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acid-ixx · 4 months ago

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ch.5 pt 2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read under the end for an author's note.

tw: talks about death, prostitution, self-harm, trauma & ptsd, suicidal thoughts, and neglect.

the world was still spinning when you had awoken.

you didn't know if that was good or bad news alone. didn't even know what your current state could do now that you're in some room, subconsciously recalling between the gaps of memories that had caused you to be here.

lying down, with the painful throb of the holes within your body pinning you in place.

what happened?

breakdowns, booze, flirting, tears, comfort, gunshots, acceptance and death—

— lots of it.

all in the span of one night. one singular night which reigned in spilled blood and reopened wounds.

maybe you should've never made a stupid decision in the first place, the calculating, smarter, yet easily shut-down part of you scolds yourself. the events of the night were still fresh, enough to make both your heart and your head throb: were you finally sobering up, or does this ache come from a different type of pain, more painful, more heavily emotional than being met with death?

how long has it been since you were out? how long has it been since he saved you? since he...

the name tastes bitter in your tongue, it's been months, maybe even almost a year since you've last encountered him, let alone talked to him without being met with strained eye contact and cruel scoffs; a painful reminder of how your actions were what stuck the final nail in the coffin for your own neglect against the man, the brother you consider closest to you; despite it never being enough.

jason.

your last interaction was particularly unpleasant, an act of teenage hormones swelling in your very veins caused you to be spiteful towards him, ignoring his casual small talks in favor of refusing to offer your homemade treats and grabbing the jar of your favorite sweets - that you always meticulously and willingly give him whenever he'd make his rare visits - away from his prying hands.

you remember his offended tone, the sudden venom in his words as he asked, too mockingly for your own taste, "what's wrong with you, angel? what's gotten you snappy these days?"

these days?

most days, it was you succumbing to his wants and needs. considering the treats he liked, the books he read, the movies he watched. all an effort painfully done if it meant having his eyes on you for just more than a second.

these days? just what had you done these days that warranted his offense? all you have done, all you ever did, was tag along everyone's tail, watching from the shadows, biting back the poisonous words, the tears that clung at the edge of your throat; ready to uncoil, to pounce the moment your envy unfurls even further.

these days? yeah right, these days, you just wanted to fucking die—

'cause highschool is shit, your life is shit, and you can't- just can't afford to play nice these days. not when they've all been so cruel, not when the people you look up to treat you lesser than the worms they step on when they spend time around the garden- your garden that you've carefully cultivated, all for your efforts to go to waste.

— but Jason won't understand, nobody could. not even alfred could comprehend just how worse your mood has soured. nobody's aware of just how close you are to your breaking point.

you glare at him for a second, wanting to retort, to swear at the sight of his knotted brows and frustrated pose, but the flicker of fight within you has just as quickly extinguished. your shoulders slumped, yet jason remains as rigid as ever in his seat, no amount of softness could be found in his expression, not even the softness he directs at you.

'he doesn't feel the same right now but—'

'there's no point in even trying anymore.'

ignoring the pang of regret in your chest, the urge to apologize with widened eyes, to pretend this was all a dream; you simply turned away in spite of the brimming tears, biting at your raw lips, to escape to another room.

afraid to show anymore weakness, afraid of the consequences, your hurried footsteps had echoed across the hallways.

you left the tooth-achingly sweet treats he originally intended to take by the table.

'he can have it for all i care.'

but are you sure you don't care? are you truly sure, when your chest spiked with frazzled haste just from hearing a familiar scoff - the one he directs to the people he despises - behind you? is it indifference when your hearing began to wring just to block out whatever vile words he spewed that day?

you want to apologize, you truly do, even if you're aware you're not much at fault, but rather him for being inconsiderate to your feelings, your foreign actions, he calls you his angel, but when his angel shows obvious hurt, he doesn't care?—

hah. but you just can't deal with it, with him any longer.

so you let it be, let him think you're just having your rebellious teenager phase, that you being a piece of shit in his eyes would pass eventually.

he wouldn't know, didn't even notice the bandages plastered across the expanse of your aching arms, the bags dipping below your eyes, or your frizzy, thinning hair.

with your last encounter, there was no more after that.

and if there were, you couldn't even call it that, for he was raging fire, and you a blistering snowstorm.

those were never meant to clash, let alone part.

thinking about it now, recalling what's gotten his mind on a twist, in your little, foreign mattress, with your eyes still shut close, lower abdomen still aching; it makes you want to die a little more at how much you never considered your feelings in the past.

you still don't right now - couldn't even make past your crippling self-esteem - but compared to last time, you at least maintained a flicker of dignity.

jason, meanwhile.

he- maybe he had a terrible day that day, you recalled his argument with bruce fresh on your mind that fateful afternoon. how tense and resounding the tension was in the room they'd fought. something over morals, over his still-burning need for justice by unfairly taking the lives of most criminals, bruce stated.

how it never quite changed, even until now.

it's the norm for all their little spats, the usual dynamic with their bated breaths and venomous words, their pitiful angst. how could you not remember, when it's dick who had to physically rip jason off from plunging a weapon on bruce's chin, whilst alfred's disappointed scolding hung in the air — whilst it's you watching in the corner, witnessing the entire scene unfold, useless when it comes to intervening because your words hold no impact for their dynamic?

maybe, just maybe, you could've been more considerate of his feelings when he'd blown bruce off, throwing him the finger before bursting off to the kitchen's pantry - to stressfully feast on the treats you carefully stored in, for moments like these, because he loves to thrash around the kitchen eating your baked sweets - to ruminate on his raging thoughts.

but if you could recall all the moments of his rage, how could he not recall his promise to bring you home some of your favorite dishes the night before that, then?

how could he not consider his so-called angel's feelings, when you had to adjust to his whims?

yeah, maybe you were boiling with rage that time too, not only due to the pressure of highschool, but at yet another broken promise. maybe you just wanted to hide away the tears, the looming expectations to act normal ultimately failing, which translated to your snappy behavior— but you thought:

'maybe, just maybe, my favorite brother, my closest confidant, could understand.'

you were wrong, you always were.

and for that, when you'd run crying to your room, another fresh scar was soldered in both your skin and your memories.

— a painful reminder of losing the closest thing you had in the world, just because you finally felt brave enough to show an inch of your closeted yet forbidden emotions.

your rebellion caused a permanent rift between your already drifting relationship, you despised yourself for that seemingly small, yet highly impactful mistake.

thinking about it now, in your crippled, nearly paralyzed state, makes you just want to forget.

— and remember the even more painful present.

finally, you compiled the strength to blink away the weight in your eyes. remnants of dry, salty tears were still fresh in the corners of your lids, throat parched, mind thrumming with dull pain and aching limbs— it reminded you of your unbidden nightmare just moment's ago; a stark contrast from its pleasantness compared to the damming reality you're actually in.

it felt like a fading memory, that dream, a looming freckled dust of air you couldn't quite catch in your stretched out fingers. how her gentle touch was like a cure to all your ailments, yet her hurried good-byes an eternal scar to the broken pieces of your heart.

oh, my momma.

how you miss her and her angelic presence already.

it never truly occurred to you how much the heavy weight of missing her stumped you from actually maturing. it was always her you mourn in moments of painful respite. her fading advices, her airy voice, her silent hums and warm presence. it was a whiplash to have her in such a wicked environment, in gotham of a places.

seeing her, in that cottage, in all her glory, wrinkles and aged, sagging skin surrounding the expanse of her angelic appearance. she was so young when she had you, and it was all you ever dreamed of— watching her gracefully age before you like fine wine, rather than those... those flashbacks of those bloodied tiles and the ichor dripping down her lifeless, icy lips.

damn be her reputation, she was your momma first, and prostitute, money laundering scam, second. thinking about her just makes you want to shut your eyes once more, return to that restless dream, and stay there forever.

rather than...

— your eyes switch to shuttering quickly, faded imagery still present in the fog of your vision. everything felt suspended in air except for the mechanical churn of the hanging fan on the ceiling, yet the furniture still present itself in shaped globs rather than actual three-dimensional objects. it took you nearly a minute to regain your sight, to finally hone in on your surroundings. albeit the haze and the adrenaline slowly pumping in your veins, your mind telling you to run despite the lack of sensation in your lower half, you slowly take in this...

this unfamiliar room...

a place displaying artillery, heavy weapons on the four corners of the walls, surrounding the dainty, one person cushion you lay on. there's an array of both fresh and bloodied gauze on the tabletop on your right, it seems to be used just recently, on you, probably. they're tightly wrapped on your lower half, you can see through the dark of your blankets and the feel of its restrictions on your guts.

strange how you're here, recalling the events of the night, yet it's still night now.

have you been out for an entire day?

and your phone and other essentials is on the same tabletop, you can even make out the table napkin containing conner's number still carefully tuckered behind your phone case. the faint waft of your favorite takeout caressed your nostrils, if not for the pain of having to carefully churn around the weighted blanket splayed on top of you; you might've sat up to dig in the savory meal.

but you can't focus on your hunger, not just yet. not when the dread overpowers your bodily urges, not when this entire thing feels like it's imitating a sense of normalcy; a room, reflecting the danger of the inhabitant living within, despite your foggy vision still, trying it's best to placate you into feeling safe.

but worse yet, the most dreaded of them all—

a room with your brother in it.

a room with the person you'd least want to deal with, not with just how much you haven't calmed down, how your final resolve was to avoid the very same people who'd always avoided you.

you couldn't possibly face them now, not ever.

not even the man you once came to call your favorite.

the holes in your body, now wrapped tight with gauze, throbs noisily, as if it senses the resounding doom wrapping around your heart, until it spreads across your entire body, now cold with caution. through your careful inspection of your belongings, through the noise of your frazzled thoughts, you haven't felt the dip on the bed you lay on. dim lights surrounded your vision afterall, the same ones still clearing up after hours of restless slumber.

and everything around you was unlike the specks of sun you were greeted with when you'd awoken from that dream.

dark and heavy.

your fingertips, your head, your injuries, the dip of the bed just now, his breathless haste; as if he waited for this moment, for you to slowly awaken, to return to consciousness.

an overbearing sense of desperation: his manic trance, the tusled locks of black and white hair, the faint shiver in his breathing.

and it's not as if you needed to second-guess the man now seated on the bed, he's so easily recognizable with his toughened form and muscles churning beneath his ashy jacket.

no, no, you want to close your eyes, pretend you're still asleep.

— but you can't, it's too late now that he noticed.

"... mornin', angel. you alright?"

he asks, silent and unsure, the question drifting off his tongue so gently, so hesitatingly as if he couldn't believe witnessing you breathing in front of him. warm yet burning with need for answers. and for a second, for a measly, quintessential span of time, you might've thought his raspy words were an aftermath of some tears.

he sounded so...

broken.

like a man torn from the inside out. the last you've seen of him, he'd already sported eyebags— but not too sunken, too tired like the current one you're staring at. like a washed out ember amidst winter, everything about him felt vulnerable...

it just makes you want to die on the inside— that- that you feel a semblance of care for someone who's hurt you far more than loved you.

the gentleness in his question, the hesitant stumble of his hands that came to bury itself into your tangled hair. the warmth that emits from his raggedy fingers hovering over the scalp of your head; it just made you feel fuzzy yet awful. the image of a brother and a stranger in front of you just blurs into a singular mess.

your vision spins, his hands are still awkwardly patting your head, as if urging you to speak, yet no reply escaped from your parched throat, from your dry, cracked lips. you fear whatever words might come next will just be a product of your impulsiveness— like the last time you met, like- like how you always fucked everything up, and you just did so the other night, and you're afraid of everything that might come after—

"i tried fixin' my apartment up just before you woke up... got us some takeout for dinner, too. it's your favorite..."

a hesitant smile, teethering on near gentleness that seemed impossible for a cruel man like him. jason looked almost like the brother you once knew as he coughs to himself, a poor attempt to wash away the awkward tension between you two. you're still silent between it all, not a single word mustered from your gaping mouth.

no.

your breath hitches—

your cold hands drive away his fingers entangled with your hair, shaky breaths make up the silent space between you two. he's not- not going to go about this way, would he? how could he?

no, this was not a moment to pretend. he saw you cry out there, under the moonlit night when the world was out for your life— you begged him, implied you'd rather die than let your savior be him.

you're hurt, everything still isn't fine between you two. not a single thread of softness will make up for the broken remnants of love he left you with. he can't act like the last time you met was a warm memory; not when it was filled with icy words and barely disguised contempt.

for a moment, you swore you could see a flash of heartbreak filling his stare. for a moment, you want to take your actions back like last time and become the younger you, but it's just for a moment.

these feelings don't last for a lifeline, not anymore.

"look, angel. i'm- you're not fine, still. it's the doctor's orders that you you need to eat, especially since you just got discharged and got all drunk on an empty stomach."

since when did he care?

ignoring him, your eyes dart elsewhere, ears purposely blocking out the meaning of his words, senses entangled with anything but his vulnerable stare. you look at the rickety fan barely blowing air on your messy hair, buzzing on top of dusty ceilings and shadowing dimly lit walls, at the spare armory scattered actoss the room - he could kill you with them, could end you with just a snap of his fingers - at the spider webs housing the corners of the apartment boxing you in with a man you dread meeting, let alone facing in a space you're far too unfamiliar with.

trapped and vulnerable; like a doe locked in place in a vast forest, surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves, ready to devour the closest thing in sight.

there may only be one you're dealing with now, but they're out there. dick and the others are out there with intentions to face you too.

and you don't know which part of you triggered this sudden desperation, this sudden link between you and your estranged siblings, but you hate it.

you hate this unfamiliar care. you hate the concern laced in every sentiment of jason's. it's unlike them, it's not them in your eyes.

and you hate how this resentment is overpowered by the shadowed by something more sinister, the one thing that dictated the course of your life—

one word: fear.

it wraps around your throat tighter than the bandages adorning your body. traps you in its clawing grip and molds itself in the form of your family.

fear of how to deal with their foreign worry, their questions lingering in the air with patience in its virtue rather than disdain. jason's unmasked face, thumbs softly massaging your unfeeling, cold fingers.

where you show a hitch of a breath, the widening of eyes, and the slightest of shivers. a hint of vulnerability, the softest of hiccups, the deep intakes of air—

instead of being met with a scoff, an offensive remark about your weakness, or a flick of worry immediately wearing away as dismissiveness takes place.

you're met with unfamiliar worry, the heavier dip of the bed, the splaying of bedsheets as jason's body moves closer to yours, the quick succession of movement as he takes off his jacket to loom over your- your shivering form.

just a little more, then your teary eyes meet its gaze on his crumpled jacket with its stench of cigarettes clinging in the air. your tired eyes shakily gaze at the layers of gauze wrapping your ever-bleeding body, and feel the ache nesting in its abode.

panic, unyielding; so much fear which rattles your bones and turns your muscles into useless jelly; which worries the perpetrator of these complicated emotions—

jason.

how do you pretend you're fine? how can you act so carelessly vulnerable in the domain of unknown territory; in a room, alone, but not quite?

it takes you back to when you were at your apartment, takes you back to when you try your damned best to ignore the sensation of panic and bile rising up your throat when you saw dick's messages. all in the span of less than a week.

your life is so fucked.

yet you choose to be inactive in facing these struggles, you choose not to run, or fight, but to ignore.

it's the only common symptom you share with your... your family.

just like now: anywhere but him.

you can't expend anymore hope—

"why, angel?"

confused, pleading, perhaps struck with grief. so unlike the man who scoffed at your lack of reply months ago. maybe he'd truly change, or maybe he felt pity at watching you nearly die before he could redeem himself.

it was his voice that cuts through the tension in the air. this time, he sounds like he's begging. for a second, your tired eyes run to him: him and his stupid worry. the nonchalant buzz in his words were no more, replaced by... betrayal.

for a second, you're reminded of your last meeting. the contrast of the cold past and now this burning sensation within your chest. then suddenly, everything hurts just a little more.

suddenly, you're back at the start. just the little kid looking for answers in a world too big for them. just the little kid who wanted to be good enough for their newfound family.

"for-for wh— what?"

god, even now the past still haunts you, the present crueler too. you and your stupid stuttering, your exposed and vulnerable aching heart that yearns for answers. why is jason hurt over seeing you hurt? why does he... care?

it's just so incomprehensible for you.

his worry is just too foreign.

under the pressure of his boiling gaze, which renders you useless and pinned in damp bedsheets, you simply feel bile rise up your throat. feel anything but comfort when both your eyes met. your teeth nibbles on your sore lips, and you find jason's wince, his almost tense fingers about to stop you from drawing out blood.

"you know what i mean." you don't. or rather, you don't want to know what he means. "why were you..."

'why am i out of the manor, right? in an unknown place in the middle of the night, drunk and alone? almost killed by my own stupidity? why? you know why, jason?'

you bite your lips, its raw, peeling skin opens up old scars anyways, and it bleeds like your raging heart.

'—it's because of you and all the others.'

you don't want to explain how they're the reason for all your burdens. how his sudden presence in that fucking alleyway caused more distress than nearly dying. why you're out in public wasting away at your life, avoiding anything that you can associate with them because, just because you're always hurting.

you don't want to be reminded of the past anymore. you never expected to be in one of your sibling's damn apartment, being interrogated, almost scolded for your impulsive decisions and forced to listen to his sickly bitter worries over your health as if he actually cared for you.

sweat ran down your bobbed throat. your tongue, your lips and your skin felt damp yet dry. cold and crisp air was a commodity, everything felt blazing hot under jason's expectant stare.

an uncomfortable heat, almost burning you, turning your bones to ashes and organs to dust.

"just—" his presence almost felt ghastly, fingers hovering over your downturned chin to softly tilt it up. your eyes felt blurry, and the world felt so... just so cruel when his other hands made its way to wipe away your damp cheeks.

were you... crying?

"just answer me, please."

jason todd, no, the red hood doesn't beg. he doesn't plead. the infamous crime lord doesn't gently swipe your sweaty hair to the side so it doesn't disrupt your already blurry vision. he hurts others, cuts their skin and veins, shoots their bones, rips their limbs one by one, tortures them until all they could beg for is the sweet release of death—

but he doesn't just care for somebody easily, right? he shouldn't burden himself with your own personal issues. he never has done so, only coming to you for casual talk.

what changed?

"i—" you gulp, but the lump in your throat remains everlasting. do you tell him of your worries? do you even trust him? can you even trust him?

"i don't know..."

'i don't know, jason... i'd rather not let you know anymore than you should have.'

"i-it's fine... don't worry about it." you added to your pile of excusing, shrinking in on yourself when his eyes squint at your words.

small. you feel like an ant taking in everything that felt particularly enormous against you. jason's body blocking out the city's skyline and the moon's watchful glow made everything dimmer, made it feel like your only choice was to go through him.

it doesn't help that it feels like every word you mutter, every breath you take, feels like a daunting action devoured by the inner workings of his mind.

why should you worry? jason never— he never truly cared this much.

whether you lie or not wouldn't change the outcome. just a little slip up and he'll leave you alone once more. just a few more minutes and he'll eventually give up, right?

so why are you nervous? why are your fingers picking at the skin of your palms? why do the tears just keep leaking like a faulty pipe? why is he— why can't he just stop staring at you—?

"you're lying."

"h—huh?"

"you're lying and it's obvious, angel."

he reiterates, this time, the tremor in his voice reaches the depths of the ocean. and just like an ocean, you feel yourself drowning in the pressure of his answers. you feel the heaviness of his words, feel it pinning you in place and locking your joints, until all you could hear are his paced breathing and the subtle agitation in his voice.

"wh—"

"why? why were you out alone, huh? what were you doing all alone at night? alfred wasn't even with you— you're drunk out of your mind, you're not even old enough to drink, angel. you weren't with- with anybody by the time i reached you— so why... just why?" this time, he demands. even if his questions were mere whispers against the blaring sounds of traffic from below; it still reaches out and buries itself into your skin, tickles the inside of your ears and nips at delicate skin.

until all you could focus on were his questions.

why?

'isn't it obvious, brother? or do you still see me as a little child?'

"when's my birthday, jason?"

it doesn't take much to know when you've turned the course of the tides to side with you. it doesn't take much to watch jason stumble between befuddled thoughts until he crosses a hurdle he couldn't jump through.

'it shouldn't be a surprise to you, jay. i thought you truly changed.'

nobody... nobody except alfred knew when you were born. not even your closest brother, no. you almost genuinely convinced yourself he cared, but the delusion quickly breaks when you find him wide-eyed as the thoughts churn in his head.

"what...?"

if he truly cared, then he should've known, right?

"—you... i'll answer you if you answer me back. when's my birthday?"

you call him out in that sickly, sweet nickname. it was what that past you called him. it's the same verse you chirp over and over again just to gain a traction of his attention when you feel his eyes drift over the book he's read rather than on you. the name you oh-so carefully drawl out so that he doesn't drift to sleep just so you'll be given temporary respite from the loneliness, so he could rest his fingers on your scalp and promptly hug you from the side.

it feels so foreign on your tongue now, after all, you haven't spoken to him in months.

the last note you left each other with was pure bitterness.

it feels even more strange that you realized how you know all their birthdays, but they never knew yours.

never knew it passed by so quickly under their radar. how you're free from the shackles of their ownership over your name. he doesn't... doesn't even know you're not a wayne now, no?

"do you even know how old i am now?"

"it's... you know, shit—!" he mutters under his breath. it's like he just realized how much he doesn't... couldn't even remember a crucial detail of you when it's you who knows all his favorite books, his favorite author, how his comfort snacks are different for every feeling he feels; hell, even his preferred places to smoke.

yet he doesn't even remember your birthday? couldn't even recall a single moment where you blew out a candle? in all the moments he visited, spending nights with you under the moonlight or through the shine of the library's chandelier; he never even thought of giving you a present, let alone wonder why how within those years of knowing you— jason couldn't even remember the most important occasion of your life?

he bites his lips, and this time, it's him who buries the tips of his fingers on the hastily crumpled bedsheets.

if he calls himself your brother, who thinks he has the right to worry over you, then is a brother someone who couldn't remember your birthday?

now that his eyes aren't on you, you're spared a moment to take him in through the hastening of your heart and the neverending rivulets of tears escaping your blurry gaze.

'ignore the pain, (name). you shouldn't be hurt anymore. you shouldn't feel surprised that he doesn't even know when you were fucking born."

but you can't bear the thought of him stumbling through his words, formulating excuses he knows you know you could easily reject. it just makes everything hurt even more, makes the endless ache in your heart thrum at the implications that this person— his worries were nothing when he has nothing, no care in the past to bare to you now.

"i'm eighteen now, jay..." his eyes quickly flit up to stare at you, mouth agape at the newfound information. what's the use in being shocked now? when all your other birthdays were dismissed and breezed by like a normal day for them— for your family?

and yet you know the answers to your very own questions.

eighteen is a quintessential part of someone's life.

it marks the path of adolescence, the descent to maturity as you learn to grow, to make your own decisions. some children move out of their parent's home to build a nest of their own, they find jobs, maybe even a partner to make or break a life with. people in america who turn 18 are still restricted from drinking, but most still choose to break some laws, fuck up with their decision, get shit-faced and party off with some fraternities and friends who'll turn their backs on you; and then regret it all later.

they build their lives, they go through ups and downs, and slowly bring themself back up again. there's no more gentle approaches, no more excuses for a developing mind. they go through so much in just a year.

and the most important of it all, is that most graduate.

and they weren't there for you, nobody was, save for alfred.

bruce wasn't there when you graduated, so it's no surprise that jason, or even the others, wouldn't come.

jason's still a dead man in the public's eyes, after all.

and even if he wasn't, what would've guaranteed that he'll still come to watch you walk up that stage? what would've changed, when the weight of your graduation and the future to come was thwarted by their worries over damian's? it was always him they— bruce prioritized, when he'd first enter the manor, all eyes were on the brazen boy.

when you first entered the manor, it was a rainy, desolate day. bruce was busy, of course he was, why wouldn't he be when he drowns himself in paperwork to distract the horrid reminders that his second son had passed?

and you don't know what hurts even more, the heartbreak in his stare, or the thumps in your heart that felt like footsteps stepping on the beating organ until all its blood is drained?

"shit, angel. i never knew... i'm— you're eighteen now and i didn't even know? fuck, how could i have forgotten it—"

"just, please save your excuses, jason..."

it's like he couldn't even believe you were old enough now, mature enough to comprehend how his excuses don't mean shit if his lack of knowledge towards your birthday ran on for years.

your sniffles weren't as silent as your words, it hurts, everything felt like fire. the world wants you to burn as your body felt like betrayal, your vulnerabilities stripped bare in front of him.

"i... appreciate your concern, but," it hurts to lie under your breath, hurts to hesitate, let alone voice out what you truly feel. it hurts to wonder why you're unsure if what he felt for you was worry, or just mere guilt over the situation you're both in.

the lines between all your emotions were blurred, you don't even wait to see his expressions anymore. you fear you'll revert back to the younger you, who considers the others before yourself, even when you've disillusioned yourself countless of times that you've changed.

you did, didn't you?

"you don't— you have no excuse to patronize my health when... when i know my limits and..."

"—i have to go, jason..."

barely a whisper. your words were barely a whisper, like the haste of thunder striking through metal rods though without sound, without thought, without hesitation; before your hands suddenly push all your weight to straighten your slumped form. your legs, which felt like blazing jelly, made an attempt to stand despite the burning sensation. you don't offer jason a second to register what you were doing, don't even let him see how your stomach bent enough to nearly reopen wounds—

god, fuck—!

it hurts, it fucking hurts so much.

your heart, your head, your entire body.

one second, you stumble, the gravity of your body fighting against the blistering, aching pain which shoots through your veins. all in one second, seering in your abdomen, like fingers digging deep into your injuries, twisting and churning until all you could feel is pain so absolutely revolting, so mercilessly cripping in your lower abdomen, that it seizes you useless, so utterly unable to capture your balance in the midst of standing, that your legs quickly give out on you.

then another second passes like a beat, all too quickly, yet all too slow for you as the world spins in your darkening vision, all the blood from your head rushing to where the holes lay in haste. your heart thumps like a drum in a warfield, like boots splattering on wed mud, sporadic, in near panic.

another second, the third, and just as you're about to stumble down, the pain so much that your eyes shoot out salty, ignorant tears. just as your body is close to thumping, writhing on the floor, jason catches you in his arms, grip so tight it almost felt like he'd refuse to let go. like how it was back in that shitty alleyway, like how it was, you felt trapped, trapped and forced to feel his sweating muscles churning mechanically, taut and tense through his thin sweatshirt.

close enough to feel that same, raggedy panic — the hitch of a breath, the loud thrumming in your chest, adrenaline shooting into your senses, your mind registers jason as a token of danger— emerging as your elbows make way to hit him square in ribs, only for his quicker, stronger palms instinctively stop you, his larger body locking you up in place, stabilizing you as you feel like you're hovering, suspended in thin, nearly charged air.

he's— he's carrying you, left hand respectfully gripping below your thighs, the other palm resting on your backside. it still hurts, everything does, nothing about you screams okay, only the slight subsidizing of pain as your brother, no, jason carefully puts you back down to sit on the bed, like you're weightless and made of feathers and— and vulnerable with how much gentleness he placates on instinctively hushing you, like a brother would to their injured sibling after a rough hour of playing in a sandbox of a playground.

the tears still won't stop.

through your quivering hiccups, high-pitched whines escaping the back of your throat at every subtle movement, at the thoughts that drown you the more time passes by— it hurts, it hurts so much you'd rather die, you'd rather be anywhere than here. does he know that, does he know the pain of looking at him, feeling him so close like never before is why you're so desparate to leave? does he know your heart beats erratically because you can never forget the moment you last met—?

— you don't even see, let alone feel the anger brewing off his chest, at the sudden, venomous words which escape his mouth next, like chains rattling, acidic bile brewing in a hot cauldron, nearly combusting at the seams.

you don't know that you pain him, don't know that you're his weakness.

and it especially hurts him when you refuse to look him eye-to-eye, refuse to see the tears rooting at the edge of his eyelids, at his teeth grazing his teeth until blood draws out in a steady flow, the opposite of the panic resurfacing into his body as he watches your dazed, breathless form trying to recover from what happened.

wordless. he despises that. how it's like your body repels him, head dodging his lips that hint at kissing your forehead. how you hesitatingly allow him to massage and help straighten the taut muscles of your bent legs— how you remain silent all throughout like you didn't just- just fucking attempt to stand, almost killing yourself despite his warnings.

he despises your not-so subtle avoidance that he just couldn't control it, couldn't control the burning rage brewing inside his heart that he just— just screams at you before he could compose himself.

"— fuck angel, FUCK! just what the fuck were you thinking?!"

jason wasn't always known for anger, he wasn't always the spiteful man everyone makes him out to be. he was sweet towards you because he knew you were innocent in the midst of batman's schemes, so it's no joke, no fucking joke how much he scares you off right now.

it scares you watching him fight others off, scared you when he shot those bullets at the man pinning you down, but you had a semblance of reassurance that it was never directed at you.

until now.

and now that you remain the spectacle of his anger, the sight of his widened, blown out eyes, his furrowed brows and clenched fists — you're so afraid, so fucking afraid he'll end up hurting you like damian, yet conscious of his actions. he looks like a painted demon before you, with clenched teeth and frazzled hair, and you feel like a dear caught in headlights — you feel another surge of tears, another wave of nausea drowning out his voice as your throat closes in on itself.

'stop, jason, please stop. you're scaring me.'

but you couldn't say the words out loud, couldn't even compose your body from quivering, fingers clenching the bedsheets in sudden instinct so hard it crumples on itself; as if it could help ground you, as if it could control the next, hurtful and loud words surging from his mouth.

as if it could cease time just so you wouldn't bear witness to his scary, monstrous rage.

"can't you see what you just did?! don't you know how— how fucking stupid and dangerous that was of you to just stand when you're still obviously HURT!? if you wanted to, you should've told me first instead of just suddenly pushing me away. what's wrong with you, huh?! what possessed you to just— JUST STAND UP AND LEAVE?!"

it's like he couldn't believe you. couldn't even make reasons why you did what you've just done. not even a tinge of comedic effect, not even any comfort laced in any word. not the jason you knew and loved, but a stranger whom you learned to call a friend, a brother that never was.

that's all he ever is, a stranger. all of them, living under the same roof as you.

and he was the same stranger who nearly fought you if not for you leaving that kitchen.

— it was the same old scoff he gave you all those months ago after talking, the same old squinted eyes and generous rage. yet this time it's enhanced with something else, something more personal, something way scarier than just being a spectator.

you always wanted to revolve around his life, but never this way.

it hurts, doesn't he know that?

doesn't he know how much his words just hurt you more than the dull ache in your abdomen? can't he see it too? how you're backing away to the corner of the bed until your back hits the headboard, despite all the pain spreading throughout your body?

if- if he cares so much about you, shouldn't he have known that— that you're sensitive to everything he just said?

bile rises up from your empty stomach, and the tears that keep surging out your eyes refuse to stop; yet it's your words run faster than your thoughts. then suddenly, all too suddenly, everything just snaps.

suddenly, your consideration for him doesn't matter anymore.

not when you never mattered to him, right?

and it feels like a part of you broke tonight.

"... what's up with you, angel?! answer me! first you're drunk off your mind when i find you out in the alleyway, bleedin' to near death, and when i try to help you before it's too late, you come begging me to not take you to the manor. did somethin' happen, huh?! why in the name of lord are you rebelling all of a sudden?! why are you fucking—"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT MY DAMN SIBLING ANYMORE, JASON!"

it just won't stop. the pain and the tears and all the words spilling from you won't stop and everything- shit, everything is spinning but you can't stop now.

it hurts. saying those eight words hurt, but it's the truth.

and the truth fucking hurts. what right should he have worrying over you? what right does he have to criticize your life now when he's only been there for you when he needs it?

"IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS ANYMORE JASON! STOP— STOP PRETENDING LIKE YOU CARE—!"

fists clench at the bedsheets bring itself up to tangle upon your matted hair, and you pull and tug and rip off the strands, biting your lips to quell the anger, the pain shooting across your scalp, your fingers stinging with every snap of the strands. shivering and trapped, and useless in fighting back; why are you like this? why does he keep watching?

you close your eyes. for what? so that all you could hear are your ragged breaths, the only thing you can hear every time you'd have reoccurring nightmares? so that you could return to that lonely child, to the lonely teenager you once were?

the lonely, scared child you still are?

'since when have you ever cared, jason? since when? since when has anybody ever cared?'

your voice trembles at the ends, you can't afford to look at him, burying yourself deeper into the mattress as if that alone can melt you until you were nothing, just so you wouldn't have to deal with this neverending heartbreak.

"stop... just please—" you bite your lips, but it does nothing to quell the overwhelming panic, the spiralling thoughts, the blazing emotions. your knees are pressed against your chest, fingers now scratching at your heated face.

until it bleeds, until it all bleeds.

you open your eyes, an array of tears come bursting off your sore eyelids, your cheeks feel considerably swollen, yet you just can't stop fucking crying. it worsens even more when your wobbly vision turn to look up at him, at his unbelievable stare, at his widened, ocean blue orbs, dull and almost unforgiving.

'this isn't the jason i knew.'

"just why, (name)? why?" hearing your name roll off his tongue, instead of your usual nickname hurts, hearing it with such rage, contempt, like he's directing his hatred at you for something you couldn't control— god, it hurts.

"what do you mean by all this? i'm- i'm still your damn brother—" he says, as if it's a matter of fact, as if nothing between you changed the last day you saw him, as if he didn't know the reason. if he was your brother, then why does he sound so diffident, then?

why does his voice tremble? why does his care taste foreign against your tongue? why does he stand there, as if hesitant to even approach you?

"and because i am your brother... i have every right to care for you now—"

"i was never important then... so why do i matter now?"

"— what?"

"why do i matter so much now than before? how come i never deserved your care before?"

"angel, please. what the hell are you talking about—"

"JUST FUCKING ANSWER MY QUESTION, GODDAMNIT!"

all that you were, all that you ever are, was just a distraction for jason to bide his time with, weren't you? all he knew about you was that you acted as his entertainment, a quiet little kid who listens more than they ever learned to speak, who purposely read all the archived books in the manor's library, waiting every month for their favorite brother to visit. even if it was just for minutes, even if he'd leave you right after, escaping your boring rambles, because of course he'd prefer the fucking batcave over your silent, expectant, always yearning eyes.

all you ever wanted, all you ever did, was just be.

do what you thought they wanted you to be, not what you wanted yourself to be. baking because you knew they loved to raid the fridge for snacks after missions, drawing because your mother always praised your messy sketches, even if it was nothing compared to damian's now, dancing, ballet, gymnastics— going as far as trying to learn how to fight, giving up halfway through because you'll never progress with just how much you're juggling other extracurricular activities.

all that, just to be what you wanted to be for them.

even if it was never enough, even if your rare a plus', the occasional gold medals, the praise and acknowledgement from your teachers, even alfred's suggestion for bruce to just, please, take his time of the day to talk to you— all those achievements shine dully compared to your other siblings.

and you've long since accepted that it was all that you ever were. just a mere tool, ever-so-useful, yet ever-so-forgotten by all the other convenient ones.

all that you are, all that you ever were. but all that you ever wished for, was to be his child, their sibling.

but that was never possible, you've accepted that. you branched off, left and never came to look back because you knew you'll just be trudging another path of pain.

...

so why, why does he care so much now?

why, for the first time in your entire life, does it pain you more than it comforts you that he finally called himself your brother?

why, just now, does he say it to your face, when he never once did so all those years ago?

why does he pretend to be so shocked in front of you, wide-eyed and frozen, relinquished in guilt? why does he stand there, breathing, trying to compose himself as if your words ever held any weight on his chest? why can't he just understand, why can't he just let you go as easily now?

why do you still cry after all these years?

why do you still pretend that none of these... these issues mattered anymore in your heart?

why do your fingers still forcefully pierce into the mattress, grounding yourself to reality? why can't you rip your eyes away from jason?

why does his care break your heart more than it does fixing it?

you've always wanted this, didn't you? you've always wanted to be finally acknowledged, yet it still hurts. your throat still closes in on itself, like fingers clawing and constricting your airways, your breathing like jet missiles vaporizing mid air.

and yet all the pain, all the yearning and destesting for a love so passionate were still overpowered by the senseless need for answers.

'jason, why do you still try?'

"angel, calm down you're—"

on the verge of a panic attack? hands suddenly beating at your chest, tears neverending still streaking your sore cheeks and bitten, bloodied lips?

his hands reach out to grab yours, yet you slap his palms away, ignore the stinging sensation that came after; and back away to a corner. like a reckless animal, like the same young child hiding behind closet doors, biting back tears yet desperately failing.

you're both at your breaking points, you both refuse to back down this stupid game of cat and mouse.

"just calm down, please—!"

"NO, I WON'T— you don't fucking understand it, jason!

— i don't need your help, or anyone else's anymore! you have never been there for me! never been there for all the times i suffered because of your death! so don't even try to make a difference now!"

before he could even refute, before he could shout and cause another wave of panic, before he could break you even further—

"... so why do you care now?"

you couldn't even face him, too afraid to see his reactions churning. he shakily breaths, fog encapsulates the air around his parched lips. and you're reminded that it's almost winter, that your heater in your apartment is broken, that you'll be freezing underneath your thin blankets, eating off cold meals— that it's another one of those months where you're reminded of the privilege you've both lost and gained after leaving the manor.

you've lost your last connection to jason, so you thought, yet he's here in front of you now. he's here, and rather than wanting him to be here, you'd wish it was a dream instead.

you wished he never cared, for his next words stabbed you more than it did made you feel cared.

"i care, (name). because you were drunk when i got you, you were impulsively provoking the same guys who nearly killed you. because what? it's easier to escape that way?. i care because you've done something stupid, you nearly died because of your recklessness! my younger sibling did something stupid and it's my responsibility to worry over you, worry over your overdramatics! you're still fucking eighteen and you're already wasting away your life—!"

"that's why i fucking care for you, because you're my burden alone and nothing changes that!"

what...?

overdramatic? impulsive and reckless? is he serious? is that all you ever were to him? he cares because he thinks you're still that stupid, innocent child chasing after him? is that what you are? is that all you ever amounted to him after all the times you spent sleepless nights reading the books he recommended you? all the hours burning your fingers just to perfect his favorite lunch?

just that?

just a burden?

and he just stands there, so cruelly imposing, hands crossed like he's right and you're not. tears equally streak his ragged face, dripping all the way down his sharp jaws and wobbly chin. but his brows are furrowed, eyes still squinted at your body, weaker than his.

like all he feels is rage towards you, like everything's your fault.

while you're just sitting in his bed, limp and utterly unable to stand without his guidance.

and you hate this, hate being reminded that just like last time, you used to depend on him alone.

"how dare you, jason? we... i've always been so good to you... i've always done what you always wanted, i—"

this time your heart aches differently. it's not the subtle panic stinging your beating organ, not even regret shrouding your thoughts. but a painful, stabbing pain; slow and cold. your nose is clogged, your teeth rigidly grinding, the ball of your joints feel like they're pressing deeply on each other— everything just hurts.

his words feel like a knife slowly twisting inside your guts. not even the salty, warm tears feel worth crying out anymore.

it's just silent understanding, a painful acceptance.

of your pain and all those wasted summers and lonely winters.

your hands grip the headboard as you shift your weight to the uninjured side of your abdomen. you glare at him when he almost hurriedly attempts to help you, but through silent puffs of effort under your breath, you're already standing, right hand gripping nothing on the wall as you lean on it.

it still hurts, god, the burning sensation won't boil down at all.

— but you want to face him, head-to-head. you want him to face his burden. if he wants to understand you, if you want to understand him— there's no use hiding behind a semblance of comfort.

because more than anything, you just wanted a family. you just wanted to be part of their family.

yet now you've come to realize that maybe you were just a burden all along.

"it's- it's so unfair..."

your voice cracks at the seams, but there's no use composing yourself anymore. no use in trying to look decent in his eyes when all you ever were was a problem to him, to everyone else, right?

"out of all the times i nearly got killed, jason... you decided to save me by the time i accepted my death...?"

maybe your mother would've sided with jason, only for the part that she wanted you safe and sound rather than dead. but she's dead now, you wanted to be dead because it meant you'll finally have her at your side.

and it feels so cruel to be stripped away from that honor, that merciful gift of life, from the very same brother whose death caused you more turmoil than anything.

"—this isn't the first fucking time this happened to me, jason, and it wouldn't be the last."

your voice was barely a whisper, barely a recognizable tremor, but it speaks volumes of your desperation, of what could've been if he didn't intervene. of what wouldn't change despite it all.

you'll still be dead afterall. this is gotham where you're living. and you're not a priority to the vigilantes, not anybody important to the family.

even if his expression shifted to shock, even if you find an ounce of softness throughout the exterior of his fragile agitation; is it not true?

he takes a step forward, but your hands shoot out to put distance between you two. even if it pains you to see the confused heartbreak in his eyes at your refusal, you don't want him any closer, you fear you'll submit to his whims if you do.

you can taste blood in your tongue, but you swallow it all like you're swallowing all the bitterness you feel, you drown this ache in your heart, replace it with temporary assurances that this will all end, that jason's stubborn attempts of placating you is just another attempt to draw you closer, only to push you away in the end.

... and yet he's still trying even after what felt like minutes, maybe hours, stretching between you two.

jason still keeps trying, while you're close to giving up.

"why are you like this, angel? what happened between you and bruce? did he hurt you—"

"nothing happened—" you're lying, but not quite so. you're lying but it's not a lie when you mean nothing, literally nothing, happened between you and your father. that's the worse of it all, you and bruce never had a moment together, never had any memories to cherish nor times where he comforted you through the trauma of it all.

that painful reminder just makes past emotions stir within you.

of those cold nights, the barren hallways and alfred's countless excuses for bruce's absences.

"i have my personal reasons, jason." you seethe through your teeth. it hurts to admit your feelings to him, hurts that your drying tears are still overlayed by a resurgence of new ones. "it involves you guys... you and the others; but it's nothing now. it doesn't matter now and you know it..."

"... no i don't, angel. and no, it's not nothing. because if it was, then what's all of this for? what do you want from him, from me? that caused you to act this way...? to act so selfishly, trying to rebel like us when you've always been a good kid, huh? god, (name), if you just wanted his attention, to be his favorite—"

"— then there's so much better ways, angel. than being like this... being someone that isn't you."

he truly never knew you well at all, huh?

considering everything that happened tonight, you thought he did, but fuck...

hearing all those assumptions come straight from him just destroys you inside out.

"jason... please listen to me."

cutting him off, it's both an act done to just stop him from rambling any further, stops you from just— just irrationally ripping your ears apart so you wouldn't have to hear it anymore; hear all those disillusioned excuses, those painful words ripping you apart at the seams.

he looks at you, at your weak hold against the edge of the bedframe, at the hushed, shivering breathing, at your downcast, almost resigned eyes. you don't reciprocate his worried gaze, you just... don't.

"i don't want to be his favorite... i never wanted to be— fuck!"

"why do you assume all this, jason?" you faintly glared at him, but that flicker of the fight blew off, and you returned, looking at your feet, speaking through your beating heart, your irrational thoughts of shutting down, if not for the faint stench of smoke grounding you, if just by a fraction.

"i never wanted to be an athlete like dick, or as academically talented like you, or some crazed detective like tim, or as skilled as an assassin like damian! i don't even have the determination steph has or barbara's perseverance to continue fighting alongside all of you! i can't even reach cassandra's level of fighting, and i certainly don't have powers like duke!"

there it is again: the envy, the spite, and the undertone of yearning in your words. maybe jason was right, maybe you're still the young, good kid afterall. but good kids still do bad things, good kids can still feel and fuck, you feel a plethora of negativity mentioning all their positive traits, while you have none.

you have nothing, not even a small merit to offer.

"— all of you guys are so fucking talented, and here i am, so pathetic for thinking i can reach the same level as you all when i can't!"

the medals are useless compared to damian's success in topping the entire gotham university. the certificates for placing indancing competition were none the more important than cassandra's ballet recitals. your research projects that you've spent nights crying on, was it all that relevant when tim always one-ups you within just a day of data-gathering?

so what makes you special, what makes jason think you'd even try to be bruce's favorite in the first place, when you're absolutely useless?

"—so i just can't, jason! how could i have the damn audacity to desire being bruce's priority when each and every one of you are beyond my level?!"

untouched breakfast, thrown away lunch, cold dinners. thrashed out backpack, unsharpened pencils, inkless pens, wornout diaries, bandaged arms and sleepless nights. your life was a cycle of constant wanting, of constant attempts to earn your place. even if there were moments some of them looked at you in pity, it was never enough to warrant their comforting words or even just a pat in the back.

the last time dick has ever looked at you was the first time you met.

and in those moments where you wish you were as forgettable to damian as you were to others, he'll remember to always remind you of your place.

maybe you were like them, in ways where you're always trying but never enough. in ways where their attention on you was never enough too. you need something from them, they needed something else from you too.

"angel..." you don't have to look up to know the air has changed. that wretched nicnkame plastered itself back into his mouth. this time, he said it softer, like he's come to a realization, like it was enough to draw you out of the caverns of isolation you've kept yourself in.

but before he could speak again, before you'd get lost in those memories of the past—

"i never wanted to be bruce's favorite, jason..."

"i just..."

your eyes soften, as tears begin to spring from your eyes, red and swollen, and you let them. you look down at your unclenched hands through blurry vision, and find indents of crescents present on raw, battered skin— and it's enough to make you remember your childhood, enough to deepen the heavy weight of conflict drowning your heart.

when you look up to jason again, you bite your quivering lips, just to silence the ugly wail brewing from your chest. he looks at you, as equally befuddled, as heartbroken.

"... i just wanted to be his child." the sentence comes out your lips, so silent, so broken and lightly pitched. it speaks volumes of wanting, of yearning, of years begging for even a sliver of love offered on your way. it felt like it was the younger you speaking to him, begging him to fucking understand how it was never about just wanting attention—

it was about wanting to just have a family. people who should've loved you, saw you through the veil of your reputation, yet chose to love you still.

because they're family, they're your family. and all that mattered to you was family.

how hard was it to understand that sentiment?

"i just want to be loved because i'm his child, not a charity case, or because he's doing this for my mother..."

you remembered those nosy paparazzi's stalking you even in elementary. they ask you how it's like being adopted by the bruce wayne, how it's like living a life most orphaned children dreamt of living; how lucky you must be, having a mother who's come to share a bed with him, that your life must be so full of luxury because bruce took pity on you and your poor, whore of a mother, right?

they didn't know it was alfred, the estate's butler, who'd suggested adopting you. and with a flick of bruce's wrist, a slight furrow of his brows and a dismissed thought of you, you were brought in the manor.

it was never bruce who considered you, maybe the paparazzi and journalists slowly came to realize that after discovering your father is nowhere to be seen beside your side. maybe that's why they slowly dissipated away from you year by year, leaving you as lonely as ever.

'and now,' you thought, 'bruce still doesn't care for me at all.'

that hurts.

"i just want to be selfish for once... i want to see him the same way he looks at you back then, every damn time he stares at your grave, while i watch by the fucking windows, wishing it was me he looked at."

despite never meeting jason from back when he was robin, you mourned for him too, you prayed for his soul the same way you prayed for your mother's. it helped you disillusion yourself to believe you mattered, sitting beside his grave by the gardens despite the rain pouring downcast and staining your clothes. it helped you think you were becoming closer to bruce.

"i wanted him to look at me jason! think of me as someone as important as you, even just a semblance of it...!"

you tried so hard to imitate them all. dick's athleticism, cass' elegance, tim and barbara's elite-level knowledge on the digital world, duke's cunningness when it comes to puzzles, damian's strategies and steph's awe-inspiring rebellion paired with sarcasm. you try to emulate it all, waking up early every day, schedule packed with activities in each corner of the manor just so you'd have a chance of finding bruce in the same room as you; but it just never was enough.

"god, i don't even want him to see me as a priority, i don't want him to see me and think that i'm the best damn thing in the world. i know i'm not, jay. i'm not perfect, not even half as good. but i just want him to stare and think, 'this is my child,' without any second thoughts, without any regards for my dirty fucking past."

there was one moment in your life where you almost despised your mother. almost. you blamed her for birthing you, for having you as her child, for bestowing you this curse of being unloved, as only being acknowledged as the woman who stole from others: a bitch, a prostitute who got pregnant too early, a lady with a sullen reputation bleeding into the present of her child.

you nearly hated her, you wish you never did. she was your only light, the memories of her was what kept you alive, and you dim that light off, purposely try to blow off the shining embers that gleam for you just because you wanted the love and attention from a family that was never yours.

and you nearly worked yourself to death because of it.

"jason, i just wanted to... to go through the normal things a father does with his child. i wanted him to love me, even just for the tiniest bit. is that hard enough to fulfill? am i just too high maintenance for him that he can't— can't even deal with me after you died? tell me, jason—

"—am i just the burden of an aftermath?!"

a small of you nearly excused bruce's neglect for his mourning of jason. but that mourning extended even after his resurrection. and slowly, the more the members of the family piled up, you figured it all out.

it was you that's unlovable.

and no matter what, you could never truly accept that fact.

not even as you cry out your woes to jason, not even as your voice cracks and breaks at every syllable, at every spilled word tinged with bitterness, with pain so deep it cuts through your already bleeding heart.

"i just- just wanted to be part of the family. i just wanted to eat takeout with you that day- wanted to forget you fought bruce— forget everythin' just to bond with you 'cause you never gave me enough time in your already busy day. so why can't i? why can't i have the things everyone else had? is it too entitled of me to say that i just wanted your love? am i too demanding if i just wanted a family?!"

"is it so hard to love me?"

"tell me, jason! just, fucking tell me, please..."

your fingers' grip on the edge of the headboard nearly slipped, your sniffles were unbearably loud, a reflection of the thrumming beats of your heart nearly escaping out your chest in the form of shrieking sobs.

he finally speaks, unsure. he still stands in his place, but you're crying too much to even care.

"no, no of course not. it's not... you're not..."

"i'm not what, jason? not your sibling, not bruce's child? 'cause that's what i've felt like this entire fucking decade! and now that i've left everything behind, you all suddenly want to pretend like i was never unnoticed back then? that all my damn efforts to be good enough was finally acknowledged just now—?"

"why can't you just answer me, jay? why does nobody want to give me answers?"

"... why can't anybody just love me?"

it felt like heartbreak on both your sides. like a thread snapping, jason was as quick to retort—

"we do love you, angel. i do...! i love you so fucking much that i can't handle seeing you in pain. so please let me take care of you, just... just let me handle all of this, please."

— but you can't believe him, not anymore. it hurts falling for his lies, for his words and false reassurances. he can't even promise you takeout back then, what more does his 'i love you's' do you now?

"no, no you can't care for me, jason. not anymore... you're not my brother anymore, you guys aren't family to me anymore..."

is it betrayal in his eyes, or something far deeper? is it unadulterated anger at what you'd said? why can't he just accept your words? why can't he just accept there's nothing in between you anymore other than those past memories long gone?

"... yes, yes we're family. i care for you. just let me show you i do, angel—"

"... we're not even siblings, we're not. we're just strangers to each other.—"

you whisper softly through your damp lashes, throat sore after all the screaming. it doesn't calm down the momentary adrenaline rushing through your body, though. it doesn't, all these reassurances are just a temporary distraction.

"that's not true, angel. don't even... don't even think of saying that—"

"take me back, please. just please take me back to where you last found me. i'll find a way—"

you want to go home, you want to sleep your way through this pain. but jason proves himself to be stubborn, just like his father. and you are, too; anymore of those similarities, anymore and you'll bash your head to the walls just so you could forget.

"no, angel..." he retorts just as quickly, suddenly imposing, suddenly back to square one where it's all him, all his words that matter with no regard for yours. "who the hell says i'm letting you go back there?! that's suicide!"

but you don't matter, don't you? so that automatically means he shouldn't pretend like your life matters, too.

"... i don't care, just please! jason, i'm begging you...! just do this one single favor for me. i can't..."

'i can't go back to the manor...'

just saying it in your thoughts alone makes you sick with nausea. because that means returning to yearning, returning to those sick nights filled with broken diary entries and dick's huff of dismissal, damian's weapons pointed at you, tim's click of the tongue and just... that inflicted, neverending pain.

"you're hurt, angel, you won't survive out in the dark like that. i'm sure as hell not taking you back there. we're going back to the manor—"

"NO! i don't want to be there! that's not where i live, not anymore, no take me back home...!

anywhere... anywhere but there. anywhere but that wretched cage.

"please, jay!"

you call him by his nickname, nearly yanking yourself to his side if it weren't for your legs keeping

"if you don't want me to... then let me go and i'll call a taxi or something—! whatever...! just not—"

"—not there..."

"and if i bring you back to that apartment, what now? you're gonna commit the same old mistakes, you're going to hurt yourself!? you're gonna get yourself killed, break another limb, use more than just crutches to support yourself and get yourself hurt all over again?!"

"NO! i won't, jay... i won't bother you anymore. just not there and... not with them—"

"... not with you, please."

it was a mistake on your part, to audibly whisper out those last words. and yet it was unfixable, you can't take back words once they're said, jason can't take back all the cruel statements he made your way that day, and yet it's him who's offended, who tears up, who heaves and nearly shrieks at you, uncaring for the neighbors living below.

"why are you trying so hard to push us away?! push me away right after you.. you opened up?!"

"because we're not family anymore, goddamnit—!"

"why are you so goddamn stubborn?! care for me, care for me like you care for all those strangers getting mugged in the street! not as my brother—!"

"i am your brother!"

it hurts, your chest hurts, your throat, your wobbly arms and your unfeeling legs. yet what hurts the most is that you just can't accept it, accept all the words he throws your ways. can't accept how you've both changed and it...

it just hurts...

"and i care for you, more than you can ever fucking imagine, so don't... don't fucking push me away! not especially right after i almost lost you!"

"god..." suddenly, he resigns through a sigh.

why, just why, is he calming down now?

"i'm such a fucking dick to you, aren't i? i know i don't deserve you. nobody deserves you and your forgiveness, angel. you've always been so good to me- to us...

"i'm so fucking sorry. for everything. for leaving you behind after that day, even being an asshole to you after. for ignoring you all those years, for breaking every damn promise i made like you were nothing, for realizing all of this just right after you nearly died, in my arms."

his voice breaks at the last words, as if the reminder of what transpired last night permanently left a broken fixture in his memories. as if thinking about it is enough to destroy any bite in his argument.

"you don't— you don't deserve any that—"

"i'm— i'm so sorry, angel."

that was all you wanted to hear, all you wanted to be said throughout the layers of defensive, reckless statements he threw your way.

heavy were the unspoken words that hung in the air. heavy were the unbidden promises he forged himself to ensure but ultimately failed to do so, that were all meant to repair his relationship with you. heavy were the tears that streaked both your cheeks, the unsung arguments, the fists that curl, fingers that bite at indented skin until it bleeds.

"— I should've noticed sooner, i should've known you felt that way."

"i know, jay. i know," your mind, your mouth, they both betray the words your heart wished to speak, but you lock that beating organ out before it forces you to mutter something else. you feel too faint, from the tiredness coursing through your body as an aftershock of your injury, the throbbing of the holes in your body, and the intensity of your emotions.

'i know you know that, and i wished you did something about it when you knew you had the power to change all this—'

'all that were are, all that we were.'

you wanted to tell him, but the sentiment tastes bitter on the expanse of your tongue, as if confessing it would scorch you and your aching brain even further. you just couldn't anymore, you couldn't break both your hearts.

heavy were the emotions uncurling beneath both you and jason's chest, boiling and spilling, until the only words you both could mutter were the ones that scald your aching hearts.

"jason, i'm- i'm still hurt."

"i know, angel. let me take care of it, of you. just let me do this, just once."

he takes a careful stride towards you, a knot forms in your brows and in your stomach. it curls inside your body when his both his hands grip your forearms, gently, like you're made of glass, to push you to softly sit on his mattress.

made carefully, cleaned neatly for you.

you never thought you were worthy enough to have a bed made for you.

— you don't even allow alfred to clean your own room because you don't think you deserve it.

silence ensues, only the squeak of his shoes sliding against the floor, his panting breaths, your unstable intakes of air, and the hinge of his bed were heard, drowning out the swears of the citizens from below his apartment complex and the thumping of car horns.

it's just the two of you, in this room. you and jason, just like the moments spent under the roof of the manor.

you don't fight against him, don't push him away like you did so earlier, in favor of relinquishing your control, your pain, to his squinting, wandering blue eyes that trap your body, at his calloused fingers running across the expanse of the lumps in your arms.

and in that moment, under the sheer glow of his apartment's flickering lights, under the watchful gaze of the restless city nights, of the lamp posts gleaming in the streets; you both looked a little more like each other for every passing second, every passing moment after you'd scream your woes, after he'd retort and retaliate with his excuses, his reasonings.

you had his vengeful glare, staring daggers at him as he took in your wrapped wounds. he had your silence, desperate and aching pleas. you stuttered like him when he chases after words tangling in his parched mouth. he bites his lips like you when he couldn't find the right words, bounding his hands to his delicate strands of hair to pull in agitation, just like you always do.

and both of you were- were good...

a good soldier and a good child, lost in the weave of dreams, expectations and broken, unfulfilled promises.

it reminds you of how he was the only brother you truly had a bond with, of how truly close you were to him, shared moments of brief laughter with, a respite, a paradise without the need to chase after his presence, all done in such short moments, moments that could never be enough to quench your aching thirst for love and familial attention.

he finally speaks after taking his seat beside you, muscled arms wrapping around your shoulders. he broke the intangible silence, with knotted brows and sorry, pleading eyes that look at yours. it made you feel trapped, in his arms and in his mindful apologies, it reminded you of the manor.

"i could've been better for you, angel. i should've known, i'm so fuckin' sorry, i—"

"i know, jay. i know, please..."

please stop. no more, you don't want to hear anymore,. you don't want to dream, to fantasize what could've been.

— because that meant drowning yourself in the past, that meant running back to chasing after empty promises.

and yet...

the more you think, the more the possibilities unfold in your thoughts.

a bitter part of you wished it was him who had welcomed you into your home, into the manor. you wished it was him, not alfred, dick or bruce you'd chase after, wished he was alive when your fleeting dreams were too. the child in you wished his assurances were what graced you in such an early time. just so that, maybe, just maybe, your throat wouldn't close in on itself every time you're reminded of your solitary past, a past lost and without a cause because of his passing.

running after dick, acting as his invisible silhouette, hearing the empty yes's on your invitation for him to come visit your room. tugging on bruce's sleeves whilst his eyes flit elsewhere. knuckles rupturing on the door of tim's room, only to be greeted with a silent hm, and a plea for you to come the next time. hands shakily holding a heavy tray of arabic food you learnt to cook for your younger brother, just for the same bowl to scald and prick stickily against your reddening skin

— you wouldn't have to do all that, if you had at least one ally, an ally who had to be dead when you were alone. someone as perfectly imperfect as you.

he's not like dick, the sun doesn't shine for him, the world doesn't give him grace— if it did, he wouldn't have died. he felt more charcoal than diamond, jagged and rough on the edges. yet charcoal was easier to obtain than diamonds, like the bright blue's of dick staring at you - such a precious, yet rare instance - or brazen emeralds like damian that could only look at you like you're mere pyrite; his attention was easier to obtain, because he knew you outside of your ghostly reputation. saw you as something else. jason was the only presence you were able to share your laughter with in the face of his brief visits.

as you look at him now, as he looks at you too, through his panting and the neverending tears streaking his cheeks. you look at each other in painful, understanding silence. his face, shoulders, chest, legs are painted with scars, incisions on skin, the first trait your eyes lay could on, as your gaze flitters to your equally scarred figure, too.

on the cuts that run deep into your wrists and palms, on the lighter scars, the deeper pigmentation that lay awake, like a chaotic portrait, that throbs with painful reminders that unlike jason, you chose to hurt yourself to replace that pain in your cold, beating chest. but like jason, you both wear these memories painfully on your sleeves.

imperfect, sullen and easily broken, like you.

you don't know whether to cry, or to laugh. that finally, fucking finally, you could share your similarities, your flaws with someone else too.

and at this very time, you knew neither of you could win your losing battles. if you argue even further, if your heart spills anymore words you know would only cut through the tension and break into even more back and forths— jason would only retort, would call you angel as be attempts to calm you down, as if you were an still an innocent bystander to his pain, as if you never told him you wish he'd stay dead.

if you wanted to survive this wretched night without anymore heartbreaks, you'd have to be the first to back down, to step away, be the bigger person.

like how you had to choose to give up on your family, to finally let go of your expectations on them. it was the only way, it was your way of adjusting to them, as you always do.

maybe it was fortunate for jason, that you'd already easily given up.

you'd give up when he wraps you in his arms, and unceremoniously perched you up his lap like how an owner cradles his injured cat, ensuring your injuries aren't pressed against the weapons stuck in his utility belt.

for a moment, you let time with him be. you allow the course of calmness to wash over, for your tears to dry until it feels like sickeningly dry salt rubbing against skin, for the lump resting in your throat to retreat to your throbbing heart, for the blood escaping your body from your injury to slowly seep into the gauze that wraps around it.

without the adrenaline coursing through your veins, without the haste of trying to escape from his hold, you've now access to the feel of his entire body. when the panic escapes from your heart, and all you're left with is resignation, his muscled arms wrapped around your torso; you're left reeling at the scent of motor oil and gunpowder, head buried at the crook of his neck whilst your tears are drying ever so slowly, effuse into his favorite jacket.

everything about jason felt foreign, uncharacteristically huge. his body felt too strong, too heavy, like a burden deeper than just vigilante duties of ridding the crime of gotham.

you never knew just how touch-starved you were, ignoring the specks of blood littering his clothes and the familiar scent of cigarettes reminding you of the bustling streets of gotham, even though the stench of ichor overpowers it— you feel like you're home. not at the manor which smells of fresh, flowery sheets, not at your empty apartment polluted with car smoke just wafting outside your windows; but a home you've once lived in, with just your mother and you.

it was just so fucked up, how he could easily subdue the anxiety eating you away. it was so ironic, how in an apartment filled with deadly weapons: guns, knives, bombs, and journals containing contingency plans against all his enemies; it is where you felt currently the safest, as you're reminded of your past; your humdrum life with your mother.

back when everything was normal, back when all your worries were about the chances of having dinner that night, or hoping that your new clothes wouldn't tear as much so your beloved mom wouldn't have to spend wretched hours stealing just to provide you with all your wants and needs.

it never occurred within your mind, just how similarly you lived like jason. and in jason's thoughts, he realized how much you could've ended like him if he hadn't protected you this very night. if he hadn't heard the family pitch of your scream, a scream engraved deep into his memories, a haunting record that plays nightly as he's reminded that he was the reason why you had terror shocks from the shadows in the corner of your eyes.

he hated that he made you scream as a child, that he was the stuff of your nightmares, but he despised it even more when it had to be the others tormenting his little sibling.

it was enough to make his blood curdle, the sight of those filthy men touching, pinning and kicking, shoving a gun against the head of the person most important to him, puncturing holes into their body. he takes in a shaky gulp, yet he hums - pretending like he isn't truly bothered. he can't let you worry anymore - when your fingers listlessly play with the hems of his jacket.

'they're dead, jason. don't even think of doing what you have to do.'

the palm that rests on the back of your torso digs deeper at the thought of you wriggling in pain, not enough to hurt, but enough to tell you that whatever jason is thinking right now isn't good, your ears taking notice hearing the hastening thrum of his heart, even when his body is slumped against yours, you could still feel the slight shivers trailing across his body.

yet you only bury yourself deeper into him, closed eyes dry with tears and nuzzling at warmth you knew you'll soon never be able to feel again, from a brother who was too late to take you back. his right palm, big against your head, nearly covering the expanse of your scalp, scratches and guides you to properly lean on the blades of his shoulder. you don't see his expressions, you don't know if all the comforting he's doing, all the love he's offering you right now is authentic, or just out of mere obligation as your older brother, but you're grateful either way...

entirely grateful that you'd at least be feeling what it's like to be cuddled by one of your ex-family members, before you ultimately make a quick escape from gotham. you're so grateful that despite everything, at least now, the tiny little part of you, the innocence long gone, would rejoice at their life-long dream at finally being able to coddle with just one family member.

past you would've ranted about this in your journal, would've jumped in joy, run across the manor, and thank the world for blessing you with such a miracle. you wouldn't even care if damian shoved a nasty glare in your way.

even if temporary, even if a small, unyielding part of you wishes that you could stay like this forever; the stronger version of you, the one that learned to mature, to forgive yet never forget— it is the voice of reason amongst a sea of conflicting emotions. it tells you that you've moved on a long time ago, that whatever this is right now, will have you force to let go.

and even if younger you begged that it is unfair, that this is what they've always wanted in their life, for someone to acknowledge them as much as they've loved the family even without reciprocation; you've long since given up at hoping. your heart is weary, and tired of constantly being led to believe, only to come back broken in pieces all the damn time. you're older now, old enough to learn that, well...

everything is temporary in life. the comfort your family offered you was always temporary. jason, who succumbs to burying his head in your scalp to hum foreign tunes— he'll soon be just a burning memory, yet at least you'll be left with something positive to say about him.

after all, their love for you happens in quick successions, it wasn't all the time you were ignored, but chasing after it when it had already become mere dust before you could catch it with your clawing hands.

dick had shown you a crumb of his love, back when he first introduced you to his room. hell, even bruce was decent enough to transfer you out of school, even if it was out of mere dismissiveness and to keep a reputation, he showed he cared for a child, even if it was never enough.

and now?

'now, jason will forget about me soon enough,' you tell yourself.

just like the times you stumbled upon steph and pushed yourself to be invited to watch a movie with her, only to be rejected and given her side of popcorn as compensation and an awkward grin promising that she'll find a time in her schedule to spend with you. waiting for months for an update proved fruitless, writing praises in your journal, all about her silky blonde hair, and her lighthearted smiles don't do anything to manifest time well-spent with someone you thought would at least put in effort to be with you. she was similar to you in so many ways, how she felt dismissed by the family, and never enough for them— but the sheer difference that places you both in different lanes is the fact that she was at least loved, that she still had people care for her outside her status of spoiler. people loved stephanie brown, because she was at least unique, she was noticeable with her ironic jokes and love for purple.

you still had nothing to offer.

it's like the silent moments you were able to cherish when you could last for more than five minutes in the room with damian, his emerald eyes petting titus and alfred the cat, as you sit in the far corner watching how softly, how precious like treasured gems, he treats them. he doesn't fight you, doesn't bat at eye, but witnessing the young assassin, your little brother, become a kid, watching him paint in your memories without his scowled growl directed at you, or a knife pointed on your body; it made you feel like they do have a semblance of love, of care, only for those who deserved.

you only deserve care when you prove yourself to be capable enough.

hell, despite you knowing the least about duke, watching him play with his powers against bruce's orders was what made your bleak life a bit more interesting. having to save him from nearly dying, from fainting due to the overuse of his metahuman abilities when he was still new to being signal. being the faint silhouette he sees throughout the white light in his vision, the quivering, desperate voice who assures him he'll be alive, he'll be fine; you don't know if he remembers it, if the young boy could even recall how your eyes lit up, how your chest felt lighter when his scarred palms came to cup your shivering ones to keep you from ripping at your hair—

your point proves, chasing after them amounts to nothing. you could only be a witness, a bystander if you want to relish in their shared memories, but never part of their small community. you'll never be able to know what's it like having inside jokes with them, to share your homemade meals with them, to show old albums of your life as a child before being adopted. you just can't.

even the prospect of being married, of having them help you arrange your marriage becomes mere fantasy.

everything you ever hoped to spend with them is fantasy, an unattainable desire. you should've known from the start.

to them, to you, to everybody you lived with under the same, gothic roof of a manor rich with history still unknown to an outsider like you— you are but a mere stranger. there at the wrong place, in all the wrong times.

maybe that is what jason felt after his untimely death, that he does not belong anymore. maybe he felt like an intruder instead, just like you, with how he felt replaced by tim, how the legacy of robin lives on even after his passing. how he felt like a cheap rebound of dick after years of searching for answers, or how he never truly mattered to bruce—

— but at least he still has a place in their heart. despite only knowing him after his resurrection, you've come to love him too, and learned to let go at the same time.

you hope jason understands why you're so unwilling for him to help return you to the manor. you hope he doesn't question why you chose to live in your apartment, you hope that if he does find out the reason, he'll shut up about it.

you wish that jason understands, even as you felt well-rested enough on his muscled shoulders, head slowly, eyes blinking away the drowsiness washing over you, rising even if the arms that hover over your scalp invites you to sleep instead.

you're stronger now, not physically, but you willed yourself to force your eyes to stare back at him. his lidded, dull blue oned unlike dick's, and it doesn't look like the ocean eyes you find yourself drowning in staring at bruce's whenever you watch him across the television during his interviews. it was a blue similar to the sea at night, tranquil shores that caresses the soles of your feet standing on sand. there was no shine in them, it was a symbolic retelling of his death, gazing into them, at the depths of emotions swimming in those orbs alone, you feel a sense of ease when they soften, when they give way for you to stare for as long as you want.

although you were sitting atop his lap, looking down at him, his gaze made you feel little. like you were a child all over again. both of his hands are now resting on your waist to stabilize you. you couldn't reason the sudden protectiveness, the unwillingness to let you go, but your mouth opens before you could think, yet jason beats you to it, spilling words you thought he was incapable of admitting — breaking the peaceful silence once more with the significant tremor, the apologies laced in his words— with all the years he spent looking at you in contempt before he resigned to casual, yet fleeting conversations with you back at the manor.

"you know, angel...? i'm so sorry for everything. i really mean it... for all the times i was blind to you wishing you could've spent time with me. and i was so stupid, rejecting you, hurtin' you all those years thinking bruce was out there favoring you when it's the opposite... I didn't know he didn't even care for you. i know you won't be able to forgive me, or them, i know it took me long enough to forgive bruce too. but it's different now, 'kay? i'll be different, angel. i'll protect you from now on, in your, what? your little apartment, right? i don't mind scouting the entire area for you even if it means you're on the other side of the city. all for you, i promise."

"all for you."

he speaks in a careful manner, choosing his words and flinching - the scar on his lip stretches, it reminds you of the one on your neck - when he feels it doesn't rightfully get the message across. you can feel it, feel how every sentence is wired with regret, heavy promises, and an unspoken desperation to keep you close to him, as if- as if he actually cares for you—

you blink, vision blurry as you catch sight of a stray tear running down your damp chest. your nose clogs once more, tongue licking at your chapped lips. jason, he- he takes your fingers before it ventures to tangle upon your hair, he hushes the tight wail escaping your throat as he cradles your body, other palm nuzzling into your sensitive scalp.

are you crying again? at what he'd said?

why are you so broken, that the prospect of somebody once full of disinterest towards you, now cares for you?

and for what is he doing this for, though? all for you? he apologized, exactly like dick, with the same foreboding assurance. is it to repair, to mend a broken relationship that was never there?

"y-you don't have to anymore, jay— i just- just wanted to—"

'i just want to make peace with you before i'll be gone from your life, before you could even fulfill your promises. you don't have to be chained with someone like me for the rest of your life anymore.'

thankfully, he hums at you, interrupting your growing stutters, at the thought that noisily seeps into your head. you hiccuped in reply, drowning out the shivers jolting across your body. if not for his hands still digging at your waist, you swore the dizziness of it all could've made you stumble across the floor.

but, you can't just stay silent about this. about all the shit that happened in your life. not when he's promising you something so burdening, not when he thinks he has a chance of making it up to you.

no, you can't just let them push at you anymore.

you whisper through your inconsolable stutters, eyes drifting down to your lap, at your hands that scratch at raw scars, "i don't blame you, jason. it never really came across to me to hate you for, you know- it's not- you're not the only reason that he neglected me—"

"shh, i know, angel. i know. but that doesn't change shit 'bout how he— we treated you, does it not?"

you shake your head, downcast gaze refusing to look at his troubled one. if you do, you might just surrender to the softness, to the child-like whispers at the back of your mind saying you wanted this.

"w-well you can't change anything about it now... and i hated you still back then, for different reasons. i hope, i hope that you know that, too..." your voice cracks at the seams, "i- i'm still hurt from everything, jason—" he shushes you again, fingers brushing away at your stray hairs sticking to your damp cheeks. his palms were huge as it cups your face, emitting a comforting warmth against the jagged surface, a heat that makes you slowly, but unsurely melt.

— you never had this brotherly love in your whole life before, never felt comforted in the hands of who was once your tormentor.

"i know you're hurt. i know you're in so much pain because of us— of me, so let me take care of it from now on, 'kay...?"

he whispers, hushed voice a gentle tremor lulling you to near sleep. but you can't just return to this uncharacteristic softness, not now. your eyes, almost squinting shut, snap open to look back at him hesitatingly.

"no, you don't have to do this, jason... i told you," you hesitate, gulping. "we're not– we're not siblings anymore. you don't have to do all this for me... you're not obligated to, unlike last time."

you can feel it, his shoulders squaring in on itself, the subtle tension returning in his muscles, as if his arms were ready to trap you in his gentle hold, restricting you for further escaping.

"... nonsense, angel. take that back— i am doing this all for you."

his voice was always tinged with gruffness, rarely any softness in the way his words were said with finality. sometimes mocking, sometimes spiteful. for a crime lord, it was imperative to always be the supreme voice, a voice of reason.

... but this time, it seems, there's a childish softness, a despondency, laced in his reply. like him, though, your resolve to leave his apartment was as solid as his promise to keep you to stay.

"no, jason, you're doing this all for your guilt... not- not out of pure hearted intentions, aren't you...? just to prove that you're right and- and you're better than the entire family. and then you'll forget about me afterwards—"

you crack at the seams.

"this will be just like all the other times..."

you ignore how his fingers dig deeper into the plush softness of your waist, how it feels like he's staring right past you, mind drifting to another plane of existence at what you'd said.

yet you continue.

"— so please, leave me alone after this...?

after all, what's the point in considering their emotions anymore, when they've never done so for yours?

a silence you couldn't swallow, strangling at the chords in your throat. it feels like a bucket of cold water had washed over the once comfortable silence he'd bask in.

"... please, jay?" your heartbeat spikes at calling him by his once beloved nickname. the one you used to lovingly mutter under your breath, shyly taking his attention from back when you were a child, a subconscious manipulative tactic.

you always called him out with that title, a wide-eyed plea, with what felt like butterflies spinning in your tongue inviting him to linger for just a few minutes with you, just so he could spare some time reading a paragraph of your favorite classic book—

— it was a nickname that fell astray, turned into a flickering memory, after your relationship with him slowly strained. after every month, little by little, you saw him less. until you were a teenager, until he felt his business were with your other siblings instead, his priority on his and their vigilante lives— like the unbidden promises he kept from you, the nickname fell short, turned stranger in your eyes like the man you're seated atop on.

your lips feel dry, your sweat clings to your dampened shirt, and jason.

god, jason's hands enclose itself on your waist, heavy head dropping to your shoulders. you can smell it, his conditioner and a heady scent of cigarettes. his hair tickles the underside of your chin, you don't know whether to laugh or to cry when he takes his space in the corner of your neck, inhaling and exhaling deeply— the heat of his breath hits your skin, it feels too warm, a stark contrast to the shivers overtaking your body.

he heaves in a breath, you can't see his face from below, can't make it out if he's laughing or groaning or what. you can't wrought his head out, he's stronger than you.

momentary panic ensues, you fear he might've disagreed, that he might end up locking you up but—

"huh..." his gruff voice returns, a deeper tremor laced with confusing you'd expect a frigid reply, a desperate plea, maybe even a familiar anger bursting right out of him

"with you calling me that," he whispers on the crook of your neck, head burying far deeper as if- as if he wants his skin to fuse with yours. the depth in his words felt utterly abysmal when he referred to his nickname.

a little more, and you swear you might feel his teeth grazing your flesh. at that, goosebumps start to trail your entire body, your teeth aches with unbidden agitation.

you can't, you can't fall into hopeless respite.

he continues with his little monologue. you're too breathless, shallow air fills your lungs at every word he punches your way, clinging, burrowing deep into your mind, with every touch pinning you in place—

"how could i argue against you now, angel...? not when you sound like the little kid i met back then."

a scoff, laced with amusement, erupted from him. you can feel the vibrations on his adam's apple, you witness the thoughts churning in his mind, the subtle reminiscing in the silence that clings onto both your memories.

a sense of nostalgia washes over you —at the night you both meet, of the gentle giant sneaking past gothic windows and his reaction to being caught, at your excitement to make a new companion— but bitter resentment claws its way faster into your thoughts.

how could he pretend like everything's fine? how could he act like he didn't break your heart when you first saw him?

"but still, i'm serious about the change, for you, just you. anythin' you want, angel, anything—"

a small part of you hates him still, despises the entire family for what they did; what they caused.

how could he have the audacity to think he has a chance at your life? to assume he deserves one? right after- after destroying all your hopes?

he's right, though,. he remembers those memories from when you were a kid. a kid, but not anymore. you're not the little child who looks up to him, to dick, to bruce— who kisses at the soles of their feet, who acts as their shadow chasing after them.

'how dare you, jason...'

you don't know what overcame you, what monstrous being possessed your soul to spitefully reply all of a sudden. maybe it was bitter anger, the past resentment, an urge— a subtle defiance that wishes to torment them like how they did you.

maybe it was the broken remnants of your child that just wants assurance, or the mature teenager in you that wants to move on, to have a new lease on life.

but, either way. it's the words that need to be said that matters, and not the reaction, the unneeded outcomes from the same people who hurt you.

you had to grow past everything, had to take the first steps if you truly wish to let go, rather than run away from the past with no final message.

they say indifference is the opposite of love, not hate. and if you want your tormentors to feel what they've done to you, to know what it's like to be met with spiritless replies, empty promises and hallways, broken hearts and cold dinners— you had to beat them with oppressive silence; a loveless nothingness.

"jay," you call out to him, interrupting his shameless rambles.

"please promise me..." at the sudden shift in your voice, your soft tone, he wretches himself away from you, albeit slowly; looking you straight in the eyes.

there was naught a sudden flicker of absolute firmness in your eyes, but a quiet resolve that demanded finality, a silent plea opposite to the screaming that ensued just an hour ago.

'be the bigger person, (name).'

'because you are not a wayne anymore—

you are your mother's child.'

and she's kind, but assertive. gracious, but cunning. you see an imagery of bruce in your reflection, your passions in dick, your trauma in jason— so many similarities, so many stark contrasts.

but ultimately, you came from her.

you can sense it, the intangible shift in the air, the curious, yet hesitant flicker in his eyes.

you lick your lips, the tinge of blood grounds you in spite of the hastening of your heartbeats.

"look, okay... promise me this—"

a deep inhale, a quivering exhale. and for once, you control the tears brimming in your eyelids.

he nods, urging you to continue.

the knot on your chest only tightens, strangling you until it feels no words could escape your mouth. yet they're mere paranoia, you can't afford fear no more.

"i... i want you to forget about me after this. promise me, jason, to treat this night like all the other nights you pretended i didn't exist. that you love your family but not me, because i am not family. treat me like you despised me because i was your terrible replacement, i could never amount to you and that's all fine with me... let's leave all this behind and- and return back to our normal lives, alright...? where i'm nobody to you, and you're just a stranger to me... "

even your resolve tasted foreign on your tongue, as your eyes suddenly dart everywhere but at his breathless reactions.

"you don't— don't have to dwell on the past anymore."

'come on, (name). don't hesitate anymore. this is your future speaking for you.'

your guts twists in on itself, everything's spinning, your heart feels like it's running a mile. but you force yourself to smile at him despite the energy draining from your body, despite how you had to watch the color wash away from his face, feel how his hands dig into your skin, watch the frustated furrow of his brow—

you smile a shaky smile, grin a final grin, clasp his vulnerable, and equally conflicted face in your scarred hands, and finally let another wave of tears erupt from your eyes.

"can you do that for me, jason?"

"..."

"— alright..."

let the cinema's curtains finally close, let there be no more acts, no more formalities to happen between you two.

let this all be a fleeting memory. just like those past thirteen years and a half: let it be buried in a treasure chest you'll never visit.

his silence acts as resignation, your hands letting go of his cupped face, to carefully bring you down from his loosening hold, as you wince at the pain still throbbing in your wrapped scar; it shall symbolize a final message of goodbye.

the unspoken agreement to move, the cushion of his red helmet brushing on his hair as he puts it on, the jingles of his motor keys in the pockets of his heavy pants, the creak of the door as he opens it, slow and unsure, the stench of your blood still lingering in the air, the uncomfortable solace as he props your hands up his shoulders to lean your body weight against him before he brings a crutch to your armpit. the gruff that came after as his hands stabilized you, for you to properly walk with the newly armed crutches beside his company—

it provides at least a grounding notion for the thoughts spiraling in your mind. the drowned thumps of the wood stumbling on the carpet, the moonlight spilling out the cracks of the hallway's windows, the faint rumbling of the city streets as passing cars honk at the traffic, the ding of the elevator, the anything of everything.

but him.

focusing on anything else, it at least helps distract you from his heavy gaze, from jason's prying arms ready to capture you, trap you in his apartment, the moment you show slight faintness, any hesitant stumble in your steps, any wincing sound at the pressure in your joints; his overprotectiveness still at an all-time high despite the promise you proposed that he had to pretended to upkeep for you.

when you were finally propped on to his huge motorcycle, a few mishaps being met in your way when he handled you too tight, so daintily as if you're made of fine porcelain, as if he were afraid to let go — crutches graciously placed in the space between his seat and yours — and when you hear the engine's gas revving up, but no jason making a brief quip, a comedic joke only he could understand which you laugh at still...

... only one thing was for certain despite the millions of ideas racing in your mind from his quiet reaction.

'let him bring me home, give him space, and let him forget about all this in the end.'

let the past be a dream.

and you shall only hope that everything that comes after this, will also be just another dream.

after all, he had only agreed to let you go home - for now, just now... - but hadn't truly promised to leave you alone, not at all, never.

and maybe, just maybe, you should've never trusted his words at all.

it was all that it is, all that it was.

a mere device for tactical missions.

the intercom linked directly to the batcave was just a device used to communicate with the family in the rare instances he chose to pair up with them in case jason learned his current tactics required more than a helping hand, but rather companionship in the midst of completing tasks.

its usefulness was only for practicality.

and it was just that, a tool for the greater good, yet easily discarded after he gained what he wanted.

when you left him, crutches in hand, back turned as your body fades in on the distance, he realizes that even thought it was his pride that he knew you the longest - now even bearing your deepest, most personal issues that just makes letting you (temporarily) go hurt his heart - he had only ever used you for his entertainment, not even an apology nor a confrontation was made to confess to you of his past sins towards you.

he's such a shitty brother, isn't he?

all that it is, all it ever was.

and yet as the polluted breeze of gotham flutters through his hair, the night sky still gleaming over the horizon of long standing, abandoned buildings camouflaged amongst shitty, barely functioning apartment complexes - where he knows are one of the current places you live in - he willed himself to comb them back, especially the stubborn strands sticking near his ears. in his hands, he holds an intangible device.

the same old, rickety intercoms.

just like old times.

so he presses the tiny button used to trigger direct calls, and shoves it deep into his ears, a perfect fit as every device was crafted to each individual working for the batman. you're the only member of the family to never adopt the vigilante life, he's glad you never did, but at the same time... it was what what you apart from everybody else.

everything just reminds him of how much you're worlds apart from the family. everything just pushes him to change that current position of yours; to make you know you matter more than you ever know.

"... ah, young master jason, you're back," alfred's contemplating voice buzzes through the call. no hint of surprise was evident in his tone, but rather a welcoming quip at his current rebellion towards jason. "i suppose you might require some assistance if you're calling then, right?"

'yes,' he might've said, stalling, but it's not as simple just as money heist problems or an issue regarding the resurgence of new kryptonite deposits— no.

jason doesn't want that. he doesn't want to waste anymore time, not with making jokes or pretending like the topic at hand was just a joke. not when the matter precedes mere missions or a tendency to prank bruce, not when it's his angel who he refuses to truly let go of.

not when your life is at stake living in a completely foreign part of gotham. not when you nearly died, and if he wasn't a lick away from saving you, you'd end up like him.

but with nobody to mourn you.

"we need to talk about (name)."

and then like a thread snapping, he hears gasps from a distance, beyond the device's speaker registering. he hears hushed whispers, stephanie's feminine voice cutting through the tension, but no sarcasticness, no quips from duke, not even cass' occasional question. despite only hearing a fraction of the batcave's echoes, he feels like a witness to the tension rising, even he feels his shoulders squaring up. like a spectacle to behold, like time frozen in the hands of fate itself.

gotham wasn't always this silent, but the space between jason and your world felt like mountains apart that it just destroys any caution jason feels at the current moment; all in the name of this... this urge to feel your head resting in his shoulders once more, your arms wrapped tightly around his, safe and sound.

"tell me what happened."

it wasn't alfred's voice this time that cuts off the ever-so confusing thread, the dangerous thoughts swimming in jason's head. a deep tremor, laced with an undertone of desperation, is heard through the silent murmers of the intercoms. he couldn't see it, but he could picture the haste, the emergence of the bat to be the very

and yet all was said in a tone so different, so completely foreign to jason.

it wasn't as commanding, as opposing as what he's used to. it wasn't his voice that he uses towards criminals, it wasn't the vibrato used to interrogate criminals, let alone scold his vigilante partners.

... something completely different, yet easy to catch on.

it was batman through the call, yes, yet not quite so.

no.

it was bruce wayne asking, it was a father who hides his worry through a veil of composure. yet jason knows him, knows him enough to know that he, bruce, knows of your disappearance all too suddenly. knows that that the entire family might've finally come through their senses like he did.

"jason... did you... did something happen?" dick's voice, laced with audible shivers. jason had to do a double take at the noticeable shift in his behavior, at how... wrecked his eldest brother asked. but despite it all, it seems like he catched on as easily, at the sudden convenience, of what might implied jason's impulsive decision to call them at such a dire moment.

— that's why his next question doesn't come off as shock.

"you didn't possibly... meet them, didn't you?" it's like the athlete couldn't believe the words escaping his mouth, yet jason could feel it, the charged air, the shift of movement, as dick's mouth presses uncomfortably close to the speakers.

"tell me, did you... find them?"

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 20,490+ words. no beta, we die like the reader's love for the family. anyways, wow, this was the hardest scene of all to write. so many dialogues compacted into one scene alone. because of all my hard work, revisions and even rewrites 😭 i demand you all to comment and interact with me because i am NOT wasting all this effort for only like a few comments. that's all i ever ask for actually <333 anyways, the jason and mc parallels are still prevalent, but i'd also like for all you guys to take note of the miscommunication trope that i did. like the reader who's so broken to the point they can't comprehent that people are capable of loving them, and jason who can't property communicate how much he cares for you, stumbling over all his words and saying all the wrong things wow. very much me and my siblings' dynamics to one another. we love doomed siblings trope!!!

yes, again, i am begging for you guys to interact with this post, and avoid on hate comments, please. i've already dealt w/ enough anons but oh well, that's unavoidable huh. happy late valentines day, btw! and please do remember to not directly steal parts of my work. now to check if you guys actually read the author's notes: what is your favorite line/quote/literally anything in this chapter? again, despite its shitty quality, i put a lot of time and effort into the creation of this. this is not just a fanfic for me, but something very personal. again, don't forget to interact and give inputs, thank you all for being so patient and waiting for this!

taglist: @neerathebrightstar , @ghostdoodlen , @prince-nikko , @daisy-spot , @strawberryglass , @h0neybun-was-here , @confused-they , @weirdcore-fantasy , @mystyque234 , @marssthings , @notwhoy0uthink , @aliengutzstuff , @lilyalone , @luffyadolover , @bunbunsonny, @lazyemmy , @questionthegrapevine , @oh-nowo-i-got-uwu , @winter-world , @budijojo , @budijojo , @altruisticbeauty , @dopepursebasketballplaid , @the-holy-pigeon , @red-phantom-0 , @em-draws14 , @thypplover , @cens0r3d-blog , @yl90 , @sadeem575, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch , @maicenitas, @kiiyoooo , @flyingpansaurus , @farmerboywakatoshikun-blog , @rogueofbullshit , @earlqurl , @dotomuses , @sheep-from-rad , @tsuniio , @thesm1l3yface, @nosochek-3o , @radiantharry , @iwasveronica , @kdjhubby , @ashstwin , @thetreefairypersonalblog, @se-rae2 , @0ut0fsweets, @notwhoy0uthink

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enjakey · 2 months ago

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Physics and Arts

Jake x you | fluff, opposites attract, some smut, students au | smart kink, whimper kink | Jake is a science geek, reader is an academia geek | small drabble

Jake didn’t know how he ended up with someone like you.

For the longest time, he thought he’d end up with someone similar to him. Someone who liked math and physics, could solve numerical problems within seconds- just hand him a pen and paper and he’d prove it to you- and liked music the way he did. He was in a band with his college friends, he played the second guitar and was the lead rapper (whenever it was needed)

But you? You were nothing like him.

But it wasn’t to say you weren’t smart- no, you were so learned, so knowledgeable. Just not in the way Jake was. Because Jake was all about numbers, all about the way he could perceive the world through physics and mathematical theories. He could go on and on about Oppenheimer (he even read his book) and Schrödinger’s cat and about Murphy’s law and about how he wanted to become and space engineer one day. He could ramble about the physics of stars and galaxies and how our universe was infinitely stretching.

You, on the other hand, looked at the world through culture, social institutions and contemporary issues of race, class, gender and religion. You looked at the world through philosophies of Socrates and Nietzsche and whenever you talked about the theory of multiple universes, you looked at like a philosophical question rather than a scientific one.

It was an argument, a debate, you and Jake had been tangled in during many occasions- during breakfast coffees or nights where neither of you could fall asleep.

You liked to write essays, read knowledge heavy books and nitpick at research papers like it was your hobby. Jake hated reading research papers, hated reading books with too many words and hated doing his citations for his essays (and out of frustration, you started doing it for him, afraid he’d get called out for plagiarism).

While you liked to study in silence, Jake loved to listen to r&b music while doing assignments- cracking numbers in his brain like a calculator.

Your mind didn’t work like his, that much was certain. You disagreed on so many topics, looked at life and the world through complete different lenses and saw the future as two different destinations- one as death and the other as success.

Jake really didn’t know how he ended up here with you.

When he was set up with a blind date by a mutual friend- Heeseung, his senior, who thought the pair of you would be a great couple- Jake didn’t know how he came to that conclusion. Because during that date, where you sat across from him in a yellow-lit café surrounded by potted plants and flowers, he could only ever see you as a friend.

And for the longest time, the pair of you did agree to be friends. And that friendship consisted of early morning coffee runs at that very cafe, standing in line together to guess the special of the menu for that morning, talking about your classes from the day prior.

Your conversations consisted of you quoting various theorists across academia and philosophy- because that was pretty much your whole personality- while Jake hid most of himself away and only showed the fun parts, the goofy parts you seemed to enjoy being around so much.

But then, one day, you fixed his grammar while he was speaking and Jake was taken aback. Jake might have been a science geek but the knowing the English language was important to him. You knew that, and corrected his grammar- something about using the past participle in the wrong context. He didn’t know what else he was expecting- you, who spent most of your time writing essays and buried in academic literature, obviously knew the rules and regulations of English better than he did.

But it was finally when Jake actually started to let his interest show- his spanning knowledge on physics theory- did he realise how smart you actually were. Because when he talked about the string theory, you finished a lot of his sentences. And he was stunned that you’d known about it, that you’d once spent a phase in university studying about the physics of the universe, to see if the world could be explained and understood by scientific theory rather than sociological critique.

And you understood both worlds, unlike Jake. You understood the science of living as well as the art of living. And Jake almost envied that about you, that your brain had somehow unlocked crevices that could comprehend things Jake couldn’t fathom.

Because to him, the contemporary world belonged to all the social media scandals and TikTok videos explaining comedic politics and a dying economy.

But to you, it was more than that. It would always mean more than that.

It wasn’t until a night you found yourself laying on his bed that Jake started seeing you differently. Like, physically, actually differently after spending days coming to terms with the fact that he didn’t just find your mind sexy, but you as a whole person too. How did you end up on his bed? You were simply too lazy to leave in the first place, after having stuffed your face with too many bowls of Jake’s perfectly cooked ramen and after arguing over something about the science of manifestations.

Your brain was throbbing from all the times you’d raised your voice to prove a point and he raised his voice to do the same- not that any of it was out of malice. Such conversations were common to you, by that point. It was integral to your friendship with Jake.

Somehow, Jake found himself scooting closer to you, wrinkling the navy blue duvet under him. He hovered over you for only a moment, eyes locking, breath ragged as if he were afraid to you a question- a question of which you knew he’d ask you.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered under his breath and the words hit your cheek with a warm welcome.

And when you didn’t show any signs of discomfort, when you moved your face closer to his and fluttered your eyes closed, Jake kissed you. It was a kiss long over due and if Heeseung found out, he would brag about introducing you to each other- because, perhaps, he was right. He was right about you being a good couple and he was right about you getting along.

And, fuck, did kissing you feel right, too.

Jake didn’t know how to pull away from you. He just let his hands wander, holding and clutching anything he could get get a grip on- your jaw, your neck, your hair, your waist and finally, your hips.

He was heaving for air- but he kissed you like you were the oxygen he didn’t know was missing. He felt so euphoric, he was sure he’d wake up the next morning more blind than he already was.

In between all your pants, all the moments you refused to part your lips from his, your clothes had somehow (somehow? You knew where this was going) ended up in the floor. And as you ran your hands down his chest, his taut muscles under the tips of your fingers, writhing and desperate, you looked at him through your lashes.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

Jake let out a loud whine as he held your hips harder, feeling his cock twitch at your voice- usually so loud and confident, now teasing and sultry. He loved this change in you, this version of you that only he got to experience.

“Oh, Y/N,” he moaned as he let the tip of his cock slide through your wet folds, hips bucking in desperation. “Fuck.”

That night, he didn’t exactly rail you. He made love to you (the railing would happen later and a lot more throughout your relationship). He whispered all the sweet things that went through his head when you talked about your favourite things, kissed down your neck and chest, sucking on your nipples and the tip of his cock touched your cervix.

As his cock slid in and out of you, careful and calculated in motion to make sure you felt every inch of him, you moaned for him. Well, Jake wasn’t even sure if he could call it a moan- it was high pitched, perhaps a whine, that came in short intervals and sharp breaths.

A whimper, perhaps?

He didn’t know what it was but he loved it- and he planned on hearing it more. It took everything in him to not go feral at the sight of you, at the sounds you made- you looked so breakable under him, so responsive, so weak as you clawed at him, searching for your own high.

As Jake spent more time with you, he realised that those high pitched whines you made didn’t just come from sex. No, you made them in your sleep, when you were tired, when you were yawing or when you were tutting at something you were annoyed at.

There were times when you’d simply collapse on his bed, hugging his pillow and saying something about being too tired to sleep- and you’d let out that sound again, that whine that made his brain snap into two and his body beg for you.

It was hard to keep his hands off you.

Your relationship, now, consisted of a lot of nights just… doing things together. The pair of you liked to solve puzzles- puzzles of all kind, the kind that had Jake scratching his head over numerical patterns and the kind that made you have a hard time visualise a painting. You liked playing games together- like one of those name all fifty states type of games. They were fun and they made you laugh and by the end of it, if Jake couldn’t resist the allure of your mind, he’d rail you against his bed, into his navy blue sheets.

And he introduced you to a lot of music, not the type you heard in mainstream media, the ones that blew up on TikTok. No, the songs he listened to were personal, old and carried history. Your music taste was… really terrible compared to his.

And while he shared music, you shared your love for film. And not the movies type of film, you loved watching film that was critiqued, that transcended generations, the type that one wouldn’t have heart about if they weren’t keeping up with film history like you were. And though, at first, Jake resisted- absolutely hated the idea of spending three hours watching films he’d potentially hate- he succumbed to you. Because even though he hated the films you made him watch, he loved the wonder your expression held while characters unravelled their stories.

Study sessions meant that Jake would be sitting on his bed with a pen and notebook finishing questions from his textbook with earphones feeding soothing music into his ears while you would sit on his bed, laptop perched on your legs, typing away on essays.

The pair of you could have easily just studied in your respective spaces- you back at your own apartment. But you simply didn’t want to- it was more comforting to be right there, a few steps away from each other so you could reach out whenever work became overwhelming.

There were numerous occasions where Jake would simply give up on his work and would slide onto the bed. He’d close your laptop and slot himself between your legs, head buried in your chest while you killed him to sleep, hands buried in his hair. And there were numerous occasions where you would sigh over an essay and pad over to Jake, pulling his chair just enough to give yourself room to straddle him, to wrap your arms around his neck and cling onto him like a koala.

“What would I do without you?” You’d ask sometimes, accepting the fact that Jake was your anchor now- that there was no escaping it, no denying it. He was your rock, your pull and escape from reality.

“Don’t think about it,” Jake would say. “You never have to know,” because he didn’t plan on letting you go- not anytime soon, not ever.

Because he loves your mind too much- he loves you too much. And you were his counterpart, just as he was yours.

Time and time, again and again, the pair of you would prove that physics and arts went hand in hand, just as you and Jake went hand in hand.

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meo-eiru · 10 months ago

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Silas Masterlist

Silas Introduction

A sneak peak into his diary (there's alt text available)

Does his ears express his emotions

Silas 10k

He will try breastfeeding you

Do elves have magic

If you tried explaining how humans work to him

Does he let you drink from the tap

What elf cum tastes like

Silas is a human otaku

Silas with a darling who tries to run away

If another creature stole his darling

You are the only human he has eyes for

What if his nipple poked your eye

His nipples are very sensitive

Details about his outfits and would he make you dress like him

Silas with a darling who doesn't find him attractive

Making his darling live longer

Can his blood heal chronic illnesses

If other elves saw his darling

Sleeping with Silas

Silas drinking darling's fluids instead

Silas with a darling who wants to be pampered

Silas with a darling who wants to pamper him instead

If he catches you masturbating

Can elves protect themselves

Does Silas have friends

Does Silas ever realize his feelings are not platonic

Silas with a darling who randomly "disappears"

How Silas feels about feminization

Darling drinking from his tap

Silas' reaction to a human looking for his darling

Would he make you wear a collar

Would it kill darling to breed with him

Silas extending darling's life span

How far would Silas take pampering

Does Silas have a rut

Would he like a chubby darling

Riding Silas while sucking his tits

Silas with a darling who enjoys making him cry

Silas sitting on darling's face

Silas with a pregnant darling

Would Silas kill someone to make darling immortal

You are the only human he loves!

What if Silas' human was a toddler

If you die before Silas

If Silas' darling really wants to meet other elves

Would Silas marry his darling

Would Silas spank his darling

Silas with a creative reader

Would Silas ever get a "daddy" for his darling

What if reader wants to call Silas "daddy"

What type of father would Silas be

Would Silas get more needy after realizing his feelings for reader

Night care routine with Silas

Morning routine with Silas

Silas with a reader who is hyperfixates on elves

Are Silas' ears sensitive to loud noises

What past time activities does Silas allow

Short Silas penis description

How strong is Silas physically

If Silas' darling wanted to get a lover

What if Silas met another person before darling

Does Silas and reader have a language barrier

Nothing you do can make Silas snap

Silas penis size calculations

What does Silas' blood taste like

Does Silas find reader's ears cute

Silas is like a poison disguised as a warm homecooked meal

Silas with an equally airheaded darling

Does Silas feed you meat as well

Silas voice claim

Would Silas drink darling's blood

Does his pee have abilities too

Silas eating reader out

Cooking human food together with Silas

Silas is best pillow

Do elves know what technology is

Silas with a nerdy darling who's dying because they can't game

What does Silas smell like

Would Silas put you in a baby carrier

Silas with a broken darling

What would Silas search for on the internet

What Silas' house looks like

Does Silas shower

Can elves get pregnant

Does Silas eat his own semen

What if darling drew weird ass drawings of the boys

Silas' length compared to the other elves

What if his darling had schizophrenia

How to overstimulate Silas

If Silas found darling in a fursuit

Is he down for sleeping naked

Silas' relationship with his parents

How Silas gets new clothes for you

#asks #Silas #yandere elf #yandere elf x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere #male yandere #artwork #artists on tumblr #aesthetic #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader

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corkinavoid · 1 year ago

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DPxDC Danny Is A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

(not in a necessarily bad way and it's by Clockwork's design)

Bats, or Constantine, or the JL, or whoever you want to be close to Danny in this prompt, don't notice it right away. It takes them a while to figure out its not purely coincidence. And even after they do figure it out, they still have their doubts.

The thing is, it doesn't work all the time. It also doesn't seem to have a system or a schedule to it, nor is it any kind of a superpower, as far as they can understand. By God, does Danny have way too many superpowers, but most of them are consistent, and yet this one... is weird. Weirder than anything they've seen before, and they've seen a lot, okay.

It also only works if Danny does it without thinking.

"You know what'd be perfect right now? A cheese sandwich," Danny says over the comms, in the middle of the fight with Dr. Freeze, "A warm, grilled cheese sandwich just out of the toas- Owch, what?" There's a pause. And then, "Guys, you're not gonna believe it, a cheese sandwich just smacked me in the face! I think someone threw it out of the window or something!" Danny sounds bewildered, but excited, and there's a sound of chewing from his comm now. At least he is eating, so that's good.

"I fucking hate robots," he grumbles the other day, punching his way through the Brainiac invasion in Metropolis, with no comm and only for the Supes to overhear, "No, correction, I hate only evil robots. The ones that interrupt my astronomy class. The ones that shoot motherfucking lasers and walk like crabs, and ruin a perfect day, and- I wish- aw, fuck, no, that's bad wording. Don't wish for shit. But if all these robots would just suddenly, miraculously malfunction and stop attacking me and the whole city, that would be, like, real nice of them."

A few minutes later, something goes wrong with the Brainiac's control over the army of robots, and all of them just stop moving and fall down at once. It is deemed as a chance, a lucky shot, a coincidence. Supes keeps quiet over what he heard Danny say.

"Oh, you bitch-ass fruitloop, you know what I want?" Danny yells at Plasmius, as the ghost is laughing like a madman, "I want a fucking brick to fall down right on your head, like, right now! Maybe that can set your brains straight for at least five minutes!" And even before he is finished talking, there's something falling down from the sky and hitting Plasmius's head. It's not a brick, to be exact, it's Miss Martian's shoe, though. She has no idea how it even came undone and fell from her foot. But it did somehow knock Plasmius out cold, so there's that.

It doesn't happen all the time. Red Robin does the math - the improbable accidents only happen in about 26% of the situations, given that Danny says something. It's by no means a reliable power. It also doesn't happen only during the fights: there were numerous times when Danny just said something like 'I wonder if the cafeteria serves garlic bread today' and sure enough, there's garlic bread there. Even if it was not on the menu. Ever.

They try to question Danny himself, but he has no idea. He doesn't even notice the coincidences most of the times - which is not surprising, knowing that they only happen in one out of four situations and Danny is known to have a short attention span. So, after a few unsuccessful investigations and failed attempts at calculating how this even works, they all give up. It has never jinxed anything, as far as they know, so everyone just leaves it be.

Danny is just magically lucky like that.

Meanwhile, Clockwork is having a good laugh about it. Danny's suggestions amuse him, and it's funny to watch the other superheroes having a mental breakdown over it, so he rigs the timeline from time to time. Just a little.

#danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp #batman #superman #justice league #clockwork #danny is a lucky little shit #and yet he has no idea he is #or maybe he does and he just plays dumb in front of everyone #feel free to add your own improbable accidents caused by Danny #or just anything at all #cork prompts #prompt

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yeorisanaxox · 28 days ago

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ᴀᴛᴇᴇᴢ ➤ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ꜰᴏʟᴅ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ᴏᴛ8 x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ ʙᴏʀᴅᴇʀʟɪɴᴇ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ➬ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ꜰᴏʟᴅ

ᴍᴅɴɪ

ɴᴏᴛᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ 😅 ꜱᴏ ɪ’ᴍ ʜᴏᴘɪɴɢ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ᴏᴋᴀʏ. ᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ, ɢᴏᴛᴛᴀ ꜱᴀʏ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴏᴡꜱ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ɪ’ᴍ ᴀᴡᴀʏ. ɪᴛ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴇᴇᴅʙᴀᴄᴋ 🫶🏾

ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ It honestly doesn’t take much for this man before he’s melting in your hands like putty. But it’s something about when you give him neck kisses, suddenly he can’t think straight. The feeling of your lips massaging against his skin as they scoured the plains of him, causing his eyes to roll back in his head as he subconsciously lolls his head back to give you more room. Adam’s apple bobbing and hand reaching out to squeeze the skin on your side.

ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ You’ve only really called him baby or honey, or hwa at best throughout the span of your relationship. Then there were those rare times when you actually called him by his name that made him stop whatever he was doing and give you his undivided attention. It’s wasn’t so much you calling him by his name that got him but the tone in which you said it. Sounding so buttery and delicate rolling off your lips. And when it’s followed by certain noises— pumps all the blood flow to his growing member as he makes out with you so feverly passionate. He’s always a goner after that.

ʏᴜɴʜᴏ He’s not sure if you were ever aware of what you were actually doing to him but oowee did it take everything in him to focus on his words and not your fingers that always played with the hairs at the back of his nape. This little habit of yours, he calculated like clockwork whenever you got in deep conversations and always tried bracing himself beforehand to focus on your responses to his questions and not the way your nails felt gently grazing his scalp. Or maybe you were aware of the effect it had on him as there would always be a knowing smirk you’d wear after watching him trying to snap out of his daze.

ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ Eye contact was a little intimidating for him. And even after dating for a while, he can still only hold it but so long with you before he has to look away because if he doesn’t, boy oh boy. Your eyes were just so intense. And looking into them felt like you were staring straight into his soul. It made his heart skip more than just a beat and like it was gonna combust out of his chest as a fervent heat rose in his cheeks and spread to his ears. And if you weren’t trying to kill him more, when your finger came under his chin and turned his head back to face you and his eyes meeting yours again. He can’t help the audible ‘fuck’ that slips from his lips.

ꜱᴀɴ This man loves for your hands to be anywhere on him. Any time and any place, he wasn’t opposed to it. There was something in particular though that stirred a mixture of butterflies and arousal in the depths of his stomach when you placed a hand under his jaw to pull him closer to you before your lips intertwined. He purposefully moans in your mouth to send vibrations to your hand and takes a hand of his own, covering yours and guiding it down to the base of his neck, letting it rest there. At this point he hopes you know that you could make him do anything you wanted with little to no rebuttal from him. Just as long as you kept touching him like so.

ᴍɪɴɢɪ He was already down bad for you and was willing to do whatever or get you whatever you asked for by just a simple bat of your lash. But something he’s been noticing you’ve been a lot more lately is that before asking him for something, you now started to rub his chest as you wormed your way into his embrace, blinking up at him with pleading eyes. He never found himself so quickly saying yes like yes, was the only correct response to give you. Was he aware that you were basically seducing him? Abso-fucking-lutely. He didn’t care though. You could’ve been asking for the impossible and he’d find a way to give it to you and more if every time that’s how you were gonna ask.

ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ is the perfect example of someone who’s able to dish things but can’t take it back. He can’t handle when you give him the same energy back— it fucks with his brain. He’s always aimlessly flirting with you and backing you into corners with nowhere to run, leaving you no other choice but to fall prey to his hooded gaze and endless teasing, leaving you needy for more. Oh but TRUST— when the role is reversed and it’s done to him, malfunctioning is a understatement. He squeals and tries hiding his inflamed cheeks in embarrassment.

“What’s wrong wooyoungie? Can’t take it?” You’d have to pry his hands away from his face and pin them by his head. That’s when you can see how his eyes are dancing like crazy and the way he’s blushing like a maniac. He turns his head in a way to hide from you again despite being completely exposed. Leaning down, you began a trail of precise kisses from the corners of his mouth til you reached his ear, “you’re so adorable when you’re like this for me.”

ᴊᴏɴɢʜᴏ For him, it’s what you physically do that melts him down. But how you smell, literally drives him crazy. Specifically when you wear perfume. He can always tell whenever you’re around or been in a particular spot because the scent of you always lingers. And if he ever wants to find you, he just follows the smell until it leads him straight to you.

“You smell so good.” He says as he comes up from behind, holding you tight in his arms while his head was buried deep in the side of your neck, taking several breaths of you. Each one seem to intoxicate him more and more but God he couldn’t get enough. He nuzzled closer despite you squirming to get away because his nose was tickling you.

written by yeorisanaxox. No translations or reposting. Leave a like and reblog w [feedback is much appreciated] ✨

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odileeclipse · 2 months ago

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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 20

<<<Previous Next>>>

Shadow Milk Cookie stilled as your fingers brushed against his hand. A rare hesitation flickered across his expression, golden eyes flickering between your touch and your face, as if weighing the weight of what you had just done what you had just said. You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around his own before you lost the nerve. “I know you’re not leaving yet,” you murmured. “But when you do… I want to be there.”

His gaze softened, just barely. You exhaled, steadying yourself. “I know, in the grand span of your existence, I’m just…” You hesitated, struggling to find the right words.

“I know I’m small. A fleeting part of something much bigger. But… even if it’s just for a little while, I want to be part of that.”

A breath. A pause. Your heart pounded in the silence. Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t pull away. He didn’t move at all, save for the slight way his fingers flexed beneath yours, as if he, too, was coming to terms with what this moment meant. “You think yourself small,” he said finally, his voice quieter than you had ever heard it. “Do you truly believe that?”

You bit your lip. “Aren’t I?” He exhaled slowly, his free hand curling into a loose fist against the desk. His voice, when he spoke again, was measured careful, deliberate.

“Your existence does not need to stretch across centuries to hold weight.” Your breath hitched. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, gently almost hesitantly he turned his palm beneath yours, letting your fingers settle properly against his own.

His grip wasn’t tight, wasn’t overwhelming. Just steady. “I cannot promise you eternity, you don’t have eternity” he murmured.

“But… I will not turn you away from the time I can offer.”

You squeezed his hand, blinking hard against the sudden sting in your eyes. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, his gaze as unreadable as ever yet, for once, you felt like you understood him perfectly. And, for now, that was enough.Your fingers trembled slightly as they curled around his, grounding yourself in the warmth of his touch. He didn’t pull away didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat behind carefully constructed walls of logic and reason. But he also didn’t answer, not immediately. You exhaled.

“You won’t be leaving for the Spire for a long time…I know that.” Your voice was steadier than you expected, though the weight in your chest only grew heavier with each word. “But when you do… if you do… I don’t want to be just another passing thought in your long existence.”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze flickered, something unreadable shifting in the depths of his golden eyes. “I want to be there,” you continued, gripping his hand just a little tighter. “For however long I can be.” A slow inhale. His fingers curled around yours, but his expression remained frustratingly composed. “You have always have a choice,” he murmured. “I would never-”

“I know that,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “I know you’d never ask me for anything. But what if I want to be here? What if I don’t care how small a part of your life I am?”

His lips parted slightly, but you pressed on, unwilling to let him slip away this time. “What do you want me to be?” you asked, flipping the question back on him. “Not what I think, not what I assume. What do you want?”

Silence. Not the kind that stretched into avoidance or the kind he wielded like a shield when words became too dangerous. This was different. He was considering it.

You swallowed, watching him closely. “Do you want me to be just another student? Another scholar you’ve guided, another moment in time that passes?” Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled, slow and measured, as if he were calculating every possible outcome before speaking.

“You know I don’t waste my time on things that do not matter,” he finally said.

“That’s not an answer.” His fingers tightened just slightly over yours. “It is the only answer I can give.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling beneath your ribs. “No. No, it’s not. You-you don’t hesitate like this. You always know what to say, so why-”

“Because you do matter.” Your breath hitched. His voice was quieter now, but no less certain. “That is what frightens me.” Your grip faltered. He did not let go. Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “You ask what we are,” he murmured. “And yet, even if I were to name it, even if I were to claim something beyond what is already unspoken… what would it change?”

“…Everything,” you whispered. He inhaled sharply. The silence that followed was deafening. Then, in a voice barely above a breath, he admitted, “Perhaps that is what I fear the most.”

The weight of his words settled between you, heavy and fragile all at once. He had always known the answer of course he had. But saying it aloud? Acknowledging it, accepting it? That was the truth neither of you had dared to face. You swallowed hard. “Then let’s face it.”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s fingers curled more securely around yours, as if anchoring himself. And this time, he didn’t argue. You exhaled, a small, breathy laugh escaping despite the weight pressing against your chest.

“Okay,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly, a teasing lilt threading through your voice. “Let’s pretend, then.”

Shadow Milk Cookie blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone. “Pretend?” You nodded, squeezing his hand just slightly. “Just for a moment. Let’s say you’re not the Sage of Truth. You’re not immortal. You’re just… you. Just Shadow Milk.”

His expression didn’t change at first, but something in his posture shifted something small, nearly imperceptible, like the brief flicker of candlelight in a draft. “And what would that change?” he asked quietly. You shrugged. “Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.” You let out a soft hum, letting your fingers brush over his palm absentmindedly. “It means you don’t have to worry about forever. It means we don’t have to think about centuries, or what happens when I’m gone. It means we’re just… here. Right now.”

His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak. “You always ask me questions,” you mused, tilting your head. “So here’s one for you, Shadow Milk. If we were both mortal, if time wasn’t something hanging over us like a stormcloud… what would you want?” His fingers twitched against yours. His golden eyes, so often filled with certainty, wavered for the briefest second.

“…I do not know,” he admitted.

You let out a quiet chuckle. “Liar.” His gaze snapped back to you, startled, and you laughed outright this time, shaking your head. “You always know, Shadow Milk. You knew the answer before I even asked. But you don’t want to say it, because saying it makes it real.”

His grip on your hand tightened firm, grounding, as if he needed something solid to hold onto. “Words are powerful things,” he murmured. “They shape reality. They define truths.”

You smiled, softer now. “Then define this. Just for today, just for right now. No centuries, no titles. Just you and me. What are we?” Shadow Milk Cookie inhaled deeply, his gaze searching yours as if looking for an escape, a loophole something that would let him evade the truth he had spent so long avoiding. But there was none. For once, the Sage of Truth had been backed into a corner. And you weren’t letting him go.

A beat of silence stretched between you, thick and unspoken. His fingers were still wrapped around yours, warm and steady, but he had yet to answer. You exhaled, tilting your head slightly, a teasing lilt creeping into your voice as you murmured, “This is where they kiss. You know, like real people do.”

Shadow Milk Cookie froze. It was barely noticeable just the slightest hitch in his breath, the way his fingers twitched against yours, the way his golden eyes flickered with something unreadable. Then, slowly, he exhaled. A soft, measured thing. “Is that so?” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the way your pulse hammered in your throat betrayed you. “That’s how it usually goes,” you mused, your thumb brushing absently over the back of his hand.

“A conversation like this. A moment like this.” You looked up at him, searching his face. “That’s what happens next.”

His expression didn’t shift, not entirely, but his grip on your hand tightened just slightly, just enough for you to notice. “A logical conclusion,” he murmured. “And yet…”

You raised a brow. “And yet?”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze held yours, unwavering. “You are not speaking in absolutes,” he noted, quiet and thoughtful. “Not this time.”

Your breath caught. He was right. You weren’t saying this is what we should do. You weren’t making a move, weren’t leaning in like this was some storybook ending. You had simply left it in the air, dangling between you like a choice waiting to be made. And he knew that. Of course, he knew that. Your heart pounded as he studied you, the weight of his attention pressing down on you like a question you weren’t sure how to answer. You swallowed. “Would you want that?”

The words were quieter than before, softer, hesitant in a way that made them feel more real. “If we were-” You gestured vaguely between you. “If we were just people.”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s thumb ghosted over your knuckles, the barest movement. He didn’t answer right away. Then, finally, he murmured, “Perhaps.” Perhaps.

The word settled over you like a slow-burning ember, curling warm in your chest. It wasn’t a yes. It wasn’t a no. It was something more dangerous. Something real. Your fingers curled slightly around his, your voice barely above a whisper now.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Shadow Milk Cookie’s lips parted just slightly, just enough for you to see the words forming behind his teeth, the answer he hadn’t yet spoken. But he didn’t say it. Not yet. You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close you were, of the way your fingers curled around his without thinking. Where had that boldness even come from? It wasn’t like you wasn’t like you at all to say something so forward.

Your grip slackened, but Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t let go. His hold was steady, grounding, as if he had already anticipated the moment you would retreat into yourself. You exhaled, barely a whisper of a laugh escaping you. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Your voice was quieter now, tinged with something unsure, something fragile. Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head, watching you with quiet amusement, though there was a softness there too. “Then take it back,” he murmured.

You hesitated. You could. You could laugh it off, call it a joke, shift the moment into something safer, something easier. But the words still hung in the air, lingering like an unanswered question. Your fingers twitched against his. “…Do you want me to?” That was what it all came down to, wasn’t it? His expression remained unreadable for a moment longer before something in him shifted, something quieter, something almost careful. “No,” he said, just as soft. Your breath hitched. You weren’t expecting him to say that not so plainly, not so surely.

You lowered your gaze, heart pounding, the heat crawling up your neck making it impossible to meet his eyes. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.” The confession left you before you could stop it. “I don’t even know why I said that-I wasn’t thinking-” Shadow Milk Cookie chuckled, low and thoughtful. “Clearly.” You groaned, covering your face with your free hand.

“You don’t have to agree so fast.” A pause, and then you felt him shift ever so slightly closer.

“And yet,” he mused, “you haven’t let go.” You hadn’t. Your fingers were still tangled with his, caught in that moment of hesitation. Your pulse thundered in your ears. “I-” You swallowed, suddenly feeling impossibly small beneath the weight of his attention.

You shook your head, trying to find something to say, anything that could make this feel less overwhelming. “I just-just pretend, okay? Pretend we’re-” You stopped yourself, heat crawling higher up your neck.

Shadow Milk Cookie arched a brow, waiting. “Pretend we’re what?” You squeezed your eyes shut, mortified. “…Just pretend we’re both mortal.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Pretend you’re not the Sage of Truth. That you’re just-just Shadow Milk.”

Silence. You didn’t dare look at him. Then, after what felt like an eternity, you heard him exhale, something slow and deliberate. “…Very well.”

His voice was softer now, still measured, still precise, but holding something gentler at the edges. You dared a peek at him, only to find his golden gaze fixed on you steady, patient, but different now. Not as a mentor, not as the Sage of Truth. Just him.

Your fingers curled a little tighter around his, your heart hammering in your chest. “Okay,” you breathed.

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, tilting his head slightly, his voice quiet as he asked, “And now?” You had no idea. But for now, this the warmth of his hand in yours, the moment held between you was enough.

You let out a shaky breath, your pulse a wild, stammering thing beneath your skin. You couldn't believe you were about to say this couldn’t believe you had even thought it. And yet, the words came anyway, tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. "We should just kiss… like real people do."

The moment the sentence left your mouth, you regretted it. Heat surged up your neck, crawling up your face so fast you thought you might actually die of embarrassment. What had possessed you to say that? Shadow Milk Cookie stilled. The silence that followed was suffocating. You wanted to take it back. You wanted the floor to swallow you whole. You wanted-Then he exhaled. Soft, measured. A slow release of breath that sent a shiver through you. And when you finally dared to look up at him, really look at him, your stomach flipped. Because he wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t even giving you that knowing, amused look that usually accompanied your flustered remarks.

No, his gaze was something else entirely. Something bare. Something unguarded. Shadow Milk Cookie who always carried himself with such composure, who always wielded words like blades and knowledge like armor; was not shielding himself now. He was allowing himself this moment. Allowing himself to want. Your breath hitched. His golden eyes, so sharp in their scrutiny, softened not in amusement, not in calculation, but in something deeply, impossibly tender. Something that made your chest ache. “…You say the most dangerous things,” he murmured at last, voice as steady as ever, yet so much warmer than before.

Your entire body burned. “Don’t say it like that-” His lips curled slightly, and yet there was no deflection, no teasing edge. Instead, his fingers, still lightly curled around yours, tightened just enough to hold you here. Just enough to make sure this moment this fragile, terrifying, inevitable moment did not slip away. Shadow Milk Cookie was never one to rush, never one to move without certainty. But this time, there was no hesitation.

No grand declaration. No warning. Just the quiet, steady motion of him leaning in of his lips brushing against yours in a touch so deliberate, so unshaken, that it felt more like a truth than a kiss. A truth neither of you had spoken aloud. But one you had both known all along. Your heart stopped then raced, breath stuttering as you melted into the feeling, as you let yourself fall into it, into him. For just a moment- There was no Sage of Truth. No fleeting mortal life against eternity.

No barriers at all. Just you and him. Your fingers curled tighter around his, a tether between you and something vast, something terrifying. A bridge across the unfathomable expanse of time itself. You held on as if the moment would dissolve the second you loosened your grip, as if he were sand slipping through your fingers, as if he were the wind that would slip away the second you forgot to chase it. Shadow Milk Cookie did not pull away.

He could have. He could have met your touch with the cool distance of a scholar observing, the quiet dismissal of a man who had seen centuries pass and would see centuries more. But instead, he stayed. His fingers flexed once, his palm pressing against yours, grounding you both in something real, something fleeting, something infinite. His voice, when it came, was soft softer than the morning hush before dawn, softer than the reverence of untouched parchment waiting for ink. “You fear letting go.”

Not a question. A truth spoken aloud, as though he could taste it on his tongue. You swallowed, nodding. Your throat ached with words you weren’t brave enough to speak, with the weight of something too fragile to name. “Yes.”

He exhaled, a slow and measured thing, his thumb brushing once across your knuckles, like the stroke of a calligrapher’s pen, careful and deliberate. “You will not lose this.” Your breath shuddered, and you hated how easily he unraveled you. Hated how effortlessly he saw through you, how he could speak the one thing you had tried to convince yourself of and make it sound like it had been written into the stars long before you had the courage to wonder.

“But…” You hesitated, your grip tightening. “I’m afraid that if I let go, this moment will disappear. That I will wake up tomorrow and realize I imagined it. That I will turn back and find you already gone.” Your voice was quiet, a whisper in the space between you, but it landed heavy, enough to pull down constellations. His expression shifted something small, something imperceptible to anyone but you.

The careful composure of the Sage of Truth faltered, peeled back by something older, something deeper. His gaze swept over your face, and then, as if sealing something sacred, something too delicate to disturb he lifted your joined hands, cradling them between his own, reverent as a scholar handling a fragile manuscript, as a believer holding an unspoken prayer. “Then do not let go,” he murmured. It was not a demand. It was not even an answer. It was an offering.

Your breath stilled. Because the truth was there, nestled between the cracks of time, between your fingers laced with his. It was in the way his hands did not tremble but held steady, like an anchor against the tide. It was in the way his eyes softened, no longer gilded with the weight of wisdom, but something rawer, something human.

For the first time, you did not see the Sage of Truth, the scholar who would outlive ages, the man carved into history’s pages. You saw him. And that terrified you. But not enough to let go. Your fingers curled against his, grounding yourself in his warmth, in the undeniable realness of this moment. You swallowed, words gathering at the edge of your tongue, unspoken but waiting aching to be said. “The Spire of Knowledge…” you began, voice quieter than you meant it to be. His golden gaze flickered, watching you carefully, waiting. You took a breath, steadying yourself before continuing, “I want to go with you.”

The silence between you stretched, thick and heavy, like the pause between turning pages of a book whose ending you were afraid to reach. Shadow Milk Cookie did not answer immediately. He did not deflect, did not twist your words back on you as he so often did. Instead, his thumb brushed absently along the back of your hand, slow and deliberate, as if considering something weighty, something fragile. “You would leave the Academy,” he mused, the words more observation than question. You nodded. “If it meant being there.”

Another pause. His fingers curled ever so slightly around yours, and for a brief moment, you thought he might say yes. “You seek knowledge?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Or something else?”

You hesitated. You knew the answer. And so did he. “…Both,” you admitted. His lips parted, as if to speak, but then he exhaled through his nose, a slow, measured thing. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it.

“You know that it will not be the same.” You blinked up at him. “I don’t expect it to be.”

He regarded you for a long moment, his gaze searching. “You wish to follow me.”

“Yes.”

“To learn?”

“Yes.”

“To stay?”

Your breath caught in your throat. A beat of silence. Then, carefully, he continued,

“Even knowing that I am as I am?”

You swallowed, nodding. “Even knowing that.”

His expression did not falter, but something in his gaze shifted something small, something you couldn’t quite place. A hesitation, perhaps. Or maybe something deeper, something unspoken, something close to fear. “I do not know if I can allow it.”

Your stomach twisted. “Why?” His fingers, still entwined with yours, flexed slightly a reflex, maybe, as if steadying himself. “Because I do not wish to be the reason you leave behind the life you have built.”

You shook your head. “I’m not leaving behind anything.” He exhaled, as if to say, You are. You bit your lip. “You once said you do not waste words,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “So tell me, honestly…if I went, would you want me there?”

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his expression, too brief to name. Then, so softly you almost missed it “Yes.”

Your breath stilled. The word settled between you, heavy and quiet, a truth neither of you had dared to voice until now. You wet your lips, trying to steady yourself. “Then let me prove myself.” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. “If you truly cannot allow it now,” you continued, pressing forward before doubt could take root, “then let me earn it. You’re always telling me to seek truth, to strive for knowledge…so let me show you I’m worthy of the Spire.”

A pause. Then, his gaze softened. Not in amusement, not in pity, but in quiet consideration. “…You would do this?” he murmured. “For the chance to follow me?”

You held his gaze. “I would.” He studied you for a long, breathless moment. Then, slowly, his lips curled into something small so small, but unmistakably real. “Then prove it.” Your chest tightened, something warm curling beneath your ribs. “I will.” His fingers remained in yours a moment longer before, with painstaking gentleness, he loosened his grip just enough to allow you the choice to hold on or let go. You didn’t let go.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze remained steady, unreadable, as he listened. His fingers still lingered in yours, the warmth of his hand grounding you, but his expression betrayed nothing. He was listening, but you knew that whatever conclusion he reached, he would not speak it before he was ready.

Taking a slow breath, you pressed forward. “I have to go with a research lab anyway for the fall semester,” you explained. “It’s part of my studies part of my path. If the Spire is taking in students for research, then… if I applied, if my friends applied, none of us would have to give anything up.” A long silence stretched between you.

You could hear your own heartbeat, the sound of your own breath. Finally, Shadow Milk Cookie’s golden eyes flickered, shifting from yours to some distant place beyond the room, as if weighing the possibility against every law of reason and logic. His thumb brushed absently over the back of your hand, a reflexive movement, slow and thoughtful. “You would truly consider this?” he murmured, voice quieter now. “Not only for me, but for yourselves?”

You nodded. “It wouldn’t be throwing anything away. It would be a step forward. Just… a different one than I originally thought.” He exhaled through his nose, his grip on your hand tightening for the briefest moment before he pulled back not out of rejection, but out of the need for space to think, to weigh, to decide. “The Spire’s research program is going to be rigorous,” he said, more to himself than to you. “Only the most dedicated students will be considered.”

“I know.” You straightened. “And I can prove I belong there.” His gaze flickered back to you, searching, as if waiting for hesitation to crack through your resolve. It didn’t. You had already made up your mind. “Your friends,” he said slowly. “Do they know?”

“Not yet.” You hesitated. “But I know them. They’ll want to go, too.” Shadow Milk Cookie leaned back in his chair, studying you with the same careful precision he always did except now, there was something else, something softer, something almost hesitant. “…It would not be an easy path.”

“It never has been.” You smiled, though your chest was tight. “But that’s never stopped me before.” His lips parted slightly, as if he meant to speak to refute, to agree, you weren’t sure but he hesitated. The Sage of Truth had no immediate answer. You could feel it. The weight of something shifting. The possibility of something real. Finally, he inhaled slowly, deliberately, and nodded. “Then we shall see what the future holds.”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze didn’t waver. His fingers, warm and steady around yours, curled just slightly, as if to tether you both to this moment this fragile, trembling thing balanced between truth and uncertainty. “You wish for a name,” he murmured, voice softer than you had ever heard it. “Very well.”

You held your breath. He lifted your intertwined hands slightly, the faintest smile ghosting the edges of his lips not a scholar’s smile, not the measured amusement of the Sage of Truth, but something quieter. Something that belonged only to him. “You are not a fleeting moment,” he said, as though carving the words into existence. “Nor a passing thought. Nor a scholar I merely guide.” His thumb traced absently against the back of your hand, reverent in its slowness. “You are the one who has unraveled me.”

Your chest tightened, breath catching in your throat. Shadow Milk Cookie was not a man who spoke lightly. Every word he uttered was deliberate, measured, a truth only spoken when he was ready for it to be known. And now, here he was, offering it freely, without hesitation.

“You are the one I have chosen to see,” he continued, voice steady, yet so unbearably tender. “And if you will have me” his gaze held yours, unwavering “then you are mine, as I am yours.” It was not a question. It was an answer. The only answer. Your fingers tightened around his instinctively, and his smile small, barely there softened at the edges, like candlelight flickering in the dark. “You asked me what we are,” he murmured, as if drawing the words from the very air between you. His free hand lifted, the faintest brush of his fingertips against your cheek light, fleeting, as if even he was afraid this moment might shatter if he dared press harder. “We are something true,” he whispered. “Something that will not fade.”

Your heart stilled. And then, before you could even think to stop yourself, you surged forward, closing the distance between you. You pulled away, voice unsteady. “Even when I’m gone?” The words were barely a whisper. “Even then?” His eyes searched yours, as if mapping the shape of your uncertainty, the fear tucked between your ribs like a delicate thing you were too afraid to hold. And then, quietly, he answered.

“Yes.” The weight of it settled into your bones. A truth spoken with the same certainty he had always carried, as if there were no hesitation, no room for doubt. As if the inevitability of time did not change the way he felt. Your fingers trembled against his, but he held firm. “You speak as if my truth is bound by time,” he murmured, his voice something softer than you had ever heard. “As if it will wither in your absence.”

Your throat tightened. “Won’t it?” He exhaled, and though his gaze remained steady, you saw something deep in it, something almost terrifying in its certainty. “No,” he said simply. “Because it is you.”

A shiver ran down your spine. “I will exist for centuries more,” he continued, as if laying the words carefully, reverently at your feet. “And yet, for the first time, I find myself bound not by knowledge, but by you.” You tried to breathe, tried to process the weight of what he was saying, but it was impossible. Because he was looking at you like you were something real, something permanent, despite everything you weren’t.

You swallowed. “That’s unfair.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured. “And yet, it is truth.” Your fingers curled against his palm, your chest tight with something you weren’t sure had a name. You had thought, no feared that one day, you would become nothing more than a footnote in his long, unyielding existence. That he would outlive you, move forward as he always had, and one day, you would be just another fragment of memory.

But this felt different. “…Even then?” you whispered again, afraid to believe it. Shadow Milk Cookie, the Sage of Truth, the one who had always held the answers you weren’t ready to face, lifted your hand gently to his lips. Not in haste. Not in possession. But in a truth so absolute it could be carved into stone. He kissed your knuckles, reverent, unshaken. “Yes,” he murmured against your skin. “Even then.”

"I don’t think I want to study today." The words left your lips before you could second-guess them, barely more than a breath between you. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with his usual quiet patience, his golden gaze steady, measuring. If he was surprised by your admission, he did not show it. Instead, he simply tilted his head, his grip on your hand unwavering. "Is that so?" You swallowed, nodding. "Just for today. Just… pretend. A little while longer."

His fingers, still loosely tangled with yours, flexed slightly a nearly imperceptible motion, one that sent a shiver down your spine. "And what would you have me pretend?"

You exhaled, tightening your hold on his hand, as if afraid that if you let go, this moment would slip through your fingers like water. "That we aren’t ourselves for a little while. That you aren’t the Sage of Truth, that I’m not just another passing scholar." Your voice softened, growing smaller. "That there’s nothing else waiting beyond today." A pause. Finally, he spoke. "Very well."

And just like that, the weight of study, of the Spire of Knowledge, of all the unspoken things hanging between you faded. You led him through the winding corridors of the Academy, past the looming stacks of books and echoing lecture halls, past the paths you’d always walked with a purpose, a destination. But today, there was no purpose beyond this. No destination beyond him. The Academy Gardens stretched out before you, golden light filtering through the arching willows, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and damp earth.

The reflecting pool shimmered in the afternoon sun, koi-like spirits drifting lazily beneath the surface, undisturbed by the weight of time. You sank onto your favorite bench beneath the willow tree, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

He followed, his movements deliberate, his presence unshakable. For a while, there was only silence. The kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, wasn’t empty, but full brimming with the weight of everything left unsaid. You closed your eyes, tilting your head back against the rough bark of the willow. "If we were different people," you murmured, "where do you think we’d be right now?"

A soft hum, thoughtful. "That depends. Who would we be?"

"Anyone," you said, cracking an eye open to glance at him. "Not a Sage, not a scholar. Just… anyone." He was quiet for a long moment, gaze fixed on the rippling water before you. Then, so softly you almost missed it "Perhaps we would not be here at all."

Your heart clenched. He did not say it in a way that implied loss, nor longing, nor regret. It was merely a truth, simple and undeniable. A truth that, like all others, he could not ignore. You exhaled, turning your gaze back to the sky, watching as the willow’s golden leaves swayed in the breeze. "Then I’m glad we are who we are."

His head tilted slightly, considering. "Even if it means you must one day leave?" You hesitated but only for a moment. Then, with a small smile, you turned to him, eyes shining with something steadfast. "Yes."

For the first time since you had met him, he looked away first. The quiet stretched, deeper than before, until finally, his hand shifted beneath yours, his fingers curling around yours with a gentleness that felt almost reverent. "Then, for today," he murmured, voice steady but softer, "let us be only this." And so, you sat there together, the afternoon sun slipping lower, time stretching out like an unbroken thread between you. For today, there were no titles.

No responsibilities. No future waiting beyond the edges of the moment. For today, you were just you. And he was just Shadow Milk. You sighed dramatically, stretching your legs out before you, the warmth of the afternoon sun settling against your skin like a familiar weight.

"Alright," you began, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, "serious question."

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, tilting his head ever so slightly. "I am listening." "If a koi spirit jumped out of the reflecting pool right now and challenged you to a duel, would you accept?" There was a pause brief, measured before he responded, as though he was actually considering it. "On what grounds does this koi spirit issue its challenge?"

You grinned. "Honor. Obviously." His lips twitched, and you caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his golden gaze. "Then it would be rude to refuse."

You gasped, placing a hand over your chest in mock offense. "You'd fight a koi spirit? Just like that?"

"A challenge is a challenge," he said smoothly. "It would be dishonorable to leave it unanswered."

You scoffed. "Unbelievable. I thought you were above fighting fish."

He arched a brow. "This one appears to be capable of speech. That implies a certain level of intellect and self-awareness. It would not be just a fish."

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Okay, fine. Next question: if you had to choose between being turned into a frog or an owl, which would you pick?"

"A frog," he answered without hesitation. You blinked. "Really?"

"Frogs are well-versed in patience," he mused. "They wait, they observe. And should they need to move, they do so with purpose."

You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. "You really put thought into that."

"I put thought into everything," he said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "And I thought I could get you with nonsense."

His expression softened slightly, something amused yet fond lurking in his gaze. "Would you prefer that I answer mindlessly?"

You huffed, crossing your arms. "No, but I'd like to win for once." He exhaled a quiet laugh. "Then ask a question you know the answer to."

You squinted at him. "Is that your way of admitting you outthink me every time?"

"It is merely an observation," he said, as though he hadn't just absolutely confirmed it. You groaned again, flopping back against the bench. "You're impossible."

"And yet," he murmured, looking at you with something you couldn't quite name, "you continue to try." Your breath hitched. For a moment, the playful back-and-forth stilled, the air between you shifting into something quieter, something heavier and warmer. You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus, grasping at the familiar rhythm between you before it slipped away."Alright, last one," you said, clearing your throat.

"Do you think birds ever get jealous of fish?" Shadow Milk Cookie hummed.

"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully. "They are both creatures of the sky, after all. It is merely that one has chosen the water as its sky, while the other soars above it."

You blinked at him. "That was… strangely poetic." He glanced at you, tilting his head slightly. "Is that surprising?"

You shook your head. "No, it's just… You make even nonsense sound like a revelation." Shadow Milk Cookie chuckled. "Then perhaps nonsense is simply another form of truth."

You snorted. "Now you're just making things up."

"However" he mused, watching you with that same, unreadable softness, "you continue to listen." You looked at him. The golden light of the setting sun caught the edges of his features, tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the sharp yet gentle intensity of his gaze. And for a moment, the playful rhythm between you faltered not in discomfort, not in hesitation, but in something else entirely. Something unspoken. Something undeniable. Your heart pounded against your ribs. You licked your lips, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I do." for once he did not have a clever reply.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, hovering just over the space between you. You weren’t sure what possessed you, what made the thought turn into action, but before you could stop yourself, your hand lifted hesitant, reverent. His hair, now unshielded by his ever-present hat, flowed like a celestial river, strands shifting like currents beneath an unseen tide. It caught the fading light of the day, sparkling in its depths, cascading from a deep, endless blue to something lighter, softer like twilight melting into dawn. You had seen the stars before.

Had spent nights gazing up at them, wondering what it would be like to hold something so vast, so distant, so unreachable. But now, as the strands of his hair shifted like galaxies within reach, it felt as though the heavens had unfurled before you within your grasp if you dared. Your fingers finally brushed against the strands, barely grazing at first. They were impossibly soft, weightless in a way that felt unearthly. They moved with an almost liquid grace, drifting as though suspended in water, responding to your touch with a slow, shimmering ripple.

Shadow Milk Cookie remained perfectly still beneath your touch, his golden eyes half-lidded, unreadable. He did not pull away. Did not speak. He only watched as your fingers curled slightly, allowing more of the strands to slip between them, the sensation something akin to holding stardust in your palms.

“Your hair…” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, entranced. “It’s like…” You trailed off, unable to put words to something so quietly breathtaking. A beat of silence. Then softly, almost imperceptibly he tilted his head just slightly into your touch. A silent permission. A quiet surrender. Your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away. For a moment, there was no weight of knowledge between you, just the quiet ripple of silver-blue strands between your fingers, the warmth of his gaze settled upon you like something endless.

And the realization that, perhaps, this moment was already written among the stars. Your fingers twitched in his hair, the shimmering strands slipping between them like a river of stardust. His breath hitched not loud, not sharp, but there, unmistakable, like the briefest hesitation in an otherwise steady rhythm.

You looked at him then, and for once, he wasn’t composed. Shadow Milk Cookie, the Sage of Truth, the Fount of Knowledge, the one who always knew, always had the answer, always understood was caught off guard. There was color rising to his face, faint but undeniable, dusting his cheeks like the first blush of dawn. His eyes, wide and uncertain, flickered to yours, as if searching for something confirmation, permission, understanding. And for the first time, you had it before he did. The realization struck something deep within you, a warmth blooming in your chest, and maybe that was why you did what you did next.

You leaned in. No hesitation, no second-guessing, no overthinking just a quiet, breathless pull toward something inevitable. Your lips met his, soft and fleeting, a touch so light it could have been mistaken for a whisper. But it was real. He stiffened beneath you, just for a moment, before something in him melted. His hair shimmered beneath your hands, shifting like the tide, and the warmth of him something you had never let yourself imagine settled against your skin. And then, as if the weight of what had just happened had finally hit him, Shadow Milk Cookie blushed.

The blue deepened, blooming across his face like dawn spilling over the horizon. His lips parted ever so slightly, golden eyes searching yours with something almost lost as if he had spent centuries preparing for every answer but this one. Your heart pounded. “…I-I don’t know why I did that,” you stammered, voice barely above a whisper. He swallowed. You saw it the slow, deliberate motion, as if he needed a moment to process what had just happened. Then, against all odds, his fingers lifted, barely grazing his lips, stunned.

“You…” His voice trailed off, as if the words had left him. His brows furrowed, his breath uneven. “You kissed me.” Your face burned. “Yes,” you squeaked. A pause. Then “Why?” You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “I don’t know! It just-it felt right!” A stunned silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, before you dared to peek through your fingers only to see him looking away, face still stained with color, still lost in whatever thought had rendered him silent. You had never seen him like this before. Shadow Milk Cookie blushing. “…You are impossible,” he muttered at last, voice quieter than usual.

You swallowed, hands lowering slowly. “And?” He hesitated. His fingers curled slightly at his sides. “…And you are infuriatingly endearing,” he admitted, voice just barely above a whisper. That did not help your heartbeat. You opened your mouth maybe to deflect, maybe to tease, maybe to kiss him again…but before you could, he did something you had never seen him do before. He turned his face away from you entirely, one hand lifting to press against his cheek as if he could will away the blush entirely.

Your breath stilled. You had broken him. Shadow Milk Cookie, the ever-composed, ever-patient Sage of Truth had lost his composure. And something about that made you grin, a slow, dazed thing, your heart soaring at the sight. “…You’re really blushing,” you murmured. His shoulders tensed slightly, but he did not refute it. And that was a victory all on its own.

The afternoon slipped through your fingers like grains of sand, the weight of time momentarily forgotten. The golden glow of the sky softened, shifting into the first whispers of twilight, and yet neither of you moved, not really. Conversation had ebbed and flowed, drifting from nonsensical musings to quiet contemplation, yet the lingering warmth between you remained. Neither of you acknowledged the inevitable how the day had unraveled so quickly, how the moment of parting was drawing closer with every breath. You exhaled, fingers still loosely curled around the fabric of his sleeve.

“It’s late,” you murmured, though it wasn’t quite an announcement, more of a realization spoken aloud. Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, his golden gaze flickering to the horizon. “Yes.” You hesitated, glancing toward the academy. “My friends… they must be waiting for me.”

You shifted slightly, as if testing the idea of leaving, of untangling yourself from this moment, but your fingers remained where they were lingering, reluctant. “Or… they will be waiting for me.” Shadow Milk Cookie did not immediately reply. He merely studied you, expression unreadable, before exhaling in quiet amusement.

“So which is it, then?”

You smiled, soft and knowing. “Both.” A faint chuckle left him, the sound gentle as the breeze. He made no move to stop you, nor did he urge you to go. He simply existed there with you, silent in his own acceptance. You swallowed, hesitating for one final moment before, with great reluctance, you began to pull away. His fingers twitched just barely.

A movement so minuscule you could have ignored it, could have dismissed it as nothing at all. But you didn’t. Because you felt it. Your breath caught, your eyes flickering to his hand the one that had not quite let go of the space between you. His grip was not tight, not demanding. But it lingered. Just as you had. And for a fleeting second, you thought maybe he doesn’t want this to end either. The thought sent something warm fluttering in your chest, something unspoken, something understood.

Slowly, carefully, you gave his hand one last squeeze before finally letting go. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you murmured. Shadow Milk Cookie inclined his head. “Tomorrow,” he echoed. And with that, you turned away, leaving behind the quiet warmth of his presence, stepping back into the world where time moved forward once more.

You barely felt the ground beneath your feet as you walked, the world around you shimmering with a lightness you couldn't quite name. It filled your chest like air rushing into open lungs after being held under too long, like warmth spreading through cold fingers in the first touch of sunlight. Your steps were lighter, quicker not from urgency, but from something more untethered, something free.

It was as if you were drifting, carried by an unseen current, floating weightless in the afterglow of something you didn’t dare put into words just yet. By the time you reached the dining halls, the buzz of students and the clinking of dishes barely registered. Your mind was still back there, wrapped in the remnants of golden eyes and the way his fingers had hesitated, just for a moment, before letting go. The moment your friends spotted you, Chai Latte Cookie’s eyes narrowed. “Oh,” she said, setting down her cup with an exaggerated slowness. “Oh, you’re glowing.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie turned in his seat, brows lifting as he took you in. “Well, well. Would you look at that.”

Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, barely looked up from his tea but there was the smallest twitch at the corner of his lips. “Fascinating,” he murmured, tilting his head just so. “Would you care to share with the class?”

You blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of the way you must look practically floating, giddy with something obvious. Your face burned. “I-what? No. I’m just…I had a good day, that’s all.”

Chai Latte Cookie leaned forward, eyes alight with knowing. “A good day?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

You groaned, setting down your tray with a little too much force. “I swear-”

“You swear you’ll tell us everything later?” Chai Latte Cookie interjected sweetly. You shot her a look, and she only beamed wider, elbow nudging yours. “No need to rush it, of course. But, you know, whenever you feel like talking-”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Preferably now.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I hate all of you.”

Earl Grey Cookie sipped his tea, thoroughly unbothered. “And yet, here you are, choosing to eat with us.” You groaned again, but the warmth in your chest didn’t fade. It remained, steadfast, a quiet certainty. Because even as your friends teased, even as you struggled to find the words, even as you laughed and deflected and tried to fight the inevitable You knew. And he knew. And for now, that was enough. Chai Latte Cookie had been watching you since the moment you arrived, eyes sharp with amusement and something more patient, something waiting. She had given you space, let you have your moment of denial, let you pretend you could dodge the inevitable.

But then you sat down, tray forgotten, fingers twitching against the edge of the table, and she pounced. “So.” She leaned in, resting her chin on her palm, voice deceptively casual. “Are you gonna tell us, or do I have to start guessing?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low whistle, propping his elbows on the table. “Oh, this has to be good.” Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, merely raised a brow over the rim of his teacup. “Well?”

You swallowed, heart hammering in your chest. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to tell them. They were your friends, your closest friends. They had been there for everything since the beginning, from your struggles in class to your quiet, messy unraveling over the Sage of Truth. They deserved to know. Saying it aloud made it real. Still, the words were already clawing at your throat, desperate to be spoken, to exist.

You inhaled sharply. “Okay,” you muttered. “Okay. But you have to let me say everything before you interrupt.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned. “No promises.” You glared at him before turning back to Chai Latte Cookie, whose expression had shifted into something softer, something that told you she knew just how much this meant. You exhaled.

And then, like a floodgate breaking, you spilled everything. How you had gone to his office. How you had started with nonsense, falling into the rhythm of things, trying desperately to hold onto normalcy. How you had asked really asked what the two of you were. How he had somewhat named it. How you had asked if it would still be so, even when you were gone. How you had told him you wanted to go with him, that if you could find a way to do your research at the Spire, then no one neither of you would have to give anything up. How you had reached for him, afraid to let go.

Chai Latte Cookie sucked in a breath, eyes wide. “You kissed him?”

You slammed your hands onto the table. “I panicked!”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie howled with laughter, head thrown back. “You panicked? Oh, that’s rich.”

Earl Grey Cookie, though visibly more entertained than usual, merely exhaled through his nose. “Fascinating,” he murmured. “And his response?”

Your face burned. “He” You swallowed, fingers curling against the fabric of your sleeve. “He let me.”

Chai Latte Cookie pressed a hand to her chest, gasping dramatically. “Oh, my stars.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “And let me guess then you ran away.”

You scowled. “I did not run away.”

“Mm-hmm.” Chai Latte Cookie practically vibrated in her seat. “You kissed him.”

“I know.”

She let out a delighted squeal. “And he let you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Why are you making it sound worse?”

“Because it’s delicious.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie was still grinning like he had won some sort of grand prize. “So what now?” You hesitated. What now? What came after the truths had been spoken, after hands had lingered, after a kiss had stolen the last of your denials? What came after you had dared to hope? You swallowed. “I-I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I do know I want to be there. With him. At the Spire.”

Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head slightly. “And what if you can’t?” You stiffened. Silence stretched between you, the weight of the question settling deep. You had thought about it. Of course, you had thought about it. “I have to try,” you said, voice quiet but sure. “Because if there’s a chance any chance then I don’t want to regret not taking it.”

Chai Latte Cookie watched you for a long moment, her teasing gone, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she smiled. “Then we’ll help you.”

Your breath hitched. “You?” She rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie stretched his arms behind his head. “Guess we’ve got some planning to do.”

Earl Grey Cookie smirked, tilting his cup toward you in a silent toast. “I do love a challenge.” You stared at them, something tight in your chest easing, warmth unfurling in its place. You weren’t alone in this. You never had been. With them at your side, you wouldn’t have to walk this path alone. You exhaled, pressing your hands to the table as if grounding yourself. “Come with me. To the Spire.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nearly choked on his drink. “Wait, what?” Chai Latte Cookie blinked, her teacup hovering just before her lips. “You’re serious?”

“Of course, I’m serious,” you muttered, rubbing at the back of your neck. “I mean, think about it. We all have to pick a research lab for the fall semester, right? If we can apply to the Spire, then none of us would have to give anything up.”

Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head, watching you carefully. “And this isn’t just about your academic prospects, is it?” You hesitated before shaking your head. “No. But that doesn’t make it any less of a good opportunity.”

Chai Latte Cookie studied you, her gaze sharp, dissecting. Then, slowly, she grinned. “So,” she mused, “you’re not just trying to follow him. You’re making it so that we all move forward together.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smiled cheekily. “Smart.”

Earl Grey Cookie tapped a finger against the rim of his cup. “Ambitious.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed, considering. “And… if we say yes? What then?” Your fingers curled slightly against the table. “Then we do everything we can to make it happen.” Silence stretched between you, anticipation thick in the air. You swallowed, heart pounding, watching their faces, waiting for something, anything.

Then, after a long, thoughtful pause, Earl Grey Cookie exhaled, setting his cup down with a quiet clink. “I suppose,” he murmured, “we’d best start preparing our applications.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snickered, nudging your arm. “Looks like you’re stuck with us.”

Chai Latte Cookie beamed, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “You didn’t even have to ask,” she said softly. “Of course we’ll come with you.” Your breath hitched. And just like that, the weight on your chest, the fear of losing this, of losing them lightened, just a little. Of course Chai always had to ruin soft moments like this with her relentless teasing.

Chai Latte Cookie gasped, clutching your hand dramatically. “Oh, this is perfect. I knew something was up when you came floating into the dining hall looking like you’d just been kissed by the heavens”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked, leaning back in his chair. “More like kissed by the Sage of Truth.”

Your face burned. “I-shut up!”

Chai Latte Cookie ignored your protests entirely, practically vibrating with excitement. “No, no, no, this is huge! You finally, finally got past all the ‘what are we’ nonsense and just did something about it?”

Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, took a slow sip of his tea, watching with quiet amusement. “It seems they did,” he mused. You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I don’t know why I told you all anything.”

“Because you love us,” Chai Latte Cookie said smugly, wrapping her arm around your shoulders. “And because you knew we’d hype you up over this.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned in, grinning. “So… how was it?” You groaned even louder. “Oh my god-” Chai Latte Cookie waggled her eyebrows. “Did he look absolutely ruined? Blushing, stunned, positively devastated by your boldness?”

You peeked at her from between your fingers, warmth creeping up your neck. “…Maybe.” She gasped, shaking your shoulders. “I knew it!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie laughed, crossing his arms. “Hate to admit it, but she totally called it.”

Chai Latte Cookie pressed a hand to her chest, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Of course I did. I know romance when I see it, and this? This is the slow burn of the century.”

Earl Grey Cookie sighed, setting down his tea. “I am beginning to regret indulging this conversation.”

“Oh, hush,” Chai Latte Cookie shot back. “This is monumental.” She turned back to you, eyes twinkling. “So? So?! Are you together now? Official? Have you talked about it?”

Your stomach flipped. You hesitated, rubbing at your wrist. “I mean… not exactly.” The entire table groaned. “Are you kidding me?” Chai Latte Cookie threw her hands up. “You kissed and you still haven’t-”

“It was a lot, okay?!” You waved your hands defensively. “I wasn’t exactly thinking about having the ‘define the relationship’ talk right after!”

Earl Grey Cookie exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I suppose that would have been too easy.”

Chai Latte Cookie leaned in again, grinning. “Alright, fine. But do you plan on talking about it?”

You swallowed. “Yeah,” you admitted. “I do.” She softened, nudging your arm. “Good.” Then her grin returned full force. “And until then, I’ll be gloating over the fact that I was right.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Oh, she’s never going to let this go.” Chai Latte Cookie winked. “Not in a million years.”

Dinner lingered longer than it usually did plates scraped clean, the flicker of golden lantern light above casting gentle shadows across the table, and your friends in rare form. Chai Latte Cookie hadn’t stopped grinning since you sat down, her excitement still pouring out in wild tangents and dreamy sighs. She was practically glowing. “Do you realize what this means?” she exclaimed, gesturing with both hands as if the stars themselves could be reshaped by your story.

“He kissed you. The Sage of Truth or, sorry, the Fount of Knowledge kissed you. I could write poems about this!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie laughed so hard he nearly choked on his tea. “I give it a week before she starts putting sonnets under your dorm door.”

Earl Grey Cookie, though more composed, had an unmistakable spark in his eye. His usual air of calm wasn’t gone, but tonight it had a certain crispness to it like the buzz of magic after a spell was cast. “You must admit,” he said, swirling the last of his tea in its cup, “it’s not every day we witness the immortal unshaken. He seems rather… enchanted.”

You flushed, tucking your hands into your lap. “It’s not”

“Oh, hush,” Chai Latte interrupted, leaning across the table. “You’re floating, and we’re living for it.”

Despite your embarrassment, a smile tugged at your lips. It was nice having them here, sharing in this strange, fragile new joy. The warmth in your chest refused to fade, and for once, you didn’t try to fight it. But still Before the table emptied and the chairs scraped back from the floor, before the last flicker of dessert vanished from its plate, you glanced up at them, voice quieter than before.

“Hey,” you said, “before we all go…” The lightness dimmed slightly as your friends turned toward you, alert. You bit your lip. “Can you guys just… keep this private? Just for now?”

Chai Latte Cookie’s brows furrowed. “Of course. Why?” You shifted in your seat, fingers curling slightly around your napkin. “Not that I don’t trust you. I do. But… it’s not just about me.” There was a pause brief but thoughtful.

“You’re worried about him,” Earl Grey Cookie said. You nodded. “He’s respected. Revered, even. If word got out… people might talk. Twist things. I don’t want this to be something that hurts him.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s smirk softened into something gentler. “We’d never let that happen.” Chai Latte Cookie reached across the table again, this time taking your hand in both of hers. “You don’t have to explain. We get it. He’s… big. Important. But so are you. And if keeping this quiet keeps you both safe for now, we’ll guard it like it’s the last drop of honey-drizzled syrup on campus.”

That got a small laugh out of you. Earl Grey Cookie gave a nod of solemn understanding. “No one will hear it from us.”

“Not even a whisper,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie added, tapping his temple. “Scout’s honor.”

You felt something loosen in your chest at their reassurances, your heart full to the brim with quiet gratitude. “Thank you,” you murmured. “Really.” Chai Latte Cookie squeezed your hand once more before letting go. “You’re welcome. But just so you know…” She leaned in again, conspiratorial. “I’m definitely still writing that poem.”

Chai latte waited behind the other two leaving without her, their goodnights still echoing faintly in your ears. You remained in your seat, half-lost in the warmth of the dining hall’s dim glow, fingers still absently tracing the rim of your cup. Chai Latte Cookie sat across from you, propping her chin in her palm as she watched you with that ever-present soft smile, the kind that looked effortless, practiced, but not fake. Just familiar. Just… her.

You felt her gaze and blinked. “What?” She shrugged, her eyes drifting briefly to the window beside you where the twilight had begun to spill its blue haze across the courtyard. “Nothing,” she said lightly. “Just… you look really happy.”

Your lips twitched. “Do I?”

“You do,” she said, leaning back in her seat with her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s different. It’s quiet, but it’s there.” You lowered your gaze for a moment, trying not to smile too hard. “Yeah, well… it’s been a weird day.”

“The best kind,” Chai Latte said easily. Her voice was even, casual, no different than a dozen other moments you’d shared over the years. There was no waver, no sigh nothing that would tip you off to the way her thumb brushed across her sleeve under the table, grounding herself. Nothing that would betray the softness in her eyes wasn’t just for the moment, but for you.

She pushed her chair back with a quiet scrape. “C’mon,” she said, reaching for your hand and giving it a familiar tug. “Let’s get you back to your dorm before you end up floating away. You laughed softly, letting her pull you to your feet. “I’m not floating.”

“You are,” she teased, looping her arm through yours as you walked. “It’s cute. You’re not allowed to deny it.”

“Fine,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “But only because you’re being unusually agreeable tonight.”

She grinned at that, her gaze fixed forward, watching the way the torchlight flickered along the hallway walls. You didn’t notice the way she looked at you then, just for a moment. Didn’t notice the quiet exhale that wasn’t quite a sigh. Didn’t notice the softness in her steps, or the way her grip lingered around your arm just a little longer than needed. You were happy. And that was enough for her

A/N super tired to give an update...will be checking my inbox tomorrow I'm super tired...<3 pls be patient with me thank you

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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theorist-fox · 4 months ago

Text

Whisky

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Reader

Crossposted on AO3

Word count: 4.3k

Summary: Kyle’s the perfect partner, even when he slips up. And as you come to realize, he slips up quite often—which only makes you love him more.

18+

CW: fluff, smut, drunk sex in established relationship with enthusiastic consent, handjob, cunnilingus, Kyle is cute

Masterlist 🦊

Kyle is perfect.

He is sharp, cunning—the answer to everything is always on the tip of his tongue.

Problem-solving is his special skill. He thrives under pressure, not a finger of his so much as twitches even when the weight of the world crushes his shoulders: he calculates it all, pros and cons, risks and benefits, in the span of a minute.

Self-sufficient, precise, deadly.

He charmed you with a handful of well-placed words, dazzling smile and clever eyes, gentlemanly as few. Opened the car door, insisted on paying for dinner, and kissed you on your third date. His tongue tasted of Moscato and chocolate from the dessert, yours a tick bitter—scotch and brown sugar.

He had you helplessly wrapped around his finger with shocking ease: a smooth talker at dinner, a sex God once home, incredibly selfless and devoted—made sure you came at least twice on his fingers before he even thought about fucking you and giving you more of that high.

With him it's neatly wrapped presents, roses delivered at work, dinner dates and endless, deep, passionate kisses that leave you heaving like you've run a marathon, warm and breathless.

He makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery, and also like maybe you’re aiming too high with your averageness, while he stands tall, spine straight, and a chain of golden candy draped across his chest.

However, Kyle softened up when you two finally became steady.

It was hard not to notice how cautiously and deliberately he tiptoed around your relationship—until he slowly unfurled and fell into a comfortable pattern, one in which he didn’t have to put up an act, one in which he could turn off his head and have you guide him through the softer motions of the day. He finally relented, dropping the veneer—cracking like fine ceramic, chipping away.

It's then that you truly, really met Kyle.

And that is how you found out that he is, in fact, perfect—a stunning man, kind, brilliant and charming—but he’s so much more than that, too.

Kyle is clumsy.

You have to be careful where you place your shoes at the entrance of your flat because he trips on his own feet. More than once you’ve heard a cheery “Home, love!” followed by the flat door closing shut and a subsequent tumble. Then, a thud. An “Ow” echoing in the living room. An embarrassed chuckle.

Kyle is a menace. For his safety, that is.

God forbid you initiate a chat while he’s in the kitchen. Once, he got so awfully invested as you spilled the office tea that he slammed his palm on the induction stove. His shocked "No fucking way" had quickly evolved into a dramatic scream.

Lovely night spent at the hospital, that one.

Kyle is forgetful.

You wish you could count on one hand how many times he has forgotten to add the colour catcher in the washing machine.

You can’t. You are currently out of plain white knickers, since they’re all blotched pink or blue. God bless him, he beats himself up every time he’s reminded. You tell him it’s okay, that it can happen, but it always ends up with him apologising so emphatically that you promise yourself you’ll never make him notice again.

All these habits make him more real to your eyes, like he’s not cast with pure gold and melted medals, like you can allow yourself some slip-ups as well.

And while this is making your home life definitely easier to slip into (despite your lack of underwear), you can tell how hard it is for him to shed the perfectionist uniform—self-loathing each time he makes the most subtle of mistakes.

It's not easy to remind him that he’s human too, but you try until he gets it, until he understands that maybe you love this tangible version of him more than you do the untouchable, polished SAS sergeant.

That you love his vulnerabilities as much as you love his strengths. And perhaps, to your eyes, those things are the same.

That you love how he scratches the back of his head with a grimace when the bacon turns charred, when your sleeping t-shirt comes out of the washing machine two sizes too small and awfully shrunk.

That you love how flustered he gets when he drinks, because yes.

Kyle is a lightweight. And the cutest drunk.

One Saturday you’d both planned it all: nice dinner out now that he’s home for R&R, stroll through the city, a shared cigarette under the stars, and then a proper nice fuck once home.

Perfect.

Or it would’ve been—if your plans hadn’t been rudely cancelled by the awful weather.

Which brings you both to now, lazily slumped on the sofa, still wrapped in your fancy outfits, dress shoes and heels shed on the floor. Your backs rest on the opposite armrests, legs meeting and intertwining in the middle. The TV roars with some action movie you chose together, and while you're enraptured by the plot, Kyle has his eyes on you.

Big fingers spread over your shin, occasionally shifting back and forth as if he’s shocked by how soft your freshly waxed legs feel under his palm.

"Yer pretty," he mumbles, cueing a cute hiccup at the end that makes your stomach flutter.

His mouth is curled in a cheeky smile, plump lips hooking upwards just on one side.

You blink and divert your attention from the film to your boyfriend, spread out on the sofa with one arm hanging out, hand curled around the rim of his tumbler.

The lazily enamoured look in his eyes prompts you to smile back, already knowing where this is going. "Why thank you, Kyle. Not so bad yourself.”

He smirks in that familiar way he does when he thinks he's said something particularly clever and wiggles his eyebrows.

“All that for me?” He mumbles, nodding with his chin to your outfit.

You snort, but otherwise hum a soft reply in agreement, hiding your smile behind your glass.

“Ah,” he says, slowly sipping on his whisky, looking straight into your eyes. “Lucky man I am.”

Your cheeks heat up, because even when he’s tipsy he manages to smooth talk your confidence away, turning you into a shy mess. The alcohol in your system doesn’t help.

“Don’t need to flatter me,” you mumble, trying to keep the act up. “M’already your girlfriend.”

His eyes light up like a Christmas tree, as if you just fed him some new, exciting piece of information.

“My girl,” he echoes, with a smirk that dimples his cheek and settles properly into your chest. “Really like the sound of that.”

A sip. His head lolls sideways, abandoned, eyes glittering with love for yours—you can tell, because yours do the same.

“My girl.” He tests it again, as if he’s never said it before.

"Already, love?" You tease him, but there's no bite behind your words. "It’s the second glass.”

His lazy smile melts into a frown, and then he points an accusing finger at you.

"You're one to talk. Look at you.” He wiggles his fingers your way. “All wobbly."

You are, in fact, very steady. Steadier than anything.

You cock a brow, cheeks puffed in a smile. With a dramatic sigh, you reply, "Just proving my point, really."

He quirks his eyebrows and shakes his head mockingly at you, echoing your words in a high-pitched tone, before returning the glass to his lips.

You gasp in mock offence, placing a theatrical hand on your chest.

After a very short but fiercely fought battle of stares, you soften up. Kyle takes the way your shoulders unravel as his own personal victory. He raises his glass at you.

“Cheers,” he says proudly, throwing his head back to down the rest of his whisky in a gulp.

“Jesus—” You splutter, eyes widening at the sheer courage. And then you burst into a laugh because when his eyes return to you, he is positively wincing—alcohol burning down his throat something fierce, you reckon.

An exasperated rub of your forehead, while Kyle keeps his lips sealed shut to avoid openly coughing. His cheeks comically balloon every time.

He’s such a kid sometimes, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t adore this lighthearted side of him.

"Lightweight," you singsong, because if he can act childish so can you.

You bring your own glass to your mouth to hide your smile, though you drink your whisky much more responsibly than he did.

Kyle takes that one personally, it seems. His brow furrows, full lips curling in a pout. Brown eyes hooded and bloodshot. Nose scrunched in that twitch he often has when irritated.

Yep, you stand by the fact that he's a lovely-looking drunk.

Which means you must correct yourself. "Cute lightweight."

He grumbles something under his breath, looking away and crossing his arms like you’ve gone and done it forever. Pride hurt and thrashed.

But you're giggling at this point.

Okay, maybe you’re tipsy, you’ll give him that.

"Don't pout." You say, pouting yourself. "You're making me feel bad."

He turns up his nose, and, with spite, he sets the empty tumbler on the coffee table. Glass on glass. It clinks, like he wanted to make a powerful statement with that motion alone.

"As you should."

"Kyle."

"Nuh-uh."

"Kyle, c'mon—"

"Grovel."

You burst out laughing, and from the corner of your eye, you see how it manages to make his lips quirk. You decide it's time to apologize for hurting his drunk pride.

Struggling, you place the unfinished glass of bourbon on the coffee table.

"Kyle," you whisper his name like honey, this time.

His shoulders stiffen, and he steals a glance from you. Good, you got his attention.

On your fours, you start crawling to his side of the sofa, until your knees are digging into the cushions on each side of his hips, your hands next to his head. Back arched prettily, showing off like a peacock to soften him up a little.

Kyle seems to be trying to have the couch swallow him whole as he flushes his back to it. His eyes are wide and big like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. As if he’s never witnessed this beforehand.

You cock your head—cheeky, batting your lashes and all. “You okay?”

“Yes,” he replies at the speed of light.

You snort. “You sure?”

“Yeah—yeah,” he croaks. Clears his throat. “Yes.”

“Mhmh.” You smile knowingly, letting your fingers draw a line down the buttons of his shirt, rich dark navy.

He follows the trail with his eyes, tongue briefly darting out to lick his lips. Your nails tap on the buttons, soft brushes of your pads along the cotton down to the waistband of his slacks, where you hook your finger. Tug.

Kyle’s breath stutters. His chest falls back down heavily, as if a rock’s been suddenly dropped on it.

“All this for me?” You ask back, cocking your head to the side.

He catches on. Mimics you, trying to align his eyes with yours. His face is slack, relaxed, but his eyes—oh, his eyes. When you’re this close, with the tips of your noses touching, you see there are hints of green in there. Deep forest trees, speckles of golden sunlight, mottled in earthy brown irises. Investigating ones, studying how the light of the telly catches your skin, as you do the same, following the dotted lines of his moles.

“Yes,” he replies, voice rough.

Your heart skips a beat.

He notices, and his hand silently travels to your wrist. He guides your hand down. The heel of your palm catches the bulge in his trousers. Heat pulses at your fingertips—you need them to do something, anything, to release it. Your thumb catches the zipper. Tentatively, you tug it down.

Kyle wastes not a moment more and lifts his head so his lips meet yours.

A deep inhale. His tongue lingers with the smoky aftertaste of whisky, the pleasant tang of alcohol, as you remember how it had burned your throat when you drank it moments before.

Kyle thinks you taste like the first day he kissed you. Languid tongues intertwining, coated with a sweeter taste, like that of brown sugar and maraschino cherries dipped in your Old Fashioned. How you’d plucked them with your lips, tugging gently at the stem.

He fell for you that night, he thinks. Thinks it every single day; when he trips over your shoes, burns the dinner, and botches the laundry, while you smile at him with understanding pinched eyebrows.

He busies himself, now, giving you ample space to work with both your hands at the button and zipper. He grasps at your breasts through your dress, squeezes clumsily both fabric and softer flesh underneath, while taking a handful of your ass—fat bugling between the grooves of his fingers.

Your breath hitches in your throat. A strangled thing between a moan and a gasp.

He wants to be cocky about it, tell you that even when he’s plastered he seemingly has all the faculties to make your heart race and your cunt wet—but alas, he chokes on a groan of his own when you slide under his boxers, setting platitudes aside, and curl your fingers around his sex.

One would think the alcohol would’ve made it a bit tougher for him to rise to the attention, but the truth clearly lies elsewhere, since he’s hard as a rock in your hand.

“Whisky did this to you?” You quip, though it doesn’t land as funnily as you’ve anticipated, since you sound as breathless as he is.

Your words brush his lips like petals. Bourbon swims in his head, but he’s more drunk on you than he’s drunk on that. His head is clouded, but there’s still enough willpower to focus on how your mouth slots with his, how your hand starts to gingerly smooth down his shaft.

He pinches your nipple in retaliation. You hiss, shifting awkwardly on your knees like you’re looking for friction, but his legs are keeping your thighs too far apart.

“Bit chatty tonight, are you.”

You breathe a chuckle, nudging his nose.

“Like to get you all fussy.”

“S’working,” he concedes. “But not because of that smart mouth of yours.”

You stop. Pull back.

You thought him drunk, but the sharp tongue he’s hitting you with tells you otherwise. Tipsy, perhaps. But not drunk.

You know drunk Kyle, and that one is a flustered mess. This Kyle definitely isn’t.

So, while Kyle might be tipsy, he’s not off his head yet. He manages to tighten his brows in a silent question—why did you stop.

When you cock your head, eyes narrowed, he matches your stance.

You both smile.

“Are you telling me to shut up?”

A groan escapes him and Kyle rolls his eyes so far back you see a bit of redness at the bottom. He takes you by surprise when he lunges forward, slotting his lips with yours again.

He’s not gentle when he sinks his teeth into your lower lip, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

“I’m telling you to finish what you started,” he says with playful command, but you know that if it weren’t for the alcohol softening his words, you’d be replying with a swift "Yes, sir".

He takes the lead, if only briefly, and has his hips jump upwards to meet your first stroke.

A breathless curse leaves his lips when your pace starts to languidly grow. You keep it soft and slow, but still steady enough to make the words die in his throat.

He kisses you, then. Makes sure to hide the embarrassing sounds that would inevitably leave him if he’d allowed his lips to move freely.

“Yeah?” You ask in a whisper that touches his mouth first, his cottoned ears much, much later.

Kyle nods. Doesn’t break the kiss again, doesn’t dare.

You feel good, he thinks. Too good to let go, with your lithe fingers barely reaching around, with the cold bands of your rings causing gooseflesh to rise on his thighs.

He grabs your hand, reluctantly taking it away from his cock, until he has it hovering between your faces, palm facing your lips.

“Spit,” he says.

You heed him, an eager shake in your breath as you release a glob of saliva on your own palm. Kyle turns it his way and flattens his tongue against it, licking upward, until he has your middlemost fingers in his mouth.

Your legs shake in shivers that travel to the tips of your toes, back arched like you’re trying to press your sex back against something only to find a wall of air.

Kyle twirls his tongue around your pads only to watch you squirm, because he likes the way your lips tremble in anticipation each time.

He releases your hand, shining with yours and his spit, and presses the softest kiss on the tips of your fingers. You guide it back down, to where his cock rests, heavy and leaking, on his now wrinkled navy shirt.

When your hands curl around him again, Kyle sighs a shaky breath, like you’ve finally gone and given him what he needs. His head spins a bit faster, then, but he’s not daft enough to place the blame exclusively on the bourbon he just drank.

“Much better,” he murmurs, trying to keep his eyes open.

His breath hesitantly reaches out for yours, as they mingle in the sliver of space between your lips.

Alcohol increases hunger, they say, and Kyle’s never felt more voracious than he does now. His movements might be a bit slower, but he still manages to tug at the straps of your dress, watching them flow down your shoulders. His finger’s already at the neckline, tugging down just enough to have your breasts spill out.

Your hand tightens a fraction around his cock when his mouth curls around your nipple. He’s zeroed in on it the moment your tits came to view, licked his lips and dived in headfirst.

Kyle sucks on it as though he’s never tasted anything of the likes before. He grazes his teeth around it as it pebbles under his tongue, his hand kneading and grabbing at the softer flesh of your breasts.

“Taste so good,” he mumbles, almost like an afterthought, like he’s sure you’re not hearing him and he’s there alone, talking to himself.

The only way you know he’s actively there with his head, it’s when his hand grasps your own around his cock. The head shines with precum and your spit after you’ve diligently spread it all over its length.

“Bit tighter, love.” He rasps, voice so rough and jagged you feel it rumble in your chest.

You follow his lead, allowing him to guide you even though you already know how he likes it. But there’s something unbelievably hot in having Kyle take you through the motions—showing you exactly how to make his teeth grind, and his hips tilt.

“Like that,” he goes on before you can ask if this is okay. “Fuck—fuck, like tha’.”

You hold his head to your chest, as his kisses become less focused, more open and sloppy, like he wants to taste you all over. Biting down where the flesh is more tender, leaving blooming love bites on your skin.

His hands explore with similar hunger, gripping wherever they land—from the fat of your waist to that of your thighs. Your dress rides up and he takes the chance to feel your warm skin dimpling under his fingers.

Kyle gives it away easily when his hips jerk upward in a desperate attempt to fuck your fist. You recognize the stutter in his breath as well as that of his movements.

Gently, you tap his cheek and he drops his head back on the cushions, as if recognizing the muted order.

You meet his eyes. Heavily hooded, occasionally rolling back as he fights it, deciding to focus them on your face instead.

“Gonna cum, Kyle?” You breathe into his mouth.

Kyle chokes on a groan, or a reply—you’re not sure, and judging by the fucked out look on his face, you reckon he doesn’t have a clue either.

“Yeah, baby?” You pant, like all of this is happening to you and not to him.

His jaw locks tight, junction bulging each time he grinds his teeth.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Fuck—yes.”

You drop your forehead on his, noses brushing. Your forearm aches and tightens, but you push through because there aren’t sights as good as Kyle when he’s bathing in bliss.

“Then cum, baby,” you whisper to his lips, gently pressing them to his. “Cum for me yeah?”

Beneath you, Kyle arches his back before his body grows taut. His cock twitches in your hand, spilling cum over your fingers while some spurts reach farther and stain his shirt. He bites on his own teeth, huffing from his nose to keep quiet.

Gingerly, though a bit too cheeky, you press your lips to his and nibble at his lower lip. His mouth hangs open to reciprocate, and that causes the sounds he tried to keep in to spill out.

A heavy groan that chokes on itself into a softer, breathy moan. Stuttered, cracked.

Fucking hell that would be enough to make you cum, if you had him stuffing you full instead of filling your hand.

But still, you bask in this like it’s happening to you. His eyes rolled back, eyelids heavy and almost closed, fingers leaving imprints on your thighs as he clutches the flesh so very tight—only thing currently tethering him to earth.

As his cock softens in your hand, you slow down your pace until you stop completely, aside from a gentle swipe on the sensitive head of his dick. It makes his muscles twitch, and you chuckle softly at that.

You give him time to recollect himself, gently using one flap of his shirt to clean your fingers—it's already stained anyway, right? No harm done.

A kiss on the corner of his mouth seems to be what brings him down.

Kyle blinks once. Twice. Until his eyes focus on you, finally.

As he regains his bearings, he breathes a laugh, airy, like there’s no strength in him to offer more than that. A sigh that makes him deflate, and then his lips spread in a dopey smile.

He looks high on it.

You press a kiss to his nose. “Good?”

He nods emphatically, causing you to giggle a little louder.

He seems to like that, because his hands, still a bit trembling, shoot up and encase you, pulling you down to him. Chest to chest, your arms wrapped around his neck while his own trap you to him by the waist.

He peppers your face with kisses as you push against his chest and laugh until your cheeks burn.

“Baby—” you wheeze, cheeks smushed. “—'m gonna have bloody cum stains on my dress for fuck’s sake!”

His lips are too busy to answer you properly, so his words come out muffled and faint. Still smug as ever, though.

“Eye for an eye.”

You laugh.

“Ah, stop it!”

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles. “Wash it later.”

He nuzzles your neck. “Lemme kiss you now.”

And you let him.

You let him kiss you until your giggles turn softer, until his lips capture yours and you forget how to breathe. Until innocent and fun turns into heated again, and he travels lower down your neck, to your breasts, sucking at the tender flesh.

Until his hands gently guide you backwards and you flop on the sofa, thighs draped over his shoulders.

Kyle eats you out like a man starved. Dips his fingers inside your cunt and presses upward, while his mouth lavishes your clit.

You cum hard on his tongue, holding your breath as your chest flushes with warmth that clutches your lungs. Nails scratching scalp, hips dancing to get closer to his mouth.

He doesn’t let go until you’re floppy and syrupy warm, as glassy eyed as he was moments before.

And then you’re both stumbling to the bedroom, tipsy and high on sex, lazily taking off your clothes and dropping them to the bedroom floor. You collapse in bed, naked and with your tongues still tasting of whisky.

Kyle's arms are wrung around you, nose buried in your neck—until his breath softens, and so does yours.

When you wake up the next morning, it’s because the smell of coffee wafts just below your nose. You inhale, smiling, blinking your eyes open.

Kyle is squatting next to your side of the bed, wearing only a pair of briefs and holding a mug full of steaming coffee.

“Morning sweetheart,” he whispers, looking like he doesn’t even know what a hangover is, the bastard.

“’Ello,” you mumble, sleepy, while nuzzling your pillow.

Kyle sets the cup of coffee on the nightstand. You hear it clink. The coffee sloshes lightly. The steam billowing from it briefly brushes your skin when the cup passes near your face.

Long fingers come to caress you, knuckles to cheek.

“Breakfast’s ready,” he says tenderly. “I got the washing on while you were still asleep.”

You smile softly, whispering a "Thank you" while keeping your eyes closed. Then, almost mindlessly, you ask, “Did you chuck in the colour catcher?”

His hand stills, petrified, and then it leaves your face completely.

Confused and still dazed, you flutter your eyes open at the lack of touch, briefly squinting as the sun peeking through the blinds stings you awake.

Kyle has guilt written all over his face.

“’M gonna fix it,” he says hurriedly, as he stumbles on his feet to get to the laundry room.

You chuckle, rubbing at your face in loving exasperation. Once you’re feeling like a fully functioning human being, you sit up, bare feet touching the cold floors. With your coffee in hand, you shuffle to the kitchen to check on the supposedly ready breakfast.

Because the house is starting to smell like burnt bacon.

#kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #smut #cod smut #x reader #call of duty #foxy #Kyle my beloved

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keferon · 5 months ago

Note

Odds of Survival Part 3

Unstoppable forces meets immovable objects.

Or Prowl finds new reasons to be concerned.

———————————————————————

While Prowl had destroyed the bombers attacking their end of the bridge, the other side had no such saving grace.

The opposite end of the sky bridge had broken off from the Commerce Tower and was now swinging downwards, creating a miles long ramp to obliteration.

There was a 4% chance Prowl could technically survive the impact. However he’d almost certainly be reduced to a sputtering spark trapped in a compacted pile of scrap that had once been his frame. Without instantaneous medical intervention, he would most certainly perish even in the event of the 4% survival chance occurring.

4% halved to 2% when Tacnet registered Jazz magnetizing his hands to Prowls frame.

Tacnet spun wildly and without traction. Whatever actions Prowl could have taken to mitigate the incoming damage was removed by Jazz’s inescapable hold. Every possible strategy terminated instantly in a flurry of error messages as Tacnet tried to factor for the impossible.

Physically, Prowls servos moved on their own, driven by some core deep coding for self preservation that had him frantically clawing at Jazz’s back for either a hand hold or escape as Tacnet spat out a single coherent plan:

(Brace For Impact)

The Praxian briefly wondered if he’d crash before they crashed.

The mechs jolted as Jazz made contact with the bridge turned ramp. A fountain of sparks spraying from his pedes as Jazz hit the bridge upright and began skating down the buckling surface.

Jazz wasn’t just passively sliding along either. Prowl felt powerful legs tense and thrusters make quick adjustments to narrowly avoid lethal splinters of braking pipes and metal sheets.

Odds of Survival 5%

Odds of Survival 6%

Prowl watched the impossible as Tacnet slowly ticked upwards. Through some stroke of insanity, Jazz was controlling their descent. Analyzing the white mechs motions, Prowl concluded they were practiced. Unbelievably, Jazz somehow had previous experience with similar circumstances.

On what Fragging planet does somebody regularly go careening down incredibly steep slopes at high speeds with only their own athleticism to keep them alive?!

Skill alone wasn’t enough however, because Jazz was slowly loosing control. As the sky bridge swung inexorably downwards, their ramp was steadily becoming steeper. Prowl could feel one of Jazz’s legs beginning to involuntarily shudder under the continued strain. The obstacles kept coming faster and faster, the visored mech barely keeping pace.

If he dropped me, Jazz has a 23% chance at saving himself.

Prowl caught sight of a chunk of bridge breaking outwards that spanned the total width of it. No getting around it. The jagged edge lifted just high enough to bisect him just below the wings. Prowl turned away.

Jazz leapt.

The deafening vibrations of metal on metal grinding suddenly stopped. An instrumental segment filled the gap.

Gravity ended their short reprieve.

This time when they collided with bridge, Prowl felt Jazz land wrong and then suddenly the sky was whipping past his optics.

Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge.

Tacnet greedily took in their current velocity, rate of rotation, and angle of the sky bridges decent to inform Prowl that Jazz and his combined weight would land on his helm.

Thank you Tacnet, I hate you.

Jazz shifted and Prowls vision went white.

Despite Tacnets certainty to the contrary, Prowl was not unconscious or dead.

ERROR, moon, ERROR. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, ERROR, bridge, rubble. Stars, moon, bridge, rubble.

They were flipping through the air again.

Jazz landed on his feet this time but couldn’t stop their rolling. Prowl felt fast painful scrapes against his servos and peds.

Stars, bridge, rubble. Stars, bridge, rubble.

Tacnet took in their velocity and rotation again. Calculating their distance to the wreckage at the end of their fall.

Impact Survival 74%

Impact location Doorwings 87%

At least his doorwings were already offlined.

By then, the two mechs were no longer bouncing, but rolling fully across the remains of the bridge. Prowl locked himself around Jazz and braced for impact.

Collision was instant and deafening.

Prowls sense of balance was rubber banding. The instant stop after what felt like vorns of spinning out of control was just as disorientating as the fall itself.

In a lapse of memory, he onlined his doorwings.

Prowl remembered why he left them offline a click too late and sucked in a vent.

Except. They were functioning. The edges stung and the tip’s were badly chipped but both sensors were fully operational.

Blunt helm trauma. He must be having a severe processor malfunction. Prowl unlocked protesting joints and looked over his shoulders at his doorwings.

They were only lightly damaged, fully functional, and only a servos width from the pile of rubble he was being held above.

A black and white arm extended past his wings, buried wrist deep in the wreckage.

Jazz still had a death grip around his waist, visor pressed into Prowls shoulder.

“Jazz?” Prowl tried. If he put his vocalizer against his audial, the sound should carry. The music played out its final notes, leaving the silence of the moon in its wake.

“Jazz?” Prowl tried a little harder, pulling at the servo still magnetized to his back, unhooking his peds to kneel on the rubble. They had fallen into the 90 degree crook of the second cylindrical extension. The bridge had come to rest at last, kicking up enough moon dust to obscure their survival from any searching quintessons. For now.

Jazz slurred something in his native language, before repeating in common, “Gimme a click. I’m gonna throw up real quick.”

Prowl flared his wings, scanning the area. It was a relatively short drop to the moons surface. Once there, Prowl could transform and carry the both of them at speed to the outpost. Clearly, Jazz had no trouble holding onto him.

Speaking of, Jazz finally, slowly began to uncurl from Prowls frame.

He looked terrible. His visor had splintered crack’s across one side, the isolated fragments independently flickering. One horn was stuck pinned against his helm, sparking where shrapnel was jammed into the gap. He was visibly wobbling, and even with an em field Prowl could tell he was badly disoriented.

Jazz stared at Prowl for a while, before looking to his hand still buried in rubble. He tried pulling it free gently and when that didn’t work, got a completely ruined and mostly toe-less ped braced next to it and yanked

Jazz’s hand came free. At the same time something important looking snapped and fell out of his shoulder. The limb going limp.

Prowl didn’t have the bandwidth to process that at the moment.

Instead, he plucked up the chunk of shoulder into sub space. Tacking that onto the growing list of injuries they’d both needed tending to.

Cautiously, Prowl reached up to gingerly touch the back of his helm, fully expecting to feel exposed and crushed circuitry. Instead, he felt several dents, aligned in parallel. Very tender, but most certainly not as damaged as it should have been.

How?

Tacnet answered by mapping the contours of the dents, drawing Prowls optics to the back of Jazz’s obliterated servo.

The remains of the sky bridge shuttered.

Odds of Survival 45%

Prowl got Jazz’s attention and began pulling him towards the ledge they’d need to descend. Effectively deaf, probably blind, down an arm and forced to walk on two severely injured peds, Prowl only felt some relief when he finally wrangled Jazz to rest on top of his alt form.

Watching him struggle down the ledge was utterly disturbing to watch. Jazz limped along as if he was completely desensitized to pain, behaving as if he was more annoyed by his injuries than agonized.

Package secured, Prowl gunned it for the outpost. Even injured, he trusted Jazz to stay magnetized to his frame with whatever he had left to hold on with.

Out of the dust cloud, Prowl was intimately aware of how exposed they’d be. Confident he wouldn’t loose Jazz, Prowl focused entirely on plotting the most efficient route to the outpost.

The moment it came into view, Prowl pushed his engine past the redline as he registered sniper shots firing just past and above them.

Pursuing quintesson wreckers 78%.

Sure enough, a dead wrecker crashed into the moon dirt a short distance to their left.

Prowl managed a drifting slide past the out post gates, losing exactly enough momentum to match the speed of a running mech, then transformed back to root mode in the same maneuver. An exceedingly useful technique when chasing criminals and a damn effective way to shoulder someone on your roof through a door in the most efficient manner possible.

[Bluestreak, I’ve made it inside the outpost. I have an injured mech with me.]

[Heya Prowl! I saw you tearing it up out there with your backpack buddy! I’ve got a few more stragglers to take care of but you’re welcome to use the medic case I’ve got with me in here. I’ll ping the door for you.]

The primary medkit should be in the outpost storage closet. That is unless Bluestreak pulled it into his snipers nest to tend to his own injuries (22%). Or because Bluestreak pulled it there to force Prowl to bring his “backpack buddy” within conversational distance (92%).

He felt a tap at his shoulder, “Are we safe here?” Jazz yelled in the thin atmosphere. Visor flickering worse than before and visibly making an effort to stay balanced upright on eviscerated peds.

Priorities.

Prowl ignored his annoyance. He hit the trigger to pressurize the airlock and pulled Jazz’s good arm over his shoulders to stabilize the other mech. He had easily a dozen lines of questioning queued up in the backlog of his processor, every single one tagged with Jazz as the subject line. As much as Prowl itched to piece together the puzzle of why he was “Like that.” It’d have to wait until they were both in more stable condition. At least now his vents could actually do something to start cooling his overstressed processor.

“For now. We are somewhat safe.”

Prowl muttered quietly in addition, “Against all odds.”

———————————————————————

Bluestreak, seeing Prowl with some very obvious hand prints and very specific paint scratches: “What in the pit did he do to you?”

Bluestreak, seeing Jazz walk in after him with a broken arm, busted horn and an utterly torn up paint job across his back: “What in the pit did YOU do to him?!”

Either one or two parts left, next up Jazz pov.

-SSTP

OH HELL SSTP LET ME HOLD YOUR HAND REALQUICK THIS IS A FIVE STAR MEAL FOR MY SOUL FKKDJFG I JUST. I NEVER FUCKING GET TIRED OF THE WAY YOU WRITE I know I'm probably repeating myself at this point BUT IT'S JUST WHAT MY TRUTH LOOKS LIKE OKAY. EVERY TIME I SEE AN ASK FROM YOU AND START READING IT I GO "Oh M A N the author cooked so hard they should've made Ratatouille 2 about this way of placing words."

#mecha pilot jazz au #mecha writing #mecha jp writing #NOW THIS IS WHAT A REAL TREAT LOOKS LIKE #CAN YOU HOOK THIS FIC UP STRAIGHT TO MY BRAIN PLEASE #the...the way the contrast is shown #Prowl who can feel pain. just straight up suffering bc he's alive robot #and Jazz who is a fucking war machine but also hooo boy I'm fucking scared to imagine what was happening inside the mech #maccadam #jazz #prowl #jazzprowl

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gguk-n · 6 months ago

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Fate Accelerates (Lewis Hamilton x Reader)

Summary- In a world where soulmates exist. Some people have a countdown on their wrist, counting down to the time they will meet their soulmate. Lewis is so shocked when the time suddenly decreases after his career changing decision.

Ferrari wanted to sign Lewis Hamilton for a while. And the moment he gave them the time of his day; they were able to convince Lewis to leave Mercedes after so many years and so many championships. Lewis had thought long and hard before he signed the contract, he had always wanted to drive in red, that was a dream come true for any driver and he was just going to move towards another one of his dreams.

Lewis grew up with a timer on his wrist. He had asked why he had one and his mum told him it to tell him when he would meet his soulmate. The timer would fluctuate over the years from spanning to decades to couple years. Whenever he would get excited about meeting his soulmate the timer would suddenly increase. Before he had signed the contract, the countdown on his wrist read a couple more years. Lewis had stopped caring at that point, he wasn't sure he would ever meet his soulmate and if he did, that would be pretty neat he thought but even if he didn't, it didn't really matter, not now anyways.

It was a few days after he had signed the contract when he noticed the timer on his wrist. It made him do a double take; it had been years since the timer had been down to almost a year but Lewis did not get his hopes up. He would've liked to but all these years of waiting had made him not so forgiving.

As the season began and time passed, the countdown to meeting his soulmate had begun. He watched at the days ticked by. Lewis felt himself getting giddy when the timer was almost 6 months. It had never happened. He had never been this close to seeing his soulmate, ever. He would sit and talk to Roscoe about meeting his mum soon and how excited he felt. He felt 15 again, the first time the timer had gotten close to around 10 months but then suddenly jumped up. Lewis found himself waiting; as he calculated the time; it coincided with his first day at Ferrari. He felt reassured to have made this decision.

Y/N was a PR manager in one of the biggest companies in Italy. Her knowledge in law and journalism gave her the edge her colleagues lacked. She had moved to Italy when she was in high school due to her father's work and stayed ever since. She was happy with her job and the place she worked at until she was scouted.

Ferrari scouted her; they wanted her as the PR manager for Lewis Hamilton. You would've been an idiot to not have heard of Lewis Hamilton. She was skeptical of leaving her comfortable job behind but the team was relentless in pursuing her. They wanted some one as good as Lewis to handle all of his PR stuff and in their eyes Y/N was the queen of PR management. After many discussion and long drawn out meeting, Y/N agreed to join Ferrari.

Y/N had a timer on her wrist, just like Lewis and it would countdown to when she would meet her soulmate. What shocked her was the fact that her countdown had suddenly decreased and she couldn't be more confused. She had given up trying to find her soulmate since the timer fucked with her so much growing up, that she forgot it even existed.

As the time grew closer to the end of the season, the timer on their wrist had also started blinking. Lewis and Y/N watched as the year turned into months and months into days. The pair allowed themselves to be excited over the prospect of actually finally meeting their soulmate.

It was Lewis's first day at Ferrari. He was nervous and excited at the same time. His childhood dream was coming true and the timer on his wrist was in minutes, something that had never happened. He sped to Maranello; what if his soulmate is a race engineer? So many thoughts were swirling through his head. He tried to remain calm and not lose his composure.

Y/N had put a little more effort in getting ready when she saw her timer read only 2 more hours. She almost burnt her shirt and her hand while ironing it out and almost crashed her car on the way to her first day of work. She wasn't sure what to expect but the minutes ticking away didn't help either. She was sat in a room waiting for her new client, Lewis Hamilton with a bounce in her leg wanting to leave soon to find her soulmate.

Lewis strode into the building, being dragged around to show the place off. He lost track of the timer on his hand and before he knew it he was being ushered into a room. As he opened the door, he felt a burning sensation on his wrist and when he looked down the timer was gone. There was a woman sat on the chair staring at her wrist rubbing the place where the timer sat vigourously.

Lewis slowly walked up to her, making her look up. They looked at each other and it was as if they knew. "You're" she began only to be lost for words. "That's Y/N Y/L/N, she'll be your PR manager" Fred interrupted. Lewis smiled, raising his hand to shake. When their hands finally met, it was like electricity flowing through them. "Lewis Hamilton" he stated. She didn't let the hand go. "My soulmate" she mumbled. "The one and only" Lewis replied. "I've waited so long for this" she muttered with tears in her eyes. Lewis raised his other hand, not letting go of her hand yet and slowly wiped the tears pooling in her eyes. "Me too" Lewis reassured. "Joining Ferrari was the best decision I made" the two said in unison before bursting into a fit of laughter leaving Fred very confused.

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moonastro · 6 months ago

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MAHADASHAS in Vedic astrology

So I have wanted to make this post for a very long time and since so many of you wanted it, here it issss😊😊

So in this post I am going to be going through what each mahadasha may bring you in terms of life occurrences. I am also going to be including example of specific placements that can be correlated to life events according to your natal chart also, because the mahadasha that you’re in now, looking at its placement in your natal chart influences it also.

**i am also going to include my own examples of my own mahadashas for referencing purposes

How to calculate your mahadashas?? A very handy website is farfaraway or another one would be astrosage.

what is a mahadasha?? Mahadashas are an integral concept in Vedic astrology, referring to extended periods in a person's life dominated by the influence of a specific planet. Each Mahadasha spans a fixed number of years, with its duration determined by the Vimshottari Dasha system, which assigns a total cycle of 120 years among the nine planets (Sun, Moon, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn, Rahu, and Ketu). These periods are believed to shape significant events and themes in a person's life based on the nature, strength, and placement of the ruling planet in their natal chart. Within a Mahadasha, there are sub-periods, or antardashas, which further refine its effects.

sun mahadasha: lasts 6 years

being in the sun mahadahsa typically brings success in government related opportunities;

ego related conflicts or transformations

potential heart related illnesses or scares

12H sun linked to prison/ mental health institution/ travelling, 11H sun linked to joining groups/ finding your niche/ finding yourself, natal sun in 10H may mean career opportunities/public recognition/ relationship with father is improved if natal sun is placed well/ increased physical health/ having alignment with your purpose, 9H may be related to charities and being involved in government funded charities, 8H sun may mean related themes to banking/ financial problems/ injuries and hospital visits, 7H sun can be linked to marriage/law assortments, 6H suns linked to hospital visits/dental work/pet adoption, 5H sun linked to planning/ weddings/ hobby success, 4H sun linked to real estate/ moving house/ house decorating/ mother linked illness, 3H sun linked to transport/ car accidents/ document sorting/ government publicism/ expression of freedom, 2H sun linked to financial growth / recognition for financial gains/ can cause financial fluctuation is sun is afflicted in chart, 1H sun linked to increased confidence/ opportunities to take on leadership roles/ improved health if sun is not afflicted/ increased focus in life.

your antardasha with your sun mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ sun antardasha- leadership events and opportunities, success in hobbies and success in general, life may feel very bright and like its going your way, increased self confidence and socialisation.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ moon antardasha- emotional fulfilment, emotional excitement, feeling more excitement and feeling more in general,

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ mars antardasha- career progress and change, sudden courage to do stuff you have been putting off, potential for conflicts and arguments with those around you.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ mercury antardasha- intellectual growth and progress, potential studying success, communicative accomplishments and feeling like you get to express yourself truly with words, business advice and gains.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ jupiter antardasha- spiritual growth and gain, financial growth and having luck with money, lots of opportunities with learning and teaching.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ venus antardasha- romantic flings and developments, luxury acquisitions, artistic success.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ saturn antardasha- set backs and challenges, stability in career through hard work, something that was postponed being completed.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ rahu antardahsa- sudden changes, ambition changes and views, instability and irregular outcomes in life.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ ketu antardasha- sudden detachments, spiritual exploration, unexpected shifts in life and events.

moon mahadasha: lasts 10 years

strengthening of family bonds

marriage

childbirth

emotional outbursts

mental health challenges

12H moon events linked to emotional transformation/heightened sensitivity/ strong inclines to meditation and yoga/ opportunities for foreign travel/ time spend in tranquil places like the sea and such/ increased spendings on charities/ hidden expenses/ opportunities to address mental health problems/ seeking therapy and counselling/ a need for emotional support/ potential sleep disturbances/ health problems related to fluids stress and the lymphatic system, 11H moon events linked to experiencing financial improvements/ Opportunities to fulfil long-standing desires or achieve significant milestones in personal or professional life/ you might form meaningful connections with influential people/Possible involvement in large organizations /Strong emotional connections with friends and elder siblings/ dealing with groups/ You may feel emotionally attuned to the needs of your social circle/ This period could involve creative or artistic ventures that gain recognition/ Opportunities to participate in charitable or humanitarian activities might emerge, 10H moon events linked to Significant progress in the professional domain/Enhanced creativity and decision-making abilities in the workplace/ Periods of uncertainty or emotional dissatisfaction in the workplace/ Challenges in maintaining focus due to emotional instability or over-sensitivity/Situations where emotions or personal matters become public knowledge, potentially leading to stress/ leading to anxiety about public image/Establishing strong relationships with colleagues/Growth in popularity or admiration due to a nurturing and understanding nature, 9H moon events linked to increased interest in spirituality, religion, or philosophical studies/Pursuit of higher education or academic achievements, especially in fields related to literature, philosophy, psychology, or theology/ Long-distance travel, especially to spiritually significant or foreign locations/ Strengthening of bonds with father figures or teachers/ Events such as marriage, childbirth, or nurturing family ties may occur, 8H moon events linked to Interest in emotional healing or therapy to address past traumas/ gains through inheritance/ Possible focus on health, particularly related to reproductive organs, digestion, or mental well-being/ Interest in alternative healing methods or psychological therapies/ Periods of emotional isolation or intense self-reflection may occur/ Increased curiosity or involvement in spirituality, astrology,7H moon events linked to bringing recognition, popularity, or opportunities for interaction with the public/ An afflicted Moon could lead to mood swings, misunderstandings, or conflicts in relationships/ managing expectations and criticism could be stressful/could indicate issues with hormonal imbalances, digestion, or stress-related problems.

6H moon events linked to Increased focus on health, nutrition, and emotional well-being/Potential for minor health issues related to stress, digestion, or mental health, depending on the Moon's condition (afflicted or strong)/If afflicted, work-related stress or dissatisfaction might arise/ Efforts to clear debts or financial obligations/ If the Moon is unstable, there may be inconsistency or struggle to maintain balance, 5H moon events linked to New romantic connections might form, often with an emotionally fulfilling and nurturing partner/Focus on children becomes prominent- could mean having children, increased involvement in their lives, or emotional fulfilment through parenting/ Opportunities for higher education, especially in creative fields like art, music, or literature/ Potential issues with digestion or hormonal imbalances if the Moon is under affliction,4H moon events linked to deep connections with family and roots, particularly the mother or maternal figures/ Renovation, relocation, or acquisition of property, a home, or land/ The health or well-being of the mother may require attention, depending on the Moon's strength, 3H moon linked to Strengthening bonds with siblings, cousins, or close relatives/ Resolving past conflicts or offering emotional support to siblings/ Frequent short-distance travels, possibly related to work or leisure, 2H moon events linked to If the Moon is well-placed (e.g., in Taurus, Cancer, or Pisces), there could be a significant boost in income, wealth accumulation, or investments/ If the Moon is weak there could be instability in finances or unexpected expenses/ Overreaction to minor family or financial issues, leading to mental stress or decision-making driven by emotions rather than logic, 1H moon events linked to shifting towards improving physical health or appearance/emphasize self-awareness, self-expression.

your antardasha with your moon mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Sun Antardasha-Recognition, improved confidence, leadership roles.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Moon Antardasha- Emotional well-being, focus on relationships and family.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Mars Antardasha- Energy surge, possible emotional volatility.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Mercury Antardasha-Enhanced communication, creativity, and social interactions.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Jupiter Antardasha- Peaceful family life, spiritual growth, prosperity.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Venus Antardasha-Romantic harmony, material pleasures, aesthetic pursuits.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Saturn Antardasha- Responsibility, emotional resilience, challenges.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Rahu Antardasha- Disruptions, unexpected gains, emotional confusion.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Ketu Antardasha- Spiritual insights, detachment from worldly matters.

mars mahadasha: lasts 7 years

pursuit of goals

conflicts

injuries

career advancements in dynamic fields eg, engineering

property acquisition

12H mars events linked to Career opportunities in foreign locations or industries with global outreach/ Confrontations with hidden enemies, rivals, or legal issues/Possible health issues related to inflammation, accidents, or surgeries, 11H mars events linked to Increased financial gains, especially if Mars aspects the 2nd or 5th house/Potential career shifts involving real estate, technology, engineering, or entrepreneurship/ Surge in energy, drive, and physical stamina, 10H mars events linked to Opportunities for leadership roles/ Motivation to take bold actions that bring recognition and authority/ Potential disputes or challenges with authority figures or colleagues/ Acquisition of land, property, or vehicles may occur, 9H mars events linked to risk-taking, and embarking on exciting new projects, especially in areas related to travel, publishing, or exploration/ may face legal disputes or conflicts regarding ethical or moral decisions/ disagreements or confrontations with teachers, mentors, or father figures, 8H mars events linked to facing legal issues, conflicts/ there could be involvement in scandals/ Increased inclination toward bold decisions, possibly involving investments or entrepreneurial ventures/ might bring separations or endings to relationships, 7H events linked to disagreements or power struggles with a spouse or partner if not managed carefully/ might bring opportunities for relocation, especially related to career or a partner/ public disputes or criticism, 6H mars events linked to success in fields related to law enforcement, defence, healthcare, or litigation is likely/ adopting a disciplined fitness routine or overcoming chronic health issues/ involve paying off loans or managing financial liabilities, 5H mars events linked to focus toward education or creative fields, especially in areas requiring strategy, boldness, or physical activity/ Intense romantic relationships or passionate love affairs/ Risk-taking in speculative ventures like the stock market or gambling, 4H mars events linked to involvement in real estate matters such as buying, selling, or constructing property/Sudden changes in the living situation, such as relocating to a new home/ Purchase of new vehicles or upgrades to existing ones, 3H mars events linked to learning new skills, particularly those involving hands-on or physical effort/Care may be needed to avoid accidents or injuries involving the hands, shoulders, or during short travels/ Frequent short trips, either for work or personal growth, 2H mars events linked to heightened activity or conflicts within the family/Miscommunication or arguments could arise/A shift in personal values, 1H mars events linked to increased energy and focus on physical fitness/Potential for health issues related to injuries, fevers, or head-related problems/ may need to guard against rash decisions or confrontations.

your antardasha with your mars mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ Sun Antardasha- Assertiveness, leadership, potential conflicts.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha- Emotional highs and lows, focus on family.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha- High energy, bold decisions, possible aggression.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha- Sharp intellect, communication successes, potential disputes.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha- Growth, wisdom, and spiritual aspirations.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha- Romantic encounters, creative endeavors, indulgence.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha- Hard work, career stability, delays.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha- Ambition-driven changes, risks, and gains.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha- Withdrawal, spiritual focus, endings of cycles.

mercury mahadasha: lasts 17 years

success in education

growth in writing

teaching others something new

enhanced social events

nervous system illnesses and health issues eg, anxiety, panic attacks etc.

12H mercury events linked to opportunities for relocating to or working in foreign lands/ Interest in learning mystical or abstract subjects like philosophy, psychology, or spirituality/Dealing with issues related to immigration, foreign investments, or disputes, 11H mercury events linked to misunderstandings in friendships or social circles/ Miscommunications or conflicts in professional or personal setting/ Success in educational or intellectual pursuits,10H mercury events linked to public speaking, writing, or intellectual discussions/Pursuit of higher education or specialized training to enhance career prospects/gain popularity through effective communication or innovative ideas, 9H mercury events linked to higher education opportunities/ Success in exams, certifications, or research/ Opportunities to learn new languages or skills/Relocation to a foreign country for studies or career advancements, 8H mercury events linked to trust issues or conflicts over shared resources/Periods of emotional intensity or fear of the unknown/New beginnings after endings, such as starting a fresh career or personal chapter, 7H mercury events linked to signing important contracts or forming alliances in business/Improved communication in relationships/marriage or significant relationship developments could occur, 6H mercury events linked to bringing opportunities to resolve karmic issues related to work, health, or service/ There may be a desire or need to pursue further education, certifications/ may face challenges in communication with co-workers, 5H mercury events linked to pursuit of higher education or specialized knowledge/New romantic relationships that are mentally stimulating or based on shared intellectual interests/ Success in childbirth and a focus on the intellectual development of children, 4H mercury events linked to changes in your living situation, possibly related to intellectual or family matters/Potential mental stress or emotional conflicts needing resolution/may also start to address any unresolved emotional issues that affect your communication and intellectual growth, 3H mercury events linked to focusing on connecting with a wide range of people, whether through social media, professional networks, or educational pursuits/Learning could become a central theme, and they may be drawn to acquire practical or specialized knowledge/short journeys and travel can become more frequent or significant, 2H mercury events linked to bringing health-related events concerning speech or the vocal cords/dealing with inheritance, family-owned businesses/ focus on earning money through communication-related fields,1H mercury events linked to opportunities for self-improvement, refinement of personal identity/Possible challenges with overthinking, stress, or scattered focus/Health concerns related to the nervous system or respiratory issues.

your antardasha with your mercury mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Sun Antardasha-Success in communication, leadership in intellectual endeavors.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha-Emotional expression, creative focus.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha- Dynamic decision-making, intellectual arguments.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha- Peak communication skills, learning, social growth.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha- Wisdom, financial gains, spiritual focus.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha- Creativity, romantic developments, luxury gains.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha- Patience in work, career consolidation, focus on responsibilities.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha- Innovation, unconventional ideas, potential instability.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha- Detachment, reflection, unique insights.

examples- during a mercury mahadasha (which is placed in the 8th house- linked to death and transformational events- my grandmother passed. it was during a saturn antardahsa that is placed in the 10th house which can often represents publicity. it was during a moon period also which links to the mother/ maternal side of family- she was in fact a mother figure.

jupiter mahadasha: lasts 16 years

marriage

childbirth

spiritual awakening

financial stability

opportunities for higher learning

overindulges and financial risks

12H jupiter events linked to resolving past karmic debts/focus on mental health, working through any subconscious issues that may affect their well-being/ undergo psychological transformation or healing, 11H jupiter events linked to increased communication with friends and colleagues/heightened public profile/ online education, social media, or content creation,10H jupiter events linked to significant career growth/make you overly confident in your career decisions, leading to overextension or unrealistic expectations/increase in income, 9H jupiter events linked to bringing opportunities for advanced studies, traveling abroad for education/pursue higher education or specialized studies, possibly abroad, with a focus on philosophy, religion, law, or foreign cultures/ expansion opportunities, 8H jupiter events linked to be drawn to the study of occult sciences, psychology, or metaphysical subjects, expanding your understanding of life's mysteries/may experience events that force you to adapt intellectually or communicate in ways that encourage deep self-exploration/may communicate in a way that deepens intimacy or resolves hidden issues in relationships. You might also explore subjects related to sexuality, psychology, or shared emotional experiences with a partner, leading to profound growth, 7H jupiter events linked to overindulgence or unrealistic expectations/involve entering a marriage or partnership with someone who shares intellectual interests/experience favorable outcomes in legal matters or business agreements,6H jupiter events linked to improvement in health or the ability to manage ongoing health issues/ focus on mental health, stress management, and using intellect to improve physical well-being/new job opportunities,5H jupiter events linked to heightened artistic output/enter into a fulfilling and expansive love affair/highly auspicious for having children,4H jupiter events linked to opportunities to learn about your ancestral lineage/ undergo significant emotional healing/ nurturing and supportive influence from your mother, 3H jupiter events linked to forming connections that broaden your influence, especially with people from different backgrounds or cultures/experience meaningful travels/bring opportunities for higher education,2H jupiter events linked to improvements in your family’s financial situation/could bring issues related to overindulgence or weight gain/brings wealth through various links, 1H jupiter events linked to leading to long-distance travel, cultural exchanges, or experiences that broaden your understanding of the world/can bring new people and opportunities into your life/engage in new health practices, adopt a healthier lifestyle, or embark on an exercise routine that enhances your overall vitality.

your antardasha with your jupiter mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Sun Antardasha-Growth in leadership, success, and wisdom.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha- Emotional fulfillment, peaceful family life.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha- Ambitious pursuits, bold decisions, leadership.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha-Learning, communication skills, teaching opportunities.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha-Spiritual growth, wealth accumulation, opportunities.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha-Harmony, luxury, and artistic endeavors.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha-Structured growth, disciplined success, challenges.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha-Unexpected opportunities, material focus.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha-Spiritual detachment, profound insights.

venus mahadasha: lasts 20 years

romantic relationships

financial prosperity

career growth in arts and aesthetics

acquisition of wealth and luxury

health concerns related to sugar and reproductive organs

12H venus events linked to luxury and comfort in foreign lands/ Spiritual growth and harmony through creative expression/Emotional struggles in relationships, secrecy, or isolation in love life, 11H venus events linked to increase in income streams/Fulfillment of long-held desires, such as purchasing a dream home, car, or luxury items/Living a comfortable and aesthetically pleasing lifestyle, 10H venus events linked to formation of significant romantic relationships, often with someone influential or from a professional setting/Opportunities to acquire property, vehicles, or luxurious items/A tendency toward excessive luxury or attachment to material comforts might create financial strain, 9H venus events linked to meeting a romantic partner during travel, education, or spiritual journeys/Pursuit of higher studies in creative or artistic fields such as literature, fine arts, music, or philosophy/ Significant foreign travel, possibly for higher education, career, or spiritual exploration,8H venus events linked to emotional turbulence, possessiveness, or issues of secrecy and trust in romantic relationships/ Periods of emotional vulnerability, including facing fears or hidden insecurities/Exploration of healing practices, such as alternative medicine or therapy,7H venus events linked to a strong likelihood of marriage/Acquisition of material comforts like a new home, luxury items, or vehicles/Enjoyable leisure trips or honeymoons,6H venus events linked to improvements in health routines/Support from professionals like dietitians, therapists, or wellness coaches/Debts, expenses on luxury items, or legal battles involving finances, 5H venus events linked to strong focus on romantic relationships/childbirth and receiving good new about children/having success with hobbies or falling in love with a certain hobby, 4H venus events linked to childbirth/ new addition to the family whether its a new sibling or cousin and such/moving house,3H venus events linked to lots of meaningful roadtrips/ successful communications with siblings and online/ online fame, 2H venus events linked to eating lots of good food/ gaining weight because of it/ eating too much sweet food/ cooking more often,1H venus events linked to self confidence/ regaining self care/ taking care of your beauty routine and hygiene.

your antardasha with your venus mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Sun Antardasha- Recognition in creative fields, leadership in arts.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha- Romantic fulfillment, emotional depth.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha- Energy-driven success, bold decisions.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha- Creative communication, intellectual success.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha- Wealth, harmony, spiritual pursuits.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha-Peak luxury, artistic recognition, romantic harmony.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha- Focus on stability, discipline, and practical pleasures.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha- Ambitions in luxury, unconventional partnerships.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha- Spiritual creativity, detachment from indulgence.

saturn mahadasha: lasts 19 years

challenges and delays

heightened focus on responsibilities

financial struggles followed by eventual rewards

periods of isolation

12H saturn events linked to depressed episodes/ isolation/ feeling suicidal, 11H saturn events linked to goals being achieved/ a new beginning of some sort, 10H saturn events linked to isolation/ having panic attacks/ being more self aware and reacting to other reactions towards what you do, 9H saturn events linked to opportunities for pursuing advanced studies/Significant journeys, especially for work, education, or spiritual purposes/Strained relationships with father, teachers, or authority figures, 8H saturn events linked to deep karmic lessons/suicidal thoughts or wanting to unalive oneself/ death in the family or just death/ major mental health issues, 7H saturn events linked to divorce- whether it be of parents, your own, or someone you know having a divorce that impacts you in a way/ legal problems to do with tax, document delay such as passport arriving or license being postponed, 6H saturn events linked to health problems/ getting severely sick and being impacted by it for potentially life long/ restricting diet or perhaps having a very poor diet, 5H saturn events linked to sparks dying/ interests falling apart or not working out/ finding an interest that you have been searching for a long time/final success in entertainment enjoyment, 4H saturn events linked to family disassociation/ leaving family home/ traveliing far awaty from home/ having conflict with family members, 3H saturn events linked to staying nonchalant/ reading more perhaps/posponed travel/ draining education, 2H saturn events linked to poor diet/ postponed finance opportunities which means bonus in job that is being postponed and so forth/ losing valuable items in home, 1H saturn events linked to un looked after appearance/ being depressed/ having a very isolative response to people.

your antardasha with your saturn mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Sun Antardasha-Career responsibility, leadership challenges.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha- Emotional endurance, focus on home and stability.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha-Determined action, potential for conflicts.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha- Strategic communication, intellectual growth.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha- Structured spiritual growth, gradual prosperity.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha- Balance between work and pleasures, creativity.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha- Discipline, karmic lessons, steady achievements.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha- Unexpected career twists, ambition.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha- Inner reflection, reduced material focus.

rahu mahadasha: lasts 18 years

Sudden gains or losses

travel

unconventional path

fame or infamy

challenges related to addiction or deceit

spiritual evolution if well-placed

12H rahu events linked to development in spirituality/ spiritual awakening/ travel to foreign land and having success, 11H rahu events linked to positive changes to social circle/ meeting someone destined or fateful/ turning passion into something real and organic/ achieving destined goals, 10H rahu events linked to destined career opportunities/having a successful career debut/ being recognised with your talents and being praised by it,9H rahu events linked to destined travel/ studying abroad/ having destined education education/ being inclined to teach their knowledge to the full of your potential, 8H rahu events linked to destined to destined transformational events happening in life/ major changes in life happening that changes your future/ big money opportunities, 7H rahu events linked to meeting someone karmic/ meeting a life long partner that most likely is destined or fate involved/ getting married, 6H rahu events linked to changes to the body and your health in a life changing way/ may give illness or heal illness that makes you take your health seriously and look after your health more carefully, 5H rahu events linked to transferring hobbies into something more entertaining/ learning a hobby that may give you opportunities that you have never thought of before/ experiencing destined flings and love interests, 4H rahu events linked to creating a family of own/ a new addition to immediate family whether its you getting pregnant or having a child/ destined events linked to family cycles that hopefully change for the better, 3H rahu events linked to destined education success/enhanced communicative skills including enhanced verbal skills/ learning how to be more confident/ destined local travel also/ relations with siblings taking a turn, 2H rahu events linked to destined money making opportunities/ reliving a finance mistake you've had before but learning from it/ experiencing some major finance transformations, 1H rahu events linked to destined appearance changes/ changes to style, fashion and beauty routine/ beauty transformation for the better.

your antardasha with your rahu mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Sun Antardasha-Unconventional leadership roles, challenges to ego.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha- Emotional instability, focus on unorthodox relationships.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha- Risk-taking, dynamic actions, possible aggression.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha- Unconventional communication, sudden opportunities.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha-Spiritual growth amidst material changes.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha- Intense romantic or material desires.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha-Grounding amidst chaos, slow but steady gains.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha- Amplified ambition, unorthodox successes or risks.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha- Spiritual liberation, detachment from chaos.

🤍🤍examples- a celebrity i studied debuted under a rahu mahadasha while their rahu is placed in the 10th house in their natal chart- symbolise career, opportunities, fame- they were under a sun mahadasha that the sun symbolises fame, and the time to shine which even more specifically their sun is placed in the 6th house- attached to labour, work and being overworked, physical appearance.

ketu mahadasha: lasts 7 years

Periods of introspection

spiritual growth

detachment from material pursuits

health issues

possibly abrupt changes in life circumstances

12H ketu events linked to changes of environment-which can be moving home/job/ hobby/ anything related to a shift in your atmosphere/ change in mentality, 11H ketu events linked to getting pushed to a new environment too quickly/ sudden changes in social groups/ forced to change occupation or how you make money,10H ketu events linked to change in job/ change in how you are viewd publically/ having a change of how you feel towards strangers,9H ketu events linked to being distant with your faith/ being put off from education and maybe not wanting to continue studying/ having no intentions to travel and having no passion for things that you used to,8H ketu events linked to death/ dept/ changes in spending habits, 7H ketu events linked to feeling lonely even if in relationship/ feeling no urge to be in a relationship, 6H ketu events linked physical illnesses occurring/ being more prone to unexpected illnesses and diseases- can occur in pets as well/ being strict with dieting, 5H ketu events linked to no interest in going out/ feeling more in tune with music or entertainment/ if in relationship losing attraction to partner, 4H ketu events linked to move in home/ family member fights/ old cycles occurring with family issues, 3H ketu events linked to unnecessary drama occurring/vehicle crashes/ poor communication/ staying more silent than usual/ sibling isolation, 2H ketu events linked to poor diet/ no interest in fulfilling basic hygiene/ not spending money or not recognising the amount of money that is being spent, 1H ketu events linked to going through a transformation/ appearance wise aswell.

your antardasha with your ketu mahadasha:

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Sun Antardasha- Inner transformation, potential challenges to ego.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Moon Antardasha-Emotional detachment, spiritual insights.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mars Antardasha- Energy directed toward spiritual or bold pursuits.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Mercury Antardasha- Intellectual detachment, spiritual communication.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Jupiter Antardasha- Profound wisdom, spiritual awakening.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Venus Antardasha- Romantic detachment, artistic focus.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Saturn Antardasha-Karmic resolutions, disciplined detachment.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Rahu Antardasha-Confusion, spiritual redirection from materialism.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡Ketu Antardasha-Deep spiritual evolution, endings of cycles.

🤍🤍examples- as soon as i entered my ketu mahadasha, i felt so disconnected with the world its crazy. i felt almost nothing, but felt everything at the same time- jokes on me, my ketu is placed in my 12th house- lots of mental health issues especially feeling numb about most things. i used to vivid dream like every day until i entered this mahadasha so weird.

but anyway if you made it this FARRRR, you're a real one fr 🤭but no i hope you enjoyed this post, and feel free to ask any questions 👀🌼😊

#vedic astro notes #vedic astro observations #vedic astrology #sidereal astrology #mahadasha #dasha #antardasha #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #astro placements #astro blog #celebrity astrology #astrology observations #astrology community #astrology

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phant0mth1ef · 10 months ago

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fuck the big 3, it’s just big ME.

“woah! and l/n y/n shoots ahead of the crowd during the tightrope stage, are we sure her quirk isn’t too overpowered, eraserhead?!”

“yes, mic. we’re sure. she has a range.”

you were currently in the number one spot, just ahead of todoroki and bakugou as you ran as if your life depended on it, your arms pumping vigorously at your sides as the blood flowed through your veins.

you were waiting. waiting for the percect moment in the space time continuum, stragetizing, calculating. after all, your quirk was portals, you could open up a portal and walk out at your desired destination, but in order to do so, the timing must always be right unless you want to end up stuck in space.

there was always a distinct moment in which you could travel through a portal, get sucked into the galaxy, and quickly travel through in order to reach your desired destination. all of which is done in the short span of 10 seconds.

bakugou and todoroki had breezed past you by now, their quirks propelling them forwards as you waited for any distinct shift in the air, any sign.

and there it was, the smallest change in the way the clouds were shifting. your opening. you’d quickly opened a portal, getting through and zipping it shut as you ran inside the room you’d been trapped in, quickly reaching the end and opening up your exit portal.

if you were a second too early, or a second too late, you’d be lost in space forever. but your timing was impeccable as you walked through the last portal, your victory secured as you smiled up at the crowd.

you’d looked back, an angry bakugou, a nonchalant todoroki, and a disappointed midoriya.

“tch. space freak.” bakugou walked into your shoulder, causing you to stumble slightly.

you grinned, you could win this whole festival.

#mha #myheroacademia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki

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roselites · 5 months ago

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a nonsense christmas / tyler owens x reader

summary: an unexpected snowstorm traps tyler owens with his workplace nemesis over the holidays. bonus points: there was only one bed.

content warnings: f!reader, allusions to smut

word count: 9k

author’s note: happy holidays! 🎄🎊🤶🏻🕎 i hope they were merry and bright and as stress-free as possible. thank you so much for supporting my three little fics. this is unedited, but i wanted to post it before i went out of town as a gift made specially for the glen girlies - i wrote it to bring you some december cheer. see you next year!

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Over the span of the last twelve hours you’d lost count of the number of times you’d muttered that sentence underneath your breath.

First, it was the office building in New York, where Tyler had the appointment right after yours at a ritzy funding agency. Then it was the airport, where you’d both flown standby and had a Wild West confrontation over the last seat on the plane, only for another passenger to volunteer their place in exchange for a travel voucher. (“It’s not like I’m in a rush to see my family, anyway.”) The woman manning the desk had given you both a look that said, “See, this is how an adult behaves,” which you thought was rich when the guy was clearly trying to cheat his way out of a Christmas dinner. Then, Tyler got assigned the seat behind you on the plane, and in keeping with his infuriating personality, spent the entire flight kicking your seat - or, I’m sorry, just trying to stretch his legs.

After landing, you’d raced to the same rental car company. The woman at this desk kept pointing out that the weather seemed dire and that a snowstorm might hit at any moment, to which you assured her that you weren't headed far—a lie—and glared at Tyler’s back before shuffling into the parking lot with your borrowed keys, hoping his heater would break or that an ex-girlfriend had broken into his house during his absence and left coal in his stocking.

It turned out that the woman at Enterprise was right. The weather was dire; your visibility was shot to hell after the first forty miles, leaving you to squint through the flurry-turned-blizzard, your knuckles white on the steering wheel as you inched forward in your seat, as though you could magically see through the storm if only you pressed your nose just so to the windshield.

After a while you gave up and started to admit that unless you wanted to turn into a human Popsicle, you might need a Plan B. You let out a weary sigh, listening to the weather report on the radio—“If you're safe and cozy at home, it's gonna be a white Christmas, folks, but if you're out on the road, I suggest taking cover and waiting it out for Santa Claus to slide down the chimney.”

You scanned the passing road signs for fast food restaurants, gas stations, and rest stops, even took a few exits just to be hit with NO VACANCY in bright neon reds, making mental calculations for the rest of your trip.

Home was still a long way off: three hours, after dark. Normally you’d power through with an extra-large coffee, but it was snowing, and your window to remain safely on the road was closing with every passing minute.

Dammit.

After the fourth failed attempt at finding lodgings, you sat in the driver’s seat with the heater on and called your sister.

She answered after a few rings. In the background you heard your nephew and nieces screaming their heads off in that kid way. God, you loved those little rugrats but they were undoubtedly a nightmare—you imagined Margo plugging up one of her ears and waving at them to be quiet. Of course, to no avail.

“Where are you?” she demanded, the accusation sharp in her voice. You knew to expect it, so instead of answering, “Well, hello to you too, I can’t control the weather, in case you haven’t noticed,” you went with a plain response, facts only.

“Somewhere in the middle of Benburg.”

“Where?”

“Exactly.”

You heard her sigh. “The snow’s getting pretty bad.”

“No shit.”

“Hey, don't ‘no shit’ me! I told you traveling right before Christmas Eve was going to be a nightmare.”

“And I told you I had no choice.”

She paused. There was whispering on the other end, an almost-silence that put your body on high alert until, finally, she said, “Mom wants to talk to you.”

“Margo, no!”

Your protests fell on deaf ears. The phone was jostled as your mother took it and began to speak.

“Honey, are you almost here?”

Covering your face with your hands, you kept your voice light, knowing she’d be able to detect even the smallest hint of frustration, and then you’d have to put up with another round of “why on earth did you take a meeting in New York right before the holidays?”

“No, mom, I’ve still got a-ways to go.”

You pictured her narrowing her eyes, maybe placing a hand on her cocked hip.

“How long a-ways?”

“Less than two hours,” you lied.

It was absolutely more than two hours.

A pause. “Well, I guess that's okay.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Through gritted teeth and the voice of a demented schoolteacher, you added, “Mom, can you put Margo back on the phone now, please?”

“She wants to talk to you,” you heard her saying from a distance.

After some more jostling, you felt the caller change as you merged back onto the highway and left the motel behind.

“Marg, can you tell her to cut me some slack, please? I’m doing my best.”

“Ha!”

You glared at the console, hoping she could feel it over the phone.

“Gee, thanks! So much for the Christmas spirit!”

“Listen, when you have three kids, two dogs, a husband, all of your in-laws, your parents, and your stepmom breathing down your neck, I’ll have a little more sympathy.”

“Fine… But I promise I’m not leaving you in the lurch on purpose. My flight from New York got delayed, I had some asshole kicking me in the kidneys the whole time, and I can barely see a yard in front of me because of this storm—it’s not exactly a walk in the park for me either.”

No cigar; it was you who felt her glare over the phone this time. Clearly, her issues outweighed all of yours on this occasion, and knowing her sister-in-law, you were inclined to agree.

You added: “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better.”

The wipers on your rented car worked overtime to clear your windshield. You were about to end the call to focus on driving when, up ahead, you saw the red and blue lights of a highway patrol vehicle stopping traffic.

“Oh shit,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?”

“The road is closed.”

“The whole road?”

“Yeah, Marg, the whole road.” She would've argued with you over your tone, except you cut her off with “Hold on—I’m being flagged down.”

A middle-aged man with a mustache came over to your car. He was wearing a fuzzy hat and holding a flashlight now that the purpling sky was fading to black. Without being asked, you lowered your window and shivered at the stream of icy wind that cut through the artificial heat.

“Evening, officer.”

“Good evening. Where’re you headed?”

“Sayre or roundabouts.”

“Rough night to be doing so. This road is no good, you're gonna have to turn around, find a place to wait it out for the night.”

Your heart sank. You knew Margo was listening to everything. By the time you made it home, your ledger would have a massive list in the red which she’d make you pay off somehow—by doing the dishes, playing horse with the kids, or worse, entertaining Kayleen, who would say as she always did that you really ought think about having children soon unless you wanted to get used to “a self-absorbed lifestyle.”

God forbid.

“Do you know anywhere that might have a last-minute vacancy?” you asked the officer, whose shiny name tag read HARRIS.

He scratched behind his ear, twisting his mouth in thought.

“Try the Sunnyside Inn. Back this way to Fairmont, right after the exit, left on Vail.”

“Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Right. Merry Christmas.”

You put your window back up.

“Did you catch that?”

“Sounds like you're grounded,” said Margo. Her eyebrow must be arched because the judgment could be heard loud and clear—if you hadn’t gone to New York…

Well, there was nothing you could do about it now.

“It’s meant to clear up by morning. I’ll still be there long before Christmas.”

“You’d better be.” She sighed.

Your niece Haley was screaming out the words to “The Twelve Days of Christmas” like a possessed banshee and giggling at what she knew must be an ear-splitting performance. You didn't know whether to be more horrified or amused; you remembered doing something similar when you were a child, back when you didn't have to worry about spreadsheets and grants and the trials and tribulations of flying Economy during the worst time of the year.

Margo must be thinking the same. Her tone sounded a little more sympathetic when she said, “Drive safe, and let me know when you find somewhere to spend the night.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Don’t get murdered.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try—do. Someone’s got to help me defuse the tension during Christmas dinner.”

“Me? Defuse tension?”

“Good point.”

After hanging up, you followed Officer Harris’s directions to the Sunnyside Inn. Wherever it was in relation to the highway, there weren’t any signs you could see from the road and it reminded you of a famous, albeit fictional, location where people did go to end up murdered.

You only hoped whoever was on duty at the check-in desk had zero resemblance to Norman Bates or you’d have no choice but to sleep in your car.

Ten minutes later, you arrived at a quaint little building like something out of a Hallmark movie with six parking spaces and no neon out front. The facade was fake stone, the ornamental bushes lining the circular drive covered in a postcard layer of fresh snow. The wooden sign read VACANCY and had an empty slot where the NO might go, which gave you the tiniest sliver of hope, tempered by the thought that a place like this might not pay the utmost attention to a detail like that, especially in the middle of a storm. All in all, it was the sort of place you stayed at when you had no choice, being off the beaten track, but it looked as well maintained as it could be given its age, which you dated back to the 70s because of its slanted roof.

You parked and got your suitcase out of the trunk, the wheels clattering and then coming to an abrupt stop when you saw a figure across the way doing the same with his black carry-on.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you called out.

Tyler Owens grinned. Even from here you could see the dimple on his cheek.

“Road closed?” he asked, still walking towards the entrance. You did the same, glaring as you tried to keep pace with him—no, tried to beat him to the front door.

“You know it is,” you answered, eyes narrowed, dashing the rest of the way just for his hand to reach the metal pull bar first. Damn his longer limbs.

With a smile, he opened the door and waved you through like a Manhattan doorman.

“Ladies first.”

“Wow, I didn't think you were remotely a gentleman.”

“What gave you that impression?”

You brushed past him into the heated lobby, pausing long enough for him to close the door so you could send him a pointed look.

“Oh, I don’t know… maybe your knee on my back?” you enunciated.

“I told you—that was an honest mistake.”

“Right.”

The Sunnyside had a single check-in desk that looked more like the host’s stand at your favorite restaurant than the counter at the cheapest Marriott, but it was decked in cute bells and garlands and baubles that glittered in the light. Behind it stood a woman around your age with straight, shoulder-length hair partially covered by a Santa hat.

As soon as she saw you walking in, she pushed the red strands out of her face and cleared her throat visibly before launching into a practiced spiel.

“Welcome to the Sunnyside Inn, where every day is sunny!”

She was smiling from ear to ear. The effect was a little like that of the creepy twins in The Shining and bah, humbug, were you not in the mood.

“Can I have a room for the night, please?”

You were made to feel guilty by the sudden fall of her face. But clearly Carol—you had to do a double take. Was her name really Carol? At-Christmastime Carol?—had gone to one hell of a customer service training program. Instead of letting your frown turn her smile upside down, she tacked it on with impressively greater fervor. The bell at the end of her hat rattled as she cleared her throat again.

“You’re in luck! We have one vacant room left in the entire hotel—continental breakfast included!”

“I’m sorry,” Tyler butted in, “did you say only one room?”

“Yes, er…” She looked between you, biting her glossed lip. “Is that a problem?”

“We’re not together,” you said, refusing to look in Tyler’s direction.

Carol blushed. She was so pale that you thought it might be her actual blood you were seeing rising to her face and turning a shade of Veruca Salt. Or was it Violet Beauregarde?

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I thought—well… you arrived together.”

“We arrived separately.”

“That’s not what it looked like.”

She blinked owlishly. Your own face was heating up as you felt Tyler putting his hand on his hip and sending you a shit-eating grin. You wouldn’t hear the end of this. You could practically hear him bringing it up at a later date, saying, “You’d be so lucky.”

You felt your jaw lock and your dentist cry. Lips together, teeth apart! She’d obviously never met anyone like Tyler Owens before.

“I can assure you, that's what it is,” you said in a steel-laced voice.

Carol might be an A+ at the customer service thing, but you were an A+ at staring people down until they begged for mercy. The only person you knew who was better at it was Margo, and the only person immune to it—though it drove you crazy to no end—was standing next to you, all six feet of him, in a jacket with snow at the shoulders that had quickly melted and rolled off the fabric. Shoulders… his annoyingly broad shoulders, which you’d had occasion to see with more frequency than you would’ve liked, dressed in what Samantha, one of your colleagues, described as his “slutty little white tees.”

It wasn’t enough for him to be a perpetual thorn in your side, he had to be attractive too, thereby proving that there was no God or that, Whoever they were, they must have an evil sense of humor.

“I’m so sorry.” Carol hung her head. Her hat drooped, the glitter-paper trimming on her suit drooped—there was a high chance that she was actually an elf and you’d just worked your way onto Santa’s Naughty list. Come midnight, you’d be visited by the ghosts of all your ex-lovers and Sarah DeAngelo, your high school nemesis.

Meanwhile, Tyler swooped in like the big hero.

“No worries, I’ll just stay at the next place,” he said. “What is the next place?”

“That would be the Cozy Roadside! But they're all booked up, I’m afraid… It's the storm, you see. Everyone’s trying to hunker down for the night.”

“Right…”

Well, he was taking it better than you’d have done—though it was clear he wasn’t jumping for joy at the thought of turning around and trying his luck in the growing whiteout.

And that was if there weren't more road closures along the way.

“Are you sure you're not together? I’m just saying… it is the holidays.” Carol’s little damn bell jingled again. Could you be charged with assault if you snatched it off her head? you wondered.

You pinned her with a stare and she had the temerity to flinch like a little cartoon dormouse.

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning, it's a time to let bygones be bygones! You make such a lovely couple…” Her laugh was high-pitched, nervous.

You might have ruffled like an angry bird of prey. “We are not—”

“Absolutely not,” said Tyler.

“‘Absolutely’?”

It was the closest you’d ever come to seeing Tyler crack under the force of your EF5 stare. He looked sheepish, his hands in his pockets, giving a little hunkered down shrug that might have been read as boyish and kind of adorable to someone else.

“Listen”—turning to Carol before you could rip him to shreds—“do you know of anywhere I could stay until the roads open up again?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

“What about the lobby?”

“I would if it were up to me, but it's against hotel policy. I could get a write-up.”

This hotel has a policy? You stopped yourself from blurting out the words. There was still a chance this Strawberry Shortcake of a person was one of Santa’s little helpers and, if you kept up being a meanie, you’d end up going to the Bad Place—the Bad Place being the seat next to Margo’s sister-in-law at dinner.

You sighed. “Does my room have a couch?”

“It has a chair,” Carol offered.

You exhaled through your nostrils like an angry bull—would the creature metaphors ever cease? Turning to Tyler, you held up a finger and said, “You’re gonna owe me big time,” and fished your wallet out of your bag.

You slammed your card onto the stand and waited for Carol to check you in. She took out a book from a little cubby and took down your name and ID number, then fiddled with one of those old-school credit card imprinters, the ones you had to use actual elbow grease to use.

“I can have extra linens sent up! And I’ll give you our Friends and Family rate—in honor of the season!”

You have got to be kidding me…

Tyler put his hand on your elbow, stopping your words.

“Thank you, Carol, you've been a real gem.”

Carol flushed again, preening under Tyler’s cowboy charm. I’m gonna be sick, you thought, grabbing your suitcase by the handle and wheeling towards the stairs before you could say anything else.

Your case banged against each carpet-covered step. Tyler was behind you, carrying his without sounds of trouble. You supposed that was a benefit to having arms the size of tree trunks, but you’d rather drop dead on this commercial grade floor than ask him for help.

To drown out the sound of the obvious weakness in your upper half, you adopted a high-pitched baby voice that was nothing like Tyler’s and said, “‘You’ve been a gem, Carol,’” just to mock him.

From Tyler came a huffed-out laugh. “Why, ’re you jealous?”

“As if. I hope your chair has bedbugs,” you called over your shoulder, arriving at the landing and looking for room 227. You unlocked the door without waiting, tossing your bag and coat onto the bed to stake your claim.

In the open doorway, Tyler paused to stare at the promised bit of furniture.

“Oh,” came out of his throat. “When she said chair, I thought she meant…”

You followed his gaze. Like Tyler, you’d pictured a dusty old recliner when Carol guilted you into sharing a room with him. The relic actually taking up space across from the queen-sized bed was a chair that might have come out of your high school principal’s office. The seat was covered in a similar material to the carpet, deep purple, not falling apart at the seams, but still just a chair.

Not in your wildest dreams would you think of making an enemy sleep on a thing like that. And here you were, poking fun at sweet, freckle-faced Carol… sweet, sweet Carol who had done you a bigger solid than you could’ve ever imagined.

Tomorrow at check-out, you were going to leave her a $50 tip. You might name your firstborn after her.

You looked at Tyler. He looked at you. The poor man was aghast, and the more he glanced despondently at his abode for the next eight hours, the funnier it got until you were cackling, actually cackling like a Disney witch.

You unzipped your suitcase and took out your toiletries bag, still laughing as you stepped into the room’s bathroom and sent him a little wave.

“Sweet dreams, Owens!”

Hell, it was Christmas—you’d be leaving Carol an even $100.

You made a point of taking your time in the shower, luxuriating both in the steam and the dejected look on Tyler’s face. A chair! An actual chair! After finishing, you took the robe hanging off the hook, figuring it was your prerogative as a lady, and opened the door just the tiniest crack to see what Tyler was up to. What you saw made you snatch your phone off the counter and leap from your hiding place like a fearless war photographer.

The shutter clicked, a series of lightning-quick flashes that caught Tyler’s attention. By the time he whipped his head to the side with a glare and a command to “delete that!” you’d snapped half-a-dozen photographs of his position on the makeshift “bed.”

Carol must have sent up linens while you were in the shower because he’d pushed the chair up against the coffee table in a futile attempt to be more comfortable; his legs stuck out to a truly comical degree and he was covered in a floral blanket that could only be described as grandmotherly. Your phone—bless it—had captured the exact moment of shock mixed with absolute indignity.

There was no way he’d be able to sleep without falling over. You only hoped that when he inevitably fell on his ass it happened with enough volume to wake you from the sound sleep you’d be having in bed by yourself.

You tucked your phone in your pocket, smiling like one of Hell’s angels.

“Absolutely not,” you said to his request. “Shower's yours.”

Tyler grabbed a bundle of things off the floor.

“Let me guess, you used up all the hot water.”

“You wound me,” you lied. “I’d never be so petty.”

He scoffed, gestured to his eyes in the universal symbol of I’m watching you and moved past, locking the bathroom door with a resolute click.

A few moments later, you heard the sound of the shower turning on and settled into bed—your lovely, only-yours bed—pleased that the sheets were clean, the mattress soft, the pillows comfortable, and debated whether or not to turn on the TV, but the shower taps squealed sooner than you expected.

Huh. Guess Tyler isn’t a fan of an ice-cold rinse.

You rushed to turn off the bedside lamp, adopting a deep-sleep pose. You barely managed in the time it took him to pad out into the main room, bringing with him a warm, clean, soapy smell.

You held your breath, imagined he could tell you were faking—especially when he paused his movements at the foot of your bed. But then his footsteps moved towards his sad little chair and he turned off his own light.

All you heard for a while was the rustling of sheets, the creaking of the chair beneath his weight. There was a moment of total silence when you almost fell asleep. Then he tossed and turned. The chair protested. You heard him groan.

“Y’alright over there?” you asked, hoping the answer was no.

Tyler’s words were laced with sarcasm.

“Who, me? Just peachy.”

“Nighty-night, then.”

You sighed contentedly and dozed, thinking about Tyler’s future back pain and the satisfaction of winning Carol over to your side with a generous tip. Take that, Tyler’s dimples! The problem was, you actually wanted to get a few hours’ sleep; there was still a fair bit of driving left for you to do, and Tyler just wouldn't shut up.

You heard every creak, shift, and sound of frustration.

Finally, you sat up and growled, “Could you try being more quietly uncomfortable?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to sleep.”

“I can hear your breathing all the way over here!”

“That's not my breathing,” he said, “that’s your guilty conscience.”

You glared into the dark. I will not let him get the better of me. You took a fortifying breath and kept your voice light—viciously light.

“You know, there’s still time for you to sleep in your car. You’ll be the first person ever to be cryogenically frozen.”

“That's not how cryogenics works, you muppet.”

You launched a pillow in his direction, pleased when it made contact. He sat up and protested, “Hey!”

“Did you just call me a muppet?! You know, if you disappeared I could always blame the storm.”

“Carol would remember me,” he rejoined.

“Maybe I’ll disappear Carol too.”

“Wow, two bodies? Sounds like you'll have your work cut out for you.”

“I’m very resourceful.”

“Oh, I bet you are…”

Argh! Slamming your fists down, you ground out the words you’d been holding back ever since you saw his grinning rodeo-ass face in New York:

“There is no way I’m letting you win that Heller Grant!”

Your nostrils flared, chest heaved, eyes all but emitted laser beams. Tyler, for his part, remained annoyingly composed.

“I don't think that's up to you. But,” he added, “I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.”

“Really? And why’s that?”

“No reason, just a friendly head’s up.”

“Something tells me there’s nothing friendly about it.”

He paused. “Hey, what’s a little harmless competition between meteorologists, right?”

“…Did you really just ask that question?”

You both knew scientists were messy as fuck. Denying that they could be egotistical, overly dramatic, delicate with their egos, and especially prone to schadenfreude was a cheap attempt on Tyler’s part.

He chuckled, as if admitting it was true.

“Fine, touché. But it’s really not personal. It's a grant—everyone wants to win it. It’s not like we’re trying to run you out of business or anything.”

“Oh, believe me, we aren’t worried about that,” you shot back. “Everyone knows Kate Carter is the ace up your sleeve. But that’s it—one ace.”

“One ace is all you need.”

“Not in this economy it’s not.”

“It’s about the storms!” Tyler said. “You do get that, don't you? Saving lives, limiting damage…”

“Right, I forgot—you're Saint Tyler, the Tornado Wrangler for profit!” you mocked.

There was a silence in the room, accusatory. Deafening. After this, you were definitely going on Santa’s Naughty list, you thought, not only this year but for at least fifteen to life.

“Sorry, that was shitty,” you admitted, swallowing your pride.

“Yeah, it was. You have no idea why I do what I do. And obviously I have no idea why you’re such a—”

“Bitch?” you supplied.

“I wouldn't use that word. I wouldn't,” he reiterated seriously. “I was going to say ‘why you’re such a bee in my bonnet.’”

You let out a snort. “Shut up.”

“Has anyone ever told you you're unreasonably distrustful?”

“Only about three-point-five therapists.”

“Why the point-five?” he asked.

“One was a grad student.”

He laughed. “Guess weather research doesn’t pay—even if you do wear fancy suits.”

That made you smile. You and Tyler were as diametrically opposed as two could people get, even down to your clothes.

“Let’s just agree,” you said, remembering the spirit of the season, “that we rub each other the wrong way and leave it at that.”

“Hey, I’ve never had a problem with you. I mean, yeah, we’re always up against each other for funding. It’s a race to the top—winner takes all, whoever publishes first gets the bragging rights. But that’s the game—I know that. Now, if you have a problem with me, this seems like as good a time as any to clear the air because I really have no idea what I could've done to make you hate my guts like this.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, sure, be the mature one, take the high road… Tell me, Owens, does it ever get exhausting being so fucking perfect all the time?”

Another pause.

“What the hell are you going on about?” The chair creaked. “‘Perfect’? I’ve never said I was—FUCK!”

You perked up, reached an arm to turn on the light. Tyler was sprawled on the floor. The coffee table and chair were no longer attached and he was nursing what looked to be his hip while kicking at the granny blanket tangled round legs.

“Did you just fall into the gap?” you said eagerly, trying to record the image in your brain.

He wrestled the blanket until he finally won, then stood resentfully, his hair mussed, a crazed look in his eyes.

“Yes, I fell into the gap! But there was no video evidence,” he said pointing. “You can’t prove it. At this rate, it might be smarter to sleep on the floor.”

“Looks like it.”

You watched him kick the chair away with his foot and lay the blanket on top of the coarse brown carpet. He tossed his pillow down and picked up the sheet, holding it in front of his body and looking like he might actually prefer to try his luck in the parking lot than on the inhospitable floor. You observed him with interest, biting your thumbnail and watching his throat move with a sigh, the dejected set of his shoulders, the strong jaw set until it looked like it would break glass.

“Oh, fine!” you said. “You look like my senior dog trying to decide where to lay down!”

“You have a dog?” he asked with enough skepticism to be insulting.

“She lives with my sister.”

“What’s her name?” His jaw relaxed, eyes softened.

“Doppler. Don’t laugh!” you exclaimed, though it fell on deaf ears.

“That’s kind of… really nerdy.”

“Do you want to sleep on the floor?”

“I’m sleeping on the floor anyway.”

You whipped the covers off the left side of the bed. Tyler’s eyes almost bugged out of his head.

“No.”

“Come on, Owens, I don't have cooties.”

“It’s not about the cooties, I’m trying not to get killed Basic Instinct-style!”

You knew the scene: Sharon Stone fucking her rock star boyfriend before stabbing him to death with an ice pick. Unbidden, your mind filled with images of Tyler underneath you, his throat bared to you as you rode him.

“You wish!”

Tyler looked at you sternly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“We’ll make a divider out of pillows!” you suggested, starting the master feat of engineering by plopping all your extra ones vertically down the center of the bed.

You didn’t know where this sudden stroke of generosity had come from. Only ten minutes before you would’ve been perfectly fine—nay, ecstatic—to know that Tyler was about to spend six hours in pain and discomfort.

Maybe it was your guilty conscience. Maybe he’d convinced you that this vendetta you had against him was one-sided and kind of silly. Maybe you just wanted to get some damn sleep without feeling like you were racking up bad karma by not offering to share the bed.

He eyed your attempts like a skeptic, his hands on his hips.

Damn, they were slutty little white tees… you thought.

“This is ridiculous,” he pointed out. And yet he’d dropped the sheet and stopped all attempts at sleeping on the floor like an imprisoned martyr.

“Ridiculous” was a good way to describe what the start of this holiday was turning out to be. If you’d told your past self that come December 23rd you’d be sharing a hotel room, even a bed, with Tyler Owens, you’d have laughed in your own face. But here it was—courtesy of the weather, a possible redheaded Christmas elf, and a series of minor coincidences that had all resulted in this: you shrugging and saying, “Tell me something I don’t know. Tick-tock,” you added with a clap for emphasis, “my goodwill has a time limit!”

“Very festive of you. Are you sure this is okay?”

He approached you with a cautious air, turning down the covers like you might yell “psych!” and attack him at any moment. Even when he laid himself down, it was at the very edge of the bed, and you thought he might end up on the floor anyway given a hasty mid-sleep roll, but then, that would be his own doing and he’d have nothing else to blame but his own clumsiness.

“Just keep your hands to yourself,” you decreed.

“Obviously.”

You turned the light off.

This isn’t so bad, you thought. If you closed your eyes, you could almost forget he was there. You hummed to yourself, snuggling down, finally making headway on the quest for rest and relaxation. Twenty minutes passed, maybe an hour. Hell, it might have been two—all you knew was that Tyler was not keeping up his end of the bargain.

“You’re encroaching on my space!” you hissed, pushing back against pillows that had moved to your side of the bed.

Tyler turned, not remorseful in the least. “I’ve got, like, half-a-foot on you! What do you want me to do?”

“That’s sizeist,” you sniffed.

There was a sound from his direction.

“Are you laughing?” you accused.

“Yeah, I’m laughing… You’re funny. And that’s how I know I don’t have a problem with you.”

You were unexpectedly pleased, despite his bed theft and the rehashing of your previous conversation. No one had ever called you funny before, though you’d always thought you were.

Tyler Owens thinks I’m funny?

So sue me—you were only human and not above hoarding little compliments.

“What did you mean,” he started to ask, shifting so that he could lay on his back, “about me being ‘perfect’? Not that I don’t find it flattering, it's just not true at all and it didn't sound like a good thing, by the way that you said it.”

You kept silent, staring at the A/C unit attached to the wall.

“I know you’re not asleep!” he declared, poking you in the back.

“And how would you know what I sound like asleep?”

“Well, it wouldn't sound like speaking, now would it?”

Shit. He had a point.

You let out a sigh, regretting your magnanimity now that you were in a dark room side-by-side with the man and couldn't avoid his charm or the ease he inspired like magic.

You’d always found that the most unsettling thing about him.

“You’re gonna get the grant,” you admitted with more sincerity than you meant. In your voice you could hear the layers of frustration and insecurity and anger and disappointment that you couldn’t face in the day, when you had people counting on you and a reputation to uphold.

Tyler was quiet a moment.

“You don't know that.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m not good with the whole… schmoozing thing. Not like you are.”

“Schmoozing?” he asked.

“That’s what it is! You’re good with people.”

“So are you.”

“No, I’m not,” you laughed bitterly, craning your neck to say it over your shoulder. “I’m prickly.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tyler said. “And, anyway, this is research, not a personality contest.”

“Ha!”

“You do know there are plenty of prickly scientists out there getting people to throw money at them all the time? Sometimes, it’s the pricklier the better—people think that if you're really a genius, you should treat everyone around you like the bottom of the garbage pail.”

“It’s different for you,” you pointed out.

“How so?”

You sat up, eyeing his shadowed form.

“Well, sweetie, there’s this thing called discrimination—it’s what happens when having certain anatomy makes people more inclined to think you know what you're doing.”

“Very profound… That’s not what you meant.”

He was right. While sexism did come into funding, as it came into a lot of things where it had no place, your main gripe about Tyler had nothing to do with him being a man and everything to do with him being, well, him.

You raked a hand through your hair.

“All you have to do is walk into a room and get pally with the panel,” you confessed. “I can’t compete with that.”

Somehow, through the dark, his eyes found yours. His expression was unreadable, but you could feel his attention on you, his scrutiny—thoughtful, patient, wanting to understand.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said at last.

“Seriously? You’re gonna make me be honest with you and then leave me holding the hot potato of awkwardness?”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” he laughed. “I just… It’s not like I get up in the morning thinking, ‘Hm, what grant can I possibly steal from you today?’”

“Right,” you drawled, “you just can’t help being you.”

“I can’t!” he insisted, rising up on his elbows. “I like people. I like meeting them… talking to them—even the buttoned-up ones that look like they haven't been outside of an office building in months. I can't apologize for that. But it is a little unfair of you if your sole reason for being mean to me all the time amounts to two cents and a bit of pocket lint.”

“I am not mean!” you protested.

Tyler cocked his head.

“Okay, maybe I’m a bit brusque,” you allowed. “But I let you sleep in my bed!”

“For which I’ll be forever grateful…”

You opened your mouth.

“…but not enough to turn down the grant.”

You shrugged, not expecting him to hand you the award on a silver platter.

“It was worth a shot,” you said. Another joke.

Tyler gestured with his hands; you could see them fluttering around expressively in the near dark.

“You’ve just gotta stop approaching people and automatically assuming that they’re not on your side,” he said gently, and because you were a contrarian, you chose to take at least one-sixteenth of offense.

“Are you mansplaining relationships to me?”

“Not mansplaining, just a friendly bit of advice. Take it or leave it,” he tacked on, shrugging his shoulders—damn his shoulders…

“Thanks.”

You were trying to wrestle your brain away from the thought of his bare chest again.

His bare chest… the expanse of his chiseled abs, the dip of his hips…

You looked away, your face as hot as your shame. You would not have sex thoughts about a man you were sharing a bed platonically with. You would not admit to yourself that your traitorous gaze had wandered down to the outline of certain parts while he was standing there in gray sweats and a white T-shirt that left little or nothing to your debauched imagination.

You would not.

Santa, come get me before I forfeit all brownie points for life.

“Now this is awkward.” The words slipped out of your mouth. You pulled the sheet up to your chin as if it were a straitjacket and Tyler chuckled to himself, probably thinking that you meant awkwardness at having a moment of vulnerability rather than red-hot lust.

“Go to sleep,” he said kindly, turning back on his left side.

“Alright. Night.”

“Night.”

Later, you would swear it didn't happen on purpose. At some point in the night, after Christmas Eve had settled well and truly over this random Oklahoma town, the pillow fort was forgotten as you and Tyler fell asleep, succumbing to the fatigue of the day’s travel and your late-night conversations.

The first inkling you had was that your pillow was far too warm against your cheek—and it moved, up and down, like the gentle swaying of a boat upon a calm sea. When you regained enough consciousness, you realized that the “pillow” kept a beat, and that's when you realized your pillow wasn't a pillow at all but the cradle of Tyler’s chest.

He’s quite comfortable, you thought, still half-asleep. He had his arm thrown around you and the tips of his fingers rested against a patch of naked back where your shirt had ridden up.

So far, so good; you couldn’t complain about the weighted blanket treatment—at least not in your hazy, sleep-softened state. You sighed happily, snuggling further into his shirt.

You felt his arms tighten.

His breathing shift.

You were straddling the line between dream and wakefulness when you noticed his legs tangled up in yours…

…and the hard protrusion pressing right against your stomach.

You opened your eyes. Tyler was awake and springing out of bed like he had a whole swarm of bees in his bonnet.

“Oh god,” he exclaimed, “I am so sorry! That is not… I did not—”

“It’s fine,” you tried to say.

“No! No, it’s not.”

“Tyler, would you stop acting like a virgin with the vapors? It’s cold, I’m not the stillest of sleepers, nothing was meant by it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, then put it on his hip, then pointed—you didn’t know at whom, he was simply unable to be still, and the more he panicked the more you thought it was silly how he was making such a big deal out of nothing.

(Okay, so maybe it wasn't nothing, but one of you had to be the adult about it.)

“I was not trying to put the moves on you,” he emphatically declared.

“That was made abundantly clear by what you said to Carol. Also by the drool on your pillow.”

“The—”

His gaze darted. His face took on an added hue of pallid as he bent over his pillow and straightened, eyebrows battened, finding nothing there.

“See, that was mean.”

“No, that was funny,” you laughed.

The whole time, you did your best to keep your eyes trained above his shoulders, though you had a bone-deep curiosity now that you’d felt the impression of his dick against your skin.

If your periphery was to be trusted—which, your doctor said you had excellent vision in that regard—he was as well-endowed as he was rumored to be, sometimes with envy, sometimes pejoratively and in relation to his ego. Now that you’d spent an entire day crossing paths, you weren't so sure about that last bit. But you were sure that in the privacy of your own thoughts, you’d have a bitch of a time unknowing that Tyler Owens was, in every regard, unfairly blessed.

“Back to neutral corners?” you asked, patting the bed.

Tyler stared at the mattress with something like horror.

“You are not being normal about this!” you exclaimed.

“Maybe I oughta sleep on the floor.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s just for a few hours more.”

You sighed.

“Tyler James Owens, now you are the one being a muppet.”

“Take that back! And how do you even know my middle name?”

“It’s called Google. Now stop acting like a muppet and I’ll stop calling you one!”

Drat… You were so close, but your eyes snagged on the bulge in his pants at the exact moment Tyler was looking at you. There was no way to deny it.

You wiped your face of all expression.

Tyler pleaded, “Do not make this worse for me than it already is.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You don’t have to, it's written all over your face.”

Me? My face? You pointed at yourself.

Tyler huffed, “You aren't letting me forget this for as long as I live, are you?”

“Not in your dreams…” you fessed up. “Need me to pace around the hall for ten minutes, let you take care of business? I have a spare sock you can hang on the door.”

“You’re evil.”

“Nooooo, where are you going?” you needled, watching him head to the bathroom with a scowl on his face. “I was having so much fun!”

“Mind your own business!” he yelled back.

“But Tyler, it’s perfectly natural!��

He locked the door.

Only then did you cover your mouth and really let yourself have a laugh.

He took exactly 23 minutes. You knew because you timed him, a childish impulse you indulged in trade for not probing the question of what he might be thinking about as he got off. Obviously, you knew enough biology to not flatter yourself into believing that his morning wood was down to you; still, you allowed yourself to believe it just the tiniest bit. It made you feel better—to think he was affected by you. To believe you weren’t alone in being provoked to unexpected places.

He came up to the bed with a wary glance. On purpose, you pretended to be uncommonly interested in your nails.

“I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” you said, buffing a nonexistent spot on your shirt. “All good?”

“Don’t start.” He took his pillow and made for the chair.

You clicked your tongue. “You really don't have to sleep on the floor, you know…”

Which was kind.

“...I thought that was the whole point of Tyler’s Special Solo Time.”

Which wasn’t.

He rounded on you with his finger outstretched.

“Do not call it that!”

“Okay!”

“Never again!”

“Fine!”

“And for your information—that isn’t what I was doing in there.”

“Oh!” you said, genuinely surprised, “I just assumed…”

“Well, you know what they say about assuming.”

You make an ASS out of U and ME.

Color me surprised—you genuinely thought Tyler had been in the bathroom rubbing one out.

Could it be that he was too much of a gentleman to do it with you the next room over? That seemed like the likeliest explanation.

You were touched. Weirdly, inappropriately.

Also let down by the fact that you weren’t sexually irresistible enough to make him lose all sense of propriety—granted, you hadn’t been trying to be sexually irresistible at the time, more like drooling into his shirt.

“God, what?” he asked, eyes boring into yours like he was trying to crack open your mind and read it like a book, pushed to the brink when he couldn’t figure out what you were thinking or if you believed him about not masturbating in the bathroom.

“Nothing! Why are you chewing me out just because you got an erection?”

“Don’t say ‘erection’!”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not gonna call it a boner—I’m not in middle school anymore!”

“You have gotta be kidding me…”

He face-planted onto the bed, not consciously, you didn’t think, more like the natural result of a situation that’d understandably fried his brain.

You could relate… and it was supremely satisfying to hear him say the words you’d been thinking for over a day: you have got to be kidding me, indeed.

“This is the weirdest fucking Christmas I have ever had,” he mumbled into the mattress.

You laughed, feeling not an ounce of animosity as you watched his prone form. He was funny, and he’d been nicer than you deserved. You no longer believed that he had kicked you in the back during your flight on purpose.

“What are your plans for the holidays?” you asked him, letting him off the hook about his penis.

He turned his head and searched you for any trace of nefarious intent. He answered when he was sure you weren’t going to keep messing with him.

“The team and I are going to Kate’s. Then I’m spending the start of the New Year at home, hopefully, if there isn’t another fire to put out.”

“You’re from Arkansas,” you said.

“Mm.”

“‘Regnat populus.’”

He quirked his brow.

“‘The People Rule,’” you explained. “You don't know your own state’s motto?”

“Nobody knows their state’s motto.”

“I had to learn them all for school.”

“High school?”

“Elementary.”

“Oh,” he laughed, “so you grew up rich.”

“Shut up.”

He sat against the headboard next to you, crossing his ankles.

“What made you want to become a meteorologist?”

“Seriously?” you asked.

“What?”

“It’s a cliched question.”

“It’s a getting-to-know-you question!”

You frowned.

“Why would you ever want to get to know me? I’ve done nothing but fight you since the day we met.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

Plain, simple.

The lamplight made it impossible to hide a thing. There was a line between his brows, as if he couldn’t for the life of him understand why you couldn’t understand. “I like people.” You’d thought it trite at the time, you didn’t trust it, but you were thinking maybe it was true. Instead of judging you by the way you challenged, harangued, goaded, mocked, judging him, he’d kept trying to figure you out. It was one of the reasons he was good at his job—the merging of both science- and people-smarts.

If you had a brain in your head, you might learn from him. But to do that you’d have to get your head out of your ass and stop seeing him as the enemy.

Except you didn’t.

Sometime between the Heller offices and this moment in the Sunnyside Inn, your feelings towards him had changed. The animosity? Gone. All that was left in its place was a newfound respect, fresh like the layer of snow sitting over the world outside the walls of your hotel room, and, if you were being brutally honest, an attraction that was hard to ignore.

You held your breath.

His hair, glinting bronze, was sleep-mussed—the detail intimate, arousing, just like the stubble on his cheeks and the rugged line of his throat leading to the curves of those shoulders you couldn’t stop thinking about. What was that one corny-as-fuck phrase some fuckboy musician had once said?

Sexual napalm.

Tyler Owens was sexual napalm and you weren’t immune.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you said.

It was Projection 101, but in this case you weren’t entirely wrong.

Tyler’s eyes wandered down to your mouth, seductive without even trying. He was breathing as fast as you, his lips parted, tongue peeking out to wet them when he said, “Can’t.”

And that was all it took. One second you were staring at each other with twin fuck-me expressions and the next you were in his lap, your hands buried in his hair. The kiss was eager—messy—uncaring of finesse, indifferent to perfection. It was the exact opposite of the way you’d been living your life and it was mostly down to him. Even when he’d been driving you absolutely insane, there was no denying that Tyler brought out in you something hard to control. He made you ambitious, competitive, unfiltered—sometimes to an unflattering degree—but God, did it feel good.

He tilted his head and delved his tongue into your mouth. You groaned, pulled him back by the hair until you felt a rumbling sound in his throat which you decided to chase on instinct, latching your mouth onto that part of him you’d been obsessing over for the last few hours, sucking, biting, laving your way down to his clavicle.

“This is not how you get to know someone,” you joked, feeling him get hard again underneath you.

“Yeah, it is…”

“Don’t say 'biblically.’”

He laughed—it was a giggle that made you smile and peer into his face.

“You said it, not me. Are you gonna kick me out of bed later?” he asked, stroking a hand up your thigh.

“No. Are you gonna run for the hills like I soiled your virtue?”

He balked. “That is not what I did.”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Well”—he nipped your jaw, hand slyly making its own path up to your breast, which he stroked open-palmed so that you rocked your hips against his—”I promise not to be virtuous at all for the next…” He glanced at his watch. “Three hours.”

“Three hours?”

“What can I say,” he shrugged. “I’m a people pleaser. It’s my curse.”

Suffice to say, by the time 10:00 o’clock rolled around and you and Tyler made your way down so you could settle up the room with Carol, you were feeling like a million bucks. Not even a full spa day could have infused you with this much energy.

There was a pep in your step, a smile plastered to your face, and when Carol said, “Happy holidays! It was nice having you with us!” you were so smug that you slipped the tip in her hand and said, “Thank you, Carol, you sure made it sunny!”

Tyler cackled, but tried to do it subtly. (And failed.)

Right on the money, the snow had stopped falling during the night. It’d be a white Christmas, all right, but you should be able to drive home safely and arrive in time for lunch.

Tyler loaded your suitcase into your car, gallant as ever.

“So,” he said.

“So.”

You exchanged shy glances, which was new for you. You’d never had reason to feel shy around Tyler before, but then, you’d had him inside you not too long ago and the memory of the things you’d done, the things you’d said, which you wouldn’t admit even under threat of perjury, were enough to make you almost blush.

“We should hit the road,” you said dumbly, schooling your features into an unbothered mask.

“Yeah. I’m sure the others have already made it to Ms. Carter’s farm.”

“Well… merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas.”

You opened your door, settled into your seat. You were about to pull the door closed when Tyler stopped it, hand closed around the top.

“Can I call you, after the holidays?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

He laughed. “Who’s holding the hot potato now, you or me?”

“I think we’re sharing this one,” you replied.

“I don’t mind that.”

“Yeah,” you said, “neither do I.”

He smiled at you for a while, then closed your door and watched you drive off. You followed his movements in the rearview until your paths diverged, then turned up the radio.

“Merry Christmas Eve, one and all! It’s a gorgeous one out there—we couldn’t have asked for better weather. Here’s one just for you. I’m sure you know it, so sing along: it’s Dean Martin and it’s our ‘Winter Wonderland,’ right here, in the heart of good ol’ Oklahoma…”

#rosie.fic #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #glen powell x reader

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