It's... a very strange feeling to learn where your anger management issues stem from. "Oh, I have a tendency to bottle my negative emotions up for no reason and let molehills eventually fester into mountains. I wonder what that is." My mother, when I slightly raise my voice about an issue with her that bothers me: "Why are you getting so angry at me, I really feel like I don't deserve this! Lot of bad energy going on around here!"

SPOILERS FOR SHARP OBJECTS EPISODE ONE AND THE NOVEL/PLOT IN GENERAL BELOW THE ASTERISKS, WHICH ARE Y'KNOW, GILLIAN FLYNN TYPE SHIT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

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This is a liveblog/reaction to sharp objects, the tv series not the book.

I've read the book several times over the years, most recently in a mental hospital after a breakdown. No, I don't know why on earth I was allowed to have it with me. I relate to Camille more than I'd like, excluding the murders and sexuality, which i suppose rather differentiates us. I rather feel like the metaphorical AC to her DC, so to speak.

Jesus, Camille's a wreck. A severe alcoholic sent to her hometown to sniff out a story of a serial killer whose snuffing out little girls and dumping them around town, with about a year between killing. First Ann Nash then Natalie Keene, and Camille sticks her nose in everything she can about the case. She badgers the cops, the families, everything and everyone she can, which causes more than a few arguments and a lot of strain with Adora, her mother and the employer of much of the town. I'll talk more about Camille in a bit, but first lets touch on her family, the people I found msot interesting in wind gap, starting with her wonderful mother.

Fuck, Adora's a miserable shrew of a woman. She reminds me of my aunt in how she needles, dresses, and wears her makeup in a similar manner. It's freaky, and not at all helped by the horrid way she treats Camille and Amma. Equal parts infantiziling and infuriating, her actions suggest a social diva who commands utter control of her home and social image. Everything from her picture-perfect house (mirrored in a certain dollhouse that Amma shows Camille) to the time capsule she's made of Marian's room screams "total control freak". She's still got the empty IV stand and doll dresses laid out like Marian's just stepped out for tea, rather than ashes.

Amma is... Well, we haven't really gotten much of a taste of her yet. I must've missed her in the crowd of teenagers that raided Natalie's shrine, but she was there, and later acts eerily possessive and close to Camille in what seems to be just a typical teenaged attmept to avoid punishment and look cool in front of an older sibling she doesn't know.

Alan was a surprise, since all I remember of him from the novel is a grey, unemotive man who let Adora run roughshod over everything. He's got a bit of a spine here, actually standing up to Adora a few times on minor arguments. Curious to see if he'll keep it up. Not a change I was expecting, but I could also be misremembering him.

Marian: for a dead girl, she sure takes pride of place in the story, a throbbing, aching wound that Camille tries and fails to treat with chemicals and years of avoidance. A sickly girl who died in her teens, we see flashbacks of her (dressed as a doll in contrast to her sister) ending with her funeral, where she's wearing a shade of pink lipstick that really doesn't fit her, which is as good a bridge as any to return to Camille.

Camille: if you've made it this far, I'm not going to sugarcoat it. Camille is a woman one step away from the deep, and she clearly knows it. There's alcohol soaked all over her life like a bad stain, mostly absolut vodka, a cheap brand that many serial alcoholics drink, my family members included. Shit burns like fire goign down but she chugs a good sized plastic flask/bottle of it without flinching. Granted, Amy Adams was probably just drinking water on set, good considering how fucking hot sets get. She delivers a wonderful performance, showing Camille as the slowly burning train wreck of ptsd and chemical dependency she is, covered in scars.

Camille carves words into her skin much more legibly and widespread than I've ever managed, and I'm a human charcutierie board these days. Y'know that thing where shows put the title of episode into somehow? Yeah, Camille's got "Vanish" on her right forearm, the title of the first episode. We see her in the bath or shower a lot, actually, usually with her body submerged entirely. She also masturbates during a flashback to a weird lodge filled with porn and bloody strips of meat, at least that's what I think those were.

I haven't really touched on the mystery or the people of wind gap not related to Camille because they didn't really get my attention, but I took 3.5k worth of notes during episode one, and noticed the homophobia. The show really hits us over the head with the small town bigotry throughout the episode, from the bartender to the father of Ann Nash. I'd kinda forgotten about the level of homophobia, and was a bit startled by it.

Moving to the murders, we don't get any information about either body I think, just a shot of Natalie's dumped body, which, how does one dump a body of a teenaged girl in an alleyway in a small town and not be seen? Small towns are nosey as shit, I would know, I spent 13 years living in one. Natalie's mouth has a lot of blood coming from it, and she's pretty dirty, but has a bandage on her knee. Bit of an odd thing for a murderer to give her, but she might've had it before she got grabbed.

Overall rating for the episode: 4/5 stars so far, review may change after I finish the show. I intend on one episode a night. I enjoyed Camille and Amma's interactions, found the homophobia rightfully irritating and familiar (the joys of small-town America are not so different from Missouri to Indiana), but found the actual murders to be lacking in detail for now, which makes sense but is also frustrating. Camille is just a bit too familiar for my comfort, which is a theme with anything Flynn's made.

Her works are dark and slippery, rich with the quiet tensions of dysfunctional families and buried traumas that always come to light. Theres something comforting but revolting about it, like sitting down at a seedy bar and knowing the drinks are probably watered down, but accepting the rotten deal for what it is because it's the best you'll get here. Kinda like a family reunion, actually. But uh, I don't think the Crellin-Preaker bunch (now that would be a sitcom, huh?) Is the sterling example of family by any means. Still, I'm eager and afraid of the roller coaster to come. I'm not claiming to have perfectly watched this episode, nor did I exhaustively go through my notes for this (I'm not confirming whether or not I made quotes in Chicago format [the one True and Rightfully Used Format of Quotation, may all nonbelievers perish in the trenches of MLA and APA format] for fun. Cause only weirdos do that, right, and I'm all normal-like)

P.S. I apparently called Curry a "Santa-wannabe" in my notes. He kinda twisted and turned in my opinion, going from a dick to a nice guy and back again, but I enjoyed him as a character and want to see more. I can't say more for chief Vickery, the detective (whose name I managed to miss and I don't intend to look it up) or the bartender, all of whom have a machismo and swagger that clashes poorly with Camille in different ways. Vickery cares more about the town's reputation than potentially solving the murders, the detective is trying not to mix business with pleasure with Camille, and the bartender is typical small town trash, gleefully hateful and all too happy to share that he's illegally serving beers to Natalie's brother, which the detective ignores as well, for some reason. Most likely to avoid the town turning on him. One doesn't fuck with the guys who give out the alcohol.

a place for the weary 

Convincing the boys to take a break and rest their head on your lap, because they all work so hard and need a comfortable place to just ... be  - plus … some of them just need love and affection (please) 

Includes: Albedo, Diluc, Scaramouche, Kaeya 

Warning -> SFW

Character X GN reader 

Albedo 

He’s busy, always busy - whether he’s working on some research in the labs or out in the field, he’s hardly ever taking a moment to stop. What he finds most relaxing is drawing, painting the scenery in front of him until he gets it all perfect, and while you love to watch how his face twists, his eyes scrunch together as he examines the lines on the page, you also wish he would take a moment to do nothing 

If you suggest the activity to him, he may wonder what could be the purpose of it; he might ask you a lot of questions as he leans down to rest his head on your lap 

“Albedo,” you call out to him as you watch him shuffle through the crates examining the bottles and other items sprawled in the container. He tilts his head to look at you, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a glass contained filled with some sort of liquid. “You’ve been working for so long, come take a rest.” You pat your leg and invite him to join you on the soft blanket you’d laid out some time ago. 

“I’m trying to make sure we have …” 

“I know,” you chuckle, “and it’ll be there for you after you take a quick break.” 

He straightened himself out, his torso stretching and overcorrecting slightly as he elongated out his muscles. The bottle slipped further into his palm as he moved his hand up and down, bouncing it slightly as he contemplated your suggestion. You knew it wasn’t like him to take breaks like this, still, you hoped he would at least this time.

“If it makes you feel more productive, bring your notebook so you can draw.” That seemed much more enticing, you smiled to yourself as you watched him retrieve his journal before falling in place at your side. 

You were always persistent in getting him to take a moment, a small second to stop moving or relax his eyes which only seemed to be tired when he rested against you 

After the first few times, he had tried a couple of different iterations until he found the best position to be the one he was participating in right now. Legs bent so he could prop his drawing notebook or journal onto them; his legs acting as a makeshift easel so he could sketch or paint what was in the background 

He may be inclined to share his thoughts with you, perhaps dominating the conversation as he ponders on rhetorical questions and thoughts that fill his mind, but you don’t care because your hands are busy in his hair anyway 

After finding a comfortable place for his head, the back of his hair pushed itself up as he slid along the edge of your thigh. You shifted so he could have enough space and while he began to work, you could continue reading through your book. These moments you cherished, these simple, peaceful moments that allowed you to be close to him while giving him all the freedom he’d ever shown you. 

Every once in a while you glanced down to his notebook and became transfixed by the way his pencil moved across the page. How each line transitioned from nonsense into a masterful capture of the world stretched out in front of him. It was incredible how his eyes were able to see so much and his hands moved to copy it all down. He didn’t seem to mind the corners of the page fluttering in the wind or how leaves would fall haphazardly around him, resting quietly on his chest or in his hair. 

Your hands instinctively went to retrieve them, your thumb sliding across the bumpy surface and fingers pushing against his soft blonde hair. Letting the leaf meander on its way to the ground, you returned your fingers to his head. The tips ran over his forehead, trailing until they came to rest on his outer ear and carefully you tucked some strands of his hair behind it. You heard him sigh and noticed the quick movements of the pen slow to a near stop, a sign for you to continue. 

Carefully, you returned your bookmark to the page before resting it onto the blanket. Your hands found their way back to his hair and they began to work their way to his scalp. Your nails sliding along, underneath, below, and over each strand as if you were inspecting it all. The soft texture of it, and the reaction of its owner, made the experience all the better. 

After a while, Albedo seemed to pull himself away from the trance you had put him under. A line here, a curve there, his pencil began to move again and the once empty spaces of the paper grew into a beautiful work of art. You too returned to the book you were reading but left one hand against his hair, your fingers moving every once in a while. 

The two of you shared in a moment, uninterrupted, and through the connection, the both of you felt more energized than before. 

Diluc

Relax? What is relax -> Diluc doesn’t know how, when, or what he would even do to relax so getting him to take a break, to have a moment would be a battle to say the least

You’re much more likely to find success if he’s tired, like super tired, tired to the point you see him shaking his head or rubbing his eyes with his fingers - here he is less likely to deny you - here you have more push in your persuasion 

You walked into the study knowing full well what you would find when you pushed open the door. There he was, just as you had imagined him, with his head peering down at documents, his fist balled and pressing against his forehead, his other hand gripping a pen and moving across the papers. 

The light from the midday sun slipped through the window and surrounded him in a beautiful glow; an ethereal being with hair the color of juiciest apples and skin paler than the cups of china stocked in the kitchen below. If Diluc would allow it, you’d have stolen several photos of him while he worked, but he wasn’t fond of pictures. 

You walked up to the desk and noticed that he had barely eaten the lunch the maids had prepared for him, a few bites taken but nothing substantial. He continued his work even as you approached the front desk, moments like these reminded you how much he trusted you. To allow someone to invade his space like this was an unbelievable sign of faith from the ever distrustful Diluc Ragnvindr. 

“Diluc, are you finished with this?” You asked, resting your hand on the edge of the desk and the other grazing the edge of the plate. 

“Mm?” He looked up at you, his eyes fuzzy and tired, you glanced with your eyes toward the plate and he followed their gaze. “Oh, yes. I’m finished.” You gave him a weak smile as your fingers closed around the cold ceramic. His head dropped back to the paperwork and you shook your own. Moving to place the plate on the tray next to the entrance of the study, you quickly returned to him but this time moving to his side. 

“How’s it coming?” You asked him, your hand drifting toward his shoulder and you grinned as his torso shifted to press deeper into your touch. 

“More and more orders are coming in. Seasonal changes always bring business, but it’s difficult to keep the orders together.” 

“Hmm, well I know you’ll get it done, you always figure it out.” You slid your hand along his back and noticed how he stopped the movements of his pen. “Why don’t you take a break?” 

“I’m far too busy for that.” He voiced, pulling himself back and away from you.

You reached for his hand, your fingers sliding over his bare skin. He disliked wearing gloves while he worked like this. “Indulge me?” 

You’ve instructed him to remove his jacket, the heavy fabric would distract from the relaxation you explained would come - he’s a bit hesitant about it, but you’ve asked so nicely how can he possibly say no to you 

He will lay on his back and look away from you in an effort to hide his embarrassment or weakness - as the master of the winery, the owner of this business, the pride of so many resting on his shoulders he always told himself that he has to hold it all together, until the day he realized you were the only thing holding him together

He melts, purely and simply, the ever stoic Diluc finds peace with you 

His head provides a nice pressure on your legs, his shoulders press against your thigh as you help him get comfortable here. He’s so tall that his feet fall off the daybed, but he doesn’t say anything or really move after. One of his arms rests at his sides while the other lay across his stomach, and you can’t help but smile at the tense way his fingers wrap themselves into a comforting fist. 

“I won’t hold you here for long, just try and relax.” You express knowing full well he will have a hard time doing just that. You’ve made sure his hair isn’t tucked underneath him and you admire the way it contrasts with your dark pants. With deft fingers, you undo the ribbon that keeps his hair in place, and as soon as it’s released you begin to fan the strands over your legs. 

Carefully, you run your hands over his hair, pressing lightly as you start at the crown of his head and work your way over the red pool on your lap. Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed his fist beginning to relax, the way his long fingers extended across his stomach told you that he was finally committing to your request. From there, you decided to work your way through his hair, your fingers sifting and moving through the mess of wildfire on top of his head. 

Each time you moved to a new, untouched spot he relaxed more. His legs bending slightly, his hands opening up, his expression softening and soon, he began to turn toward you. His head moved, forehead now pressed against your hip, his body shifted just slightly to be closer to you. 

You began to softly hum, the sound of your voice adding to the calming atmosphere of the quiet study and, in a matter of minutes, you could see the steady rise and fall of Diluc’s chest, the inhale and exhale of air as it slipped past his lips and the irregular twitch of his fingers as he slipped off to sleep. 

A maid entered the room shortly after and when she saw the two of you in the back of the study and noticed the smile slightly hidden under your index finger as you indicated to her of the sleeping man on your lap, she bowed and exited the room. 

Scara

Grumpy - the embodiment of grumpy and absolute worst at taking any suggestion, ever. So when you bring this idea up to him, he’s super against it. He doesn’t want to appear, look, seem soft in any way - ‘what is this silly little thing you are asking me to do?’

He’d push the idea away every time you bring it up -- that is until the day your legs look so tantalizing they are practically calling his name. Perhaps it's the way your hands rest in your lap as they hold onto a book, or the light as it hits your legs, or just the sound of your voice as you offer him a place to rest again and again - he finally succumbs 

You’ve been sitting in Scara’s living room for some time now. You learned early on to let him do his own thing and not get in his way, he had made that very clear. Still, you were happy he let you invade his space, that he let you be someone that he tolerated more than most. It definitely ignited your pride to have someone of his stature interested in you. 

Though, the only issue with him was the fact that he was always on the move. He never seemed to be stationary for long, and often would be gone for days or weeks at a time, sometimes with a warning. So, you learned to keep yourself busy and take in every moment you could with him. 

He had been in and out most of the day so you found yourself preoccupied with your things. Reading, working, relaxing, whatever followed the requirements of the day; you just went with the flow. Today held those sentiments very strongly as you got comfortable on the couch, one leg resting underneath you and the other bouncing on the ball of your foot. You had been engrossed in your book for so long, the characters' adventures gripping you and pulling you through every hill and valley they traveled. You were so absorbed in the words that you didn’t notice Scara calling your name, or how he stood in front of you with his hands on his hips. 

Fingers entered your vision and a loud snap sound directly in front of you. You looked up startled and when you saw his face you finally welcomed him. 

“Hey, I didn’t notice you were home.” You show him a kind smile and receive nothing in return. 

“I was calling you.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“What have you been doing all day? Lazing about what it looks like.” He crossed his arms and looked around the room before returning his attention to you. 

“I’m taking a break, you’re welcome to join me.” You added, patting your lap. 

“I’ve already told you I would never do something so childish.” 

You chuckle, slipping your fingers in between the pages of your book. “I know, figured I’d give it another shot. Are you heading back out?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” He replied; conversations were often like this with him, short and to the point and almost always without any real answer. So you returned your attention to your book, the pages calling your name as your eyes scanned down the page before landing back on the sentence from which you had been pulled from. 

You were drawn back into the scene only to be ripped out of it once again. The book in your hand was pushed to the side, your elbow knocking into the arm of the chair and your head snapping to the source of the disturbance. Scara’s face suddenly came into view as his head rested against your lap, his eyes staring at the ceiling and cheeks speckled with the color silk flowers.

He has this response to things that can throw others off so quickly. He’s violent and angry, but he shows these small signs of humanity in his actions, simple, small things every once in a while it reminds you of a small child who isn’t sure what he really wants 

The more he participates in this activity, the more likely he will invade your lap whenever the urge comes over him. He’ll push whatever is in your lap away, if he’s feeling really nice he’ll pick it up and place it elsewhere, otherwise you learn to never hold anything breakable here - he won’t look at you either, his eyes will look away, always, and he expects you to know what he wants, don’t make him beg for anything 

You never once expected him to follow through with your request, not in a million years. So when he settles against your legs, his face right next to your stomach and eyes looking upward at you, you're unsure how to respond. 

“Well, I’m here.” He says, crossing his arms and legs as he waits expectantly for your attention. You’re so taken-aback that you can’t help but burst into laughter. Covering your face with your hand, the sound of your voice spills into the room and makes the harbinger shift against you. “I knew this was stupid …” He huffs and you have to use so much more strength than you anticipated to pull him back. 

“I’m sorry. I just … I never expected … please, don’t go.” You look at him with hopeful eyes and with a sigh he returns his head to your legs. While one of your hands rests against the top of his head, the other works to save your place in your book before resting it on the end table. You don’t even notice that your fingers have started to play with the short locks of his hair until you look back at his face and see his eyes closed. 

You stall, but only long enough for him to slightly open his eyes and look at you, his expression of ‘did I tell you to stop’ speaking volumes. So, you start to work your fingers through his hair, the dark purple strands slip easily through your fingers as you shift them around. Spreading your hands out and pressing the tips of your fingers against his scalp and, as your bravery grows, you move your fingers toward his jaw and along the edge of his hairline. His short hair gives you a great view of his face, and you wonder if this is the first time you’ve ever really had the opportunity to look at him. He’s incredibly handsome, one reason he was able to capture you so easily, and the longer you played with his hair, the further the corner of his mouth moved into a faint smile. You would do almost anything for that smile. 

A soft chuckle sounds from your throat and the calmness of your actions is gone in an instant. His eyes are open and he’s slipped from your lap, his feet connecting to the floor and the warmth of his body dissipating from your legs. You protest, but he’s already halfway across the room and is clearly trying to keep you from looking at his face. 

Kaeya

He is all about this activity - honestly, he’s all about any type of touch you want to offer him and while he has a lot on his plate, he will take these moments to be with you. He doesn’t care either where or around who, he may be partaking in this delectable experience - his mind is filled with you and, when you hold him, touch him, love him, he can think of nothing else 

You hadn’t seen him all day, which wasn’t uncommon when there were new recruits or the knights were preparing for a subjection out in the wilderness, Kaeya was typically busier during these times. So, when there were days he wouldn’t be able to get away, and you knew he would continue to work until everything was done, you would find your way to him and offer him a short reprieve from the duties of his work. 

He was standing in the hallway consumed in a conversation with one of the knights. His usually peppy demeanor seemed faded, his shoulders drooped a bit further, his gestures more muted as spoke with the other party, and overall, he didn’t seem as energetic as he normally was. 

The closer you got, the more attention you drew, and soon Kaeya turned to look at what was drawing the eyes of his speaking partner. 

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise.” He perked up when he saw you, the light in his blue eyes flashing, a smile stretching across his face. 

“Hey! I wanted to stop by since I had a moment. Are you free?” You asked him, crossing your hands behind your back and giving the other knight a quick head nod who returned your hello in a similar manner. 

“Of course, I will spare all my time for you.” He closed the distance between the two of you, an arm draping around your shoulder and pulling you close. 

“Captain, we’ve been asked to …” 

“Yes, yes. I’ll get right on it.” He affirmed to the knight before turning all his attention to you and ushering you down the hallway toward his office. 

“Are you sure you are free? If you need me to come ba …” 

“Nonsense, how could I pass up this opportunity. Do not worry your pretty little head.” He laughed, his smile wide and eyes closed. 

“Okay, I won’t keep you long then.” 

“Oh, but I was hoping you’d save me from this boring day.” He laughed and squeezed you closer to his side, even though you could tell he was more tired than usual he was still able to give you so much of his energy.

Kaeya will turn his head toward you, he’ll wrap his hand around your waist because even here he cannot get close enough 

Here, he can breathe you in and be the center of your attention - which is his most favorite thing

What he prefers, what he loves most, is when you touch his face, stroke his cheeks with the back of your fingers or your hands as they slide over him, the way you run your fingers along his brow, his jaw, and across his neck - these actions will give him the chills and it may be the only time you truly see him react in such a way 

When you get settled onto the couch in his office you call him to you. He eagerly takes the space next to you as if it was always meant for him. 

“Lay down, you look exhausted.” You explain, extending your arm around him and waving him to rest in your lap. 

“Hah, are you trying to take advantage of me?” He asks, moving closer to you rather than doing what you asked. 

“If taking advantage of you looks like letting you take a break, then yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing here.” Your laughter fills his ears and he remembers just how much he missed the sound. 

“How can I possibly say no to you?” 

“I know, I’m pretty convincing. Now, come here.” You pull on the sleeve of his arm and he quickly follows your guidance. His head settles onto your thighs, his face as close to your stomach as he can get, and his hands resting against his chest. 

You help him drape his hair over your leg and start working your way through his bangs, sliding your fingers along his forehead. His playful smile slips into a relaxed expression as he takes in the feeling of your touch on his skin. The way you trace your fingers down his cheek, over his nose, across his lips, his jawline, he is beyond happy here. 

“Do you know when you might be able to take a real break?” You ask, running your fingers through the blue strands of his hair, admiring the way it looks as you move them to places they don’t normally rest. 

“It seems there are many days ahead of us. These new recruits are …” He lifted his hands into a shrug before dropping them back onto his chest, “Well, progressing at their own pace we’ll say.” 

“So it’ll be a while.” 

“Perhaps. Don’t fret though, I’ll always make time for you to refill my reserves.” 

“I’ll take on that request.” You look down at him and catch his eyes staring back, he moves his hand to rest against your arm and gives it a tight squeeze before turning his face toward you. His eye closes and even as the conversation dies down, as his breathing becomes slower, and his hand slips down the side of your arm you know he won’t fall asleep. He never falls asleep when you are with him like this, no matter how tired he is he refuses to miss a single moment. 

LEATHERBOUND - Reader x Cassian - (I think I missed this request but I think someone req’d something similar) Reader is a librarian in Illyria when Cassian comes in asking for help finding something.

Cassian's favorite time of year in Illyria was the winter days where the sun was out. The winds were harsh enough to stun his wings, but the rays from the sun were warm enough for a perfect contrast. Not letting him freeze, but not letting him get too hot either. 

The muddiness also became packed ice instead of the mess it had been over the summer. It was still messy in the more trafficked areas, but not nearly as bad. He couldn't hide the joy that rept into his heart at the sight of so many Illyrians taking joy in the season. Small winged children threw snowballs at passerbys from a ledge. A broad winged male scared them off with a flyover. Cassian entered the small shop, the smell of dust and worn carpet whirled around him. It was comforting in a strange way. It reminded him of being a child. Innocent and curiously exploring different shops at his home.

The bell above rang in a dull tone. He looked up and saw the shotty repair job on the ringer. Not exactly as it had been when he was a child, it seemed. "Stay right there!" You called from the back, putting away the stack of books you held. They clattered into the bin loudly. The sound of rustling made him curious.

"I'm just here for-" He called, starting to step further into the room. The books lined the short walls, and the stacks in the middle looked percaiously stacked. They were organized, but the bottom of the stack seemed stained. He doubted the resources for another bookcase were available. 

"I know, just dont move. I just cleaned the carpet." You brought a towel from the front desk over and placed it beside the small outcropping of hard wood you had laid out for anyone first entering the store. "This is the last building in Illyria with carpets. I'd like to keep it that way." You said when the dark haired male gave you a pinched look. He bent and began taking off his boots. Boots that looked far too new for the likes of an Illyrian. 

Watching him do so, you noticed the two Siphons on his hands. Then the one on his knee. Your head went fuzzy. What had you done to deserve a visit from the Lord of Bloodshed? He noticed your stare and gave you a wolfish smile. You didn't flinch away from it. The wind howled at the gaps in the stone, and you cleared your throat.

"So what do you need?" You asked, crossing your hands behind your back. Ready to be of service. Hopefully he wouldn't demand too much of your small store.

"You said you knew. So you tell me." He said with a sly smile. You stammered, sweat slicking your palms. "I didnt mean- We have several ah..." You looked away, at the different categories of spellbooks and history of Prythian. Shame fell in your gut at the bottom layers of books that made the stack in the middle of the room.

"I'm looking for a cookbook. One with Illyrian recipes." He stepped to the carpet, his dark socks immaculate against the worn pattern. 

"Is the high lord a fan of home made treats?" You laughed at the odd request. Then covered your mouth, the embarrassment turned your ears red. "I'm sorry-" "No, its fine." Cassian chuckled, pulling a book off a shelf. It was of the first war, and was bound in dark leather. "He does. But the book isn't for him. The high ladies sister, actually." 

The one of hellfire and stone or the one that seemed to be a ghost? You dared not question him. "A solstice gift?" You asked, showing him over to the small cooking section you had obtained over centuries. They weren't of much use in Illyria, but the few travelers found them fascinating. 

"Yes, she's had a rough year." His voice was somber, but the hope still lingered in his eyes.

You let the words sink in. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, his presence was warm and welcoming, actually. As if he was putting off a vibe of 'I'm safe.' You handed him a complete cookbook full of basic recipes and baking. The cover was so worn the title was unreadable. Dark spots stained the inner pages, you knew because you'd borrowed the book several times. "We all have." He flicked through it for a moment, smiling. His teeth were immaculate, and a bit extra pointy on his canines. The sight of them sent a thrill through you.

"I recommend the sweet dough. It's spice free, the only thing you need for it is pine needles and sap." You flicked the pages to one you had bookmarked. The opposite side was full of different types of cakes to make with minimal ingredients. 

"I'm too familiar with it." He laughed, shaking his head. Some fond memories from long ago lingered there. He could recall the scent of the bread with full accuracy. The way it the needles would char on top of the dough if there were too many. 

"How much do I owe you?" He pinned the leather under his arm and pulled a satchel from his pocket. Your heart raced at the glimpse of so many gold coins there. 

"Ah- it'll be Twenty silvers." You said, embarrassment coating your tongue. He didnt even look like he was carrying and silver. He eyed you speculatively. "Twenty silvers for a full book?" He asked. You nodded, trying not to wring your hands. He fished a gold coin from the pouch and held it out to you. "Let me get you some change... it may take a second." You fumbled to the desk where you kept your coin inside a spellbound box. 

"Dont worry about it. I'll be back another time." He called, setting the book on the floor to pull on his shoes. "Lord Cas-" You began to protest.

"Just Cassian." He corrected, grunting as he pulled on the boots. "Call it a tab." He winked and eyed the ripped, hole filled curtains of the front window. How they swayed in the breeze that drifted in from the rocks. 

"I'll be seeing you." His eyes scanned you, and you nodded. "Be seeing you." You said back, your mouth dry. He was intimidating in the ways you'd never thought of. Not in a scary way, but in a sly way that made your heart race. The bell over his head dinged hollowly as he exited, shoving the book into his backpack. You tried not to stare as he left. 

+ The Solstice party was a success as it normally was. Nesta kept to herself in the corner with Amren while everyone else exchanged gifts. Elain's eyes lit up at the book, and she hugged Cassian with heart. "I'll be making you something tomorrow." She promised. Cassian felt the flicker of cold over him and shot Az a look. They glowered at one another. 

Rhys leveled a look at both of them that got them to straighten up. Feyre handed out mugs of hot cider. Mor brought around a bottle of liquor to mix with it. The night was warm with friends and joy. Besides the cold corner where Nesta sat. Cassian did his best to ignore it. As did everyone else. 

He was nearly the last to leave. The cider had effected him more than he thought. But it warmed his insides against the cold wind of Velaris. He wrapped his wings around himself to shield from the cold. He thought of the librarian who had given him the book. His mind drifted to the rest of that day, how Devlon had even seemed cheerful. 

He wondered if you were doing anything, if you had any family celebrating with you. If you had a mate that spoiled you. His heart kicked up at the thought of it. He hadn't noticed a ring...or any tattoos to signify a mating bond. He couldn't recall much else. He had been stunned by the beauty and simplicity of you and your shop. He couldnt remember if you had wings. 

The frustration ate at him. He had to know more. He needed to know if you had a good solstice. He made a plan. "It would be good karma" He told himself, entering one of the several shops on the way to the townhome. His excitement made it nearly impossible to sleep that night. + "Happy solstice." A voice called from the front door. You hadn't heard the bell chime. 

You rushed to the front, making sure that the carpet hadn't been ruined. The curtains whipped from the wind outside. The enormous Illyrian shut the door with a firm gentleness that made your heart race. His hands wrapped around a small wooden box. Well, it was small in his hands. 

"It's the day after solstice. Happy late solstice." You corrected, striding over to him and giving him a look about the shoes. They looked incredibly clean. "You still need to take them off." 

"I know. You need to open this first." He forced the box upon you and stooped to begin unlacing the boots.  "What-"

"Just open it." He stood and followed you to the counter. Heat flooded your cheeks, you hadn't gotten him anything. Not that you could afford it, or even knew what he would want. "Why did you get this?" You asked, trying to hide the tension in your voice.

"So you dont have to cook that sweetbread again." He said with a grin, staring at you. At how your hands delicately removed the lid from the box. Then at your stunned reaction at the waft of spices that spilled from the box. "Cassian-" You breathed, utterly speechless. 

"I have a request too...So you can't say its too much. It's for me too." He went to the shelf where he'd gotten the cookbook for Elain. "Make us these, and we'll call it even."

"Cassian... I'm not a cook. I dont bake." You laughed when he pointed at the spice cakes in the book. "Maybe ask the sister-" You pushed the box toward him, the heaviness of it screamed 'expensive' to you. Guilt marred the joy of receiving the gift.

He pushed it firmly back to you, locking eyes. He noted the way you tensed at that stare. He eased, trying to ignore the scent mixing with the smell of leather and spice. "I want you to make it, using these." He patted the top of the box. 

You debated with yourself. The male carried around more gold than you'd ever seen. And he wasn't worried about it. You figured if it was a gift then he genuinely wanted you to have it. You sighed and took the box, placing it under the shelf beside your bag. Your wings pinched at the movement. 

You ignored how his eyes lingered on your scarred members. You were used to it from some males, but never one as important and high ranking as him. He shook himself and refocused, pulling himself out of the rage he was feeling at the sight of your ruined wings. 

"Any other requests?" You sighed, feigning annoyance. His toothy grin made your stomach do flips. 

🌙 Part III

🌙 Pairing: Jung Jaehyun (NCT) x Reader, Johnny Seo (NCT) x Reader

🌙 Genre: Angst, Soulmate au

🌙 Word count: 2.1K

🌙 Warnings: none in this chapter

🌙 Series Masterlist

🌙 Note: This series was sparked by an ask from my first account. It’s been collecting dust for a few months, but I’ve always had the intention of finishing it!! It’s been slightly rewritten.

🌙 Tag List: @justineasian @cookydream

Johnny glided between the shelves of 7/11, your 7/11. At the moment he held up a bag of savory chips and caramel popcorn, discerning them in an attempt to guess which one you’d prefer. What was your favorite ice cream flavor? Did you like milky or dark chocolate? What about gummies?

But the question that bothered him most was if he should be doing this in the first place. Wasn’t it all a bit… much?

Nah… he was just being friendly. Maybe he wanted to be more, did this give you too strong of an impression too soon?

Fuck it.

He got at least one of every item that crossed his mind, just for you. A bottle of wine too, since you seemed to like that. Some painkillers for your cramps as well. He found himself nervously knocking on your door a few minutes later. He hoped you’d be there, and he hoped he wasn’t making himself look like a fool.

You were there, and as soon as you opened the door he could smell all of those sweet and comforting scents that came from you and your home, and you flooded his feelings all over. Goodness, how could everything of yours smell so good - and so unique. And then seeing you, how your eyes widened in a bit of surprise then curved into a smile because you saw him, it made him swoon. You were happy to see him, and that made him happy too. He just wished he could make sure he wouldn’t do something to mess this up with his naivety.

You’re going through a similar ordeal, being greeted by an overwhelming sight. Johnny, all tall and broad, is wearing a classic pair of jeans with a shirt with its sleeves rolled up. He’s got a smile plastered on his face, and when you see him he just makes things seem brighter, happier somehow. You immediately notice a sharp refreshing scent coming from him, and you guess it must be so noticeable because it contrasts so sharply from the scented candles in your apartment. It’s a nice, plain scent. Definitely his cologne, but its quite clean and fresh.

“Johnny…” you say, smiling, but you’re a bit stunned so your words just cut off there for a moment as you both stare, smiling at one another. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi.” He smiles goofily, his nerves melting a bit, “I wanted to come say hello. And… uhm, I’ve got a few things for you too.” he hands them out but you don’t let him leave just yet.

“Oh, please, come in. Sorry for the mess!”

Your apartment was not at all a mess. It was clean, your little dining table was occupied with notes and pens and highlighters, and there was a fluffy blanket thrown on the couch. He’d love to spend time in a place as charming as this. His place with Jaehyun was always clean, sparkling, but it’s because neither of them filled it with anything homely at all. It was just empty and boring with the exception of some spot or another where they’d put personal items in their own rooms.

“Uhm… this is for you.” He said while shyly holding up two large bags from the convenience store. “You said you had ‘girl stuff’ so I hope some of this might help you feel better…”

You looked into the bags, it was like a treasure chest, every single craving you could have possibly gotten was in there. Sweet, salty, boozy, comforting - and all from Johnny, all for you.

“Johnny, you shouldn’t have! I don’t know what to say but this is all perfect.” It really was perfect. “But… I’m trying to dial down on the drinking. So, how about I save this bottle for the next time we drink together, hopefully on a happy occasion. Maybe… I can cook for you again sometime, as a thank you.” You say with a giggle.

He’s surprised to see that you already imagine spending more time with him. It certainly reassures him when he had thought that today’s gesture might have been awkward.

“Do you have any plans today?” You ask him.

“Not really… I just planned on stopping by.”

“Well, I’m up to my wits end with a paper I’ve got, and I was just about to watch a movie. Would you maybe like to join me and you can help me out with all of these goodies you’ve brought?”

“I really don’t want to bother, I just wanted to make sure you felt ok.”

“I feel better now thanks to you and if you want to… I’d be happy if we just hung out a bit.”

How could he say no?

Eventually the two of you do settle on a movie. While he’s still nervously checking your body language and reactions to his presence, the two of you get deeply engaged in the story and have an enjoyable banter as commentary. He enjoyed the movie, but more so, he enjoyed watching it with you. All the little comments you made, the clever quips, your reactions, the way you made faces at him to see if you were both thinking the same thing regarding whatever was on screen.

A second movie is proposed. You ask him if he wants something to eat, you insist on cooking and it all sounds perfect to Johnny. He’d like nothing more than to accept your offer. It’s like a dream, he feels

But he doesn’t.

Because at that moment he swallows the cold realization that he’s absolutely smitten with you, and he just can’t let himself do that. Not to you, not to himself, and not to Jaehyun. It wasn’t that he had much consideration for Jaehyun at the moment but nonetheless, that man still had a connection to you, and Johnny didn’t feel right about stepping in the middle of that - even if it was all wrong, even if you said you wanted to move on... Johnny wouldn’t let himself be the one to step in the way. He’d been on the other end of that once before, and it almost killed him.

“I’m sorry, it’s getting late and I’ve got a few things to do at home.”

“Oh… That’s ok. Just make sure to not be a stranger, I really do enjoy spending time with you Johnny.”

Your smile crushes him. What he decides to do after this encounter crushes him even worse.

It’s all a shame really, because you genuinely meant it when you said you enjoyed his company. The aftermath of it crushes you a little bit too.

Johnny gets home soon after, he feels like your scent is clinging to him.

“Johnny, can I talk to you?” Jaehyun asks him as soon as he walks in.

“Not today.”

Johnny slams his bedroom door behind him.

Ignoring Jaehyun was easy. Leave for classes as early as possible, get home as late as possible, lock himself in his room. Go out to eat as soon as he knew Jaehyun was gone or simply leave to eat at a restaurant. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Jaehyun trailed him everywhere with sad eyes like a wounded dog, and Johnny didn’t even feel his resolve tested when he’d choose to ignore him.

But, to ignore you was painful.

He’d run into you everywhere, you’d rush up to him with a smile. You had this horrible habit of rubbing his arm that made him want to crawl away from you and chant some mantra to get you out of his damn mind. Why was it that before the whole situation with Jaehyun, he’d never caught a glimpse of you, yet now you were permeating every waking thought and dream he had?

He tried hard, so hard.

So, so hard to not effortlessly fall into an entertaining conversation with you, impossibly hard to not smile when you did. When you asked for his number, he was so entranced that he mindlessly gave it to you, so now you could text him and ignoring you was a thousand times more difficult. You sent him pictures of animals you’d run into when you jogged. Screenshots of upcoming movies that you suggested the two of you watch together. Meal ideas for the next time you would cook for him. Meals! For him! From you! He wondered, would you still cook for him with love?

Was it only your cooking that had love for him?

“Johnny, please talk to me.” Jaehun pleaded at their breakfast counter. It had been three weeks since the punch, and the bruise was finally gone. In fact, Johnny’s own anger had subsided too, just a little, but he was still apathetic towards Jaehyun.

“You can talk, I’ll listen.” He said while sipping on some iced coffee. It seemed to be the only way he drank his coffee now, since you made one for him. Still, it wasn’t as good as yours.

“I want to apologize, again…”

“Apology accepted.” Johnny said apathetically.

“No John. I want to apologize for everything. To you, to all the people I’ve hurt. To her. I want to make things right.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

“I’m going to start by apologizing to those girls… but I’m gonna have to ask you to remind me what their names are, and maybe help me see how I can contact them.”

“I’d hate to help you with anything, but fine.”

“And I want to make it up to her as well.”

“Y/n?” Johnny sighed. He was fairly certain you’d want nothing to do with Jaehyun, in fact, you were blossoming in life since the day you told him you planned to move on. You were happy, your grades were great, you were motivated, making friends… Jaehyun didn’t fit in the beautiful picture you had made for yourself. In fact, you didn’t need him there. “What do you even plan on doing?” Johnny asked skeptically.

“I want to apologize first, and then, I hope that she and I can get to know each other. I… want to give it a shot.” He says. Johnny thinks Jaehyun is delusional, but he doesn’t want to crash his new found path to redemption just yet.

“Give it a shot?What makes you think she wants that?” Johnny says with a casual sip on his straw.

“I want to let her know I’ve changed, and that I’m gonna keep changing - for the better.”

“It’s not good to change solely for one person, Jaehyun. It’s about you first and the kind of person you want to be - the life you want.”

“I’m not changing for her. I’m changing because I’ve messed things up for people, people I could have loved, people who loved me… and I lost someone that meant more to me than anyone else and I don’t want to go through that again. I don’t want to hurt people to the point they hate me.”

“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t hate you.”

“I was talking about you.” Jaehyun said.

Well, he wasn’t wrong. There used to be a lot of love between the two of them, and now Johnny didn’t have an ounce of appreciation for the person that Jaehyun had become. It wasn’t hate per se, there wasn’t that active anger to it. It was dislike and indifference. Apathy.

“Well Jae, I hope you tell people all about how you’ve changed once you’ve actually got something to show for it.”

Johnny got up and went to his room. He closed the door but didn’t slam it this time.When he sat down on his bed and looked at his phone something came to his mind and gave him all kinds of butterflies in the wrong way.

Jaehyun didn’t know that the two of you had become friends. He didn’t know how much time you had been spending together. And he certainly didn’t know how much Johnny didn’t want him to speak to you ever again. You were too good for him, too precious to even grace his presence. But it wasn’t his place to meddle.

He could only hope, beg to some cosmic force, that you would not want Jaehyun’s presence in your life. He wasn’t sure if he could handle this kind of heartbreak twice.

A few days later, you hear a knock on your door. It’s odd, you weren’t expecting anyone, but the only person that ever came by was Johnny, so you have a bit of a spring in your step and a smile on your face as you go answer, hoping it's him.

It’s funny, how even the thought of his presence makes your disposition all sunny, the promise of your day better, and your attitude lighter.

“Hello?” You say as you swing the door open, but it’s not Johnny.

Room 107 // chapter I // JJ Maybank (smut)

I have started my first JJ story, which will consist of several chapters that I will constantly be updating. The story picks up where season 2 leaves us. TW: Contains mentions of drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, sex and violence. 

Chapter 1 can be found below.  Oh, and - please feel free to submit requests, I tend to write a lot ;) 

Enjoy xx

Chapter 1 - La Guardiana

Days had passed since the Pogues had last seen civilisation, maybe even weeks. The sun was hotter than ever, with close to no wind to mask the warmth. JJ was taking this particularly badly. 

“I’m so done with eating bananas, man,” he moaned, kicking a pebble as he trotted a little behind the rest of his friends, “Can’t we just stumble across an oasis or something and end up in, like, an actual city?”

As if on command, his friends stopped in their tracks, the girls awing and the guys smiling happily. 

“We just might, JJ,” said John B, looking at the city unfolding itself in front of them in the distance, “We just might.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m actually starving,” laughed Sarah, nudging John B’s arm, “Don’t tease!” “Hey, so am I,” he cooed, “First joint we find, we’re going in for food.” Kiara rolled her eyes, “As much as I would love to accept that offer, let me remind you that we have no money.” Sarah nodded, “Mhm, nothing at all.” “Nada,” John B looked at the two girls sternly, “And when has that ever stopped us exactly?” Kiara rolled her eyes once again, smirking at her friend, “Alright, I suppose a good meal would give me the energy I’d need to run a marathon after getting caught not paying.”

The group continued walking down a not too busy street, studying the buildings, looking for a restaurant, cafe, diner - anything, really. They hadn’t had a proper meal in God knows how long and they were famished. They couldn’t help but notice how all the buildings on the street were of the same height - no more than four storeys each, all painted in different colours. If they hadn’t known any better, they’d have thought that they had left the United States of America altogether, although one thing was certain - they were definitely not in the Outer Banks anymore. 

The street wasn’t crowded at all, there were hardly any cars or people lurking about. JJ concluded that this was probably an unpopular area of whichever city they were in. This would also explain the lack of supermarkets and restaurants. He really wanted to ask his friends to stop for a little break - his throat was so dry and his legs could barely hold him up anymore, but he knew better. The longer they walk, the faster they’ll find what they are looking for. Having no indicator of the time on them wasn’t helping either, hell, they could have been walking for 12 hours for all he knew, and with no result. 

“Maybe we should just ask someone,” Pope suggested, “Neither of us is a wanted criminal anymore, I’d say we have nothing to worry about.” John B smirked at his friend’s remark, but ultimately agreed to ask the first person they ran into where the nearest food joint was. Turns out, they were standing right in front of it. 

“La Cubanita Hotel and Restaurant” it spelled out in bold, red letters. The building was narrow and a light shade of blue, totally contrasting the obnoxiously coloured sign planted in front of it. Much like the rest of the buildings on the street, it had no more than four floors, each consisting of a row of Spanish windows with brightly coloured frames. The Pogues looked at each other with a hint of uncertainty before John B lead the way into the building. 

On the inside it looked like a typical diner - tiled floor, red and blue booths, a long bar accompanied by bar stools and, cheesily enough, a boombox. JJ guessed that the way to the hotel was through the back, but he didn’t put too much thought into it. The place seemed dead, with only one of the booths being busy. It was either an off-peak hour or this city was actually a ghost town. 

The group sat at one of the booths on the other side of where the other people were and JJ took a second to observe them. A group of bikers, all wearing stereotypical biker outfits from leather jackets down to bandanas. They were in their mid 50s and were all smoking indoors, drinking what looked like whiskeys, despite of the blazing sun still very much being out. JJ had to give it to them though, they did look pretty darn cool if he did say so himself, and those cigarettes looked eerily appetising to him at this given moment. Oh, what he’d give to have a sip of whatever they were having and a long, much needed drag of one of their cigarettes. He was so lost in his daydream, he barely realised Kiara poking him in the arm. 

“JJ,” she urged, “Waitress is here!” In this moment JJ turned his attention to the new subject in question, their waitress. She was standing at the foot of their booth, wearing her uniform, black and red, holding a pen and a notepad, chewing a piece of gum, waiting for his order. Could this place get any more stereotypical? JJ thought to himself. “So what’s it gonna be, handsome?” She said, not even bothering to look in his direction. “Uh…” JJ fumbled with the menu, “I’ll just have whatever they’re having.” He said, pointing at the bikers in the booth across from theirs. The woman rolled her eyes, popping her bubblegum. She took the rest of the Pogues’ orders before disappearing somewhere behind the bar. JJ followed her with his eyes, blocking out the conversation his friends were currently having. The waitress came back out of what he assumed to be the kitchen and handed the paper with their orders to another girl behind the bar. JJ guessed she was the barmaid, and boy was she a bit of him. 

She was wearing the same uniform as her colleague, although JJ had to admit - it looked a whole lot better on her, at least from what he could see from above the bar. Her hair was long and brown, half of it tied up effortlessly, and slightly messily, although JJ didn’t mind one bit. He watched her as she took the paper from her colleague and went to fetch the drinks written on it. He couldn’t make out what exactly colour her eyes were, and quite frankly - he didn’t really care, she was gorgeous regardless of what her eyes looked like, and she looked around his age. Had the sun and heat gotten to his head, or was it just the fact that he hadn’t touched a female in so long, he didn’t know, but if there was one thing JJ Maybank was notorious for, it was his ability to pull any girl his heart desired effortlessly. This is why he excused himself from the table and, albeit his friends’ confused looks and comments, he made his way towards the bar, sliding into one of the stools directly across from the girl. 

She looked up at him, “Can I help you?” “Brown…” JJ mumbled to himself. “Excuse me?” She said, this time sounding slightly annoyed. Her eyes were brown, JJ thought, brown and sexy. He coughed, trying to compose himself and gave her his signature Maybank stare. It worked wonders back home, surely it would work wonders now again. “Name’s JJ,” he said suavely, “I’m not from around here-“ “Clearly,” she muttered, picking up a bottle of whiskey. JJ assumed it was for him, “Aren’t you a little young to be drinking, JJ?”

JJ smirked, “What can I say, I have the face of a boy but the body and mind of a man.” The girl snickered under her nose, “Sure. Well since you’re here, make yourself useful and bring your drinks over to your friends,” she gave him a fake smile, placing a tray with their orders on it in front of him, after which she turned her back to him and walked towards the back of the bar. JJ was too busy observing her behind to notice the other waitress standing next to him, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Should I take that or will you?” She said, waking JJ up from his everlasting daydream. “Oh, uh, don’t sweat it…” he said, picking up the tray and carrying it over to his friends’ booth. “So much for customer service,” Sarah laughed. “And to think my dad says I’m hostile to our customers,” Kiara muttered out. JJ took his seat next to her, his eyes never leaving the bar. “La Guardiana,” Pope read out loud, “This place is called La Guardiana, and apparently we’re somewhere in Florida.” “Florida?” John B said, confusion dripping through his words. Pope nodded, pointing at some text on the bottom of the menu. 

La Cubanita Hotel & Restaurant **, 97 Diego’s Crescent, La Guardiana, FL 

“Holy shit, we’re in Florida!” John B whisper yelled. Sarah laughed at his reaction, “Calm down now, Sancho, let’s not draw any attention to us,” “Yeah, you might wanna tell Casanova here that,” teased Pope, nodding his head in JJ’s direction, “Was it really worth it to potentially blow our cover just to talk to that girl?” JJ snapped at Pope, “Hey, man, just ‘cuz you don’t have the nuts to go over there and talk to her yourself,” “Yeah, I really want to attract the staff’s attention, you know, even more than we already are, seeing as we’re the only other busy table at this place.” “Your food,” the waitress from earlier was back with some of the Pogues’ orders. They waited for her to be out of earshot and JJ spoke up, “Relax, P, I bet you I can charm the pants off that girl and we won’t even need to sneak out without paying!” Pope gave JJ a fake smile, “Mhm, I’m sure she’s gonna be so deep under your spell she won’t even notice us leaving without paying a cent." JJ rolled his eyes, picking up a toothpick from the table and placing it between his teeth. “Might even offer us a place to crash, you know, because she’ll be so captivated by you.” Pope continued to tease. “Yeah, chicks totally dig this whole I’m homeless and I haven’t properly showered in like 15 days look you're going for,” Sarah joined in on the teasing. Kiara laughed and added, “Yeah, and the bit that’s gonna fully seal the deal for her is that you have literally nothing to offer her, like 0 dollars.” Everyone was laughing while JJ just crossed his arms in front of his chest and turned to look out the window, “Talk all you want, guys, but once we get that gold back, you’ll see who’ll dig what.” “The rest of your order,” he recognised the girl’s voice. It was her bringing their food over this time. She placed John B’s plate in front of him and then made her way around the table, next to where JJ was sat. She handed him his plate and bent down slightly, so that her lips were on the same level as JJ’s ear, “Next time you decide to share your criminal plans, you might wanna talk a bit more quietly.” She whispered, setting his cutlery down for him, “Oh, and, you might be charming wherever you come from, but your friend’s right. That shit doesn’t work around here.” She said, patting him on the shoulder before walking away. JJ didn’t waste time sitting around to listen to his friends pass comments about what had just happened, he downed his whiskey and practically chased after the girl. “I’m guessing you’ll want another one?” She said, not even turning around. JJ wondered how she knew that he was there. When she turned to face him, the bottle of whiskey was in her hand. “Let’s see… Do I pour you another one and close my eyes about you planning to leave without paying, or do I do what anyone else in my position would do and call the police on you? Hmm…” she pretended to think, her eyes never leaving JJ’s now panicking ones. “Please don’t call the cops,” he blurted out, the whiskey hitting his brain and making him stress out more than he wanted to admit to, “Look, we - we were in a boat accident, we don’t even know how we got here, hell - we didn’t even know where we were up until 10 minutes ago! And we - we don’t have  any documents on us, we don’t have any sort of identification, what would you -“ “Relax, kid,” the girl smirked, picking up two glasses and pouring a generous amount of whiskey in both of them, “I won’t rat you out.” She said, handing JJ one of the glasses and raising hers for a toast. JJ clinked his glass with hers, a large smile growing on his face, his dimples becoming very prominent, “Thank you, really… That means a lot.” The girl took a moment to observe JJ, then to look at his friends having a heated conversation at their booth, all of them practically stuffing their faces with food in an almost animalistic sort of way. Could this boy really be telling the truth? Could these kids have been lost at sea with no place to go? She looked back at JJ who was also looking at her. Despite the smile plastered on his face, she could clearly see that he was extremely nervous still. “Hey,” she said, “I told you to relax, didn’t I. I won’t charge you for your food, in fact… I might even have a place for you to sleep and clean up tonight.” JJ’s eyes grew wider at her words, “You what?” She leaned in closer to him over the bar and lowered her voice so that he would be the only one to hear, “Hotel upstairs, my aunt owns it. She’s currently out of town with my cousin. Should be back next Thursday. I think I can fit you and your friends in. You just have to promise to be on your best behaviour.” She said, pulling away and taking another sip from her drink. JJ couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was too good to be true. She was hot and she was willing to help? This must have been his lucky day. Sarah could suck it, and so could the others. Clearly this girl was into him. Why else would she be offering to help? “So, uh, what’s in it for me?” He asked, a hint of mischief in his voice. The girl opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the other waitress groaned from behind her. “Samara, how many times do I have to tell you?” Her croaky voice rang. The girl, who JJ had just learned was called Samara, rolled her eyes and repeated with her colleague, “No drinking on the job, yeah yeah, I know. But Heather’s gone and so is Conner, so who can tell me what to do, really?” She said, finishing what was left of her whiskey, “Besides, Georgia, as far as I’m concerned, since they’re both gone, that leaves me in charge, no? Now get back to work,” she said, making her colleague roll her eyes at her. Samara turned around to face JJ again, giving him a wink, before disappearing into the kitchen. JJ couldn’t believe his luck. He swung his arm over the bar and picked up the bottle of whiskey to pour himself one more drink before returning to his friends. “Guys-“ JJ tried getting their attention. “So what are we supposed to do now? We’re totally screwed!” “They’re gonna call the police on us, hell, they probably already have! The cops could be on their way!” “Guys!” JJ yelled, catching even the bikers’ attention. His friends looked up at him, worry filling all of their eyes. “You’ll never believe what I’m about to tell you, oh, and Sarah? You can eat your words.” He smirked before telling them what had just happened. “Hold on,” said Kiara, her face revealing her confusion, “So this random girl in this random place just randomly said that we can crash here until when?” “Next Thursday, or was it Tuesday? What day is it today?” JJ scratched his head. “JJ!” Kiara slapped his arm, “What if this is a trap? It sounds too good to be true doesn’t it? Like, what’s in it for her? We don’t even know her! What if she’s a murderer or something?” “She’s right, you know,” Cleo chimed in. “She is,” said John B, “But we have nothing to lose, literally.” Pope nodded, “I’d usually agree with Kie, but John B’s right. We have nothing to lose. And what if she calls the police? What could even happen then? We get put in jail for agreeing to sleep in a hotel for free? Come on, guys, I’m sure we can all agree that a bar of soap and a normal bathroom would do us good. I mean, we stink.” Everyone laughed at Pope’s remark before Kiara turned to JJ again, “So what’s the plan?” Realisation just struck JJ that he didn’t in fact know what the plan was. Samara had told him virtually nothing about how any of this would go down. Where were they supposed to meet? Was she going to take them to their rooms? Would they all be sharing one room? He was so busy thinking about how all of this would go down, he barely noticed Samara herself passing him a note. It was taken out of her colleague, who JJ now knew to be Georgia’s notepad. The note read in messy handwriting:

Bring your friends to the lobby. Straight down the hallway by the bathrooms. 

JJ turned the piece of paper towards his friends and they all got up, rushing towards the hallway by the bathrooms.

and A lay B down to nurse their wounds......? 😫🥺🥰

eri my beloved tysm for the request and sending a prompt 🥺💖 ilysm and hope u enjoy some Soft royai!!!

this kind of ended up being a blend of two prompts? this one and feeling cared for one from that prompt list asdffds i hope that's ok but also it's what riza deserves <3

send me a prompt

rated: t | words: 3054 | tags: hurt/comfort, soft royai, tending to wounds, fluff

read on ao3

They are silent once the safehouse is deemed secure. The quiet is deafening as it shrouds them both. It’s almost oppressive as they take stock of what they’d just escaped from and process the fact they’d been in a shootout about an hour ago. The lack of sound is jarring, it’s such a contrast, but there is a comfort in it as well, because they’re okay. They’re safe and they’re together. Now, where there is no one shooting at them, no one chasing them, they can both finally rest and let their guard down. The adrenaline is abating, leaving muscles quivering and allowing breaths to leave their lungs much easier.

The Colonel sits heavily on the couch behind them, letting the cushions catch all of his weight as a long sigh of relief passes over his lips. He lets out a quiet hiss as he hits a sore spot, either on his legs or up his back, but apart from that he’s silent.

Riza feels the tension fizzle out of her shoulders, dragging them both downward slowly, peeling away from her ears, as she finally starts to let herself relax.

They’ve both had a rough few hours, but they made it out. There’s a few bruises and lacerations covering their skin; Riza has one on her left forearm and one on the left of her abdomen, and the Colonel has a small one on his cheek. His lip is burst as well, the result of an unsuspecting punch to the face. She’s sure he sustained more as they fought their way out to safety, but she can’t be sure. There’s no blood pooling on his clothes or saturating any of the fabric of his uniform, so that’s something. That was enough while they fought their way out.

“Lieutenant?” His call for her attention is soft so not to startle her and it’s full of concern.

She turns, wondering what he needs, to see his questioning stare as he watches her still standing in place with her hands clenched by her sides. Her fingers relax automatically, letting go of the tension, but she cannot help the wince as the muscles of her forearm contract, aggravating her injury there.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course, sir.”

He scrutinises her for a moment longer than usual. His eyes narrow slightly as he does so, indicating he doesn’t quite believe her, but she is. He lets it go with a simple nod.

“Sit,” he urges, gesturing to the cushions next to him on the couch. “Please.” He beckons her gently with a tired smile.

The Colonel’s expression mirrors her own, Riza is sure. Exhaustion has settled deep within her bones, and she knows she should stop, that she should sit down and tend to her wounds. With the adrenaline gone her side is throbbing, and both injuries need cleaned and covered as soon as possible. There’s a sharp pain in her oblique muscle as she thinks about her worst one, which makes her twitch and grimace.

“Lieutenant.” He almost breathes her rank. It catches her attention and she’s momentarily taken aback by the look on his face. It’s filled with understanding, and his concern is back. One eyebrow lifts in an enquiry, calling back to his earlier question regarding her wellbeing.

“Honestly, I’m all right,” she assures him. “It’s only a few bumps and bruises.”

The Colonel nods. “Okay. Shall we see to that wound on your side?”

Riza watches as he swallows after speaking. It wasn’t his fault or hers, it was the fault of the man who’d been wielding a knife, but as her commanding officer she knows the Colonel will hoard the responsibility for everything that happened today.

“What about the one on your cheek?” Her counter makes him smile knowingly.

“Mine feels like it’s nothing compared to that,” he replies, nodding towards her torso. His smile dies on his lips as they both look at the patch of blood seeping through her military jacket. Real worry replaces his concern and Riza nods, giving in.

“Come here,” he coaxes, speaking ever so gently.

The mood feels like it has shifted slightly but Riza dismisses it. She’s too tired and sore and will still need to see to his wounds once she’s been taken care of. There are more important things to focus on.

“Sir, I can see to it myself. I don’t mind.” Riza appreciates his offer more than he could know, but she still has to say it. She doesn’t want him to feel obligated to do so.

Realising his gentle command is going ignored, the Colonel stands to join her and slowly reaches out to catch her fingers within his own. He curls them around her digits, but his touch is light. Unrestricting, but tender. His touch is calming and welcome.

“Lieutenant.” His tone is firm, but he’s not ordering her to do anything. It’s placating and an offer. “Let’s clean up that wound. I don’t want you twisting and turning any more than is necessary, given its location, but only if you’re comfortable with that. It’s completely up to you.”

She stares at him, noting the undercurrent of worry but also taking in the care she sees in his eyes. He wants to help her. He wants to look after her, to make sure she’s patched up and all right.

The Colonel does not tug her towards him. He simply holds her hand, his own arm outstretched and waiting, giving her the freedom to pull away if she so wishes. It’s her choice; go to him and accept whatever he is willing to offer or take a step back and away. The Colonel won’t mind if she picks the latter, Riza doesn’t think. He will be mildly disappointed. He’ll probably pout at her childishly, but it will not become an issue between them… The thought of his reaction almost makes her smile fondly. The corners of her lips twitch.

She steps forwards and his smile grows wider as he smoothly guides her towards him by the hand. Before their bodies can collide, he sidesteps and lowers her hand to their sides before turning and taking a cautious step down the hall behind him, waiting for her to follow him.

Even into hell.

Of course, she follows him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“How does that feel?”

“Good.” The bandage around her torso is secure and places enough pressure on her wound. The safehouse is well stocked with plenty of first aid supplies so there’s more than enough for them both.

Riza straightens in her chair at the table in the safehouse’s kitchen. She’d leant forward onto her elbows, being mindful of her injured arm, as the Colonel cleaned up her side. As he did so, she saw to her forearm, both working in tandem to patch her up. It was an arduous affair, but a necessary one. With every wince and flinch she felt him hesitate behind her. Riza could almost feel the sorrow pouring off him, but there was nothing else to be done. He knows that, but it still doesn’t mean that he likes being the cause of it for her.

She shivers as cool air washes over her exposed skin and her side twinges with pain. Reflexively a hand rises to cover the aching area.

“Still sore?”

She nods, and the Colonel sighs quietly. She knows what he’s thinking. He wants to take her pain away.

“It will be okay, sir,” she placates.

He huffs and mumbles to himself, not satisfied, which causes Riza to roll her eyes fondly at his antics.

Before she can move any further, something is draped over her shoulders. She had to remove her shirt for the Colonel to work on her properly, so she’d been left in just her sports bra, but looking down she sees the Colonel’s black overcoat covering her. She knows it’s his because she’s suddenly shrouded in the smell of him.

It makes her smile. Riza leans back in her chair and tugs the article of clothing tighter around her body, relishing in the warmth it provides and the comfort it brings, alongside the thoughtfulness of his gesture. She shoots him a grateful smile, but he doesn’t notice. He’s too focussed cleaning up after his work. Riza watches him, taking in the look of concentration on his handsome features as he carefully collects the soiled bandages and wipes. When he senses eyes on him, the Colonel glances up and looks at her so expectantly – it’s almost innocent – before his expression changes and turns perplexed.

It reminds her of the boy she grew up with. Before war and guilt and unspeakable atrocities.

“What is it?” There’s a smile tugging at his lips, and she discovers its contagious.

“Nothing,” she replies, schooling her expression and readjusting his coat.

“Is anything wrong?”

“No,” she replies. “There’s nothing wrong at all. Thank you for your coat.”

His smile is bright and pleased. “Of course, Lieutenant. You’re welcome.”

After the waste is disposed of the Colonel wipes carefully at his cheek and lip. The alcohol smarts and he hisses in pain and flinches away from it, but still powers on through. It’s a quick job, only taking about five minutes, and once he’s done, he rummages around inside the first aid kit once more.

“I could have helped you with that,” Riza offers. As she sits up in her chair she flinches as the movement jostles her side.

“And that’s precisely why I did it myself,” he chuckles quietly, eyeing her above the mirror he had propped up on the table between them. It had been fascinating to watch him work. “Here.” A small white bottle is offered to her. Painkillers. “These will help with your pain, apparently.”

“Thank you. Is there any ice for your bruises?”

The Colonel nods and collects it from the freezer. It’s pressed to his cheek, and he grumbles about the cold.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

While the safehouse is well equipped and the perfect spot for them, they are both presented with a small issue when night falls.

Both stare at the single bed in the bedroom.

The Colonel scratches the back of his neck and fidgets on the spot, shifting his weight from one foot to the other once, then twice. Riza exhales slowly and quietly, resigning herself to their sleeping arrangements. She grips his coat tighter, so it doesn’t fall off her shoulders.

Riza could have changed into a t-shirt but she can’t quite let go of his coat just yet. The Colonel doesn’t comment on it either. He doesn’t question her choice and seems more than happy to allow her to keep it for the time being.

“I…” The Colonel clears his throat quietly. “I can take the couch.”

As he turns away Riza’s hand reaches out. She grips onto his shirt, halting him. He looks down at her hand, before his eyes jerk back up to meet hers. He knows what she’s asking of him already, but he still hesitates. He still waits for her to voice it aloud.

Like the courtesy he’d offered her earlier, he can move away if he wishes to. Her grip isn’t tight or restrictive, yet he doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t expect him to stay with her but…

She wants him to.

“What do you need, Lieutenant?” His prompt comes after they’ve been standing in silence for a beat longer than he expected.

She looks up at him, gripping onto his coat.

“You.”

The bed is a tight squeeze, but they manage. The military wouldn’t splash out for a large double bed for their officers. In all honesty, Riza is surprised there’s even a proper bed, and not just a cot. But she supposes it would have kept up appearances when they moved equipment into the neighbourhood.

Riza is pressed with her back to the wall while the Colonel faces her –

It feels wrong to refer to him as such in their current position. The mission is over. They’re laying low and off duty while the heat clears from them both after their escape. They’re not Lieutenant and Colonel right now…

She snakes her injured arm underneath his, reaching across his torso, and spreads her fingers across his lower back. Their bodies are pressed even closer together – she can feel the heat radiating off of him (which makes her smile to herself) – but he’s secure. She wants to ensure he won’t fall backwards off the bed in sleep.

“Are you comfortable?” His breath washes over Riza and her eyes flutter closed at the pleasant feeling. His voice is so low that it causes her to relax instantly. It’s such a pleasing sound as she lies there, pressed up against him.

She hums her approval. Riza tips her head forwards, causing it to brush against his chin and throat as she burrows even deeper into the warmth between them. The painkillers are kicking in and making her drowsy.

“Good.”

Her sleepy grin is hidden when she feels lips on the top of her head, but she makes a soft, pleased sound as he kisses her. When his hand runs through her short hair she’s almost lost to sleep completely.

“As much as it pains me to see you with those injuries, it has worked out quite well for us.” He laughs, but there’s a nervous edge to it.

A frown tugs at her brow as confusion becomes prominent. “What do you mean?”

“It makes us the perfect fit,” he murmurs after a brief pause.

He’s right. Lying on his uninjured side leaves him in the perfect position to lie facing her, and Riza lying on hers leaves her able to curl into him.

“So, getting punched in the face was your plan all along? So you could cuddle me in bed at night?”

His laughter is full of joy at her joke. “Anything for you, Lieutenant,” he winks, “you know that.” His arm wraps around her shoulders and back, pulling her tighter against him.

“How’s your cheek,” she mumbles tiredly. She can no longer bring herself to keep her eyes open. She blames the comfort and care he always brings her so effortlessly.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry, Lieutenant.”

“Riza.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Pardon?”

“Riza,” she breathes.

She cannot remember who crossed the line first tonight – perhaps they both did, but it is completely muddled within her memory. She doesn’t want it there between them. Not now, when she’s so comfortable and feels so cared for. Not when Roy’s fingers are combing through her hair, and she can hear his heartbeat close to her ear and feel his pulse thrum underneath her touch.

“Of course, Riza.” He grants her request so easily and quietly as he presses another kiss to the top of her head. Riza can practically hear the pleased smile that she knows must be on his face. Roy joins her on the other side of the line willingly and without hesitation. He only wanted to make sure he heard her correctly.

“I’ll always worry about you,” she adds. She curls closer into his chest and holds onto his lower back even tighter. Her fingertips increase their pressure there.

“I’m okay,” he soothes, his voice a hum underneath her ear. “You fared far worse than me.”

Riza tips her head back, exiting the cocoon of warmth they’d made between them. Blearily, she blinks up at him and notices the strained look on his face. The arm holding onto his back moves slowly and she brings it up to cup his cheek. Her thumb caresses his cheekbone, close to underneath his eye, and Roy’s eyelids flutter closed, seemingly of their own accord. That makes her smile and leaves Riza feeling pleased with herself. She can do that to him, offer that feeling to him, like he does to her.

Roy’s head turns and she grants him the space to move. With it, he presses a kiss against her palm.

“I’ll always worry about you too,” Roy admits. His fingers ghost over the bandage on her arm. Even though his touch is barely there it still tickles her skin, lifts the hairs on her arms, and makes the base of her neck tingle.

She shivers.

Roy lowers his hand to the space between them. The muscles of her stomach become painfully aware of his hand’s proximity and start to tingle. It becomes too much and Riza has to move forward, closer to him and his hand, to rid herself of the pleasant, but overwhelming feeling. The back of his hand is now pressed against the bare flesh of her abdomen.

“We have to lay low tomorrow as well.”

Riza nods in agreement. That was their orders, after all.

“We have to rest,” he stresses, and she catches onto his meaning, “to let ourselves heal.”

She smirks up at him, knowing exactly what it is he’s proposing. He was always a crafty one.

Not moving far from this bed and nursing their wounds together sounded like a wonderful plan to Riza.

Roy runs a hand up her arm to her shoulder, the backs of his fingers trailing along her skin and igniting a trail of fire beneath them, then back down again. “If the military had provided us with the appropriate facilities, like, say, a bed each, we would be able to do it apart and by ourselves. But,” he sighs heavily, exaggerating the sound, “since the military didn’t, we must make do with what we have.”

“What a shame,” Riza smiles tiredly.

“You’re stuck with me, Riza,” he chuckles. “Sorry.”

“Darn.”

“Blame the military.”

“Don’t worry, I will. They’ll receive a stern letter about the lack of facilities provided inside their safehouses from me tomorrow.” Riza yawns loudly towards the end of her sentence but Roy is already laughing. “Or maybe it will get lost in the post.” She’s pretty sure her speech is incoherent at that point. Roy’s affection has almost lulled her completely to sleep.

“Sleep well, my Queen.” He presses his lips to her forehead. “Let me know if you need any more painkillers.”

“I will,” she mumbles tiredly. “Sleep well, Roy. Thank you,” she breathes happily.

Wrapped up in his arms, clinging onto Roy tightly, Riza falls asleep feeling completely safe and cared for, and at peace.

But What If, Instead

Decided to give a go to posting my horribly named but hopefully very fun Beetlejuice fic to tumblr as well. This is an au where BJ is adopted by the Deetz family at a young age.

He’s twelve when he’s left on his own in the upperworld.

He doesn’t know he’s twelve, because he’s never celebrated a birthday, but that timeline seems to fit, later, when he thinks back on it. So he’s twelve. His mother has promised him a special treat that day, and though he’s skeptical to trust her, he follows her quietly through the door she’s drawn, the bone white stick of chalk a blaring contrast to the dark hallways of the netherworld reception office. She’d knocked, and the drawing was more than a drawing, suddenly, with white light and noise spilling through into his little corner of hell as it opened, and when he steps through, Betelgeuse sees blue skies and green grass for the first time in his unlife. He’d turned back to look at Juno, confused, curious, his big orange snake eyes watching her, waiting for the catch, for her to yank him back and punish him for being naive, and trusting her, but all the demoness had done was billow smoke from her slit throat, and nod encouragingly to him. He takes another step, and another and another, and suddenly he’s running and laughing and jumping and the air up here is different, but good, and he takes breaths he doesn't need because it feels nice, and he turns to her again to try and entice her to play with him- And the door is gone. He stands there, staring at the nothingness where she and it had been, and realization hits him hard, because he’s twelve, and he’s been left on his own.

He doesn't cry, both because he can’t, and because he knows it won’t change anything. It doesn’t take him long to find them. Pre ghosts. Breathers. Humans. The place is lousy with them, and the smell of them irritates his sensitive nose. He’s a dumb kid, sure, but he’s got some survival instincts, so he hides from them as they go about their lives, strolling around this place, completely oblivious to the little demon now crashing their dimension. Breathers look so weird, all flushed with blood and bright eyed and hearts beating, no signs of death or rot or decay on them. It’s a lot to ask a kid to get used to. The ghosts back home, the ones workin in Ma’s office, tell him stories about the world up here, sometimes, usually in exchange for him going away, and leaving them the hell alone. (Their words) If there was one thing he learned from them, it was that humans, living or dead, didn’t like things that were strange or unusual. He wanders the wilds of wherever he is for an hour before he finds a body of water, and stooping to peer into it, takes a look at himself.

His skin is pale, but not pink. The undercolor is purple, maybe, which he would have thought would be close enough, but compared to the living, breathing people walking around this place, he knows is too different. There’s not much he can do about that. His hair is a bushy mess, sticking up all over the place, but at least the color is currently green. It’s the eyes, teeth, and ears that really stand out. Yellow snake-like slits stare back at him, long pointed ears flick in the direction of distant sounds, and when he tries to smile down at his reflection, those too many too sharp teeth are all he can see. He’s not the best at magic, yet, mostly using it to play pranks around the office (and hey, maybe that’s why Ma left him here in the first place?) but he does what he can. He throws a glamour over himself, and it’s far from perfect, but the three big problems are taken care of. He looks more human than he did a minute ago, at least, and that’s something.

He’s less afraid to take the main paths, after that, and with that worry out of the way, he finds himself enjoying the afternoon again. So, ma left him here. So what? She’s done him a favor, probably the first she’s ever done anybody, because now he doesn't have to be around her just as much as she doesn’t have to be around him. It’s a win-win, Betelgeuse thinks stubbornly, trotting along the winding pathways lined with benches and garbage cans and other silly human things. He’s starting to get a bit tired of all the green when he reaches, quite unexpectedly, the end of it. There’s a big arched sign, and he can’t understand the language written over head, even though he’s squinting and tilting his head. Someone at some point had sat him down and tried to teach him letters, and he’d gotten far enough to read through the first page of the Handbook, but then that person had been reassigned, and was gone, and no one had cared to keep teaching him.

He’s holding his hands up at his sides, rubbing his red tipped claws against the palms of his hands, top teeth biting over his bottom lip, head tilted to one side in an extreme, when he hears a snort and then a soft giggle.

There’s a woman standing in front of him. Her hair is a sunny yellow color, but her clothing is dark and dramatic, and there are roosting bats dangling from her ears. She’s laughing at him. They stare at each other for a long moment, her hand raised in front of her mouth, her eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners, and he finally breaks the silence by pointing at the sign, and speaking. “Wazzat say?” She blinks in surprise at his grating little voice, and then glances back at the sign. “Krap Lartnec,” she tells him. “Which is flipped around and backwards for “Central Park.” He’s been staring at the sign the wrong way. Of course. He feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “Oh. Got it. Park. Right, yeah.” She lets out another laugh, and it’s so different from the sounds his mother makes when she’s guffawing at him, shaming him, that it almost doesn’t register as a laugh at first. There’s no cruelty to it, just amusement, and maybe curiosity. “Are you here alone?” she asks him, and he shrugs easily. “I guess.” She moves closer to him, cautiously, like he’s going to bite her, or bolt, but he doesn’t really feel the need to be worried over one breather. He knows he could rip out her throat if he needs to. The glamour only hides his demonic features, not takes them away. He’s still plenty capable of taking care of himself. “Where are your parents?” She's crouched down next to him now, one knee on the pavement, big brown eyes all sweet and worried, and he shrugs again. “Don’t have a dad. Mom’s downstairs.” She squints at that, and he gestures down with a pointed red claw tip. “Ya know. Downstairs.” The way he emphasizes it is meaningful, and when her eyes show understanding, he assumes she gets it. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be. I’m havin’ a good time.”

That doesn’t seem to be what she expects, but she just nods thoughtfully. “Are you staying someplace?” He can’t, for the undeath of him, figure out why she’s asking, and why she cares. He shrugs again, because things feel better in threes, and says vaguely, “I guess I’m stayin’ here.” That also doesn’t seem to be a good answer. “You can’t stay in the park overnight. There’s creeps around here.” He bites back the urge to explain that he’s the creepiest thing here, because suddenly she’s taking his hand, and she feels cool to the touch. “Good god, kiddo, you’re burning up!” she puts her other hand on his forehead, all the play gone from her voice, clearly concerned. “You might have a fever. Listen…” she worries her bottom lip with her teeth, smudging the dark color there, before she makes a decision. “Why don’t you come home with me? I’ll give you something to eat, make sure you’re alright, and we’ll figure out what to do from there, okay?” He isn’t sick, and he’s pretty sure he can’t get sick. It’s the hellfire in his veins that makes him hot, because he’s not like her, not even close, but the idea of following her seems like a fine one to him, so he just nods. “Kay. You got bugs where you live?” She snorts again, and stands, brushing off her dark, rose patterned tights. “Sure, what New York apartment doesn’t have a few roaches lurking around. You like bugs?” “Yeah, I like em. They’re crunchy an’ they skitter around an’ stuff.” “Yeah,” she agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “Bugs kick ass.” It’s his turn to snort, and then laugh, because she’d sounded so serious that it strikes him as funny. His hand is still in her’s, and she gives it a squeeze. “What’s your name, little buddy?” “Betelguese.” He expects a pause, or a comment, because no newly dead has ever heard his name without wrinkling their nose and looking vaguely sick, but her smile just grows wider. “Far out. I’m Emily.” And hand in hand, they leave the park.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Beetlejuice decides quickly Emily might be the nicest breather who ever breathed. It’s a decision he makes only moments after they’ve left the park. Normally he’d be talking, and talking a lot, and his ma might throw something at him, a curse or a bottle, to try and shut him up. So he’s giving silence a try, here, even though it feels like it hangs like a weight around his neck. But Emily is the one instead filling the silence with sound, and he’s never had such unfiltered attention from an adult before. She’s talking about the park, then his hair, then his name, and everything she says is just… sunshine. She likes his hair. She likes his name. She even likes the loose fitting and filthy black and white striped shirt he’s got on, she says it’s deadlyvoo, whatever the hell that means, but it must be good, because Emily said it.

They’re walking down the street, his little hand still in her’s, when a smell hits his sensitive nose. It’s unlike anything he’s ever smelled before and if he wasn't tethered to her, he would have floated after it. As it is, he does feel his feet lift off the ground briefly, and he has to remind his body to obey gravity, before someone notices. Luckily, Emily only sees part of his reaction, namely the way he’s sniffing the air like a dog and drooling. “Hotdogs!” she grins, and she leads him over towards the smell before he can even ask what that word means.

There’s a little cart set up, and a short, fat woman is fussing over a fire. He quickly finds the source of the smell, those little weird shapes of meat she’s turning over, and he goes to reach for one, only stopped by Emily’s other hand over his. “Not so fast, little bug. To unlock lunch, you need the power of capitalism.” She nods gravely. He nods back, clueless, but after a moment he has the source of the smell in his hands, and he wastes no time in scarfing it down. It’s good. He wants more, instantly, and tugs at her sleeve. Emily has hardly put her wallet away before it’s back out again, and she’s bought two more hotdogs. He eats them just as quickly, but before he can ask for more he realizes she’s led him away from the woman and her meats and her fire. Clever breather.

The walk to her home isn’t so bad, and it gives him time to take in his surroundings. The park had been jarring enough- what little plants grow in the netherworld are perpetually gray and withered, sad little scraggly weeds that struggle and choke each other out for the privilege of what miniscule sunshine permeates through the perpetual overcast. But there’s enough sunlight and water and everything to go around here, and it all grows green and vibrant. The city feels the same way, sort of. Like there’s plenty of space to stretch out and grow, and so they did. In the netherworld, everything is short and cramped, but bigger on the inside, with long, winding hallways meant to confuse and trap the dead. The buildings here are so tall looking up at them makes him dizzy, but he hardly has time to admire them before Emily is guiding him this way and that, and finally, to another door. She presses a button and they’re let inside, and he experiences another first as they ride the elevator up a few floors.

They ride the first few floors up in relative silence, until - “Get ready to jump!” Emily says suddenly, crouching, and he follows her lead, and jumps when she does. There’s a brief moment of weightlessness before gravity catches up with them, and their feet hit the elevator floor again, in time for the doors to open. “Good job, Beetlejuice!” she praises, pushing that long sun colored hair out of her face, and he beams up at her. “Feels like flyin, kinda!” “Right?” she enthuses loudly, and he’s about to ask her how a breather knows what flying feels like, but a door down the hall opens, and the biggest man Betelguese has ever seen steps out. “Thought I heard you rattling the elevator,” he’s chiding Emily, who only gives her snort and smile in return. “Lydia isn’t even with you, do you really play that game when you’re-” his eyes fall on Betelgeuse. “Alone?”

“Charles, I made a new friend!” Emily tells him simply, leading the little demon into their apartment. The interior is dim, but he can see fine. He knows his amber eyes are glowing a little in the gloom, and he closes them, just for a moment, as Emily leads him down the hall and into a sunny, well lit kitchen. The big man, Charles, is tailing behind, looking mystified. “Where on earth did you find him?” a hint of nerves creeps into the breather’s voice. “You didn’t… steal him.. Right?” “Charles!” Emily laughs, like it’s an absurd question. Betelgeuse can’t tell if it is or not. Emily doesn’t seem like a child snatching witch, but he doesn’t know enough about such things to be sure. “I didn’t steal him,” she clarifies, busying herself with getting the boy a cup of ice water, and stopping by for a moment to touch the back of her hand to his forehead again. “I found him wandering around Central Park. He said he doesn’t have any folks, and he was all alone, and he feels feverish. I’m being responsible! I’m a responsible adult!” “A responsible adult who still plays the elevator game, despite being told by maintenance you might throw the whole elevator out of whack?” Charles askes, but he doesn’t look angry, more amused.

“I was teaching Beetlejuice how to play.” The pause he was expecting with Emily finds its home with Charles. Charles glances at the boy. Betelguese stares back with big amber eyes, sipping quietly at his ice water. Charles looks to Emily, who seems to be waiting expectantly. The silence stretches for another beat before Charles asks, baffled, “Is that… his name?”

Emily throws her hands up like he’s asked if the sky is really blue. “Of course it’s his name! Or at least, that’s the name he gave me. I’m respecting it. Respectful and responsible, that’s me.” She turns and winks at Betelgeuse. He returns the strange breather gesture because he likes Emily more than he’s ever liked anyone before.

The water cup is empty, and he simply lets it go, no longer interested in holding it. It bounces and rolls across the floor, and Charles wrinkles his brow at the boy. “Wh-” Before he can say much more, Betelgeuse is sniffing at the air, and he crouches on all fours, nose to the ground, like a dog in a cartoon. He’s caught the scent of some kind of upperworld bug, and despite all the hotted dogs, he’s still hungry. He’s on the prowl around the kitchen, weaving under the little dining table and three chairs, and then back down the hall, into the living room. Charles and Emily poke their heads out of the kitchen to watch him.

“I think you brought a feral child into the house, Em.”

She makes a psshaw sound and rolls her eyes, smacking gently at his lapels. “He’s a kid. Kids are weird. I was doing weird kid stuff when I was his age, too.” “And you never stopped,” comes the dry response. “Charles, I know you worry, but he’s a little kid, lost in New York. I mean, my god, it’s like a movie! I couldn’t just leave him, and I wasn’t just going to give him to some cop, he’s probably an undocumented runaway or something-” and the rest of her rambling is drown out by Charles gasping and grabbing her, and her own muffled gasps of shock, because Betelgeuse has caught the bug. And also, he’s on the ceiling. He may have been trying to blend in, but the second he caught the scent of that delicious crunchy upperworld bug meat, everything else was out of mind. He’d spotted it on the ceiling, and had followed it up there, ignoring gravity to get what he wanted, and right as he pounced on it, nearly catlike, Charles and Emily had gasped. Their breather noises distract him long enough for the bug to skitter away, and he loses his concentration, and drops to the living room floor with a sickening crunch. Emily shrieks, and Charles panics, sprinting for the boy, certain he’ll find a dead child with a broken neck. Instead Betelguise sits up, his glamour disturbed from the fall, and the breathers get an eyeful of what he really looks like. There’s a beat. They’re all staring at each other for a long moment. “I… I might have brought a feral child into the house,” Emily admits sheepishly. You can read the entire thing, right now, over here

scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 5

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia, blood, gore, bloodplay, knifeplay, suicidal thoughts.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find yourself trapped.

Note: So I managed to finish this chapter before work really starts to kick my ass. Just letting y’all know, there will be a part 6 but I have an 11 hour day tomorrow and work straight through to wednesday so I’ll probably be exhausted.

That being said, I appreciate y’all reading and your reactions have been the highlight of writing!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You coughed into the blackness. Your awakening was gradual as you waded through the void and slowly broke the surface of consciousness. Your throat was dry and sore and your head swelled with each breath. You reached to touch the tender flesh along your neck, bruised by the rope which had so violently been strung around it. You only recalled the dread of your suffocation before the world turned dark.

As you moved, bright lights flicked on suddenly and you groaned as your eyes watered. You trembled as you pushed yourself up on the bed. The room was small, just big enough for the large bed and the metal chest secured with a heavy padlock. There was a heavy door with a slot and no handle and another smaller door to your left.

You shimmied to the side of the bed and turned your legs over the edge. You slowly turned as the wall behind the bed stood in contrast to the rest of the sterile white room. Every inch around the low frame, from floor to ceiling, was pasted in images and documents. A startling map of your existence.

Pictures of you in the grocery store, at work, on the train or even in your apartment, spanning years back. There were even a few of your dorm room, long forgotten to the haze of your college years. A transcript of your credits and copies of your resume and even pages of the journal you thought only known to you. The one you’d thought you lost in your move from student to adult. And the drawings; just as you remembered, sickening and horrifying.

You stood, unsteadily, and neared the demented collage. There were other pictures; of women who looked like you; crying, screaming, bleeding. You grabbed one and tore it off the wall. You crumpled it up, unable to look at the woman’s dead eyes.

You flinched as the heavy door jolted suddenly and you turned as it opened. You dropped the picture and pressed yourself to the wall as Bucky entered and the door closed behind him. His blue eyes were predatory and intent on you. His right hand twitched as he cleared his throat.

“Sit,” he said softly.

You gaped at him and shook your head. You quaked as you edged over to the corner as if you could hide there.

“Baby girl…” he warned, “Please, don’t make this difficult. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You grazed your neck with your fingertips and scoffed. The sharp breath scratched your throat and made you wince.

“You made me do that,” he said, “Please, sit.”

You blinked at him. His left hand balled into a fist and he shifted on his feet. Your heart jumped and your lip quivered. Slowly, you pushed yourself away from the wall and neared the bed. You sat sideways against the wall with one leg hanging to the floor. You folded your hands and braced for the unraveling of his wrath.

“Good girl,” he preened. “I just want to talk. That’s all I came for.”

“You’re a murderer,” you rasped, “So just kill me already.”

He smiled and chuckled. He took a breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He neared the end of the bed and gripped his hips.

“If that was what I wanted, I wouldn’t have waited so long.” He said. “All you have to do is listen, baby girl. And if you can do that, I will bring you a treat.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” you muttered, “You’re disgusting. You’re…” you shook your head as you couldn’t put into words how he made your stomach twist and churn.

He sniffed and took a deep breath.

“Where were you seven years ago? What were you doing?”

“Looks like you already know,” you paused and tried to clear your sore throat. You coughed and pressed your hands to your neck.

“You were just a student, yes?” He shifted on his feet as he spoke, “Innocent, unaware. Running across campus to get to your next class. So clueless you didn’t even notice the man you collided with. Didn’t notice me with that look in my eyes; distant, determined.”

You frowned, confused. You shrugged. You didn’t remember.

“And what did you think when you heard of what happened to the dean?”

Your heart dropped. You remembered that. It was in the headlines for weeks; the mysterious attack on the dean of criminology. It was revealed that he was a former intelligence officer but it could not be linked substantially to the event. He resigned shortly after and as any new cycle, the story washed itself out.

“You--?”

He sighed and his eyes darkened. “What I was… then. What they made me.”

“I don’t--”

“Shhhh,” he hushed you and neared the bed until his legs touched the mattress. “I was their weapon; a machine. My job was death but that day, their weapon failed. Their weapon was distracted and for that the weapon was reforged, honed, beaten down until it was once more sharp enough to use.”

You shook your head in confused, Your fingers curled until your nails cut into your palms.

“Even when they wiped my mind, you remained. The girl who smiled at me without thought; who apologized and asked if I was okay… Who gave me directions to the right building… never knowing… because she thought I was good.”

“I don’t remember. I don’t know you…”

He held up a finger and tapped his lips. You went silent and watched him.

“When I was free, when I found Bucky again, I found you.” He breathed. “And you were the same. Flitting around without a care. And you ran into me again and you apologized, as you had before, and not a second thought to the man who watched you run for the train. To the man who held the door for you the next day or returned to you the card you dropped on the sidewalk. Always just a smile.”

You touched your cheeks. You remembered the card, some forgotten coffee rewards counter you never used. It came clearer then. His gloves hand holding the cardstock, his blue eyes. It was just another random interaction in the chaotic city. But it wasn’t.

“No…” you shook your head, “But why--”

“You see, the people who corrupted me, their control has nothing to do with what I am. It is a part of me. The soldier, Bucky… one does not exist without the other. Bucky fell in love with you, Bucky wanted you, but the soldier… he didn’t how to help Bucky. How to get you. So he found the girls and he tried to figure it out.”

“Stop. Please. I can’t--”

“But even the soldier couldn’t hurt you,” he put one knee on the bed. “Bucky won’t let him.”

As he placed his other knee on the mattress, you turned to get off the bed. He caught your ankle before you could and pulled you down the bed. He climbed over you and straddled you beneath him. You struck out at him and he stopped your hands, gripping your wrists tightly.

“I told you, I won’t hurt you.” He said softly.

“You are hurting me,” you tried to pull away from him and wiggled beneath him.

“I am trying to help you,” he pushed your hands beside your head, pinning them to the bed. “I only want to love you.” He bent over you and his hot breath tickled your lips. “To feel you.”

“Please, you can’t-- I never-- I’m scared, Bucky. Please don’t hurt me.” You begged. “Please…”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed. He glared at you and pressed his forehead to yours. He let go of your arms and his hands gripped your head instead.

“Listen. I’m not going to hurt you,” he growled. “But I will if you make me.”

You stared at him, paralysed beneath him. He squeezed your head until it pulsed then pushed himself up suddenly. He climbed off of you, jostling the bed, and scanned the wall of photos. He lowered his chin and nodded.

“Take your clothes off.” He said.

You stayed as you were, stunned and scared. He looked at you slowly and his lips curled.

“Do it or I will.” He warned.

You sat up. You were numb as you skirted to the edge of the bed and pulled your tee over your head. He snatched it from you and you stood to unbutton your jeans. You rolled them down and he took them in turn. You struggled to unhook your bra as you trembled and he spun you sharply. He snapped the clasp and the fabric fell away from your chest. He gathered it up and tore your panties just as easily. He even bent to take your socks as they sat balled on the floor.

You tried to cover yourself as you turned back to him. He marched to the door and stopped. He looked back at you and gritted his teeth.

“Good girl,” he smirked and then turned around and looked above the door. 

A small lens sat above the frame and the door unlocked. He opened it with his foot and sent you one last glance before he pulled it shut. You slumped onto the bed and folded your legs against your chest. There was only the sheet stretched across the mattress and a single pillow. You shivered and hung your head.

You felt the eyes of all the dead women behind you. Felt the weight of their souls. And yet you were horribly alone.

👁️

Shortly after he left you, a tray was slid through the slot in the door. You ignored it at first but your stomach began to ache as the hours dripped by. You took the tray and rested it on the foot of the bed as you sat carefully. You took a long gulp from the bottle of water and the muscles of your neck reminded you of your assault.

The sandwich was cut neatly in half; ham and cheese with mustard. You chewed it without tasting and emptied the cup of applesauce. That was all you could manage and you set the tray in the corner.

The other door, the smaller one, opened up to a small booth. A toilet and sink only. You refused to be thankful for anything but were relieved to have at least that.

You hugged the pillow for much of the time. Your only shield against the cold and your nudity. You dozed off for a little, a shallow, distraught slumber.

You were awoken by the door. You sat up dizzily and stared at the figure as it cleared in your vision. The lights were dimmer as Bucky moved around. He went to the metal chest and opened the lock. You pulled the pillow to you as he closed the lid and plopped a roll atop it.

He turned to you and you cowered as he knelt on the bed. Wordlessly, he pulled on your arm until it bent painfully away from the pillow. You fought with him as he dragged it to the top corner.

“What are you doing?” You whined. “Please, don’t--”

You choked on your voice as he pulled up a leather cuff over the mattress. He wrapped it around your wrist despite your struggles and buckles it.

“Bucky, Bucky, please--”

He hushed you and grabbed your other arm. You kicked you as he forced you onto your back and shook the whole bed as he secured your other wrist. You hit his shoulder with your heel before he grabbed your left ankle and tied in down before he did the same to the right. You were stuck, stretched across the bed, writhing and whimpering as he backed away.

“What--”

“Baby girl,” he tapped his fingers atop the metal chest. “I don’t want to gag you… You have such a pretty mouth.”

You grunted and tugged on your binds. It was pointless. Even if you got loose, there was no way out of this room, no escape from this monster. Your eyes drifted to the wall above you and you closed them against the sight of the tortured women. Would he do the same to you?

You heard a clink and your eyes snapped open. You looked over at the knives that lined the fabric roll and you sobbed. You let out a pathetic squeal that slowly built to a scream.

“Please, please, please!” You shouted. “Don’t do this!”

“Baby girl,” he hummed as he dragged his fingers over the blades. “I told you, you’re safe with me.”

He turned and his eyes roved over your body. He let out a thick breath and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. He pulled it over his head and let it heap on the floor. His gaze clung to you as he undid his belt and pushed his pants down. He forced his boots off as he stepped out of his jeans and his socks went with them. He undressed methodically, never looking away from you.

You grunted as you tried desperately to free yourself. This animal, this monster, was coming for you.

He went to the chest and slid a knife from the row. You bounced in frustration on the bed and shook your head. No, no, no, this couldn’t happen. His weight caused the bed to dip as he lowered himself between your legs. He looked up at you as he pressed the cold blade to your thigh. You squeaked and bit down.

“You see, if one doesn’t know what they’re doing then it’s difficult to know what cuts will kill and which won’t,” he slithered. “But if they do, they know how much pressure, what angle,” he pushed the point down and you felt it pierce your skin, “where to cut… just for a taste. That’s all.”

He sliced along your thigh, a shallow but painful cut. You cried out and he did the same to your other leg. Your feet arched as your muscles tensed and you pulled against the cuffs.

The warmth of your blood was met by the heat of his mouth. You gasped as lapped at the flow and smeared it over your skin as he edged closer to your cunt. You grasped at air as your fingers curled and uncurled. You let out pathetic noises as he pressed his thumb to the slice along your other thigh.

He purred as he brushed his tongue along your pussy. He pushed carefully between your folds and you gulped. The tingle it sent through you had your heart hammering. He spread his hand over your thigh and his other gripped your hip as his tongue teased you. 

He sucked on your clit as his hand slipped further up. You pushed your head down into the mattress as you felt a storm of hot and cold fill your core. He needed to stop. He had to stop. You couldn’t feel like this. It was wrong. He trapped you, he cut you, and now he was toying with you.

He traced two fingers along the crease of your thighs and pushed against your entrance. You moaned and he dipped them inside slowly. He stretched you around his vibranium digits until his knuckles were pressed to your cunt. He curled his fingers and moved them in time with his tongue.

You bared your teeth as you tried to resist the instinctual response of your body. The way your core pulsed and buzzed without your consent. You whined as he brought you closer and closer to your peak. Between your mewls, one word was clear; ‘no, no, no.” 

You went rigid as the waves rolled over you and your climax overwhelmed your fear. He urged you through it, his fingers working into you quickly as your sighs turned to sobs. He didn’t stop until you were shaking and wincing against his touch.

He raised his head and drew his fingers from inside you. You looked down at him, his beard and nose stained red. Your stomach flipped and your fear spiked once more. He took the knife from beside your leg and backed off the bed. His cock bobbed with each step as he went to the chest and unsheathed another blade.

He returned to you. This time he moved to straddle you as he turned the knife in his hand. He admired the sheen of the metal and poked your lips with the tip. He trailed over your chin and traced the line of your cheek. His blue eyes sparkled as he teased you.

“You’re beautiful…” he breathed, “I could never ruin that face.”

He brought the blade to your neck and lingered on the still tender flesh. He continued on to your chest and circled your nipples. His hand cupped one tit as the knife played with the other. He moved his hips and grinded against you.

He closed his eyes and took a breath. He hovered the knife below your clavicle and turned the tip to your skin. He split the flesh slowly along the centre of your chest, a red line rising between your breast. Again, it was shallow, enough to bleed, enough to make you sick.

He set the knife down on the mattress and his fingers crawled along the incision. Your torn skin stung at his touch and he bent over you. He traced the line with his tongue and lifted his head. He pressed his hot lips to yours and forced his tongue inside. You tasted the metallic taint of your own blood and groaned.

His chest rubbed against your and you felt the warmth as it spread across his skin. His hand felt around as he lifted his pelvis and moved his knee between your legs. He slickened his fingers with your blood and once more began to play with your cunt. You squirmed and tried to turn your head away from him. He bit down on your lip and shoved his fingers inside of you.

“Baby girl,” He drew away, “You’re ready for me.”

“No--” He pulled his fingers out of you and his hand came up to wrap around your neck and he shushed you once more.

His eyes bore into yours as he angled his hips. He shifted as his tip poked along your cunt. He slowly pressed against you until he slipped inside. You grunted and bit down on your lip. You shook your head as his hand grew tighter. He eased into you an inch at a time and your eyes rolled back as he reached his limit.

He sighed as he moved his thighs flush to yours. His heavy breaths filled your ears as he began to rock. He thrust into you carefully, relishing in each long stroke. He hummed as he kept a steady rhythm. You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to resist the burgeoning swell in your core.

He moved fast and pushed himself up, his hand still on your neck, nearly crushing your windpipe. His other hand stretched across the gash on your chest and he slammed into you harder and harder. The clap of his flesh echoed through the room as the blood from your thighs seeped onto his.

The bed quaked beneath your bodies as he pounded into you, his voice rising with each tilt of his hips. Your own breathy moans floated in the air and knotted in your chest.

“Baby girl,” he growled, “Fuck, you feel so good… you taste so good.”

He lifted his hand from your chest and you opened your eyes. He licked your blood from his hand, his left still firmly at your throat.

“You’re gonna look so pretty,” he touched the cut again and played with your blood. His chest was marked with red and it trickled down his muscled stomach as he hammered into you. “This is gonna be a pretty little mark, isn’t it?”

You gnashed your teeth and turned your head. You stared at the blank wall as your thighs tensed against his. You gasped as your orgasm rose violently and your body spasmed.

Bucky let go of your neck and grabbed the knife. Your eyes followed the blade and he pressed it along his chest and cut into his left peck. He stilled as the blood leaked from his flesh and he put the knife aside once more. He coated his fingers in his blood and wiped them across your lips. He forced his way inside your mouth and began to fuck you again.

He lowered himself over you. He slipped his fingers from your mouth and grabbed your chin. He kissed you deeply, tasting the mix of your blood. He pulled away as he began to pant and rutted into you without relent. He snarled and pressed his lips to your cheek.

“You feel that, baby girl,” he rasped, “Hmm, you’re going to make me cum. You want it inside of you?”

“Please--” you whispered.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby girl. Over and over--” He jerked his hips with each word, “And over-- and over--”

He hissed and thrust into as deep as he could. He spasmed and rolled his hips as his cum spilled into you. He slowed and let his weight down onto you. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest and your own beat loudly in your ears.

“Over and over… baby girl,” he murmured and flinched. He slid his arm up under you and slowly moved his hips. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

👁️

You were in a daze when Bucky finally untied you. He left you limp across the bed as he packed up the knives and locked them away. He sat lightly on the edge of the bed with a wet cloth and began to wipe away the blood from your cuts. You winced but only closed your eyes and waited for it to be over.

Your entire body hurt. You lost count of how many times he’d fucked you. He cut you again on your thighs and under your breasts. You were caked in your own blood and sweat. He washed you gently and you let him. You hoped he would go when he finished.

He stood and you heard the heavy lid of the chest again. He returned to you and wiped each cut; the alcohol tickled your nostrils and burned your skin. The bleeding had mostly stopped but he bandaged each carefully. The crumple of wrappers and the tinny clasp of metal. He rose again and the padlock was snapped shut.

“You have to keep yourself clean, baby girl,” he said. “I’ve left some bandages and wipes out for you. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.”

You ignored him and rolled onto your side painfully. You shivered and hugged yourself. You’d wait for him to leave before you cried. You listened to him dress. He hadn’t cleaned himself up. Your blood was still smeared over his face.

“Good night, baby girl.” He looked at you for a moment. “Are you cold? Do you want a blanket?”

You didn’t answer and just stared at the wall.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” he cooed as his footsteps neared the door, “It’ll take some time… but we both felt how much you liked it.”

The door opened and clunked behind him. Your eyes pricked and you closed them as the tears began to fall. You grabbed the pillow and hugged it as your entire body was wracked with sobs.

You wished he had cut you deeper. You wished he had just killed you. There was no other way out.

Dancing With Our Hands Tied (7)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Phone sex, daddy kink, masturbation

A/N: Let me know what y’all thank! :) ILY

Previous Chapter // Masterlist

You were on a date.

And Pierre was all the way across the country, in a hotel bed, next to Josh Anderson.

He wouldn’t have even known you were getting wined and dined by his next door neighbor if Josh hadn’t opened your Snapchat while he was sitting right beside him. Charlie was sitting across the table from you, smiling like a nerd over his filet mignon. 

The scoff that came out of Pierre’s mouth as a reaction piqued Josh’s attention.

“Oh, we’re fighting again?”

“We never stopped,” he grumbled, standing from the bed.

“No? You’ve been sort of civil lately.”

“That’s because I haven’t been around her, so I haven’t had to deal with her attitude.”

“Smile.” Pierre turned on a dime and flipped off Josh’s camera as soon as the flash lit up the room. Josh smiled down at the photo and murmured, “YN will love that picture.”

---

It was Josh’s damn Snapchat that did you in.

It was Pierre’s long middle finger and his unamused expression, the sweats that hung low on his hips that did nothing to hide the bulge hidden beneath the waistband. You were glad that you opened it after Charlie ran to the bathroom because you were 100% sure that you were blushing.

It’d only been a week since you last saw Pierre, but the time apart had you feeling needy. You’d never admit it out loud, but you needed him. 

You needed Pierre. 

“I was thinking,” Charlie spoke as he arrived back at the table. You stood, gathering your phone and your purse as his hand slid along your lower back. “Let’s grab a bottle of wine from the liquor store down the block and then finish it off at my place.”

“Um,” you hesitated, lifting your phone to check the time. It wasn’t even late, but you didn’t want to go home with him. “Charlie, I think I should get home.

“We can totally go back to your place.”

“No! I mean, I need to be alone,” you corrected. He looked at you, dumbfounded. “I’m just feeling super bloated and exhausted.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No, come on, you know that,” you urged, fake smile on your lips as you slid your hand in his to lead him out to the car. “Dinner was amazing and this restaurant is beautiful. I wish I was feeling better, I really do. I’ll make it up to you.”

---

Pierre knew he was in trouble when your name flashed across his phone screen just before he went to bed. He sat up against the headboard and picked up immediately, desperate to know how your date went.

“Hi, Luc,” you spoke as soon as he accepted the call. He felt a chill run down his spine at the sound of your voice, at the name falling from your lips. “I miss you,” you whispered like it was a secret. He smiled at your words, feeling his heart skip a beat, and then you moaned, “My pussy misses you.” 

And just like that, all his qualms about you being out with Charlie disappeared, if only temporarily.

He sucked in a deep breath and dropped his head back against the headboard, a groan ripping through his chest as he spoke, “YN, don’t do this to me right now.”

“Why not, baby?”

“You’re not being fair.”

“Would you rather I touch myself without you on the phone?”

“Fuck no!” he exclaimed. “No, no, that would--fuck--that would be torture.” 

“Then, talk to me.”

He loved the sound of your voice, low and sultry. You could read him the phone book and he’d probably still get off. 

“Are you touching yourself?” he asked, voice deepening to meet your level. You hummed affirmatively, a bit whiny as your fingers slid along your folds. “Good girl.” His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his sweats. “What are you wearing, angel?”

“Do you want to see?”

“Of course I do.”

You smiled happily to yourself, pulling your fingers from your folds to kneel on the bed and take a photo in the mirror you’d set up in front. The first was posed with your knees apart on the bed, hand on your breast, and the next, you slipped those fingers into your lace panties and inserted them into your cunt. Pierre could hear you moan and sat up impatiently.

“Don’t tease me.”

“Patience.”

You scrambled back up to the pillows and sent him the photos, listening in for the reaction you desperately needed. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy. I wish I could fuck you right now,” he spoke. You whimpered, fingers massaging your folds. “That mirror doesn’t belong there,” he pointed out. “You moved it?”

“Yes, daddy,” you responded, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. Pierre cursed beneath his breath at the name, fingers curling around the base of his cock. “Wanted to watch when I fuck myself to your voice.”

“Fuuuuck,” he sighed. “I want you naked.”

You slipped your thong down your legs and unclasped your bra to toss it on the floor. He rid himself of his sweats as well

“And then what?”

“Spread your legs for me.”

“Are you touching yourself, too?” you asked, voice soft and sweet in contrast to the filth that was coming from both your mouths. Pierre chuckled.

“‘Course I am,” he spoke. “I’ve been touching myself since you sent me those photos.”

“You’re cheating!”

“Am not,” he responded with another laugh. “I’m waiting for you, just a little impatiently.” And then he heard a loud moan fall from your lips. “What are you doing, baby? Talk to me.”

“I’m catching up to you,” you answered breathlessly. You had a finger in your cunt, curling to hit your g-spot slowly. Each time, another whimper graced his ears. “Do you know why I really put this mirror here?”

“Hmm?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about the night you fucked me in the bar bathroom,” you moaned, adding a second finger to your pussy. His breath faltered on the other end of the call. “I think about the way you watched me come undone in the mirror, the look in your eyes, every time I touch myself.”

“You’re so fucking sexy when you cum,” he whispered. “It’s like a dream. I love the way your pussy throbs around me, the way you sigh my name and close your eyes and arch your back.” He paused. “Circle your clit with your thumb, baby, the way I do.”

As soon as you added the pressure to your clit, you sucked in a breath, legs bending at the knee to grant you better access and a clearer view of what you were doing.

“I wish you were watching me right now, knowing you can’t touch me.”

“C’mon, YN, you know that you can’t stop me from touching you.”

“But I sort of am right now,” you reminded him. A loud moan ripped through your chest, somewhat performative to get a rise out of him. “Maybe I don’t need you after all.”

“You need me enough to call me after going out to dinner with Charlie,” he grunted. “Isn’t that right? You couldn’t go home with him because you were too busy thinking about me? Thinking about the way I make you feel?” 

Without even really working for it, you got the energy you wanted out of him. Pierre’s jealousy always did it for you and you could feel the subtle shake of your legs as he asked you, “Did you buy that set for him? You wanted him to take that off tonight?”

“No, I only want you to touch me. Only want you to undress me. Only want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck,” he grunted, head thrown back against his headboard. His hand was moving quicker now and he was finding it hard to speak through the moans that threatened to fill the air. “Tell me what you want me to do to you when I get home, angel. Whatever you want.”

“I want you to fuck me against every surface in our apartments,” you told him, picking up the pace of your fingers to match the sound of his hand on his member. “I want you to fuck me against the walls and the windows, and I want you to fuck me in the bathroom mirror like the slut I am for you, like the night at the bar.”

“You gonna scream my name? Make sure Charlie knows who fucks you this good?”

“Yes, Pierre, yes, yes,” you moaned, fingers hitting the right spot as he speaks to you. Every circle of your clit had you convulsing. “I-I’m so close.”

“Hold on a few more seconds,” he requested. “You’re gonna cum with me, okay, baby?”

You released a string of moans and whimpers in place of words as you continued coaxing your orgasm, and you listened to Pierre’s praises and quickened breath as he got close to his own high. 

“Give it to me, daddy, please, fuck!”

Your back arched off the bed, fingers working furiously on your cunt as he breathed in your ear, whispering praises, “So good for me. You wanna cum?” You whimpered, nodding as if he could see it. “Go ahead, baby, cum.”

You finally found your release, shouting his name into the speaker as your legs shook and your body squirmed. Your pussy fluttered as you fucked yourself through the orgasm, catching sight of yourself in the mirror to see what Pierre said he loved to see and you listened to him come undone, the sweet sound of your name on his tongue.

---

The morning after dinner with Charlie and phone sex with Pierre, you felt hungover. You weren’t even drunk the night before, but you still woke up in discomfort with a mix of guilt and anxiety and a dash of regret. So, after pulling yourself from bed, you opened the blinds in hopes that the vitamin D would do you some good.

Saturdays, in your opinion, always felt like your most productive day of the week. And, since last Saturday was commandeered by your parents and Pierre, you were dedicating this one completely to yourself. Your breakfast was slamming, your speakers were playing some feel good tunes, and you were going to spend the day tidying up and spend the night watching Netflix.

But all your self-indulgent plans came to a screeching halt when your phone started ringing and Sadie’s name flashed across the screen.

You didn’t speak to Sadie after Pierre spent your birthday with your parents because you knew she’d blow it out of proportion. She managed to do so through text, typing in all caps to let you know that mom told her Pierre was shirtless in your kitchen.

“I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to get you on the phone,” she barked as you as soon as you accepted the call. Her voice rang through the speaker, shattering the comfortable silence you’d once had. “You’re avoiding me.”

“I am not.”

“Yeah, you are,” she argued. “And I know why.”

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“You’re in love with him.”

You dropped a plate in the sink, suds splashing up into your face as you scrambled to turn the faucet off and dry your hands. You were going to get into it with her.

“I’m not in love with you him! Where would you even get that idea? He was shirtless in my kitchen because we slept together the night before and I was in the process of kicking him out.”

“Mom swore there was no way you were just sleeping together,” she grunted. “What does that make him? Your enemy with benefits?”

“That makes him a booty call.”

“He spent the day with mom and dad,” she pointed out. “That’s more than just a booty call.”

“He did it to taunt me. Have you forgotten the whole basis of our drama?”

“And did it work?” she asked. “Did he taunt you? Or did you enjoy his presence?”

“Sadie, it’s just sex,” you sighed, exhausted by her line of questioning. “We hardly even know each other. We’ve never even had a real conversation without hurling insults at each other and we’ve never voluntarily seen each other without the promise of sex.” You paused. “Besides, I went out to dinner with Charlie last night.”

“Oh, fuck, you’re still entertaining him?” she asked. You hummed affirmatively, preparing for her onslaught of words about how mismatched the two of you really are. “I don’t get it. Can you explain it to me like I’m five?”

“You wouldn’t understand, Sadie,” you sighed. “I know he might be a little boring sometimes, but he’s a nice guy with a stable job and a stable life. And he always goes the extra mile when he’s trying to impress me. Last night, he took me out to this expensive restaurant I’ve been dying to go to.”

“And you had fun on your little date?” she asked, condescending tone to her voice. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, it was good.”

“Did he make you laugh?”

“Yes.”

“He paid?”

“Of course.”

“And you went home with him after?” she finally asked. You didn’t want to tell her that you left him to call Pierre. That would be the final nail in your coffin. So, your answer was a long pause. “You had this man take you to dinner and you didn’t even put out after?” She scoffed. “And you say you like him!”

“I wasn’t in the mood.”

“Why?” she pried. “Because he isn’t Pierre Luc Dubois?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Would you stop saying his name like that?”

“I think you’re in denial,” Sadie declared. “And I know that you’re going to be like ‘what does my little sister even know about love?’ To that I answer, almost nothing. But, I do know quite a lot about you. You don’t want boring, YN. You haven’t been boring a day in your life, so why would you settle for someone who doesn’t drive you absolutely crazy, you know?”

“The type of crazy Pierre makes me isn’t a cute crazy. It’s a should-be-admitted type of crazy.”

“More like a ‘I’ll kiss you to shut you up’ kind of crazy.”

You couldn’t argue that.

“Whatever, Sadie, I don’t know what else to say,” you goaned. “Can we change the subject now?”

She agreed to let it go, though you knew it wouldn’t be long until she was bugging you about him again, and conversation to whatever was going on in Sadie’s life. But, as much as you’d wanted to change the subject, suddenly not even a different conversation could get your mind off Pierre.

---

When Pierre got back to Ohio, he was itching to get to your apartment and make all the things you said over the phone come true, but you weren’t even answering his texts. It’s not like you texted all that much to begin with, but when you didn’t ask him to come over after his flight landed, he knew something was up. Now, he had four unanswered texts in your messages from the past two days and he was yearning for your attention. 

Needless to say, he was off, and the entire team could tell.

Especially Josh. He noticed almost as soon as he saw Pierre, but he waited until practice was over to begin prying.

“Where’s your head at?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“You look like your head is somewhere else.”

“It is.”

His answer was simple as he left for the showers, and Josh wasn’t straggling far behind, determined to get the answers he was searching for. After showering, they headed out to their cars and said goodbye, but Josh watched Pierre pull out of the lot and turn in the opposite direction of his apartment. So, he made the decision to tail him.

Imagine his surprise when Pierre traveled deeper into the city towards your apartment. He followed him the whole way, stopping at the corner of your block to avoid being seen while Pierre parked. And then, with his jaw practically on the floor, Josh watched him jog right into your building.

 ---

“What’s your problem?” Pierre barked the second you opened the door. His tone of voice was harsh, not soft like it’d been in recent weeks, and it immediately threw you off. “Are you on your period or something? Because it’s alright if you are. I’d be down for period sex.”

You slammed the door in his face.

He was joking. Well, he was trying to joke, like an idiot, and obviously not succeeding. So, he took a step back to gather his thoughts and tried again.

“That was an awful joke. Let me start over,” he spoke as soon as you opened the door again. You cocked your hip against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest. “Did I do something wrong? Is that why you’re not talking to me?”

“No, other than your usual annoying shit, you’ve been fine.”

“So, what’s going on? Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

You rolled your neck with a groan and answered, “It’s just been a crazy week, Pierre,” you paused, glaring at him. “And, yes, I’m also on my period, not that it concerns you.”

“I hate when you call me Pierre,” he grunted and although you rolled your eyes, those words stirred something inside of you. “Can I come in?”

To his surprise, you stepped aside without contest and continued into the apartment leaving him to kick his shoes off and drop his jacket on the hook at the door. He found you curled up beneath a chunky blanket with the remainders of some fast food meal on the coffee table. He dropped onto the other end, kicked his socked feet up on the table, and smiled at you.

“Seriously, why are you here?” you asked. “I’m not having period sex with you.”

“I said that was a joke.”

“Okay, then why are you here if not for sex?” you asked, face twisted in frustration. 

His face mirrored yours as he responded, “Is it such a crime to just want to see you?”

“Yes,” you answered simply.

“Does it have to be?”

Although the question was loud enough for you to hear, it was soft enough to ignore if you felt it necessary. So, you ignored it, because you didn’t do this. You didn’t just hang out to see each other. He huffed as you began sifting through the collection of romantic comedies on Netflix. 

“I’m watching a movie, so either you stay and watch, or you leave.”

Pierre grabbed a pillow and dropped it onto the middle cushion of the couch before laying back, his feet elevated over the arm at the end of the couch. You followed his direction, dropping a pillow in front of his and throwing your feet over the other arm so that you’d be lying head-to-head. Before laying down, you gave him a blanket and wrapped another around your own body.

The movie began and the opening credits rolled, but you couldn’t focus.

How could you when Pierre was in your apartment and not tearing your clothes off? How could you focus when you’d so easily enabled the domestic scene laid out in front of you?

His hand hung limply off the edge of the couch and just looking at it made you feel all types of things. You could practically feel his skin on your skin and your mind began to wander, daydreaming about what it might be like to lace your fingers with his. And, before you could stop yourself, you were placing your palm against his palm to do just that.

rewatching ipytm episode 2: thoughts

apologies in advance for this very messy, very long bullet scene-by-scene commentary!

summary: this was a very hard episode to watch and rewatch. the frustration with teh is real, the hurt for oh-aew is real. but the fear of change and abandonment, and the fear of admitting your own insecurities, is SO coming of age and i love that we get to see teh grappling with what happens when the idealistic vision you had for your life slowly starts to crumble.

also, this episode (and possibly the entirety of part 2) was 100% the writers' and p'meen's love letter to comm arts students/graduates, and even though i am a total outsider to that world, it really touched my heart to see the diversity of experiences and struggles reflected here.

i love that we see how much closer teh has become with jai and khim!! this doesn't translate in the subs, but i thought it was interesting how teh used respectful pronouns with them when he was a first-year and now for the most part uses rude (familiar) pronouns with them as a second-year, even though they're still technically his seniors. i think it goes to show how close they've become since he first joined the drama club.

goy was so fucking CUTE in that scene when she said "oh, lots of boys are peeking at me, i'm shy" i think i'm in love 😭 also the cinematography of that scene!!

this episode does such a great job at making you feel uncomfortable along with the characters. i hated how uncomfortable teh was at the birthday party, and i could feel how out of place he felt there.

when mangpong talks about how easy it is for celebrities to make money and teh is clearly offended by that and speaks up against it (which results in yet another awkward uncomfortable moment), i feel like he's speaking up on behalf of khim who we later realize is basically his idol and the person he identifies the most with. i feel like p'meen and the writing team are really trying to represent the lives of people who go into communication arts, especially those who go in with an interest in performing arts. and for me that scene with mangpong communicates two things: 1) the defensiveness that comes with having your chosen career path misunderstood or reduced into something that's easy money, and 2) how close-knit and protective the drama club is of each other, because teh speaking up in defense of actors to me feels like he's defending this identity they all share as people who are struggling to make it in the industry.

oh-aew is SO sweet. getting a tattoo that resembles your partner's name gives me so much anxiety, but i guess he's 19 and has always been sure of his feelings so it does make sense for him. at first glance teh's reaction really just makes it sound like he's against tattoos, drinking, all that, like he's super old-fashioned, but it's not REALLY about the tattoo and we learn that later when they have their big fight and he blows up with all the nitpicky little things he's noticed about all the ways oh-aew has changed. i thought it was so cute how au basically showed off his tattoo to open the conversation for oh-aew to show teh his tattoo though. we love a supportive friend group!!!

"this tattoo is pretty. thank you." this is teh being as genuine as he can, as someone who is seriously not in touch with his own feelings and can't understand why he's so upset at oh-aew getting a tattoo. because again it's not the tattoo itself that's the problem, but what it represents for teh, which is oh-aew's world slowly expanding to include people and things that are foreign to teh, and he worries that one day that world won't have a place for him anymore.

drunk oh-aew speaking mandarin, and teh taking care of him!!! the only fluff we got all episode and i will cherish it forever and ever, like the aquarium scene from episode one. the fact that teh brought over the stuffed animal, kissed oh-aew on the forehead, and then decided to sleep over on the floor next to him? making him kimchi jjigae? so soft!! our boy has got a lot of issues to work through but he loves oh-aew for sure.

the scene where oh-aew is receiving feedback on his performance from his professor is so... oof. the fact that his classmate got positive feedback for portraying a gay man in a way that isn't stereotypical (read: masculine? i wonder?) and the fact that oh-aew was critiqued for unsuccessfully portraying the tone and mannerisms of a man who doesn't understand gay people? it's a bit subtler than what we hear from the casting director but i swear it's the same shit. and it really doesn't surprise me at all to see oh-aew not believe in himself and his ability to perform because of it.

teh saying "both of us" and being so excited about their casting opportunity!! 😭 and also, khim being such a sweetheart and helping them get this opportunity in the first place!

the contrast with how happy oh-aew looked when the advertising professor told him he had the right answer, compared to how torn down he looked after being critiqued and told he got a C by his acting professor (in front of the whole class!!). which tbh for me is subtle commentary on how much influence professors have on students' self-confidence and whether they believe in their own ability to succeed in their field.

the commentary on sexism and homophobia in the thai entertainment industry!! khim being told she looked too old, not smart enough, not believable, honestly all coded ways of saying she didn't fit in with the beauty standard they were going for. and while khim is saying this we see oh-aew is already getting nervous, because he's already had his confidence shaken by his experiences in class. and then when we get to the scene where the casting director says he's too girly and asks him to act more manly, we see oh-aew's mood shift completely, and honestly it hurts to watch. pp did such an amazing job here because i felt it, like the way oh-aew's eyes change, and then he swallows right after, and how unsettled he sounds trying to deliver the line again after hearing that critique.

oh-aew listening to khim tell teh about how hard it's been for her to break into the industry is so impactful, because you can already tell what he's thinking. is this really worth it? do i want this enough to endure people telling me over and over again i'm not masculine enough for them? is that going to be me in the future, being rejected from hundreds of castings and still not making it?

when teh hugs khim and says "we will get through this together," it's so clear that he identifies with her struggle. teh is someone who has worked his ass off to get to where he is (remember his fight with his mom where she said he lost sleep and was getting sick from all the studying he did?), and he sees himself in khim and her passion and ambition. meanwhile, we see oh-aew really doubting whether this is the right path for him.

i love how teh immediately asked if oh-aew was okay after oh-aew told him about what the casting director said, and how teh reassured him that he liked oh-aew the way he is. it's like, he so clearly cares for oh-aew and loves him so much and sometimes knows how to show it well, and then other times just fucks it up. it's so real??

oh-aew deciding to change majors three months into it is a very oh-aew thing to do, and what i mean by that is, this is a character who is super in touch with himself and his feelings and trusts in himself to make the right decisions. he's not afraid to change his mind (remember when he was testing out his feelings for bas and teh and then turned down bas once he knew?), he's bold and goes for what he wants. and i envy that about his character so much. but it makes me sad to know that the thing that was making him nervous during this scene was the fact that he was worried about how teh would react. like he went through all that questioning and critique himself, to finally discover his answer, only to now have to worry about whether his partner will accept him.

teh, on the other hand, has had his whole life planned out since forever. he feels the need to know and control everything. he has so much fear and insecurity. and he is stubborn and doesn't believe in giving up, which he believes is what oh-aew is doing. and on top of that, he sees this as another way in which he is losing oh-aew. one more thing oh-aew has in common with his friend group that doesn't include him. one more way that he's becoming a smaller part of oh-aew's world. oh-aew looked so small in the bathtub scene and i just wanted to hold him 😔

the 8 month time skip is a little jarring because of all the things we don't get to see, but i guess it makes sense if teh has been bottling up his insecurities about their relationship that it would all blow up in everyone's face in the way that it did at the dinner scene.

it was interesting to me how teh hesitated when oh-aew texted that he would join them for dinner, like teh didn't want oh-aew to come along with his drama club. and then once oh-aew arrives at the restaurant, we see that teh isn't totally happy either. it's like as much as teh feels like an outsider in oh-aew's world, he seems to also see oh-aew as an outsider in his own world too. and when top says he wanted to get into comm arts at anantasart but he didn't get in, we see teh's expression and it's like, a reminder that he gave up that spot for oh-aew, that teh didn't pass the admissions exam either, and that oh-aew who did pass has now "given up" on it (in teh's eyes) to pursue another major. it's like teh also feels betrayed on behalf of all the performing arts kids who are struggling to make their passion into a career.

i feel like i sort of get why teh said all that shit about oh-aew at the dinner table now. i'm not excusing it at all, that was super shitty of him. but i wonder if it's like, this is a thing they deal with in the performing arts, people giving up because it's so hard to make it in the industry. and you watch your friends leave one by one, and it keeps causing more and more doubt in yourself about whether you can make it. and now that teh sees oh-aew as someone who's given up, he doesn't want that energy at the dinner table with his drama friends, like he wants to protect them from that and keep up with this "we can get through this together" mentality that he keeps saying. so it's easier for him to try to dismiss it as oh-aew's personality flaw, rather than a legitimate change in career path, because he's worried about how it might affect his own friends in the drama club. and we see how protective teh is of khim, when he says "what the fuck did you just say?" like he really shares an identity with his drama club and it's clear he thinks oh-aew doesn't understand it or belong there.

needless to say, i was extremely stressed that entire dinner scene which i think means the writers, p'meen, and the actors did an excellent job.

their fight scene was really amazingly done and i am just stunned by teh's response when oh-aew asks him "what if this is who i really am, would you not like me anymore?" and teh thinks about it for a bit, and says "maybe." that's him being genuine, he's not trying to hurt oh-aew in saying that, and we can see him internally asking himself that question. but he doesn't know the answer, because he can't even be honest with himself about why he's upset at oh-aew. so he says the first thing he thinks which is an honest "maybe," and then he immediately regrets his words, and at some point he's going to have to learn that he can't just say the first thing that comes to mind, when other people's feelings are at stake. also, the fucking piano that plays? the violin? goddamn.

khim's character is really here to teach teh, and all of us, some life lessons. she is so real. her struggles are so real. life is fucking hard, and it's not fair, and no matter how hard you work or try you can't have it all. "the conditions for our lives are not the same" holy shit yes. she wants to take care of her family and her dog, she can't just think of herself. i feel like teh, who comes from a relatively modest background but has always had hoon as a father figure to support his mom, probably doesn't feel that same burden.

teh being frustrated and going to the bridge was beautiful. the crying hug scene at the dorm was so beautiful.

i love that in the end, teh finally owns up to his own insecurities and apologizes and admits he was wrong. of course, this was after oh-aew reached out to him first. i think it's totally realistic that we see his growth happening kind of slowly, but before the series ends he's going to need to be the first one to reach out, because oh-aew can't hold all of that on his own.

the last score when they hug under the moonlight, i love it!!

Cut You Down to Size

AYO its Day 1 of the MGI Trope Tussle! I’m representing Team Enemies-to-Lovers! Lets Get It!

Fics Masterlist

Damigami 5.5K words Oneshot, no warnings apply

Summary:

Alfred signs Damian up for his school's fencing club. There he meets a red clad demon with a sabre.

Day 1 prompt: My name is unimportant— you, tyrant, will die today by my blade.

without further ado:

This was stupid. Damian could not understand Pennyworth’s logic behind signing him up for his school’s fencing club. He was a trained assassin, studying under the world’s greatest swordsmen, and no one at his school would be able to keep up with him. He was miles ahead in terms of technique and experience. So why on earth would he subject himself to this asinine, idle waste of time on a Saturday?

“Remember, young master, it is important to your father that you enjoy hobbies more suitable for others your age. All your other siblings have activities to distract them from the eccentricities of their nighttime activities.” Right, that’s why. Pennyworth spoke as if he were reminding an imbecile how to not walk into oncoming traffic and his tone grated on Damian’s nerves. “Don’t pout, Master Damian, it is unbecoming. Besides, it would make your father proud if you were able to blend in with other teens.”

He most definitely was not pouting but he could agree that making his father proud and not compromising their identities were important. His weary sigh was the only answer he gave to Pennyworth before stepping out of the car and entering the school gym. He squared his shoulders and adjusted the gym bag before striding to the gathering of other students on the mats. They were all in varying degrees of proper white fencing gear, a sharp contrast to Damian’s black uniform. He stood off the side, waiting for the instructor and pointedly ignoring the stares of the other students. Their attention was meaningless and Damian hoped they wouldn’t turn his presence into some spectacle.

The minutes ticked by, and his patience withering away with it, before the gym’s double doors were booming open. In walked the club’s instructor followed by what looked like another school’s club and instructor trailing behind her. Damian counted at least ten students, white uniforms perfectly in place with their array of masks tucked under their arms. However, one of those students caught his eye. The striking red uniform stood out against everyone else’s and the square to their shoulders spoke of confidence not unlike his own. A small part of Damian wonders if any of that confidence was well earned but the larger part of him knew that regardless of how good they thought they were, they were still no match for him.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” The crisp voice of his instructor echoed in the now silent gym as she commanded everyone’s attention. She looked rather pleased with herself and continued to speak, addressing the Gotham students. “As you can see here, I have a visiting school’s club with me, so please join me in welcoming Francois Dupont’s fencing club, who have come all the way from Paris to practice with us.”

A half hearted applause was all the reaction she got and it was at that point that Damian tuned out the rest of her introduction. His mind had wandered to less menial things, waiting for his time to show his more than impressive skills.

He was brought out of his musings by the shrill of a whistle and was staring face to face to a rather short girl from the French club. She was looking up at him with wide blue eyes before darting away to look over the other students pairing up. Her eyes had focused on a tall blond and his Gotham partner and Damian swore he saw her swoon. Great, a scatter-brained lovesick fool was his first partner. Clearly the universe was punishing him for transgressions he was not privy to. Before he could pass further judgment on his partner, she peered back to him and spoke in soft English.

“Hi, my name is Marinette. Nice to meet you!” She tried to sound confident but her awkwardness betrayed her and the hunch in her shoulders were telling. Alfred had taught him some manners, however, so rather than ignore her as he was wont to do, he greeted her with his name and ended the conversation there. She looked ready to speak again but was cut off by another harsh blow from the whistle.

“Alright, everyone. This is just a warm-up match. Nothing too fancy and remember the rules.” The French instructor’s accent was thick and he spoke with equal robustness to match the Gotham instructor. The two made quite the pair.

He faced his partner again and put enough space between them. They both put on their masks and were poised at the ready. Her pose was amateurish but definitely better than the others he’s caught in his periphery. The cry of ‘en garde’ sounded and Damian did not hesitate to try and score a point. Emphasis on ‘try.’ While if this were a real duel Damian would have won with no hesitation, he found that he didn’t need to hold back as much as he would if she were some of his classmates. Her technique was still sloppy but at least she showed potential.

The warm-up ended with Damian scoring three points in succession but there were, admittedly, some close calls. Next, they were rotating partners and Damian was partnered off with the blond from earlier. This close, Damian faintly recognized his face and verbalized as such. The sheepish scratch behind the blond’s neck was unexpected as was the declaration that he was a fashion model back in Paris. Adrien Agreste the boy had said. Damian then chalked up his previous partner’s behaviour to nothing more than to a silly celebrity crush. No further thought was put into their dynamics as the call for positions was announced.

This duel went slightly differently than Damian had expected. Like his previous partner, Agreste was much better than first impressions would suggest. While his previous partner had poor technique with intuition to back her up, Agreste had acceptable technique with his own personal twist. Agreste backed each strike with an edge that spoke of more roguish practice. It was almost entertaining but still no match for Damian superior skills. Perhaps he could convince his father to send him to Paris for the summer if this was the kind of students the city produced. This duel ended in three points in Damian’s favour as well but he conceded a point to Agreste who got a lucky strike in. Both boys took off their masks and shook hands as a five minute break was called. As Damian turned to reach for his water bottle on the bench, Agreste approached him with a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“I saw your match with Marinette,” he spoke with nothing short of excitement and slight wonder. “She’s new to the club but she’s a quick learner. I’m glad she joined and she seemed to enjoy warming up with you! What do you think?”

Huh.

Maybe Agreste was the adoring fan in their dynamic. Any more brightly, and the boy’s green eyes would be sparkling like fireworks as he continued to wax poetics about the short girl. That of which got annoying pretty quickly.

Another whistle, that French coach was rather annoying with the damn thing, was blown and the students made their way back to the mats. A new rotation was called and Damian was finally paired with the red fencer who caught his eye earlier. In contrast to his previous partners, this one stared at him with poorly hidden, yet unprovoked, contempt. The furrow in her brows and slight downturn in her lips was a mirror to Damian’s own expression. The air between them was charged as they both assessed each other. Neither spoke but neither was paying detailed attention to the instructors. Issuing a silent challenge, Damian tilted his head back to stare the shorter girl down by the tip of his nose, smirking at her increasingly furrowed expression. He scoffed at her as the call for putting on their masks was issued.

“Damian,” he said at last, getting into the starting position.

“My name is unimportant— you, tyrant, will die today by my blade.”

Not even Damian’s brothers were that theatrical; his sister? Maybe. And perhaps Todd, but that’s irrelevant. Was she for real or was this a taunt that got lost in translation? Just who was she? From an outsider’s perspective, the two of them painted quite an interesting picture, posed in their black and red uniforms, a vision against the whites of their clubmates. The air was rich with their slowly growing disdain for each other. The instructor’s voice of ‘en garde’ was drowned out by their hurried movements.

It didn’t take long for Damian to deduce that his opponent was undoubtedly the best of the French group. Her moves were punctuated with needle-like precision and each attack was laced with slowly growing malice at the challenge. Damian didn’t have to hold back nearly as much as he had, once again, underestimated his opponent. There’s a lesson to be learned here but he would never give Pennyworth that satisfaction. The butler’s smug grin and echoed voice of ‘you are not nearly as infallible as you believe, Master Damian’ arose in his mind and the irritation at the notion was channelled directly into his current duel. He struck out with more aggression than he initially had intended to but, as it had put his opponent on the defensive, he wasn’t going to rear his anger in. Instead, he let it fuel his movements more, pushing his opponent off the mat as they danced across the floor.

This only spurred his nameless opponent on more as she matched him strike for strike in equal aggression. Damian wasn’t sure if it was due to his sudden tunnel vision but he could have sworn that the world narrowed to only the two of them, the clash of their weapons being the only sound he could hear. Time faded into nothing and all his focus was on parrying and attacking and lunging and parrying again in a vicious cycle. Points were earned back and forth but no time was called in between to award either of them. This wasn’t a match for points. This was war. A battle to the death issued by the red demon before him. She was no longer just a practice partner or an aggravating opponent. This was his enemy now. Damian would not fail. Damian Wayne doesn’t lose after all.

The shrill of a whistle had the two freezing in place. Giving himself a few seconds to collect himself, Damian felt as if he was coming out of a haze. He watched as the red fencer before him relaxed her posture and turned to face the French coach. Taking off his mask and catching his breath, he noticed that the two of them held the collective attention of the two clubs.

“Now THAT is fencing!” The French coach’s boisterous voice echoed in the gym and was accompanied by his harsh clapping. His two previous practice partners were equally as enthusiastic but subdued in their applause, sporting matching grins at the red fencer. Damian could only glare at the students, refusing to acknowledge his opponent.

The rest of practice went on as such for the next hour but none of the other French fencers captivated him like the first three. They must have had private tutors as they were obviously a cut above the rest. Practice ended without much fanfare and Damian found himself waiting for Pennyworth outside the school gates as the French class were loading their bus. He only caught the tail end of the slight murmurs of conversation but Damian caught the Agreste boy referring to the red fencer as Kagami. Hmm.

Pennyworth pulled up shortly after and once he was inside the vehicle, Pennyworth didn’t hesitate to question him about the experience.

“There was a visiting French club. They were lackluster and struggled to keep up with me even with me holding back.” He refused to look the old man in the eye, glancing a knowing smirk on his aged face. “Three of them showed promise. But I was still superior in every way.”

“Well then, I hope they didn’t tire you out completely. I believe we are expecting some of those same French students over for dinner this afternoon.”

“Pardon?” Damian could not be bothered to compose his irritation at Pennyworth’s brazen declaration. Why was he just learning about this now? “Any idea who exactly will be joining us?”

“I believe Madame Dupain-Cheng, Madame Tsurugi and Mister Agreste all agreed.” Agreste? The model boy. Damian was willing to bet that Dupain-Cheng was the short girl from the warm-up as the two seemed fond of each other. That would probably make Tsurugi his red opponent, Kagami. But that begs the question why they were invited to dinner. Schooling his expression and gaining some more composure, Damian addressed the butler again.

“Any reason why those students in particular?” Aiming for an aura of nonchalance, he continued. “It’s quite the coincidence as those were the three French students I mentioned showing promise. Why were they invited?”

Pennyworth saw right through him and casted a humoured glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, I would say that Madame Tsurugi shows more than just promise, Master Damian. She is an Olympic hopeful after all.” That… That makes sense Damian supposes. It would definitely explain her confidence and skill. But she still irritated him.

“And what of the other two?”

“Those two would be Madame Tsurugi’s closest friends. Their club is here on a Wayne Foundation sponsorship and your father personally invited Madame Tsurugi to dinner.” Pennyworth paused as he turned into the manor gates. “She and her mother agreed to the invitation on the condition that the young lady’s friends be invited as well. I see they have left quite the impression on you.”

“They require further judgement,” and the conversation died there.

Ignoring the crowd of his siblings upon entering the manor, Damian went straight for his room to research more on his new rival and company.

After two hours of constant research, he was reluctant to admit that the three were rather accomplished in their own rights, and that he had completely misjudged them. Dupain-Cheng was a talented baker and designer and was indeed a fast learner, only officially being in the fencing club for two months. She was also in a new relationship with Agreste. That explains the sappiness and nauseating shower of compliments. Agreste himself was a budding pianist on top of his modelling and fencing prowess. He even featured in some gigs by a local popular band. Tsurugi was more than just an Olympic hopeful, coming from a famous line of fencers and kendo masters back in Japan. She has a roster of competitions won and is currently holding three world titles for her age group. He supposes that that’s quite impressive. But it still doesn’t supersede his training. Would it be improper to challenge her to another duel when she arrives? Probably.

Checking the time, he realized there was forty minutes until dinner and only ten until the three guests arrived. He freshened up his appearance and changed out of his fencing gear into more appropriate attire. He headed down to the foyer to wait with his siblings in greeting their guests. Cain stood next to him and gave him a quick once-over glance. She didn’t say anything but her giggles did not bode well for Damian.

The door was being held open as their three guests walked in and they all wore matching expressions of surprise as their gaze landed on Damian. They greeted his father and each of his siblings, exchanging quick hello’s before the Agreste boy regarded Damian.

“Hey! You’re that guy from the fencing club.” All eyes were on Damian in an instant, his siblings wearing various ranges of delight.

“Yes, he is that guy from the fencing club. Tell us everything,” Todd interjected. He swung a casual arm around Agreste and began herding them further into the manor towards the drawing room. Before Damian can begin to preserve his reputation, Todd and Agreste were already in deep conversation with random input from Dupain-Cheng and Grayson. Tsurugi hung back from the herd and was thanking his father for the invitation. Her calm, withdrawn voice was very different from the scorn she was showering him with during their duel. She caught him staring at her and just ignored him, brushing past him to follow quickly behind the others. He caught his father’s eye and regarded the man silently. Even when maintaining public appearances, his father never did anything without reason. So what was the value in inviting some French kids his company was sponsoring? Olympic grade or not, it was still uncharacteristically more involved than other other company sponsorships in the past.

What was his father’s angle here?

He hoped it didn’t involve playing nice with Tsurugi because her frigid disposition is more trouble than it’s worth. The karma is not lost on him.

Entering the drawing room, he walks into the middle of Agreste illustrating the nature of his duel against Tsurugi. He added unnecessary flourish, making the match seem more grandiose than it really was. He would deny any and all effort exerted as that was a sign of weakness. Damian was not weak.

“I’ll have you know,” he began, collecting their undivided attention, again. “The match with Tsurugi was child’s play. I only entertained her for so long because I thought she could provide some real competition. Clearly, I was mistaken,” he said, like a liar.

“I am more than just competition.” Tsurugi had stood from her place on the sofa to try and face him on even ground. She was still shorter than him but the intimidation was rolling off her in waves. “I will prove to you that I am a worthy opponent.”

That was an invitation for a rematch if Damian’s ever heard one. As he was about to accept the challenge, Pennyworth entered with an announcement of dinner, guiding everyone into the appropriate dining room. His siblings rushed for various seats, splitting up their guests and mixing them in with their chaos. The seating arrangement his siblings had orchestrated had him sitting directly across from the current bane of his existence. The two regarded each other silently, trapped in their own quiet bubble separate from the ruckus of the table.

The dinner was wonderful, as usual, and conversation was as normal as this family was capable of. Except for the intense staring contest he was engaged in with his enemy. She was civil, cordial even, with the rest of the family, sharing jokes with Cain and Thomas with no issue and handled Todd’s annoyance with grace but she couldn’t get a reign on her disdain for Damian. He faintly noticed her two friends exchange curious glances with each other. He paid them no mind; his attention lying elsewhere.

“So, Kagami,” Drake’s voice cut through the loud atmosphere, silencing the table. “You mentioned earlier that you will prove to Damian that you’re a worthy opponent. How do you plan to go about that?” He tried to go for casual but he failed and Damian knew he was doing it just to get a reaction out of him.

“A battle to the death of course,” she was quick with her reply and her tone had no hints of humor. She means every word of that statement. Equal expressions of shock were on his family’s faces, no one knowing what to say. A distasteful snort from the blond cut through the air.

“Kagami,” her friend, Dupain-Cheng, had cut in with a slight chuckle, “I don’t think they know you’re joking.”

“My apologies, then.” Her lips were curled in a faint smirk and then she said, “While I initially had all intentions to contest his false assessment, over the course of the dinner, I have concluded that he is someone not worth the effort.” She took a sip of her drink, completely ignoring the uproar of taunts and jeers his siblings threw his way.

Damian was not going to take that insult sitting down.

“That’s it, Tsurugi,” he rose from his seat, the scrape of the chair on the hardwood floors hushing the peanut gallery. “You wanted a duel, I’ll give you a duel. A clash of swords seems fitting, don’t you think?” He felt quite satisfied with himself, so much so he was completely ignorant to the whispers of his siblings with their guests. His attention was solely on the red demon.

“While I can’t persuade you both from not doing this,” his father’s tired voice was firm and imposing; he looked like he’s aged a few years since the start of the evening, “I must insist on using only the wooden practice swords you have. No real blades allowed. Am I understood?”

It wasn’t really a question as there was no room for refutation but Damian was grateful his father didn’t try to put a stop to the entire thing anyways. A challenge was issued and Damian was going to see it through.

After Pennyworth cleared the table and set about doing other chores, they made their way to the manor’s gym with the exclusion of his father. A mat was already laid out and he went to retrieve the practice swords. They were fashioned to mimic his katana and the familiar weight was comfortable in his grip. Tsurugi was surveying the wooden blade and assessing the balance of the handle before setting into a comfortable starting stance. They weren’t bound by fencing rules this time and he felt the lack of restrictions to be freeing. Grayson had declared himself ring master and was counting down to start them off. Drake was holding a camera, most likely recording, and Todd was conspiring with Dupain-Cheng and Thomas in the corner. Agreste and Cain were observing like normal people—Damian failed to see them silently exchange some cash— and he ignored them all to focus on the foe before him.

Grayson’s call for ‘go’ set them off like steam engines, their swords crashing into each other in heavy strikes. Using his advantageous size, Damian pushed back and swiped for her legs. She blocked the attack, sword intercepting his, swinging her back leg behind her to kick at his chest. He recoiled at the contact and the pressure of her boots before aiming a broad sweep over head, bringing his arms down in a wide arc. She blocks that as well, but was brought down to a knee, all her focus in holding her blade across the palm of hand. She pushes against his force and rolls under his blade, tucking herself into a ball before uncurling behind him. Her next strike is aimed for his back but Damian is quick on the defensive and knocks her blade away before stepping into her space. His shoulder clips her chin and he takes the opportunity to elbow her below her chest. He swings around to strike her down but she ducks and swipes at his legs. He jumps over the arc of her blade but isn’t prepared for the kick in his chest as he lands.

He steps back a couple paces to get air back in his lungs as Tsurugi gains her own bearings. They’re both breathing heavily and the gym is silent save for Todd’s inappropriate wolf-whistle. Ignoring him, as usual, he focuses back on his opponent. On the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, her lean but firm arms holding the sword out pointing at him. Her short bob is in disarray and her brown eyes burn into him like molten lava. Her stare is intense and almost freezes him completely in place.

A second ticks by. Then another. The entire room feels like a stifled exhale, cautious not to disturb the fragile atmosphere. The energy is broken by a charge from Tsurugi as she strikes across his chest, colliding with his blade. Their swords are crossed and they both lean into the push, faces mere inches apart as they try to get the upper hand. Neither was budging, willing to submit to the other.

Damian found himself revelling in the intense focus of her gaze. Even growing up in the League, his mentors always held back, not wanting to accidentally kill their master’s heir. His siblings were no better, always underestimating him, never taking his challenges seriously. But Tsurugi? She matched him blow for blow without hesitation. Without fear and without judgement. The lack of threat of death hanging over him made the fight that much more enjoyable. If he were anymore focused on his own expression, he would have found a smile, not a smirk or a half-hearted grimace, but an honest-to-god smile. A grin even.

Tipping the fight in his favour, he aims a kick to Tsurugi’s knee, and turns out of their lock of swords. Feeling emboldened, he takes to taunting his opponent.

“You know, you are a lot better than I thought you would be,” he swings his sword around aimlessly, waiting for her to get up again. “But you’re still no match for me.”

Rather than respond, Tsurugi swipes up at him, both hands on her sword hilt, in a broad arc. Her body follows through with the motion, with her back leg sweeping the floor gently, her back to him by the end. Damian sees the opportunity and lunges to attack her now open back. He’s almost flushed against her with his sword about to press into the curve of her spine except his swing is intercepted by his opponent's block. She had anticipated his move and swung her arms over her head, carrying the blade behind her to protect her. Damian’s blood runs white hot with the shame of falling for her feint. Still held in this position, Tsurugi casts a smirk over her shoulder, head tilted back towards his chest. The position, with the exception of their swords, has them appearing to be in a dance, with his partner—no, opponent— ready to be spun out in a graceful turn.

“Are you sure?” her voice was rough with exertion and tainted with glee, “You seem to have failed to gain any substantial upperhand.” She kicks back into his shin and then steps out of his space, spinning under her arms, keeping her sword against his. Now facing him directly, Damian can see the fire shining in her brown eyes, ablaze with excitement and ferocity.

“Don’t think yourself so high and mighty,” he started to step to his right, trying to prepare for another attack but she matched him in moves and now they were slowly circling each other.

“Ironic coming from you, I’m sure.” Her tone was flat but her eyes glimmered with amusement. Her blade shifted ever so subtly, pointing further down Damian’s body, aimed directly for his stomach. Damian takes a chance and steps into her space, left arm gradually inching towards her sword hilt. Using his longer legs, he sweeps one under her stance, hooking his ankle around hers.

It happens in slow motion. Or at least, it felt like it did. He’s bringing his leg back towards himself, knocking her off center, balancing on an unsteady leg. He’s grabbed her sword hilt and is pushing her arms and the sword above her head while his own sword slides to place against her throat. He pushes further into her space, leaning over her and bending her back, almost chest to chest, nose to nose with his sword in the breath between them. Their precarious position cants them completely off balance and she’s fallen with him on top of her. Her arms are pinned firmly above her now, her grip on her sword long forgotten, and Damian’s weight is balanced on his knees, preserving any dignity he has left. They’re still so close to each other, the weight of his blade gingerly pressing into the lines of her neck. Her head is tilting back, a futile attempt to escape him and once she acknowledges that, Damian can feel the muscles in her arms relax beneath his vice-like grip. They’re staring at each other, and Damian finds himself not wanting to look away.

Oh.

Oh.

In his seven years of living with his father’s family, he never understood how his father could casually welcome thieves and assassins into his bed. How his brothers surrounded themselves with people equally dangerous. How his sister would challenge an opponent she knew she couldn’t beat. How they could all flirt with danger and not even question it. Now he understood. It was a heady rush, like a freefall without certainty of a parachute or a net. It was an addictive type of excitement to come face to face with someone who doesn’t look at him with fear but with equal competition. He could get used to this.

A click of a camera shutter and Pennyworth’s attention-grabbing ‘ahem’ brought him out of his own head. He saw Tsurugi blink herself out of a similar daze and look towards her friends. Finally registering their compromising position, Damian began to extract himself from her. Now standing, and trying to tidy his appearance, he tossed his wooden sword to the side and extended a hand out to the still lying girl.

“I win,” he says, and the taunt falls flat even to his own ears. He clears his throat and tries again. “You are a decent opponent. It was an honor to go against someone of your caliber.”

She accepts his offered hand and as he’s pulling her up, she takes the opportunity to pull him in closer.

“I admit defeat,” her eyes are still intense but softens as she continues speaking, “and there is clearly more I can learn from you. The club is in Gotham for two more weeks for the competition next week. I am willing to have you as my teacher if you accept.”

A pretty pink blush colours her cheeks and Damian can feel his face match hers in intensity. Before he could answer her, her blond friend interrupts them, cutting into their little bubble.

“That means she’s asking you on a date.” His hands are cupping his mouth like a megaphone and he stage whispers for all their captive audience to hear. “Say yes.”

His siblings are eyeing between him and the French teens like they’re spectating an interesting tennis match. Not given the chance to answer, again, Cain replies for him.

“He says yes. Next Friday, after school.” Her reply is curt but the curl of her lips illustrates her delight in the entire situation. His cheeks are even warmer now and he still hasn’t stepped out of Tsurugi’s space and were they always standing this close?

Looking back to Tsurugi he sees that her attention is still on the others and her face is graced with a gentle smile.

“I accept your offer,” her head swivels back to him as he speaks, and there is a slight glimmer to her eyes, hope dancing in pools of warm chocolate. “If your friend was right about your true intentions, then I accept that offer. There is a lot I could learn from you as well.”

“Yes, and I am also available on Friday if your sister is to be believed.” Her hushed voice is drowned out by the uproar of his siblings and he catches a glimpse of Dupain-Cheng jumping in place.

“I can’t believe he actually said yes.” Thomas.

“I can’t believe she’s actually into him,” Drake.

“I had good money on him making a fool of himself, shame.” Todd, who then gets elbowed by Grayson. He ignores them all, staring down at the increasingly embarrassed girl before him.

He goes to speak but a pink blur is knocking Tsurugi on the ground in a heap of limbs. They’re giggling and babbles about double dates filter through so he doesn’t worry too much and then a weight settles on his shoulder, surprising him. Agreste had somehow snuck up on him and was patting him in a false sense of comradery.

“Well that was an interesting turn of events. They grow up so fast,” he fake sniffles, wiping nonexistent tears from his eyes. Damian is not fond of the familiar theatrics. “I agree with your siblings, I didn't think you would agree. Especially with the looks of bloody murder you were giving us during practice today.”

He scoffs and lets the subtle accusation roll off his back. Agreste continues as if he weren’t interrupted.

“Clearly you two flirt the same way. Violently.” He’s cut off from speaking as Tsurugi had hit him with one of the discarded swords from her place on the floor.

“At least I don’t hesitate or dance around my intended target like a fool, like you two,” she was pouting but her voice held traces of humour and inside jokes that had Dupain-Cheng whining like a child and Agreste acting all sheepish.

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair but can you blame us?” Agreste went ignored as everyone devolved into laughter at their antics.

Damian chanced a glance at Tsurugi to see her very comfortable with Dupain-Cheng’s weight on top of her, laughing at Agreste’s expense. She must have felt his eyes on her and glance at him shyly, laughter dying to a small smile on her lips.

Damian thought to himself that Friday couldn’t come fast enough.

AND THEY WERE WALLMATES: Cookies (part 2)

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: T for mature themes (implications of sexy times and violence). It will go up later ;)

Summary: You share an apartment wall with Javier Peña, but that doesn’t make it any easier to get to know him. You didn’t think your baking would be the catalyst.

Javi and Reader continue to get to know each other.

Tags: Mention of blood, super vague description of wound care. Additional TW for Javi: the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known.

Word Count: 3,484

A/N: I was NOT expecting the amount of enthusiasm I got for the first chapter, but I’m so grateful for it!! I struggled a little bit with this chapter because it was the only one I didn’t have a solid plan for lol, but here it is because I’m impatient to share (and also tired of looking at it). I promise the next few will be better ;)

Masterlist

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The next evening, you give yourself a stern pep talk before going to knock on Javier’s door. Javi, you remind yourself. You’re here to check on his leg, assuming he needs you to.

The door swings open much more readily than it had the night before, and Javier appears, an expectant half-smile curling the corner of his mouth. “Neighbor,” he drawls. Despite the new air of informality about him, his eyes hold a familiar suggestion that makes your heart sink a little. Back to his customary flirting, then.

“Hi, Javier,” you say, more coolly than you had originally planned. “I came over to see if you wanted me to check on your leg. I just kind of assumed that you would have the right supplies and stuff when I was giving you instructions last night, but if you don’t I can give you some, change the bandage for you. The first few days of healing are the most critical,” you explain, willing yourself to cut off your own rambling.

He examines your face for a second, the ready welcome fading. “Why do I get the feeling this check-up is more for you than for me?” He hitches an amused eyebrow back up, stepping back to let you in.

Over the threshold you cross your arms. “I don’t know, did you want your secret stab wound to get infected?”

He puts his hand on his hips with the beginning of a disbelieving frown. “It wasn’t a stab,” he grumbles defensively, with all the dignity of a petulant child.

You roll your eyes at his assertive posturing. “I know. I examined it.” Javier doesn’t move, though it couldn’t be comfortable maintaining such a wide-legged stance in those tight jeans. Your lips twitch the slightest bit as you take in your normally composed neighbor, his conflicted moue suggesting he’s been thrown off.

Taking pity on him, you borrow a page from his communication manual, nodding to a chair. “Come on. Pants off,” you deadpan, letting just a hint of your amusement show.

His expression starts out relieved, then cycles through several emotions in the space of the next second (albeit extremely subtly). He seems to freeze momentarily. “Uh, if you’ll just excuse me for one second, I’ll have these off for you in no time.” He winks, which would be charming if it weren’t Javier and he didn’t look like he had forgotten something important, and hastily strides toward the bedrooms.

Mystified, you look around, curious about the man despite his unpredictable demeanor. The apartment looks comfortably lived-in, yet there’s a distinct lack of personal effects, creating an odd contrast. There’s an empty takeout container by the sink, but you aren’t fooled by that- very occasionally, you’ve smelled amazing things coming from this kitchen. You wonder what sparks his culinary inspiration.

A throat clears behind you and you jump. You hadn’t heard Javi return, but there he stands by the dining room table, the fly of his jeans already gaping. He quirks a brow at you. “See anything interesting?” he asks, tipping his head to indicate the apartment. Apparently at ease, he begins to remove his jeans, and you avert your gaze, a flush creeping up your neck.

What? You saw people in all states of nudity every day at the hospital; why should you be flustered now? Annoyed, you busy yourself sorting through supplies while he sits down,

though not before he pulls out a chair for you.

Just like the previous night, he waits until you’re almost finished working to speak. “How did you know I was in pain last night? I didn’t think I made much noise.” His eyes are narrowed, like it’s something that’s been bothering him.

You reflect on your answer before giving it. “You...moved like you were in pain. Slowly, shuffling. And...you made a noise once you closed the door. I heard it, you know, through the wall.” You admit the last part with your eyes down, focusing on adhering tape to his skin.

“Through the wall, huh.” Something in Javier’s husky voice makes you glance up. He looks contemplative, dark eyes studying you thoughtfully. He angles his head down toward you. “What else do you hear through the wall?”

You’ve walked into a trap of your own making. Those daring insinuations are back in his eyes, but you can’t escape to your apartment in the middle of changing a bandage. So you answer truthfully: “I hear you cook sometimes. Smell you cook sometimes,” you correct yourself brightly. “What do you make that always smells so good, Javier?” You meet his gaze with deliberate innocence, although you would genuinely like to know.

His expression shutters, and he leans back in the chair again. “Food,” he mutters. “Stuff I learned a long time ago.”

An unexpectedly real answer; you quash the intense curiosity it provokes. Not wanting to pry too much, too soon, you just snicker in response. “Food, huh? I think I’ve heard of that.” His attention snaps back to you, but you just let him brood as you finish with his leg.

This time when you stand, you linger over your supplies, leaving some out for him and explaining things to watch out for. “I’ll come by again tomorrow night, but it should be fine as long as you don’t aggravate it,” you conclude. 

“Well, non-aggravating is my middle name.” Javier gives you a winning smile, one that probably would have passed the muster of anyone who hadn’t heard the mocking edge in his voice.

A laugh sputters out of you. “Is that so? I’ll be sure to tell Connie next time I’m over there.”

Something like fascination sparks in his eyes, a hunger he can’t hide propelling him to lean forward. “Oh? You two ladies talk about me?” 

Your lips purse as your mind races through suitable responses. “Well, I had to get the dirt on my mysterious neighbor from somewhere,” you say lightly. Because it sure wasn’t coming from him. Yet the longer you spent in his company, the more you found you wanted to know.

“Hm.” A huff is his only response. His shoulders relax against the chair back as he returns to regarding you wordlessly, but in a distinctly more agreeable way.

You suppress a smile as you pick up your bag. “Well. Goodnight, Javi.”

--

Almost a week after your last checkup, Javier grinds his cigarette butt into the ground and flicks a last glance at your window. He and Steve had arrived home at the same time, so he’d stalled with the excuse of a smoke outside, knowing that if he entered his own apartment, he’d lose his nerve. Gritting his teeth, he limps up the stairs and to your door. He knocks.

The noise of the tv cuts off, and a moment later, you open the door. You blink in surprise. “Javi! What are you doing here?” Concern clouds your face as you take in his rumpled appearance.

The words lodge in his throat. “I, uh. I need your help,” he admits, dragging his gaze up from the floor. “Banged my leg at work today. Think I opened it up again...thought I should let you take a look at it.” He couldn’t stop imagining your reaction if you found out he hadn’t.

Your eyes widen, and you immediately step back to let him in. “Of course! Please, here-” You offer your arm, but Javier has enough pride this time to make it to your dining room table without help. When he looks up you’ve vanished, dashed off to your stash of medical supplies, he assumes.

He takes the opportunity to look around. Your place is cute, homey-feeling, because of course it is. He notes, however, that most of the decoration has been locally bought, and curiosity needles at him. Nothing more personal to bring with you? He gets a fleeting glimpse of the bottle of wine on the coffee table before you return.

“...sorry about that, I don’t know why I stashed this away so well when I knew you might need it again.” Your setup is a familiar scene by now. You keep glancing over at his blood-stained bandage, frowning worriedly, and he wonders how you can be so damn caring when it’s clear he’s interrupted your evening.

He makes a sound of disgust. “Nah, this was a stupid accident,” he says, annoyed all over again. “Normal, routine chase after some narco, but I slid against a wall that had some shit sticking out of it at just the wrong spot.”

Your eyes leap to his in shock, and too late he remembers that Connie gave you the ‘janitorial services’ line. You don’t ask though, pressing your lips together and determinedly refocusing on peeling off the bandage, and Javi can’t help but feel a twinge of respect.

Well, someone in the building would tell you sooner or later. “I’m an agent of the DEA,” he says, monitoring your reaction. “Since you were about to ask.”

You straighten indignantly. “I was not!” you protest, before you see the lazy gleam in his eye and realize he’s joking. You roll your eyes reproachfully, but the press of your lips now looks amused. “I just thought there was probably a reason Connie didn’t tell me.” Javier winces as you gently prod at his injury.

“Well, what’s one more secret between neighbors?” He winks conspiratorially at you. Just like the last time, however, it gets minimal reaction, and it confounds and intrigues him in equal measure. Women usually respond to his efforts. Even if there’s no real intention, he likes seeing them get a little flustered, likes the feeling of having influence, control. And women don’t seem to mind.

But you...you resisted. Javier doesn’t know why, but you don’t react to his usual charm in the ways he’d come to expect. He’s sure you don’t dislike him- but he’s not exactly sure what he’s doing to make you like him, either. There was something...enticing about it.

The familiar feeling of your fingers smoothing tape along his thigh brings him back to the present. He tries not pay too much attention to it, knowing that it would be extremely asshole timing to pop a boner.

“Well, you should be all set. Again.” You look sympathetic, not resentful, and Javier nods, suddenly feeling awkward. How could he possibly make up all of this up to you?

“Just- try to be careful, okay? You don’t have to hurt yourself as an excuse to hang out with me.” Out of nowhere you’re teasing him, with a line to rival some of his worst. His eyebrows raise, and he chuckles as he dips his head.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He gets to his feet. “...Thank you,” he says gruffly, hoping he’s conveying even a tiny amount of how much he means it. “Enjoy your evening.” He doesn’t let himself look back as he heads for the door.

--

Steve and Connie have invited you to a movie night. Or at least, Connie has. You assume the invite comes from both of them, even if a movie night doesn’t seem like something Steve would initiate.

“Javi will be there too,” Connie had informed you nonchalantly, but she watched intently for your reaction.

You hadn’t even blinked. “Great!” you said easily- until you realized the opportunity this presented and beamed. “What should I make?”

Which is how you end up standing outside her door, one floor up, holding a plate of cookies. You were glad now that you decided to make them today and not yesterday- finishing them barely 20 minutes ago had effectively given you no time to tailspin about what to wear or how you were supposed to act around Javi. Or rather, Javi and Steve and Connie, since although you and Javi had a secret, it was not what they’d imagine it to be.

Connie answers the door, and that’s definitely not a twinge of disappointment you feel, because why would Javier have answered the door of someone else’s house?

“Hey, come in!” Connie gushes. She waggles her eyebrows meaningfully at the plate in your hands. “What are those, and what are you drinking with them?”

Her easy familiarity grounds you. “Whatever you’ve got,” you reply, some of your nerves settling. Your friend leads you to the kitchen, where Steve and Javi stand continuing some conversation at the bar counter.

“The party has arrived, boys!” She announces. “I told you all that smell was for us.” She winks at you, a bottle already in hand to pour you a drink.

“Welcome, welcome,” Steve greets in his easygoing way, gesturing with his beer to encompass the apartment as a whole.

You smile in thanks, your eyes flitting briefly to Javier. He hasn’t said anything yet, but there’s a loose relaxation to him you haven’t seen before, a softness playing on his lips as he absorbs the scene. It’s similar, you realize, to the moment when he complimented your lemon cake, the first time you felt like you were meeting the real him.

This observation only takes a heartbeat to sink in. Tucking it away to examine later, you shyly lift the plate and set it in the middle of everyone. “She‘s right,” you confirm, peeling off the plastic wrap. “Peanut butter cookies.” The next few seconds are spent in an expectant semi-quiet as everyone takes a cookie and savors the first bite.

“Mmm,” someone sighs, and the dam breaks. A flurry of compliments all around, new threads of conversation bursting forth. You absorb it gratefully, relieved at their enthusiastic response and happy to have been able to contribute. You try not to react to Javier’s eyes on you.

The ice broken, you all chat and drink around the bar for a bit, before Connie declares that it’s movie time, leading everyone to the living room. Before following them, Javier grabs the plate of cookies. “We’ll just take these with us,” he says decisively, and you take it as a compliment.

It’s the first time he’s addressed you directly since you arrived, and there’s a knowing glint in his eye. “By all means,” you respond pleasantly, meeting his gaze. Taking your tenuous first step in sharing the establishment of a public-facing persona to your relationship (such that it is).

In your delay, Connie and Steve appear to have gotten into a hissed discussion, standing between the couch and the loveseat. Connie whirls around as you and Javi approach, fixing a smile to her face. She waves you over to the smaller sofa. “Come on, we get to snuggle up on the loveseat, so the big men have more room to spread out.” She aims a cool faux-glare at her husband, but a glimmer of real frustration prevents it from being believably fake.

Steve sends Javi a long-suffering, apologetic look. “Sounds cozy,” you chirp, mediating before anyone else can say anything. “So what are we watching?”

At this, Steve’s face lights up with a grin that almost makes you wary. He takes great delight in announcing the selection, some military action flick with “enough drama and hunky actors to keep the ladies entertained as well,” apparently.

“A true classic.” Javier nods sagely from his sprawled seat on the couch, his smirking grin suggesting that it was not at all true. Steve kneels to put the tape in, and as he and Javi continue to snigger over it, Javi shoots a self-conscious glance in your direction, his posture shifting.

Connie sighs. “They’ve done a few of these now. I should warn you that it’s less about watching the movie than it is about bonding over making fun of it,” she confides.

You keep the two men in the corner of your vision as you turn to reply to your friend, feeling warm with gratitude at being included. “That’s okay,” you assure her. “It’s a good bonding activity.”

Connie smiles, but seems distracted. She lowers her voice to speak again. “I should also tell you that they make fun of it because they know how government/military stuff really works. From their job at the embassy.” She seems unsure if she should say any more.

“Oh!” You realize that Connie has no way of knowing about your conversations with Javi. “I know. I mean, Javier told me. What they do.” 

Connie looks amazed. “Javier told you? When?” Her voice drops to just above a whisper.

“Recently,” you hedge. “I was, um, helping him with something, and it slipped out.” No point in getting him in trouble. 

Connie looks ready to burst, but before she can say anything the tv blares, and Steve pointedly declares that it’s starting.

You settle in for the mock-fest, and sure enough, the men don’t disappoint. It’s hard to follow what’s actually going on through their exasperated groaning, but you don’t mind. Their back-and-forth is just as entertaining, and you even manage to join in occasionally during the medical scenes.

Throughout it all, you surreptitiously watch Javier. His opening up is a slow-building thing, like he can’t decide how much of himself to reveal. He steals frequent glances at you, as if trying to judge what you’re thinking of him in this new context. But he can’t pretend to be his usual lascivious self in front of Steve and Connie, and all at once he seems to decide to just be, and damned if you don’t like it.

You don’t let on that you’ve been paying such attention, only teasing and acting like you normally would around friends. But you can’t help but respond to the way Javi’s eyes crinkle when he smiles; to the hard-won sound of his laugh, sending pleasant tingles down your spine. With other things for him to focus on besides you, you’re able to observe him more freely, noticing things you hadn’t before.

When the movie finally ends, you and Javier stand to leave, managing to only after Connie extracts ironclad promises from the both of you to do this again. The tentative banter you’d fallen into in the apartment carries you down the stairs; it felt rather like you were still creating the steps to a dance in which you weren’t quite sure if you were competitors or partners.

He walks you to your door. “It’s like eight steps down the hall, Javier.” It’s sweet, despite your objection.

“A lot can happen in eight steps,” he counters, undeterred.

At the door, he murmurs your name. You look at him in surprise when he takes your hand, even as your body sings from the warmth of his attention. “I don’t believe I’ve thanked you for all your help yet.” He brings your hand to his mouth and presses his lips to your skin. Softly, lingering. “Properly, that is.” In his hooded eyes is a brazen offer.

His mustache brushes more softly than you would have thought, and your mind immediately leaps to imagine what it would feel like against your mouth. Heat flares within you at the thought, but you pull your hand free and step back from him. You can see his thoughts slow, reorganize at your retreat.

“You don’t have to thank me with sex, Javier.” It would be lying to say you hadn’t considered this possibility; you place each word with care, knowing that any future relationship you might have with Javier would depend on his response to this conversation. “I didn’t help you as an excuse to sleep with you.”

It wasn’t that you weren’t interested in sex with him, exactly. The truth was...you didn’t want to be done with him yet. You wanted to learn more about him, uncover all the little things that made him him behind the gruff armor. But if you agreed to be seduced by him tonight, it would send the opposite message. That all he had been to you was a debt that was now paid.

Javier looks befuddled, the furrow in his brow deepening as his listens. Your next words come out sounding more practiced. “If that’s all you want from me then fine, but...friendship is good too, you know? Friends are a thing people have.” Your gaze drops briefly, a flicker of embarrassment overtaking you. But you’re determined to make him understand that this isn’t a blanket rejection.

His expression turns frustratingly inscrutable as he digests this. “Right.” Slowly he nods, shifting away from your door.

“Just- think about what I said, Javi. Okay?” No pity in your voice, only a soft, steady plea.

Javier continues to nod as he backs away. “Sure,” he replies, step by step, toward his own home. “Buenas noches, Vecina.” Good night, Neighbor.

In a twisted reversal of your usual roles, you watch him walk the length of the hall. A contemplative saunter, hands sliding into his pockets to retrieve a cigarette.

You can only hope you said the right thing.

---

A/N: In the first scene, Javi left the room to go put on underwear lmao.

Fic Taglist: @din-damn-djarin​, @thirstworldproblemss​ 

Heart and soul

Requested by: @writingwithacupoftea

Summary: Tommy is falling for someone who’s a bit too much like him.

Based on “Peer Pressure” (James Bay ft. Julia Michaels)

A/N: this is not completely based on the song, I expanded the concept a bit. I hope you like it❤️⭐️

Warnings: mention of sex (nothing graphic)

The gif is not mine, credits to the owner

You're dancing around on my mind every second

I'm under control till you're in front of me

Maybe I'm scared, I don't care, I'm addicted

I'm in it

You surely were one of the most singular women roaming the streets of Small Heath. Cunning, witty and incredibly smart. Always calm and collected, always in control of everything. And the only one who could get under Tommy Shelby’s skin. You weren’t scared of him, not even a bit and you never missed a chance to remind him. As much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t stay unfazed when you put him in his place with a clever comeback or a sarcastic remark. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself that your smart mouth didn’t have any effect on him, it was far from the truth. And it was also the reason why he secretly liked you so much.

The infamous gangster of Small Heath was falling for someone who was a bit too much like him.

When you entered the betting shop for the first time, looking for a job, he thought that you had just ended up in the wrong place. When you confidently held the paper in front of his face, the one announcing the vacancy in his company, his first reaction was looking at you with raised eyebrows, you surely weren’t what he had in mind when he thought about hiring a new accountant. What he didn’t know, was that you always had your way.

Long story short, he had to recognise that you were the most qualified accountant he had ever met and he had no choice but to hire you.

The more time passed, the more you were conscious about how similar the two of you actually were: bright, ambitious and terribly stubborn. And always in control of everything.

Almost everything, at least.

You had tried so hard to resist him, to resist what you felt for him, just to show him that he couldn’t have everything he wanted, that you weren’t going to be one of his whims, one of a long list. However, at some point you had to face the truth. He could break through your barriers, just like you did with him. And you were falling for him.

You both hated the way you felt, because it was something over which you had no control. So you tried to bottle it up, hoping to move on and forget about it. But ignoring the problem wasn’t going to make it go away, it was a matter of time before you reached your breaking point.

It happened on a cold December night. It was one of those nights where going out was the last thing you wanted to do. The streets were empty, no one dared to stay outside in the freezing air. Christmas was near, the windows of the houses around you were illuminated by the lights placed on the decorated trees, but the contrast with the quiet and dark streets only contributed to emphasise the atmosphere of desolation. In Small Heath, there were no such things as lights and festoons. You had stayed at work until late, not having the courage to leave the warmth of the office. Tommy had offered to walk you home, not wanting you to wander alone at that hour of the night.

You didn’t know why you stopped him when he turned to leave. Maybe it was because it was freezing and you didn’t want him to stay out, especially since the reason why he was out in the first place was that he had worried about your safety, or maybe it was because you were tired of being alone. Whatever the reason, you invited him in.

You can't sleep, you're testing me

Bad but sweet and I'm just tryna keep it together

And now you're sayin'

Put your hands on my body just like you think you know me

Want your heart beating on me, don't leave me hot and lonely

I don't usually give in to peer pressure

But I'll give in to yours

Not even ten minutes later, you found yourselves devouring each other. You ran a hand through his hair while his hands wandered on your body, pulling you as close to him as he could. It was when you started unbuttoning his shirt that he reluctantly stopped you, placing his hands on yours. It took all of the self-control he had left in that moment.

“Y/n, we don’t have to do this” he whispered.

“You don’t want to?”

He sighed and shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Of course I want to. I’ve wanted this for so long, but I don’t want you to think that this doesn’t mean anything to me. You’re more than a one night stand”

You could see the truth in his eyes, he meant every single word he was saying. Thomas Shelby could be the most flawed man in the world, but he would never lie about something like that.

“I want this, Tommy”

It was all that he needed to hear. He pulled you close to him again, kissing you feverishly.

That night, you finally let yourself go. You let your pride and fears behind and allowed yourselves to just feel, with every cell of your bodies, without any limit. Trusting each other for the first time with your hearts and your souls.

-

Tag list: @arwyn-the-cyrptic-bisexural @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff

𝓔𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓫𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂 🍇

Inspired by this post 🌼

Pairing: ceo!san x sommelier!reader

Warning: sexual content in the story, read at your own discretion!

Index: Jongho // Hongjoong // Seonghwa // Yunho // Wooyoung // Mingi // Yeosang

･*:༅

"They’re sending in a sommelier from Italy!” The black-haired woman walked beside her boss, her heels clacking loudly on the tiled floor. “They said she’d be arriving today.”

The man stopped in his tracks, his sharp gaze looking back at his assistant. Her beige pencil skirt hugged her lower body perfectly, but today Choi San, head of the most renowned winery of South Korea, wasn’t having any of it. Their plans were simple for this season with the launch of their newest product, Elder Blow Wine, a wine made solely of elderberries and the first fruit wine in their winery. 

“They’re sending a woman to degust our wine?” He asked. “Miss Ahn, I am not in the mood for jokes today.”

“Yes. She’s the most famous sommelier in the world!” His assistant spoke glancing around his frame at the approaching figure. “They say she can either ruin ones business or make it strike gold.”

“And what is her name?” San was grumpy and not having any of this today.

They were so close to making so much profit but the Italian branch decided to send in a sommelier who would evaluate their progress. Not only on their new wine, but all the products they had lined up until now. Choi San was a prideful man who considered himself an expert on wines, there was not one person who was better than him at this field (unless you take into consideration his mortal enemy and crush who had been breed solely for the purpose to achieve glory in this business) and he really didn’t need some girl coming in to tell him her unnecessary opinion.

“y/l/n y/n.” The voice struck him by surprise as he turned to face the woman he hasn’t seen for more than 5 years. “Close your mouth Choi, it’s rude to stare a lady down with your tongue hanging out like a dog.”

San’s assistant held back a laugh as she quickly composed herself and went around him to politely bow to you in greeting, which you returned with equal respect.

“Welcome Miss y/l/n.” She smiled. “I’m assistant Ahn, I’ll be helping you with the schedule for the tasting this weekend.”

“Oh please just call me y/n.” You waved your hand, the action moving your suit jacket up a bit revealing some skin around your waist. “I’d like to know your name as well if you don’t mind.”

“Hyejin.” She answered you.

“Well Hyejin, I look forward to this weekend spent with you.” Your eyes moved towards the still shocked man and a smirk graced your dark red lips. “You haven’t changed one bit Choi.”

“And you’ve changed a lot.” Was the only thing he could mutter through his shock.

You stood there in your white suit, a black velvet shirt covering your chest and adding contrast to the outfit. The simple pearl necklace brought his eyes to admire your collar bones while your red lips had him weak in the knees.

Why did you have to show up from all the people on this planet?

“Sir, shall we?” Hyejin asked bringing him out of his trance. “We are due to show the windery to Miss y/n.”

With a curt nod and an amused expression on your side, the three of you made your way to the car which was parked outside waiting for you.

･*:༅

The view from this winery was breathtaking as you sat outside an marvelled at the fields of grapes in front of you. The sun was slowly setting as two glasses of rich red wine were placed on the table in front of you. You glanced up at the man as he took a seat, eyes also tracing the clouds in the distance. You took hold of the wine glass and sniffed it slightly closing your eyes at the rich aroma of grapes. You swirlled the red substance in your glass and took a small sip, letting it barely touch your tongue. 

“Interesting, this wine seems to have a strong flavor of alcohol.” You spoke. “Quite a dangerous aspect of you to try.”

“Some of our customers like to have a strong drink here and there.” San shrugged his shoulders, he watched your movements closely and was entranced with your delicate movements. “You’ve been gone for a long time y/n. I’m surprised that you even came back here.”

“I didn’t want to.” You were now facing him. “I enjoy my job of travelling the world and dinning in fine restaurants, enjoying a glass or bottle of their finest wine. But the CEO of the Italian branch insisted I go, I already know the language and have practically spent my childhood here.” You sat back crossing your arms over your chest. “Added I wanted to see you too.”

“You know I was surprised to hear how well you’ve climbed the ladder. Good job making CEO Choi.” You smiled at him mockingly.

“I thought you were going to make CEO too.” He said now with raised eyebrows. “Your family practically started this business. You guys are quite famous.”

“True.” You looked down at your glass in hand. “I was offered the position, but I refused it.” You made a little whirpool in the glass. “I decided to be a sommelier instead. I came to an agreement with my parents that my future husband will take over the business.” You finished the alcohol in your glass bringing your eyes up to meet his. “They already have a colourfull sort lined up for me.”

“Must be rough.” He commented with a tight lip.

“So, have you shagged your assistant yet?” You asked boldly making him choke on his wine.

“For your information, I don’t have to tell you shit.” He stated.

“So you have.” You laughed. “How many times?”

His face dead-panned into a not amused one. You raised your hands in surrender your laugh echoing around him.

“I’m just teasing.” The giggle on your lips had him on edge. “We’re just old frenemies talking, it’s not like you like me or something so I can’t know these things.” 

You stood up from the table and stepped away, ready to leave. But his hand caught your arm and you raised your eyebrow at him. 

“At least take me to dinner first.” You joked.

“I never said I didn’t like you.” He stood up along with you, bringing his whole body close to yours, breath mixing with yours. “You’ve always annoyed me but in a good way.” He brought his face close to yours. “A way I like.”

“I would have expected this from anybody but you San.” You said with a smirk, fighting off his grip in a way that he was now in yours. “Trying to seduce me so your winery could blossom gold Choi?” The way you twisted his arm had him grunt in surprise and pain. “You’re despicable.”

As you pushed him away anger coated your delicate face and he panicked seeing this reaction.

“I’m not trying to seduce you for that. I’m serious about this!”

“Sure you are!” You yelled back at him. “Try it with your assistant if you haven’t already! I’m not dumb Choi.” The fierce gaze you held with him evolved into something you couldn’t decipher in his. “Jesus, you’re disgusting.”

And with that you left. 

San watched in pain as you stormed off and kicked the chair over in frustration. Why did he do that? Of course it would come off as if he’s doing this to get good reviews! Why couldn’t he just keep silent and not move.

He leaned on the table and sighed.

･*:༅

The next day you decided to go down to the caffe which you knew was owned by one of your old friends. It was a cute set up which you would expect from your friend’s imaculate taste in design, with a large sign that read Sugarberry’s up front. You walked inside and noticed it was quite lively and bustling with people. You walked up to the counter and smiled at the young girl working behind itm just as she did to you.

“Hi, welcome to Sugarberry’s.” Her chirpiness reminded you of Mingi. “What can I get you?”

“Hi, is Mingi in?” You asked her.

“The boss?” She questioned as you nodded. “Sure is, he never leaves this place.” She giggled aloud and went back, coming out along with the tall man in tow. “Here he is.”

“Oh my gosh!” He squealed coming over to hug you. “I’ve missed you so much y/n. When did you land? What are you doing here? Do you want something to drink?”

“Easy there Mingles.” The laugh he gave you was contagious. “I’d appreciate a cup of coffee.” He motioned for the girl you talked to to make it. “Let’s have a chat. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

You guys took a seat outside and chatted along catching up with each others life and whatnot. You even told him why you’re here and how long you were staying in between your conversation. Also adding the San incident from last night.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know he liked you.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But, I’d also be lying if I said he didn’t do the occasional hook-up here and there.” He sighed. “I can tell you this one thing though. He’d never try to have sex with you just so he could up his winery.”

“But then why did he come on to me so strong?” You asked confused.

“Maybe he just doesn’t know how to act differently?” The girl who you learned worked here as a waitress spoke up as she brought over some cakes. “Sannie is an interesting character. He always comes off as untouchable and brooding, but I’ve learned his a softie. He always talks about his arch nemesis in a way that brings one to laugh how much in love he is with her.” She giggled. “And now I see why. You’re intimidatingly beautiful.”

“I love the fact he considers me his nemesis.” You sighed with a small pout.

“Maybe you should go over and talk with him. Let him explain and then make your assumptions.” She shrugged her shoulders and left back inside.

“Does your staff always give advice to customers when they have love life troubles?” You looked at Mingi with amusement.

“No.” He answered and looked after the waitress. “But she does.”

“She seems lovely Mingi.” 

“Yeah, she does.” 

Your friend had the serious case of heart eyes for his waitress.

･*:༅

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion when Hyejin directed the car towards a high-end appartment complex instead of the winery. You exited the car and walked up to the entrance along with her, but were left alone to enter the elevator and make your way to the penthouse. All the while you stood back and thought about the fact that this was surely one of San’s doings. If you remembered correctly this building is owned by his mother and he did live here.

The elevator dinged and you stepped off, impressed with the view of the city spread out in front of you. You walked up to the glass and sighed. You loved Seoul, but ever since you moved to Italy you enjoyed the fields of Toscana more. 

The soft arm around your waist startled you but you calmed sown when you saw San’s reflection above yours. 

“What is the meaning of this?” You calmly asked.

“I brought you here to enjoy dinner with me. Along with one of my winery’s best wines.” He said, guiding you by the small of your back towards a table which was set up nicely with food already prepared. “Consider this to be my apology for last night.”

“Well I did say take me out to dinner first.” You sighed as you accepted his gentlemanly manor of pulling out your seat. “So what kind of wine are we drinking today?” You could guess by the meat served before you but you wanted to see to which heights he was ready to go.

“Pinot Noir. If I remember correctly it’s one of your favorites.” He expertly opened the bottle and poured you a glass.

“Impressive.” You nodded your head. “Maybe Mingi was right.”

“What?” He blinked quickly in fear.

“Maybe you really do like me.” You smirked raising your glass to him.

“I will kill him.” He whispered out.

“Hey, maybe you should consider what’s happening right now and here than attacking him.” You snorted. “You’d be surprised just how much he tried to justify your actions.” You looked at him dead in the eye. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him and his waitress friend.”

The night continued on as you two talked more about life, wine making, business and stupid shit you used to do in college. You could say that yes, you were finally enjoying yourself with him. 

You both moved now to the living room, finishing the bottle of wine.

“Why do you consider me your arch nemesis?” You suddenly asked out of curiousity.

“Because you’re better than me.” San answered avoiding your gaze. “You got better grades in college than me. You made friends easily, even with the unapproachable me. You were never afraid to say what’s on your mind and you always stayed true to yourself.” He sighed. “I was envious of you.”

“I don’t really see why.” You glanced at him. “I don’t exactly have the best life. My parents brought me up to be their business protege. I never had rights, not even now when I’m at the age of finding a man and marrying him.” You laughed out loud remembering the stack of papers which were potential marriage partners being thrown on your table. “Gosh, I’m more pitiful than envy worthy.”

“I guess we’re both pitiful.” He laughed along with you.

“Did you mean it?” 

“Did I mean what?” He finally looked at you.

“That you want me?”

He looked at you in silence for a few minutes. He moved slowly up towards you, wary of any type of reaction you may give him. He was so close to your face that you felt the taste of wine on his lips, but you two haven’t even touched.

“What do you think?” He whispered out softly.

“Oh, just kiss me already.”

He smirked and did so. The kiss deep, rich and flavored. His hand strayed up your thigh and you sighed, electricity coursing through your body.

“Let’s move this to the bedroom.” He whispered out against your lips and pulled you towards him, hooking your legs around him and placing his hands on your ass so he can carry you more easily.

Your feet had lost the heels a long time ago and the bare skin felt the soft carpet of his bedroom. San’s hand slowly ghosted over your back as he started to unzip your dress, leaving a trail of kisses on your bare skin.

“I have a confession to make.” He said, his lips nipping at your jaw. “You looked so good in this dress I felt sorry to rip it.”

“Thank god you didn’t.” You smirked, ripping his shirt open not minding his shock. “It’s designer.”

“So is my shirt.” He argued back as you shrugged your shoulders.

He eyed you up and down, practically drooling at the sight infront of him. A finger slipped underneath the elastic of your panties, pulling it from your skin before letting go as it snapped back to your skin. He was stating that you were wearing too much and he was really not patient. He lost his pants in the process of pushing you on his bed, the top half of his body covering yours, his covered erection pressed against your heat. He kissed you harder and began rocking his hard length against your needy clit which made you moan into his ear.

He was kissing your breasts and freed them from their restraints. Only then did he wrap his warm mouth around one of your now hardened nipples which made you arch your back in pleasure. A moan came out as you felt a finger slowly swirling around your clit, your arms coming to wrap around San’s shoulders. Letting out a short hum and observing your reaction, his finger stopped its movements then slid toward your entrance, slipping in slowly.

San’s mouth sucked and teased one of your breasts, while his hand did wonders with your lower lips. It wasn’t long before you were shaking violently underneath him.

“I think it’s fair if I return the favour.” You snickered at his confused look before positioning him to stand.

You were on your knees, half of his cock in your left hand, the other half in your mouth. Every now and then, you’d come up and suck on his tip for a bit, which made San groan like crazy. His hand was on the back of your head guiding you as he shamelessly used your mouth. The sudden harsh pull to your hair popped his dick out your mouth and he had to use all his strenght to pull you up and kiss you like his life depended on it.

“I see that mouth is good for more than just wine tasting.” He chuckled.

“You’d be surprised.”

He took out a condom from the nightstand and rolled it gently onto himself as he positioned you onto all fours, ass in the air and pussy ready. “Oh fuck.” He rubbed his erection against you. “You’re so wet for me little one, are you ready?”

“Is this a daddy kink I’m hearing?” You teased and were rewarded with a slap to your ass. “Oh boy am I ready, daddy.”   

Without warning his huge cock rammed into your core, the porniest moan leaving your mouth and shaking San to the core. If he didn’t have so much control over himself he’d cum then and there on the spot. The skin was slapping against each other, one of San’s hands gripped your hair, arching your head back, your eyes beginning to roll back, your pussy fluttering around his cock.

“San I am so close.” Suddenly his thrusts got faster, his hand going over to your swollen clit, applying preasure to the sensitive nerve bundle.

“Hold on a little while longer little one.” He was chasing his own release, wanting to cum at the same time as you. After three more harsh thrusts he whispered in your ear. “Cum.” 

And cum you did, biting into the pillow, screaming into it, this was one of the most powerful orgasms you ever had. You didn’t hear San’s deep moans as he released himself into you, didn’t notice him pulling out, nor throwing away the well filled condom.

He carried you towards the bathroom, desperate for a shower. A supposedly quick shower turned into making out underneath the warm water for thirty minutes and two more rounds of electrifying sex which had you exhausted.

The weekend ahead was going to be pretty eventful.

･*:༅

“A 4.5 rating.” San spoke as he took a seat next to you on your private jet. “Not bad, I was expecting lower so this is quite the surprise for me.”

“The only surprise is the fact that your on my plane, while it’s in the air and heading for Italy.” You said shocked at his appearance.

“Yeah well, my father called me telling me I had business to take care of in Italy, so I figured I’d save some time and money by tagging along.” He took your wine glass, taking a sip out of it. “Something about marrying the y/l/n’s daughter and becoming top boss.”

“News travel fast I see.” You smirked at him.

“Especially when it’s a marriage arranged and practically in the workings.” He smirked back. “I’m just glad I won’t have to use a condom anymore. The lady at the pharmacy gave me weird looks when I went to buy some more the last time.”

“Maybe because we use up a pack of 12 faster than rabbits?” You shrugged your shoulders at him. “Are you really okay with this?”

“If I wasn’t I wouldn’t have told my dad to go forward with the arranging.” 

“So I guess we’re going to be husband and wife then.” You smiled at him, your rep lips stained with wine.

“I guess we will little one.” He smiled back, hand interwining with yours.

“But really, did you fuck your assistant?”

masters of none - part 2 (jason todd x reader)

summary: thank you all for taking interest in this! i’ve gotten wonderful feedback and helpful criticism that i appreciate so much. i’ve decided to give you guys some more jason since i’m sure you all want to see him lol. i have a plan tho so bear with me. we are currently laying the foundation.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: alcohol. food mention. anxious reader.

part 1 /// part 3

ungodly hour

when you decide you like yourself. when you decide you need someone. when you don't have to think about it.

...

you felt an uncomfortable churning in your stomach as your bare back pressed against the cold leather seats of the limousine. you laced your fingers and rested your hand over your middle, hoping the subtle self soothing would calm your nerves. it wasn't everyday you went to a wayne gala after all. your silence and clear discomfort was enough to stir a reaction from misha, one of your fellow producers and stylist.

"you doing alright over there?" she asked after applying her lipgloss, carefully wiping the corners of her mouth.

"chillin'," you responded with a little shrug.

that was a lie. you felt like you were going to shit and projectile vomit simultaneously. however, it was freezing in the limo so you were definitely chilling in some sense of the word. your navy off the shoulder dress made of tulle embroidered with stars but it wasn't really warm. your shoulders were exposed and so was a good portion of your arms. you didn't know how misha was holding up in her dress. her entire back and arms had to protection from the cold at all.

"you know this isn't a big deal, right?" she reminded you gently. she must have picked up on your discomfort. "we'll go in, i'll network with the old money of gotham, and we'll leave."

"yeah but where does that leave me?" you asked her, shifting in your seat and almost slipping out of it. the tulle didn't provide much traction against the slippery leather. "i'm your plus one, remember? i serve no purpose."

"i thought that was the selling point," she pouted before making an attempt to cheer you up. "you don't serve no purpose. you're there to make me look good. my arm candy."

"i believe people may see it as the other way around," you informed her with a sigh. "but... fine. as long as you don't leave me alone."

"and let somebody snatch up my trophy wife?" misha scoffed, causing you to exhale through your nose with a barely visible smile. "i'm not letting you out of my sight!"

the limousine slowly stopped in front of the venue, your door lined up with the red carpet that had been laid out for the guests. it was time. you glanced around, briefly considering your escape plan just as the driver had opened the door, snuffing our any idiotic thoughts you had about jumping out through the sunroof or shimming out of the opposing window, away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi.

the lights. bright, blinding white lights flashing on and off. if you weren't acutely aware of where you were at the moment, you would've thought some kid had an essay due at midnight with the furious clicking and shuttering that filled your ears. misha was the first to step out, waiting for you to maneuver your way out.

the golden light emanating from the venue, paired with the harsh lights from the press honestly made misha look even more beautiful than normal. here you were, completely out of your element, standing next to a goddess in lilac chiffon. you looked up at her, noticing how the soft edges of her face contrasted with the sharp ones of her collarbone and the plunging v neck only accentuated that. the person you were with wasn't your friend, or your label mate. no, you were with gotham's resident fashionista and trendsetter, misha matsuri. if anyone was the arm candy, it was her.

you were brought out of your trance when she linked arms with you and began leading out down the red carpet. you honestly couldn't make out what the paparazzi were shouting at you both, aside from the occasional scream of your names. normally, you'd be a little more lively but this was a very important and formal event. it wasn't like the times where you went to award shows and you could feed off of the other seven's excited energy. you weren't surrounded by fans or people who were interested in hearing about you. you were here for misha and only her. you liked that aspect of it, but it was still uncharted territory for you.

"misha! can you tell us more about your foundation?" a reporter asked, pushing through the eager paparazzi who wanted to monopolize on their close contact with you both.

"of course," misha smiled, flipping her hair out of her face. "to cut to the chase, m squared is making fashion accessible to everyone. we've have homeless people on the streets who have no access to clothes that are befitting of the harsh weather they endure on a daily basis. we have low income families who can't afford to give their children new clothing for the school year. there are people who can't afford a nice shirt and slacks for their job interviews. our goal is the provide these people with what they need. access to clothing is a necessity, not a luxury."

you listened to misha and felt pride swell up in your chest, replacing the nausea that had plagued you previously. you were quickly reminded of why you came with her in the first place. she was trying to do something wonderful for the community and aid others in doing the same.

misha left it at that, dragging you along once she had said what she wanted. "see? that wasn't so bad."

"we haven't even crossed the threshold, mother teresa," you reminded her, jerking your chin in the direction of the large double doors behind held open for you both. misha flashed her invitation to the bouncer, quickly being let in.

the two of you walked in and you were stunned at the venue. everyone was dressed to the nines. you recognized many politicians, socialites, and some celebrities as you worked your way to the main ballroom. you felt your eyes widened as you saw bruce wayne out socializing with his guests. you had seen him on the news and in magazines but never in person. he was much taller than you expected. and closer in proximity to you. how was that happening?

"miss matsuri, miss l/n," he had greeted you both, almost surprising you. you weren't sure if misha brought you to him or he brought himself to you. maybe they met halfway while you were in shock. either way, he was here now. "it's wonderful to finally meet you both."

both? he knew you? bruce wayne knew you?

"thank you for your invitation, mr. wayne," misha smiled politely as they gently shook hands. he turned to you, offering you the same courtesy. you felt your brain lag out before you snapped out of it, taking his hand with nervous laughter. "it was a pleasant surprise."

"anyone that has the best interest of gotham in mind deserves recognition and support for their efforts. and please, bruce is fine."

you zoned out as bruce gave you the run down on the place. your eyes wandered around, occasionally lining up with a location bruce was telling you about. you were brought out of your boredom when you heard a loud crash off in the distance. you saw a group of four boys all surrounding a broken champagne bottle like it was a crime scene. you saw a twinge of annoyance on bruce's face before he collected himself.

"please excuse me. i need to reprimand my sons," he said apologetically, making his way over to the group who paled at his presence, except for the youngest one.

"father, this was todd's doing," you heard him say with a frown. "he kept antagonizing drake and they knocked over the champagne. grayson and i were merely bystanders."

"you are such a snitch," the apparent perpetrator sneered.

"here, come on," misha laughed, dragging you away from the scene. "i have old men to seduce for their money."

your gaze lingered on the group while you were dragged away. you knew that none of them were related by blood, expect for the little one and bruce, but handsome clearly ran in the wayne family. there must be something in that expensive tap water.

you spent majority of the night helping misha on her quest for benefactors. she wasn't made of money and she had made it clear that she didn't want money coming from the community. she wanted to 'milk the rich bastards of gotham for everything they've got' or something to that effect.

not actively participating in these conversations required you to try and keep yourself occupied. you started counting the chandeliers (there were five), thinking about one of the tracks you were working on (the chorus was lacking something and you didn't know what it was), and at one point you tried listening in on other conversations, hoping to hear about something juicy (you didn't).

how many glasses of champagne have you had now? three? four? you lost count. you realized you should've been counting them instead of the chandeliers. either way, you were definitely starting to feel the effects of that err. or was that the sensation of being watched?

misha had left to use the bathroom, leaving you by the fancy finger foods. as you ate the bacon wrapped enoki mushrooms, you could feel the presence of another person. you swallowed your food with a helpful swig of champagne before turning to the person who had made a claim on one of the strawberries with chocolate drizzle.

you watched as his lips parted, carefully taking a bite of the potentially messy dessert, his gaze directed at you. it was the handsome wayne boy from earlier. the champagne murderer was what you were calling him in your head. he was very tall and much better looking up close. his eyes were very striking, too. from the look in those eyes, you quickly figured out what he was trying to do.

"she's in the bathroom," you informed him, his brow perking silently as he chewed the berry, licking his lips of any lingering juice. he had this look on his face. confusion? but then you saw him fighting back a smile as he looked down at the table before looking over at you again.

"who?" he asked, his tone and look in his eyes awfully playful. you confused his flirty tone for coyness.

"don't play dumb," you laughed. normally, you wouldn't help out guys when it came to getting on misha's good side but you were making an exception for the dangerously handsome champagne murderer. "i can't give you her number. she hates that. but if it's any consolation, you're definitely her type."

"well, what about you?" he asked after taking a short pause to digest your words. "am i your type?"

you scoffed. the gall of this man. 

"am i the backup plan or something?"

"no," he said, his lips pursed slightly as he shook his head. "would you like to be?"

"there's not going to be a plan to back up if you're trying it with me," you told him seriously. what a dick. it was to be expected, though. he was bruce wayne's son after all. of course he was a player.

"i never said i was trying anything. you're the one who keeps assuming things," he reminded you with a little grin. "had it occurred to you that i came over here, simply wanting to indulge myself in these divine strawberries?"

and he did just that, looking you in the eye as he took a slow bite of his new berry, raising a brow as you watched him. "what?"

"are they as divine as you anticipated?" you asked, not being able to resist some teasing.

"absolutely."

there was something about the way he answered you. was he flirting? were you flirting? the champagne was making it hard to read the situation. there was no way someone as gorgeous as him would spare you a glance and even if he did, you didn't have the time or energy for romance.

"alright. i'll be honest. i came over here because, well, i'm a fan," he told you, turning his body to fully face you now.

"oh," you nodded, not sure what to say next. when people led with that, it always felt awkward. were you supposed to say thank you, or was that weird?

"yeah. i've always wanted to meet batman."

you visibly paused, turning to face him as you watched him give you a lopsided grin. you breathed out a laugh, shaking your head. so he was a fan. he was referencing something you tweeted a few days ago. someone had jokingly made a conspiracy thread, claiming at you and the rest of cloud 9 were the vigilantes of gotham. they had theorized that you were orphan, to which you rebuffed, saying that you were clearly batman and they were blind not to see the resemblance.

"shhh, it's a secret," you whispered, putting your index finger to your lips. 

"ohhh. right, right. my mistake," he whispered back with a firm nod. "how do you juggle your two jobs, though? seems difficult."

"well, if you must know, batman is actually a robot that i control from the comfort of my couch. very advanced technology. you wouldn't get it," you joked, making jason laugh out loud. was it really that funny or were you missing something?

"funny," he answered unintentionally. or you thought. could he read minds? "i'm jason."

"jason," you tested out his name on your tongue. jason. you liked it. "wayne?"

"todd," he quickly corrected you, seeming very adamant that you understood that.

"jason todd," you said again, almost addicted to how it sounded coming from your lips. jason. jason todd.

"and you're y/n l/n," he said, almost as if he were telling you, reminding you that was your name. you weren't sure if you liked saying his name or hearing him say yours more. before you could even register what was happening, he took your hand and gave it a soft kiss.

you locked eyes with him as he looked up at you with his lips, soft as silk, pressed against your knuckles. you could see something in them. he looked... unsure. afraid of his actions. you found yourself subconsciously mirroring his expression in an effort to try and identify it.

"it's a pleasure to finally meet you," you said breathlessly, noting how his demeanor changing a little now that the two of you searched each other's souls for a few seconds. he rubbed his thumb over your fingers before letting go.

"pleasure's all mine," he said, his voice softer now. he was the one who broke eye contact, looking around absentmindedly. he grabbed another strawberry, about to eat it when you went to carefully grab it from him. his lips grazed your fingers as he loosened his lazy grip, letting you take it from him.

"you can't hog them all," you informed him, trying it out for yourself. they were divine, just as jason described them to be. you let out a satisfied hum, which seemed to grab his attention.

"things always taste better when they belong to someone else, right?" he teased and you couldn't help but wonder if there was a double meaning to that.

"you don't own the strawberries, jason.”

"no, but i owned the one that's in your mouth, y/n."

you were sure he was saying these things on purpose now. you just smiled, softly sucking the juice off the pads of your fingers. seldom did the opportunity to harmlessly flirt with someone present itself so you wanted to enjoy it while you could. during your back and forth, you could feel yourself holding back, despite this. you felt jason was doing the same. you were both constantly thinking about what you were doing and actively fighting against it but not doing a very good job at it. it was odd, but you felt like you and jason had this unspoken, mutual understanding for what you were doing in that moment.

still, you couldn't let yourself fall into that trap. you knew when this was all over, that was it. nothing would come from it and you were fine with that. besides, he was a fan, right? it wasn’t right to be with a fan. there was a power imbalance there that you weren’t looking to exploit.

"sorry to interrupt, but my wife and i have an early morning tomorrow," you heard misha say from behind you as she wrapped her long, slender arms around you. saved by the bell.

"wife?" he parroted, giving you a curious look.

"yeah, for like, two more hours," you reminded her as you glanced at your watch.

"and you have to respect the sanctity of our fake marriage until then. just like cinderella," misha told you, putting her arm around your shoulder now.

"i don't think that's how the story goes," you laughed, giving jason an apologetic look afterwards. "i should get going."

"i understand. i'd hate to be branded a home wrecker," he joked and misha gave him a look.

"oh, i'm sure you would," she smirked, tugging you along. "goodbye, thief."

"bye jason," you called to him, waving goodbye, receiving a silent wave and smile in return.

"what was that about?" misha nudged you playfully, giving you a suggestive look as she led you through the maze of bodies blocking your escape route.

"i'll tell you on the way home."

you exited the venue from the back, where your limo was waiting for you. what started out as a scary social event ended up being surprisingly fun. you learned a thing or two from watching misha network and that conversation with jason was entertaining, to say the least. you wondered if you’d ever run into him again.

probably not.