on Dick’s face.

“I know, I can’t come home right now, (Y/N),” he says while listening for unwanted ears, “but, hey, you still have Robin.”

“He’s still rude!” You shout. “He’s not like you, whenever I ask to do stuff with him all he does is complain, he can be so mean sometimes!” You grumbled.

“Mean? He took you all the way here, didn’t he?” Dick leans back on his palms and you huffed.

“I guess… but that’s probably because I keep complaining about how you’re not around anymore,” you pout.

“And he still does all those things with you even though he complains, right?”

“Yeah,” you looked to the side.

“Heck, even when you called for help that kid came tumbling down, I’m sure you hurt his feelings every time you call him mean.”

“Do I really?” Your voice was small. You hadn’t really considered it before. You and Jason had a tendency to argue, and maybe say a few mean things to each other every now and then, but you never once thought that you hurt his feelings during. “I guess he’s not so bad…”

“Looks like I got a worthy replacement then,” he claps your shoulder and you frowned again while shifting slightly away from him.

“Why aren’t you ever home anymore?” Dick doesn’t answer. “Is it dad? Did you two get in a fight?”

“Something like that,” Dick sighs. “But, you’re right, just because he and I are fighting doesn’t mean I should ignore you,” he rubs your hair playfully and you smiled. “I’ll carve out some time for you too, I can’t have Robin stealing all my thunder, right?” He smiles and you nodded your head.

“Promise?”

“Sibling's promise," he smiles.

2022

“Move!” You pushed Nixon out of the way just in time for the Daemon’s arm to hammer down on top of you. You barely dodged in time, the beast’s arm just grazing you before it slammed against the ground and cracked the concrete beneath it. You pierced your blade into the beast’s stomach and it roared above you. “Shit, not enough,” you pulled back, but the beast grabbed onto you. “Shit!” You repeated and the beast opened its maw wide before it came biting down over your shoulder, its teeth digging into your neck, back, and chest. Your scream was near primal, feeling every single piece of you rip and sew itself back together.

“Captain!” Eve’s shriek could be heard from anywhere.

“(Y/N)!” And only Jason’s could have rivaled it. You heard successive rounds fired out and you knew they hit their target, but it couldn’t have been enough to fell this beast. Shurikens embedded themselves into the daemon’s body before you saw the staff flung toward it. But the beast only caught it in its hands and tossed it to the ground. You thrashed against the monster, you were too close to use your rifle and too busy to make your rapier be of any use aside from a handle. You grabbed onto the monster’s face, trying to pry it off of you, but it just bit down harder, pulling out yet another pained scream from you. Tim found a way to get on top of the beast and, holding Carter’s sword, he plunged the sword into the beast’s neck, but all it did was anger it further, and it shook you side to side like a dog would a toy, and your screams became garbled from the harsh movements. Tim was thrown to the ground in time for Jason to step forward and aim for the more vital parts of the beast.

But it wasn’t enough.

And you began to resort to more grotesque techniques to survive. So, with mangled limbs, you grabbed onto the beast’s ears and pushed back with all your might until you started to feel the flesh rip. Then another roar is heard. You turned your head to its source, right in front of the Barracks, and you felt an intense wave of dread.

It escaped.

The previously captured Daemon breathed heavily, chain collar around it’s neck and broken shackles on each limb. It was looking at you.

Sure, you could reattach. But, hypothetically, if you were ripped apart just enough, to the point that there was no base body to even reattach to, then this might be the end for you.

But that wasn’t fair. You couldn’t die yet, not in front of them. You were just barely able to catch a glimpse of Jason, the only one turned toward you, and it killed you, the way he looked. You couldn’t even imagine Tim. Thank god you sent Damian away.

“Oh, fuck,” Nixon charged toward it, but the daemon bent down on it’s hind legs before leaping across the air and toward you. It landed with a loud thud, shaking the ground temporarily before charging toward you and the daemon that was still trying to gnaw you in half.

You winced when the daemon locked its jaw on you, and you prepared yourself for impact, but instead, the chained Daemon bit onto the larger one’s neck and ripped it off of you. You fell to the ground, panting heavily and with no strength to get it up, but you were able to turn your head just enough to see the fight. It was gruesome.

“(Y/N), holy shit,” Jason helps you sit up, his hands red with the blood from your back. You brought your one good hand to your head and tried to stop the ringing in your ears through sheer will. Jason waved a hand in front of you. “How many fingers?”

“Three,” your eyes were slowly focusing again. You looked down at your chest.

It wasn’t reattaching. Not fast, at least.

“Are they fighting?” Carter runs up next to you, eyeing the bite wound before looking at the two beasts.

“Yeah, where’s Alex?” You were still catching your breath.

“Calling for help, again,” Carter looks around. “Eve’s getting medical supplies and Nixon’s watching the other one.”

“Okay,” you coughed up blood and you kept your head turned low. You couldn’t look at Jason. You didn’t want to know what kind of expression he had on his face right now. And you couldn’t let Tim see you this way either.

“(Y/N)! Let me see it,” Tim falls in front of you, looking at the damage, but his hands were shaking. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says. “It was me, I saw it and got curious, I must have weakened the defense somehow,” Tim mumbles.

“Don’t,” you shook your head and looked past him, toward the fight. “They’re fighting each other… but why?” Your breathing was labored.

“Save your energy, kid.” You just realized that Jason has been supporting you this whole time. You watched the chained daemon grab onto the electric one, holding both of its arms before ripping one off entirely.

“Holy fuck,” it was like you were watching a massacre. And when the chained daemon bit down on the other for the last time, it closed its jaw completely over the other’s neck. Slowly, it rose again, opening its jaw to let the blood of its felled opponent spill out, and then it turned to you. Instinctively, you tried to push back, but Jason held you in place. His gaze was as locked upon it as it was to you.

The daemon approached the group slowly, its eyes menacing and its jaw hung open, but its steps were slow and maybe casual. Its ears folded down and as it closed the distance its eyes seemed to soften. Before it finally stood above you, everyone held still by your weakened fist in the air, ready to signal an attack at any moment. But nothing happened, it just stood there.

And then it looked at Tim.

You were already confused about why it seemed responsive to you, but to Tim too?

“Tim,” your voice was weak.

“Yeah?” He didn’t break eye contact with the beast.

“Around its neck are a pair of dog tags, read it for me.”

“Okay…” Tim reached his hand out slowly. And the beast, as if understanding, turned its head up to allow the tags to be seen better. “CK-78.”

“Does it mean anything to you?” You asked. Blood was still pooling out of the bite marks across your torso.

Tim’s eyes narrowed on the dogtags, and then he looked up at the daemon’s eye. Strange, it was as if it was begging Tim to get it. To figure out the mystery behind it.

While Tim did so, Eve returned, holding the first aid kit and kneeling next to you.

“I got it,” Jason took the bandages. He knew a thing or two about field patching, he’d say. He wrapped it around your body a couple of times after packing the larger wounds, it’ll do for now, but you’d have to get the seen by a professional later.

Look at this.

His worst nightmare.

During his time as a Robin, there was a reoccurring nightmare he’d always have.

It would start out as normal, it was one of those dreams that felt so real that he wouldn’t think twice. He’d pick you up from academy, you’d do whatever you felt like doing, and on your way home you’d be interrupted by one of the bastards who had Batman and Robin on their hit list. They would fight. And Jason would be so busy beating the shit out of them that he wouldn’t realize the mortal wounds you had. And when he would clean you up, when he would stop the bleeding any way he knew how, you would look away from him, and you wouldn’t say anything.

He would always wake up in a cold sweat after that, comforted by the fact that it was a nightmare.

Except now wasn’t that, it was real. It was so real that you were bleeding through your bandages, and you were holding your head from the blood loss, no doubt seeing the world spin, and you weren't looking at him.

“What happened?!” Damian came back too late, seeing you on the ground. It was his turn to sit in front of you. “Sister? Sister!” Damian held your face in his hands. But your eyes had glazed over. Your breaths were shallow, and your head heavy.

You were so tired.

Your eyelids slipped shut and the last thing you felt was Damian shaking you.

2014

You watched silently while Dick went through his normal workout routine. You were more disinterested, if anything, sure it was cool at first but now it was just a wasted three hours of your day. But, you needed to ask him something, in fact that was why you’d been staying with him for the past week, one part of it was that it was this odd request of yours and the other part of it was that you just didn’t want to be home. It was so suffocating in the mansion, so quiet, and so…

Lonely.

“What’s up, little wing?” Dick pulled you out of your thoughts. He wiped the sweat off his neck with a towel and started shoving the weights back into their original places. “You’ve been staring at me for a while now.”

“Have I? Sorry, it wasn’t creepy was it?”

“It was a little creepy,” he chuckled. “But… I know I look good,” he nudges you playfully.

“Shut up, you’re gross,” you made a fake gagging sound and leaned back against the wall, being sure to avert your gaze this time.

“Is… everything alright?” He asks as if testing the waters. You didn’t blame him, to be fair. Since you’d arrived, you hadn’t mentioned his name once.

“Everything’s fine,” you shrugged. Dick sits next to you now, picking up his water bottle along the way and taking a deep breath.

“I know it’s hard but… he’s my brother too.” That got you. You leaned forward with your elbows on your knees and you buried your face in your hands. “It’s okay to grieve,” he says. It’s already been a year.

“But what if I don’t want to?” Your voice was muffled. “Me grieving is like me accepting that he’s dead, but he can’t be, right? Dad wouldn’t have let him die, right?” Your questions would go unanswered, instead, you felt Dick place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Everyone… everyone has to go eventually,” Dick says carefully.

“Why did it have to be him, though?” Your tears spilled out of your hands now. You never really thought of how deadly your family’s jobs were. They were just always so prepared, so ready for any possible thing that could go wrong, until they weren’t. “I… I’ve been watching Tim train to be Robin, and it got me thinking about what he asked me before…” your voice trailed after being interrupted by hiccups, and Dick just rubbed your upper back the whole time, waiting patiently for you to finish. You took a deep breath. “Tim asked me… to become the next Robin, originally. But I said no, and now he’s training instead. But… you know he’s so bright, he can do anything he wants and instead, because I chickened out, he’s training to be a vigilante.” Dick didn’t say anything. “But you know me and how I feel about what you all do.”

“I do.”

“I just… it’s not…” you paused. “Could I even do it?” You turned to him now. Dick, though, turned away from you with his focus on his hands. They were grasping onto each other tight with the knuckles turning white. “Dick?”

“What do you think, (Y/N)?” He asks. “If you came here to ask me to make that decision for you, I won’t. You know as well as I do what being a Robin means.”

“But he’s just so… young, Dick. I never realized how young you both were when you started, but now when I watch Tim I can’t help but worry.”

“Hell, you should’ve seen us then,” Dick laughs quietly. There’s no way you could know his thoughts right now. He who might have been the reason why you were so averted to vigilante business to begin with, he did everything he possibly could to keep you separate from it and now here you were, asking him if you should become a Robin. It was one of his worst nightmares, actually. There have been many a time he thought if becoming a vigilante was the right way to cope, he thought he was becoming a hero, but really he at first became a soldier. He couldn’t see you become like that. You who was probably the only thing keeping both him and Bruce grounded, imagine if they lost that, imagine if you lost that.

“But doesn’t it make sense though, Dick? If I became a Robin?”

“Well… yeah,” he nods his head absently, “but is that what you want to do?” You thought for a moment. The toll vigilante work took on your dad, the childhood it took from Dick, the life it took from Jason, and the time it was taking from Tim, could you shoulder that?

“I came here for two reasons,” you said instead, “one was to get out of that house. No one’s ever home anymore,” you muttered.

“And the second?”

“I was going to ask you to train me,” you admitted bashfully. “But I don’t think I was ever cut out for vigilante work, I don’t have the same resolve you and… he did,” you took a deep breath. “What exactly did you two fight about for Jason to have been banned from the Titan tower, Dick?”

“…” he didn’t answer for a while. But you knew that look on his face, he was thinking, and very hard at that too. “He wanted to train you,” he says, “he wanted to have the both of us train you. Have you learn the basics of being a Robin just in case… just in case neither of us could’ve gotten to you in time.” Your face grew more serious. “And I said ‘no.’”

“Why?”

“At that time, when you were twelve, did you want to be a Robin?” He asks. You thought about it for a while.

“Yes, I thought I could be a Robin,” you nodded.

“And now?” He waits for your answer.

“I… I don’t know. But, was the fight really all that bad for him to get banned?”

“You don’t understand, (Y/N),” Dick shook his head. “No one knows the price of being a Robin more than we did. You know, no matter how old you get, you’re still our little sister, I don't know what I'd do if even half the shit that happened to me happened to you,” he nudges you. “We didn’t see eye-to-eye on that and, well, I already disagreed with how he treated the mantle too, so I won’t lie and I tell you we started off on a good page,” he says. “And when it came to you, what to do with you and how to take care of you, we either agreed with each other entirely or were at odds, there was no in-between,” Dick rolled his eyes, thinking back to the arguments between the two.

“Really?”

“Yeah, we just never did it in front of you, obviously,” Dick says. “You know us well, (Y/N). Take you being in danger. If it was up to me you’d never be in a dangerous situation to begin with, so I hope you never held it against me when I told you to stay behind.”

“I did.”

“I know,” Dick nods. “You do this thing where you’d take a deep breath and close your eyes and that’s how we’d know you’re upset,” he laughs and you broke a smile. “But Jason? Phew. To him, as long as you were within an arm’s distance, you were never in danger, and that was pretty much true from how I’d see him with you,” Dick shakes his head.

“Well… yeah, it’s the same with you, right?” You asked.

“Of course! But, also, not necessarily,” he shakes his head again. “It’s happened enough times before, I would just pull you out of a situation before things got too heated. Jason, though, would throw himself in front of you if it meant keeping you safe, he was always reckless like that,” he says. And look where it got him. “Like that time you first visited me at the Tower, oh my god, I almost popped a vein when I heard how you got there,” Dick exaggerates his words with his hands. “The Robin Cycle?! Seriously?! God, so much could have gone wrong, and, oh my god, you were in the vents!” Dick started rambling and you started laughing. “He’s actually crazy to think that would’ve been okay,” Dick runs a hand through his hair and you settled down.

“I had so much fun that day,” your smile fell into a softer one, “I remember thinking that I was just like you guys…” Dick nods solemnly.

"That's... If there was one thing Jason and I always agreed on, it was that we wanted you to be better than we could ever be. For me, that was making your own choices free from a legacy, and for Jason that was being more prepared than he ever was," Dick says before taking a deep breath. “Sometimes I forget we were that same age when we started,” Dick says.

“Exactly,” you sighed.

“The only difference was that Jason and I were insanely traumatized, and you weren’t,” he chuckles and you shifted uncomfortably.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” your arms rested over your knees. “You and Jason were these self-made heroes, and I was the spoiled rich kid brat who thought it would’ve been easy.”

“Spoiled? Yeah. Brat? Nah,” Dick laughs.

“Hey!”

“Hey you! Whatever you wanted we got you!”

“Okay, well that was your choice,” you defended yourself.

“True,” Dick concedes. But then his smile falls. “We used to talk about it. (Y/N),” the tone shifts again, “it’s not that we think you couldn’t handle being a vigilante, anyone can take on the mantle, it’s whether or not you’d be best utilized for that mantle. You have so many other strengths that Jason and I don’t have, you know you kept us grounded so many times when all we wanted to do was fly,” Dick says. “There are days where we almost went too far, I think, and every time there you were to help us back down,” he continues, but then he stops. “If you want to be a Robin, then I’ll help you, but you need to find someone who can be your grounder too. That hopeful humanity you have is what makes you such a vital part to our team, and I’m just afraid that becoming Robin will change that,” he finishes. You held on to every word.

Robin, what did it really stand for? It wasn’t just Batman’s sidekick, it was a symbol as much as Batman was. A symbol of hope for some, the hope that came after vengeance.

And here you were, wanting to become a Robin just to hunt down the Joker.

You couldn’t tell that to Dick.

But it made you so upset. The Joker killed your brother and your father hasn’t done anything about him, hell, you were just reading an article about how Joker and Batman had a showdown and still your father let him go. Wasn’t your father angry at all? Didn’t he feel some kind of guilt or sympathy for Jason?

“(Y/N), I know what you’re thinking, I can see it in your eyes,” Dick says. “But Bruce… Bruce has his own way of grieving too. We don’t have to understand it, it’s not like he’d tell us anyway, but just like how you came to me, Bruce went to someone else,” Dick explains.

“He’s my own dad, and I feel like you know him better than I ever will.”

“I am older than you,” he nudges you softly.

“I just wish he came to us,” you mumbled. “He thinks he’s so alone sometimes, and I feel it,” you held onto your chest and rubbed it softly with the ball of your hand. “I feel like I don’t know him anymore, Dick, I don’t know how to talk to my own dad.”

“Just start small, he’s grieving too.”

“I don’t recognize him anymore, Dick,” your hands went to your arms now. “Don’t tell him this, okay?” You looked at him, your eyes wide with a hint of… something, something Dick didn’t want to admit.

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Sibling secret,” he makes a zipper motion with his mouth. You moved so that you were facing him a little more.

“When he came home the other night, Tim was already in bed and I was about to go too, but you know I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately, and my therapist recommended tea. I figured dad would want some too, he usually does after late-night patrols, so I made some for him and brought it down to the cave. I was originally just going to leave it there, but he was already sitting down in front of the batcomputer… I didn’t even hear him come in,” you started. “And when I placed the mug down, he turned to look at me so fast that I almost fell back, and…” you hesitated, but Dick was listening very carefully, “he threw one of those batarangs of his. He threw it towards me and he missed, but,” your hand ghosted over your cheek, where the shallow cut was long before, “I know he didn’t mean to, he’d been on edge ever since what happened but… he scared me, Dick. The way he looked at me, it scared me so much I couldn’t move,” your hands were trembling, they were trembling so much you clasped your hands together to stop them, but they didn’t, “I’ve never been afraid of dad before but that night was different. I couldn’t say anything to him, I just dropped the mug off and ran back upstairs.”

“Did he do that?” Dick was in disbelief. You nodded your head, the image still clear in your mind.

“The next morning he apologized but… I didn’t think I’d ever be in that situation to begin with. I know, I know ever since what happened with Jason he’s been so guarded, so I’m not holding it against him but…” you trailed off. You were so scared that night. “I know it won’t happen again.”

“It won’t, you’re right,” he says. “Maybe…” he hesitates. “Maybe I’ll drop by a bit more, I know Tim’s been training, but maybe it’ll help more if a former Robin helped him out,” Dick says. Your expression seemed to perk up at this.

“You’re coming home?”

“Just visiting,” he says. “Might do Tim some good to have someone other than Alfred and Bruce, right?” He rolls his shoulders out. “Plus, I can tell you miss me,” he nudges your shoulder and you rolled your eyes again.

“I always miss you guys,” you waved it off.

“Aww, oh my god! My sister misses me?” Dick exaggerates and you groan.

“Don’t you dare make me regret coming here!”

“Oh, I am so touched, I could cry,” Dick hides his eyes with his hand before separating his fingers just enough to see your deadpan expression. You shook your head and stood up.

“Thanks, Dick, for hearing me out,” you wiped your palms on your thighs.

“Of course, anything for you, (Y/N),” he smiles.

“I don’t want to bother you anymore-”

“Whoa! You’re leaving already? Let me treat you out first, you came all the way here to Blüdhaven, I can’t let you go home on an empty stomach,” Dick jumps up and walks ahead of you.

“No, it’s okay!”

“(Y/N), Alfred would kill me,” Dick looks back with an inflated look of despair and you laughed.

“You’re right, you’re right, fine! But I get to choose!”

“Keeping up the spoiled persona, I get you.”

"Dick! You're such a..." you stopped yourself and Dick waited with expectant eyes for the punchline. "I'm not gonna say it."

"It was worth a shot," Dick waits for you to catch up and you both left together.

2022

You’re in the manor, but you knew, not really. The details were fuzzy, faceless paintings repeated themselves, and hallways seemed longer than usual. Every time you turned a wrong corner the hallway would loop until you realized that you had to turn around.

This was a dream.

Ever since you’d come to this new Earth, you had this uncanny ability of lucid dreaming. Or, at the very least, you were very conscious in your dreams. You always remembered them after too. But naught without cost. You either had a dreamless night, or you had relentless nightmares. You were already mentally preparing yourself for what you were about to see. If you were in the manor then, you already know, this one would be tough. And it seemed that your dream was guiding you into the foyer, and it landed you in front of the infamous bookcase. You pulled the bust’s head back and pressed the button, watching the bookcase slide forward and to the side. The staircase down was dark, near infinite. You took a deep breath and took a step closer to it.

“(Y/N)? You’re not allowed down there,” you heard a voice behind you say. You turned around and saw a much younger Dick Grayson.

“Why not?”

“It’s dangerous.” He says.

“Why don’t you come with me then?” You caught your reflection on the glass case next to you. You were so little. Your cheeks round with baby fat and your hair tied into twin tails. This was going to be rough.

“I… I wouldn’t be enough, just stay up here, okay? Let’s play a game,” he pulls out a Monopoly set and you shook your head.

“Sorry, Dick, I just want to be done with this.” You shook your head and walked into the darkness, feeling the chill of fear run through you with every step. And finally you reached the bottom, and the cave illuminated. You could hear someone typing on the keyboard. “Dad?” You called out to him and the clacking stopped. You walked further into the cave, until you could see the batcomputer and the looming figure of the Batman sitting in front of it. “I didn’t hear you come home,” you waited for his response. And there was none. “Dad?” You chanced it again. And the Batman turned quickly on the chair.

You were afraid.

You felt your heart pumping and the blood rushing through your veins. That wasn’t your father, no, it was a daemon in the Batsuit, how fucking fitting. And you screamed, you called for help, and you wanted to fall to the ground and cover your ears with how the daemon roared. And when it fell to the ground and started clawing its way toward you it just felt so real, it felt so real that you could feel the tears streaming down your face and your burning throat.

“(Y/N)! Get away!” Your dad. You felt someone pull you back with such force that you nearly flew at that size. And you watched the two Batmen fighting. One, your father, and the other a daemon.

“You!” Another voice now. You were knocked to the ground and you saw… you. She pinned you down with a crazed look in her eyes. “You took everything from me,” her voice dripped with venom and you looked away. She wrapped her hands around your throat and pressed her thumbs against your windpipe. “I’ll kill you.” You gasped for air now and she throttled you. “Give it back. Give it back to me!” You shook your head, and you shut your eyes, trying every trick in the book to wake up. You bit your tongue, you gnawed on your hands, and you even tried doing simple math until finally you shot up from bed.

Taking deep breaths, you clutched onto your heart. Your wounds had been cleaned and bandaged. You looked around the med bay and you wiped the cold sweat from your head. You looked to the side, spotting the scattered tools, and you grabbed the scalpel. You took more deep breaths, the world at your peripherals still fuzzy, and you plunged it into your hand just to be sure you’d woken up and soon you heard a shout next to you.

“Are you crazy?! Give me that!” Jason tugged the scalpel out of your hand and chucked it toward the other side of the room. It looks like he had just woken up too. He slumped back on the chair next to your bed and took deep breaths.

“Jason, what happened?” You watched your hand reattach. Back to normal.

“What happened? You almost got ripped apart, that’s what happened,” he points at your bandages.

“I mean after, Jay.”

“Oh, well,” he shakes the shock off, “after you passed out, Alex came back and helped that other girl wheel you over here to get you patched up. Tim went with Mary, I think her name was, and they started doing stuff with the monster to see why it reacted that way.”

“And Damian?” Jason points at the other side of your bed and you turned your head toward it. Damian had fallen asleep next to you, head resting on his arms that were crossed over the edge of the bed. Wordlessly, you rubbed his hair gently and you turned to Jason. “Talk about a warm welcome,” you repeated. Jason didn’t answer, he was looking down at your hand. “You’re right. It is sick and twisted.” Your hand looked like nothing had happened to it. “Looks like I never stabbed it all, huh?” Your voice was quiet, so as not to wake Damian.

“But those are still there,” he looked at the healed over that encircled your whole wrist.

Your hands were the first to go that night.

You rubbed it softly.

“I don’t like thinking about it.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“I still have nightmares about it,” you tugged the hospital gown up, as if it would hide the scar that encircled your neck. It didn’t.

“Was that the one you had just now?”

“No, that one was… fairly new,” you thought back to it. It wasn’t the first time you’d been attacked by yourself. You figured it was some crazy dream symbolism thing that said you were at odds with yourself, but you weren’t so sure. Jason didn’t need to know about it. “It’s fine,” you shook your head.

“Oh, Captain, you’re up,” the nurse walks in with a clipboard in hand. “That was a nasty bite you had there, but I suspect it’s all been reattached by now, right?” You touched your chest. All good. You nodded your head and the nurse beamed. “Excellent, then, you’d been resting for a while so you should be able to get back to work soon?”

“How long have I been out?”

“It’s been a couple of days, Captain. Sir Grant will drop by and hand you the paperwork you’ve missed.”

“It can’t be that much, can it?” You asked. The nurse just smiles.

“Dr. Bronte ordered you to remain on bed rest for the week, he was very adamant about it,” she says. “So, unfortunately, nothing but paperwork.”

“What?! He knows I reattach, right?!” You shot up from bed and she ushers you back down.

“Yes, of course, but it’s still his orders,” she says. You groaned.

“I see, thank you,” you dismissed her and she saluted before leaving the room.

“So… Captain, huh?” Jason makes conversation. “You have to tell me about that,” he crosses his ankle over his knee and you shook your head with a slight smile.

“It’s boring.”

“Well, not like you’re going anywhere.”

“Rude!”

“I’m serious! I wanna know what you’ve been up to! I thought you hated being a leader.”

“I do.”

“So… why Captain?”

“God, everyone else is incomptent,” you rolled your eyes and Jason laughed.

“That’s more like you, tell me from the beginning.”

“Ugh… well…” You looked up at the ceiling, thinking of where to start. “When I woke up here I was so lost. I was lucky enough to have been brought in by good people, and they showed me how this world worked, but I knew I had to repay them somehow. Luckily for me, one of them was the previous Captain, so he let me train under him and now I’m here. That’s the shortened version,” you explained.

“What? Boring, give me the good one.”

“You’re so annoying!”

“Sure, yeah, now tell me about people you beefed with.”

“Fine.”

2015

You were worried sick, and you stayed up late to wait for your father and Tim to come home, they told you they’d be back in the morning, and now it was nearing midnight, their comms were turned off and their locations unknown, Babs was going near crazy trying to locate them and here you were, waiting in the Batcave like it would do something.

“Dick, what do you think?” You chewed on the tip of your thumb. Your older brother stood by the computer, trying to do anything to locate anything.

“I might send the Titans in after them if they’re not back,” he says. You stood up and looked at the screen. Tim had only recently been inducted in as a Robin, after months and months of training, he finally made it, and this was his first big break mission with your father after he’d saved the others from Two-Face, the first time he was entrusted with an actual mission aside from the Gotham patrols. But… you were worried.

Then, finally, you heard the telltale sign of the plane landing, and you and Dick were quick to run over. Your father emerged first and soon after…

“Tim?” You stepped forward to see him better and… You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, it was the only thing louder than the ringing. There was blood, a lot of it, it caked around his face and on his uniform, and it left footprints where he walked. He spotted you, forcing a smile and a wave.

But the world around you dulled. All conversation was muted to you. Your vision tunneled on Tim, and for some reason all you could see was Jason, head split open by a crowbar and blood pooled around him like you’d seen in all your nightmares, and when you’d blink he’d go back to Tim, bloodied. Then you’d blink again, Jason, you’d blink, Tim. What was this ringing? This fear you felt in your heart? Couldn’t your father have helped clean him up a little on his way here? Couldn’t he have dressed those wounds better? Was the blood even his?

“(Y/N)?” Tim was closer now, you noticed him nursing his side, the wound messily dressed and barely doing the job. You looked at your father.

“Oh, Tim,” your hands rest on his shoulders gently, while you tried to assess the damage. “What happened?” You asked carefully.

“It was rough,” your father shook his head. “Too many variables we didn’t account for, we won’t make that mistake again.”

“Too many variables? Enough to leave Tim like this?” You looked at him. “Let me see it,” you looked at his side.

“It’s okay,” Tim shakes his head.

“Show me,” you insisted. Tim only nodded, removing his hand just enough so you could see the scar through the cut-open uniform. Go figure, the Robin uniform wasn’t fit for a jungle. You looked at your father again, who was looking at Tim. “What happened?”

“Mutated animals, we’re still investigating it, we’ll return in the morning,” he responds.

“In the morning? Look at him! He’s barely holding himself together!” You argued. “Take Dick with you! Tim needs to rest.”

“(Y/N),” Dick spoke up, or had he been speaking?

“He’s fine, (Y/N), we all cleared him for Robin work, this is just collateral,” your father answers.

“Just collateral? He’s not a business, he’s Tim fucking Drake!” You stepped in front of Tim now. “Do you want to go back there?” You looked at him, and he shrank in his shoes. Tim only shook his head, clearly still shaken from the events.

“He’s a Robin, he wanted to be a Robin, trained for it, and now he is it,” Batman argues.

“Christ, dad, he’s thirteen!” You shout.

“Dick was eleven!”

“And look where that got him! He resents you!” You looked to Dick, who sighed and shook his head. He couldn’t answer, because what you said had some truth to it. Everyone knew it.

“Jason was—”

“Jason is dead!” You cut him off, your hands balled at your sides and your throat strained, there was a tense silence in the cave now. “You killed my brother! You killed him and you didn’t even grieve like a normal person, I had to hear from Tim that you were ripping people apart in the ports! That’s horrifying, dad! Why… why are you repeating what happened with Jason?!”

“Take that back!” Batman’s voice rose in a way no one ever heard before.

“And what will you do if Tim is gone? Are you going to go on a killing spree?” You felt like pulling your hair out. “Jason’s gone and you haven’t done shit about it!”

“I’ve done everything to avenge him!”

“Everything to avenge but none to honor!” You stood up taller now, and you looked the Batman in his eye. “The Joker still runs wild, and all you’ve done is train his replacement.”

“You know nothing about what I do for this city!”

“And I don’t want to be part of it,” you could feel your throat burning. “Look at Tim! He could be dead right now and you wouldn’t do anything about it, you said it yourself, it’s just collateral,” you turned his words on him and Batman stepped forward. You stepped back.

“Death… death is part of the job,” Batman responds and your shoulders slumped.

“God… are you even my father when you put that mask on?” You tried to step back, hoping you’d see at least some of your dad in him, but nothing. “If death is so okay with you then I don’t want to be next in line. I will never be a vigilante.”

“What did you say?” Batman spoke up.

“You…” You’re a monster. You couldn’t find it in yourself to say it. “I will never be a vigilante, I want nothing to do with this Batman circus act, especially if you’re so okay with your kids being near killed,” you were running your mouth now, saying everything that came to mind. You just couldn’t think straight, how the hell did your older brothers do it? You would scrape a knee and they’d raise hell, now Tim comes home bleeding head to toe and you want to throttle whoever did this to him. “I don’t know who you even are, anymore, but the Batman I idolized would have never put his sons in these kinds of situations!”

“You don’t know me!”

“I don’t anymore!”

“Don’t pretend you understand this line of business!”

“I’m not! I don’t understand being a vigilante at all!”

“You’ve lived with us your whole life and you still don’t understand?! Gotham needs us!”

“You’re right, Gotham needs you! Not some remote island with mutated animals! Jesus, you could’ve at least given Tim some actual gear!”

“We didn’t account for monsters thrice our size!”

“And you didn’t think to regroup and plan that shit out?!”

“Watch your language!”

“Fuck my language, Tim’s barely together!”

“You’re acting like you know him so well.”

“And you do?! You really think any normal thirteen-year-old would be okay with getting their shit beat out of them!”

“He chose this.”

“He doesn’t have to get ripped apart because of it!”

“You are making a big deal out of—”

“I just don’t want to lose another brother!” Your voice echoed in the cave. You looked back to Tim, whose hands were over his ears now and his eyes shut closed. His bloodied hands dripped down his face and you shook your head, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping most of it from his face. Tim’s eyes opened slowly and his hands moved away so you could clean up at least that much, at least enough to stop seeing the worst possible outcome. And though you felt a rage like none other, you kept your hands steady, you kept them gentle, just enough to try to calm Tim down without saying anything that would make him more scared.

“Why do you even bother, (Y/N)?” You heard Batman speak behind you, and before you could turn back to him, Dick took your shoulders and pushed you away.

“Let’s go, you need to cool off,” he says quietly.

“I need to help Tim!”

“Alfred will help him.”

“In that case someone has to pull Batman back to reality!” You tried to shrug Dick off, but his grip was firm. “Let go, Dick! Don’t pretend you don’t agree with me!”

“Let’s take a walk, (Y/N),” he insists, urging you out of the cave.

“Am I so wrong, Dick?!”

“Let’s go,” he keeps ushering you, “I’ll deal with Bruce.”

“You’ll deal with him?” You pushed away from him, you were just steps away from the outside. “Oh! Right! You’ll deal with him… the prodigal son,” you huffed. “Go figure, the kid he listens to is the one he chose and not the one he had,” you snarked and Dick’s expression steeled.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“But it’s exactly that and you know it,” you shot back. “When dad found out I was a weak kid he picked you up instead to train as his protege.”

“That’s not how it happened and you know it!”

“Try all you want to escape him, you never will.” Dick clenches his jaw, holding back something that probably, no, definitely would’ve destroyed your relationship, and he took a deep breath.

“Let’s go,” his voice was softer as he ushers you out again and you both take a step into the cold. “Take a deep breath, (Y/N).” You did so. Both of you were quiet, looking over the cliffside.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” you said quietly, your voice just barely over the sound of waves hitting the rock around you.

“It’s fine, you’re mad, I get it,” Dick nods. “You never get mad, this is just all that pent-up anger.”

“Yeah…” you took a deep breath again. “How the hell did you two do it?” You asked him. Dick shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Do what?”

“All of it.”

“You know, we came home much worse before.”

“But I never saw it.”

“We didn’t let you.”

“I was so young at the time, I get it.”

“You’re still young now.”

“And he’s younger.” Dick didn’t respond.

“Being a vigilante… it’s not easy work, (Y/N),” he says. “We get battered, bruised, and beaten, but we do it for a good cause. If we don’t do it, then who will?” He asks.

“I know, I understand it when you say it, but I can’t understand him,” you looked at him.

“And I respect that, I do,” Dick nods.

“Who even is he, anymore?” You looked away from him. Again, Dick didn’t respond.

“You were pretty harsh in there, (Y/N),” he says.

“Was I?”

“Jason would be proud,” Dick laughs. You didn’t. “You know Bruce is… he’s on his own train, and we’re just a couple cars behind him,” Dick says. “He has his own way of doing things, he cares in his own way, too. You know he wouldn’t let Tim die, he’s not going to put him in a situation he knew he wouldn’t be able to save him in.”

“I… I think I know that,” you shuddered.

“What happened with Jason was because of a myriad of factors that were out of all our control. It’s no one’s fault,” he looks at you, but you were looking to the city. "(Y/N)? What are you thinking right now?"

"I just..." your voice trailed off and your eyes were still distant. You hadn't realized it, you hadn't really thought of it until now. “I miss my dad.”

2022

“What do you think, Zee? Can you find them?” Dick’s brows furrowed together while Zatanna ran back the camera footage from the cave earlier. They played the footage in slow motion so she could run through every detail.

“What I can definitely say is that it’s 100% magic,” she says. Constantine leans over, eyes squinted.

“Yup, I agree.”

“Can you back off? You smell like alcohol,” Zatanna grimaces.

“Hey, I’m here to help too!”

“I didn’t ask for your help, you were just in the room when Dick asked me to come over and you followed,” Zatanna groaned.

“Contrary to popular belief, I was (Y/N)’s favorite,” Constantine grinned.

“Okay, that’s definitely not true,” Dick frowns.

“It is! I’d do a lil party trick for her every time I saw her when she was a lass,” Constantine defends. Zatanna and Dick share a look of disbelief before they go back to the tapes.

“Well?” Bruce approaches from behind them. “What are we thinking?”

“Aside from the obvious magic?” Constantine lights his cigarette.

“What do you think?” Bruce asks.

“Roll it back a few seconds, Zee, right before the bright light,” Constantine leans against the console, and when Bruce glares at him he straightens again. “Zoom in on the watch.”

“Here, we have a reconstruction of it here,” Dick taps the screen to the side and brings up the holographic image of the watch. Constantine swipes it around while observing the emblem etched onto it.

“The hint is here,” he says while pointing to it. “Trace back this emblem and you’ll find your boys.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“There are very few kinds of magic that you can use on an object like this,” he says. He opens the watch and the watch face deconstructs into layers in the hologram. “And when you look at the make of the watch, it explains much more.”

“Look at the hands, there’s eight of them, and with each hand is a corresponding circle with a different engraving around the circumference,” Zatanna says, “it’s a device used for transport, to put it bluntly. And if the watch hands aren’t set to a certain one, it can be inferred that a device used for transport would have its default settings set to where it’s originally from, so if we trace back the source we’ll be able to find Tim and Jason,” she says.

“What she—” Constantine is cut off by his phone ringing. “Hold on, gotta get this,” he picks it up and walks to a quiet part of the cave.

“Think you can give it a shot?” Dick asks. Zatanna hums.

“Sure,” she shrugs. “Gnirb kcab Mit dna Nosaj!” Though there were sparks, nothing happened. “I didn’t think that would work. Let me try something else. Gnirb em eht hctaw!” In seconds, a bright light forms between her hands and then the sounds of clinks and clatters of watch pieces falling to the ground are heard.

“Oh, great, they broke it,” Dick wasn’t surprised when he picked it up.

“But if there’s residual energy on it then I can trace it,” Dick places the pieces on the console right as Constantine returns.

“Alright, let’s work a deal,” he looks at Bruce. “I help you find your four missing kids if you help me with mine.”

“Tell me more,” Bruce invites him to continue.

“An old protege of mine has been having some trouble with monsters, if you and your detective brains can help him and I figure out what’s going on, Zee and I will help you look for your kids.”

“Hey! Who said I agreed to this?!”

“I thought you had a soft spot for Liverpool,” Constantine shrugs.

“Oh! If it’s him who needs help then by all means,” Zatanna smiles, remembering the younger boy fondly.

“Well, there you have it, should be quick, might end up just being an extermination job, but he won’t stop bitching about it, so what’s the plan?” Bruce and Dick look at each other. They’d been trying for weeks now trying to find a lead of some sort, with Constantine and Zatanna’s help they’d be able to figure it out much faster.

“Fine,” Bruce shakes Constantine’s hand and, at the snap of a finger, a portal opens up next to Constantine.

“Then let’s start our search,” he invites the two to enter first. “You coming, Zee?”

“I’ll follow, I want to study this watch first.”

“Smart move,” Dick says.

“I’ll see you all soon,” she watches the portal close.

The three men land in what looks like a small village. People milled about and kept to themselves while they moved about the streets.

“So where is this protege of yours?” Bruce asks.

“Beats me,” Constantine shrugs.

“What do you mean?!” Dick shouts.

“Might’ve landed in the wrong town,” Constantine looks around. “‘Scuse me, love, which way to the Capital?” He pulls aside a maiden. He cheeks tinge pink before pointing down the road.

“You’ll get there in three days if you walk, hail a cab, they’ll be able to take you there faster,” she says.

“Will do, thanks,” Constantine holds his hand up. “You guys have cash right?”

“Who do you think I am?” Bruce asks. Constantine busies himself looking for a cab while Bruce and Dick stuck together, looking around the village with a hawk’s eye.

“Whoops! Sorry, mister!” A kid accidentally collides into Bruce and runs off. Bruce checks his pockets quickly, feeling everything still inside, and soon the duo notice the grouping of children.

“Wonder what the fuss is about,” Dick stretches slightly to try to see what everyone’s looking at. “Hey, what’s everyone so excited about?” Dick asks one of the newspaper boys.

“You don’t know?” The kid asks.

“Nope,” Dick answers with a shrug.

“Dang, mister, are you living under a rock?!” He hands him a newspaper and Dick skims through it. “The Dark Knight is coming!” Bruce turned his attention to the newspaper kid. “We’ll be saved from the daemons!”

“The Dark Knight?” Dick asks, catching on to Bruce’s attention.

“Duh! Captain Wayne!”

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