#i really understand now the mess they must have been
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This Must Be The Place: Chapter 12 - I love the passing of time
Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader
Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.
Series Masterlist
Warnings: None...I don't think
“Wow…so he just accused you in front of everybody?” Peter Quill asked you in disbelief, sipping his coffee as you caught him up on the mess that was your life.
You nodded and stiffly sipped your own drink, “Mmm…he tried to come by later and apologise, but I wasn’t exactly open to a discussion”.
Peter nodded sympathetically, giving you an understanding smile, “Yeah…I can see why”.
You smiled back, well, more of a grimace really, doing your best to keep your mind from wandering to Bucky.
“Sooo…you’re unemployed,” he offered in a slightly playful tone, but tentatively as if he was still feeling out your sensitivity levels around this subject.
You laughed into your coffee cup, grateful for the levity, “sure am…now I just watch daytime TV and hang out at the supermarket all day like a bum”.
The two of you chuckled and you asked him how work was going at the plant. As he told you an anecdote about one of his workmate’s antics, Drax or somebody? You found yourself comfortable…relaxed. Being with Peter didn’t really need you to be ‘on’, you didn’t need to try and suss out what he was thinking or where you stood like you did with Bucky, it was just nice.
The two of you had been texting for a week or so, ever since that night you’d first messaged him after you’d (figuratively and literally) closed the door on Bucky. You’d quickly found a fun rhythm with him over text, a balance of jokes and getting to know each other with the occasional meme thrown in. After losing your job and your ‘situationship’, you were grateful for the distraction. It was also a nice thing to break up your work with back at the house.
Eventually, he’d asked you to go for coffee in town, and it was so lovely to go on an actual date rather than just to each other’s houses under the cover of night. Coffee was a great choice, it was low stakes and informal, it meant you could have a conversation and get to know each other better without the pressures of a fancy dinner or sitting in silence at the movies. Fun and relaxed, just like Peter himself.
Bucky had blown up your phone for the first few days, asking you to hear him out…asking you to just let him talk…you’d ignored him entirely. He even set a bouquet of flowers to your door, which you’d rolled your eyes at and given to your elderly neighbour. You’d also pocketed the cash and thrown out the note he’d slid under the door. You didn’t need a reminder of him at the house, too. He’d wormed his way into your thoughts often enough already, despite your best efforts to forget him entirely.
You hated him for what he’d done, but the fact was you held strong feelings for him (the strongest!) right before that happened, and you couldn’t magically switch them all off even if he did hurt you. A dormant part of you still felt something, as frustrating as that was. You wished you could press a button that would erase it all and allow you to hate him in peace, but you couldn’t. So, next best thing - you were going to give him a wide berth, get on with the house jobs and hang out with Peter until it was time to leave.
You sent Bucky a brief text asking him to leave you be and respect your wishes, and he finally did – the bare minimum, but he did. You hadn’t heard anything from him since. Long may it continue.
Steve had also sent you a very no-nonsense text apologising for ‘how your employment ended’ and said that the position was always open if you changed your mind. You politely declined and he sent you back a thumbs up emoji, which was a big deal for Steve who famously didn’t do emojis – it might as well have been a heart.
Nat, Parker and a few of the others had also reached out, expressing regret for how things went down and that you left. They were a sweet bunch underneath all that leather and scowling. Your heart panged a little at their words, you really did like being there with them, it was a shame it blew up so spectacularly.
Wanda and Vis had been there for you, enthusiastically inviting you along to their date nights and stuff with their other friends, not wanting you to spend your evenings rattling around in a dead woman’s home by yourself. It was appreciated, but you didn’t love playing third wheel at a romantic dinner.
Now you weren’t banging your evenings away with Bucky - the house was taking shape. You’d dropped off the cash donation to the shelter, plus moved out a whole bunch more stuff. You had a steady stream of strangers coming to collect old furniture and junk (‘treasures’ as Granny called them, which just thinking about made you feel guilty) from the ads you’d posted on various Facebrook groups and Craigslist. And you’d kept anything truly sentimental, of course. You still hadn’t done the damn fence, but the room painting was almost done. You just needed to do that, or pay someone else to, plus fix the slightly leaky faucet in the bathroom you’d always moaned to Bucky about.
“…and that’s when we realised it was Monday, not Tuesday, that the shipment was delivered”, laughed Peter as the end of his story snapped you back into the room.
You chuckled good-naturedly and took the last sip of your drink before Peter pointed at your empty cup, “Another? I’ve got a real hankering for a muffin or something…”
You smiled and nodded as he went to the register to get you both another round. As you were left by yourself, you mindlessly picked up your phone and began scrolling when a voice behind you called your name.
You turned, horrified to come face to face with…Tom.
Tom, who stood in front of you, his head lowered like a wounded puppy.
Tom, who had screwed you over and lost you your job.
Tom…who was sporting a painful looking black eye…and bruising all over his cheek.
“Tom, what the-”, you bristled.
“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, his voice panicked and urgent, “I’m so sorry. I was just passing and saw you in the window and had to…just…Fuck. It was so shitty. I never should’ve done it. I just…I needed the cash for my buddy and Bucky had already given me a couple’a loans and-”
Your initial wave of anger was quelled. He was just so…meek and lost. You just pitied him in that moment.
“I did it without really thinking”, he sighed, a little calmer now. “I knew that security camera was out. If I’d known they would’ve gone after you I never would’ve done it. I promise. I thought they’d just think they messed up the count, or assume I fucked up some orders. I’m so sorry”.
You sighed sadly. “What’s going on, Tom? Why did you need it for your buddy?”
He looked away, the guilt evident in his eyes. “I…sorta…I have a few issues with gambling. Alright?” he looked ashamed. “And I actually felt so bad after, I came back. After all they’d done for me…and for me to do that to them…so I drove back to the bar, ready to return it all – but you’d left and they’d already figured it out after I got there…and they were so mad…”
You nodded with quiet understanding. He didn’t need a lecture from you, there was nothing you could tell him he hadn’t already told himself. And it looked like Bucky and Steve had told him too…
“It’s okay, Tom”, you told him, “What you did was fucked up…but it’s not your fault Bucky accused me, and that stuff turned out the way it did. That’s on him and only him”.
He nodded meekly, repeating that he was sorry as he awkwardly fiddled with his hands.
“I’m sorry…about your face,” you grimaced.
He shrugged. “It’s cool. Really. It wasn’t that bad. I stole, I deserved what I got. I was a traitor. But after Bucky calmed down…he listened. He sat down with me and told me to tell him everything. And I did…I admitted it all. What I did. My…uh…problem. And he and Steve are gonna get me straight, pay to get me some real help. Help me with my debts and support me to beat this thing once and for all”, his face looked hopeful.
You nodded encouragingly. You were mad at Bucky and Steve for hurting him, even though you knew that’s how things were duked out in their world. He was just a dumb kid who made a dumber mistake, who had gotten himself into a deep hole. But you couldn’t deny your surprise about getting him professional help. That was…surprisingly decent of them.
“Well…best of luck,” you smiled as you gave his hand a squeeze, “I hope you find what you need. And no hard feelings between us, okay?”
Tom grinned and nodded. He was alright, really.
“Hey I got you a biscotti…oh hey, sorry, who are-” said Peter, eyeing Tom as he walked back to the table with the tray of drinks in his hands.
“This is Tom, I used to work with him at the bar. See you, Tom”.
Tom nodded at Peter and gave you a wave as he left. You shared a small smile as he walked out of the coffee shop.
“All good?” asked Peter as he unloaded the cups and plates from the tray.
“All good,” you grinned. “And thank-you…I love biscotti. It’s like a fancy cookie”.
You both laughed, and just like that, Tom and Bucky and the bar and everything else floated away.
*
Some time later, after most likely too much caffeine and sugar, you were giggling with Peter as you walked out of the coffee shop and down the street.
“That was a lot of fun, thank you,” you said.
He smiled, “Yeah, I had fun too. Can I walk you back to your car?”
You nodded – pointing towards the street where you’d parked up.
As the two of you walked together, Peter very smoothly took his hand in yours. It gave you a burst of butterflies, and a twinge of melancholy that Bucky had never acknowledged your relationship publicly by doing something like that.
As you reached Sally you turned to Peter, “This is me”.
He smiled and very gently pulled you towards him. Before you knew it, he gently cupped your chin in his hand and pulled your lips towards his. The kiss was chaste, sweet. You kissed him back, unable to hide the smile that was trying to break out.
He pulled away and smiled as he looked down at you, opening your driver’s door for you. “Dinner, next time?”
You beamed, “Absolutely”.
*
Across the street, unseen by anyone else, a tall and blond figure watched the two of you with interest as he leaned against a shopfront window.
“Hm…” he muttered, pulling out his phone.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#james bucky barnes#this must be the place fic#biker!bucky#motorcycle club au bucky
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In Another Life I Did Everything Right (Roman Roy x Baby!Roy)
Character/s: Roman, Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Logan
Word Count: 1,761
Inspired By: the popsicle I was eating lol
Requested: Can you write something with Roman and baby!roy? Whatever you want to do is fine. I really love your baby!roy writing and I adore Roman - anon
A/N: I took a lot of creative liberty lol, I hope you don't mind! Feedback is always appreciated my loves! 💜💜💜
It’s always the same memory, the same dream, that comes to him when the weather is warm, and humid, and he falls into a fitful sleep. It’s a realization that comes to him each time he sees your face: how young you are. Not the chubby cheeks of childhood, yet you remain untouched by adolescence. Though he knows he was a much younger man at the time, he is all grown up now. He feels his age, how old he must seem to you, how worn. Tired. He stands in the grass, the sun bright and willing to burn. He holds two plastic pouches. He knows what they are. He knows what you’re going to say, how worried you are that they’re beginning to melt: popsicles. They wouldn’t have been allowed in the house at all. They wouldn’t have made their way into the shopping cart, nor found a home in the freezer, had it not been for Connor. All his doing. He used to know the story, but tonight he can’t recall. Did you ask him for them? Were they a surprise? How could they have been hidden so well from the disapproving eyes of your father? It doesn’t really matter, he knows, but so much of this dream has become lost to him. It’s been so many years. He can no longer rely on his memory. This day has been contorted over the years, malleable and pliable, until, as far as he knows, it no longer resembles what truly happened. You’re on the pavement, legs dangling off the edge of the pool. The water is clear and, unfortunately, not as cool as you’d like. You wait, hand outstretched, for your treat. He makes you pick. Left, right, left right, left. Finally, you choose left. He smiles. Not then, but now. How big that decision must’ve felt, how harrowing it was to decide, blindly, the flavor. Older and wiser puts things into perspective. Time is funny that way. He’s grateful you remain untouched by this. Let this be your big decision. He tears yours open: orange. There is no mourning, there is no disappointment, though there is a mutual understand red is the best. He holds his up to the light, the wrapper giving way to a dark inky color. He’s glad you picked what you did: no one really liked grape all that much.
He wants to talk to you, to ask you questions, to understand where it all went wrong, but he is limited. The dialogue has been chosen for you. This is a reenactment, a loop, a labyrinth of muscle memory he must abide by. He settles beside you, legs crossed, listening to your teeth break through the ice and syrup. He wasn’t a spiritual person. He didn’t believe in God or Heaven or Hell. He didn’t have anyone or thing to turn to when things were hard, when times were tough. Sometimes he wished he was. A different person who could pray and believe and have faith. The cynic in him thought it was bullshit. The optimist, weak and tender, fought back as best as it could. There has to be something, right? There has to be something after all this? Life, mortal life, was so small in comparison to the time before and time after. How could there be nothing? He wants to ask you what you think, if there is God out there and, if so, how vengeful they must be. You were young, yes, but you grew up. There were so many opportunities for him to ask you, your views and opinions, and he didn’t. He wasn’t thinking as he was now. He didn’t have the perspective. Instead your voice slices through his thoughts, a knife to watermelon, it all becomes a sweet, sticky mess in the middle of his cheat. Where’s mom? You don’t have to clarify you mean your mother and not his. Logan’s latest ex-wife. They lasted longer than anyone expected, separating just a few weeks prior, when Spring turned to Summer. He speaks, and though he cannot hear himself, he knows his lines. He wishes now he’d been nicer. Kinder. Instead he is full of teenage angst and decides a snide comment is the best option to ease your growing unease given their recent split. Like all of your mothers, Connors and his and yours, they’ve left their children in the care of your father, though he understand this thought is cheap and really, only Connors mother couldn’t help it. Still, two out of three?
Did you see her today? You watch him, and wait, and your eyes are big, and there is melted popsicle down the front of your shirt. Yes, he admits, for a moment, but refuses any further details. Mascara ran down her face. She wheeled two large suitcases out of their (now Logans) room and down the hall, towards the stairs. He’s not sure where she was going, or for how long, and he suspected you wondered the same thing. Were the popsicles, similar to the cake Logan had bought Connor, some sort of bargain? A peace offering? Sorry kid, mommy and daddy are splitting. Here’s some sugar! Was this Connor’s way of making things better? He noticed the absence of his older siblings lessening these recent months. He found Shiv helping you with your school work, patiently listening to you ramble on about grade school drama: Leah liked Tommy, but Tommy liked Madison, who wasn’t your friend anymore because she was no longer sitting at your table during lunch, so Tessa was your new best friend. Kendall, with whatever he did to busy himself all day, took his evenings to hang out with you, trying his best to have something in common with a ten year old. Connor, who had never been lacking in your life, became an even more involved presence. Wrapped up with his own affairs, and probably several affairs, Logan had little time for his youngest. So here he was, doing his part, hoping a little attention wouldn’t leave you screwed up like the rest of them.
He wants to ask you what you think of all this. He should have, at the time, but he was uncomfortable. Uncomfortable that, finally, you were earning the Roy name. Your mother was just another wife, you were just another kid he didn’t like or want. You weren’t special, you weren’t going to change him. Uncomfortable because you were a child and children had big emotions. What if you cried? What if you got upset? He didn’t know how to stop it. He didn’t know how to help. You wouldn’t know it at the time (how could you?) but your mother would move on. She’d remarry a few years down the line, and have more children, and leave you behind. Her second husband wasn’t a fan of your father. By association, he wasn’t keen to you either. Roman never asked, even when you got older, how you were dealing with it all. Not just this, but everything. Adolescence. He figured, like the rest of them, you’d move on. Recover. Find your way. You couldn’t. You were in Logan’s custody sure, but it was her you wanted. Holidays, and birthdays, and events, you wanted her. Instead he decides the conversation is over. The in-between is murky. There are popsicles, there is this grimm realization, there is regret, and then what?
He isn’t sure what it is that keeps him reliving this day over the others. There were plenty of times he spent with you, though usually you were drinking, attempting to run away from the family, your bloodline, your future. He saw you so rarely, you were such a different person when he got the chance to really look at you, talk to you. Logan shipped you off to boarding school the school year after your mother leaves. It’s prestigious, and sterile, and ruins any of that person he’s sitting beside. Somewhere between here and then you changed. Not just growing up, though is any other big brother really prepared for their baby to get older? You grew harder, colder, bitter. You drank more. You disappeared often. Your grades suffered, though that kind of information was kept mostly between you and the school. Every so often, Connor would send out a group text saying he was going to visit you. Roman, at least, knew what that meant: you got into trouble and needed someone to clean up a mess you made. Everyone had grown up and adjusted as well as to be expected. They were waiting, impatiently, for you to catch up in maturity. You were a teenager expected to act like an adult, treated like a child. You begged Logan to come home. Your school was far away. It was lonely. It was brutal. But it was the best education anyone could ask for and he believed you were being a brat.
You wanted to see your mother. It had been years, at that point, since you last saw her. Occasionally you’d receive a cold phone call, but that was all you were allotted. That’s the story, anyways. No one really knows why you went out that night, why it was so urgent, only that you were drinking and you weren’t wearing a seatbelt. They found the car wrapped around a pole. You took your place in the family mausoleum. As far as he knows, your mother doesn’t visit. But they do, all of them. This was years ago, a little over a decade. You’d be all grown up by now. He still sees you as a ten year old. He always will. Maybe he dreams this day, over every other, because it was before everything turned sour. Maybe he just likes the taste of popsicles. Either way, it’s always a treat. He wants to ask you everything he didn’t get the chance to, but he can’t, and soon he will wake up. He’ll wake up in a cold sweat and make a point to visit you sometime soon, taking this as a sign that you’re lonely and looking for company. For now, he looks at you, really looks, and takes you in. You’ve been talking this whole time about what you’ve been learning in school, what Shiv has been helping you with. He will nod. He was bored then, wondering who would take over babysitting duty, but he isn’t now. He soaks up every word. He misses your voice, your mannerisms. So much has changed since this day. So little has changed, too.
#writing#roman roy#roman roy oneshot#roman roy drabble#roman roy fic#roman roy x reader#succession#succession drabble#succession oneshot#succession fic#succession x reader#two death#death tw#death mention
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The amount of nonsense from this single scene recordings must be worse than the wedding cake mess...
(Clips from tzp on ig and prime YouTube bloopers)
#poor Matthew#i really understand now the mess they must have been#at least it was fun#they're always so funny#red white and royal blue#rwrb#rwrb movie#firstprince#alex claremont diaz#henry fox mountchristen windsor#nicholas galitzine#taylor zakhar perez#tzp#rachel hilson#matthew lópez#rwrb bloopers
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Aziraphale’s Choice, the Job Connection, and Michael Sheen’s Morality
Update: Michael Sheen liked this post on Twitter, so I'm fairly certain there is a lot of validity to it.
I’ve had time to process Aziraphale’s choice at the end of Season 2. And I think only blaming the religious trauma misses something important in Aziraphale’s character. I think what happened was also Aziraphale’s own conscious choice––as a growth from his trauma, in fact. Hear me out.
Since November 2022 I’ve been haunted by something Michael Sheen said at the MCM London Comic Con. At the Q&A, someone asked him about which fantasy creature he enjoyed playing most and Michael (bless him, truly) veered on a tangent about angels and goodness and how, specifically,
We as a society tend to sort of undervalue goodness. It’s sort of seen as sort of somehow weak and a bit nimby and “oh it’s nice.” And I think to be good takes enormous reserves of courage and stamina. I mean, you have to look the dark in the face to be truly good and to be truly of the light…. The idea that goodness is somehow lesser and less interesting and not as kind of muscular and as passionate and as fierce as evil somehow and darkness, I think is nonsense. The idea of being able to portray an angel, a being of love. I love seeing the things people have put online about angels being ferocious creatures, and I love that. I think that’s a really good representation of what goodness can be, what it should be, I suppose.
I was looking forward to BAMF!Aziraphale all season long, and I think that’s what we got in the end. Remember Neil said that the Job minisode was important for Aziraphale’s story. Remember how Aziraphale sat on that rock and reconciled to himself that he MUST go to Hell, because he lied and thwarted the will of God. He believed that––truly, honestly, with the faith of a child, but the bravery of a soldier.
Aziraphale, a being of love with more goodness than all of Heaven combined, believed he needed to walk through the Gates of Hell because it was the Right Thing to do. (Like Job, he didn’t understand his sin but believed he needed to sacrifice his happiness to do the Right Thing.)
That’s why we saw Aziraphale as a soldier this season: the bookshop battle, the halo. But yes, the ending as well.
Because Aziraphale never wanted to go to Heaven, and he never wanted to go there without Crowley.
But it was Crowley who taught him that he could, even SHOULD, act when his moral heart told him something was wrong. While Crowley was willing to run away and let the world burn, it was Aziraphale (in that bandstand at the end of the world) who stood his ground and said No. We can make a difference. We can save everyone.
And Aziraphale knew he could not give up the ace up his sleeve (his position as an angel) to talk to God and make them see the truth in his heart.
I was messed up by Ineffable Bureaucracy (Boxfly) getting their happy ending when our Ineffable Husbands didn’t, but I see now that them running away served to prove something to Aziraphale. (And I am fully convinced that Gabriel and Beelzebub saw the example of the Ineffables at the Not-pocalypse and took inspiration from them for choosing to ditch their respective sides)
But my point is that Aziraphale saw them, and in some ways, they looked like him and Crowley. And he saw how Gabriel, the biggest bully in Heaven, was also like him in a way (a being capable of love) and also just a child when he wasn’t influenced by the poison of Heaven. Muriel, too, wasn’t a bad person. The Metatron also seemed to have grown more flexible with his morality (from Aziraphale's perspective). Like Earth, Heaven was shades of (light?) gray.
Aziraphale is too good an angel not to believe in hope. Or forgiveness (something he’s very good at it).
Aziraphale has been scarred by Heaven all his life. But with the cracks in Heaven’s armor (cracks he and Crowley helped create), Aziraphale is seeing something else. A chance to change them. They did terrible things to him, but he is better than them, and because of Crowley, he feels ready to face them.
(Will it work? Can Heaven change, institutionally? Probably not, but I can't blame Aziraphale for trying.)
At the cafe, the Metatron said something big was coming in the Great Plan. Aziraphale knows how trapped he had felt when he didn’t have God’s ear the first time something huge happened in the Big Plan. He can’t take a chance again to risk the world by not having a foot in the door of Heaven. That’s why we saw individual human deaths (or the threat of death) so much more this season: Elspeth, Wee Morag, Job’s children, the 1940s magician. Aziraphale almost killed a child when he couldn’t get through to God, and he’s not going through that again.
“We could make a difference.” We could save everyone.
Remember what Michael Sheen said about courage and doing good––and having to “look the dark in the face to be truly good.” That’s what happened when Aziraphale was willing to go to Hell for his actions. That’s what happened when he decided he had to go to Heaven, where he had been abused and belittled and made to feel small. He decided to willingly go into the Lion’s Den, to face his abusers and his anxiety, to make them better so that they would not try to destroy the world again.
Him, just one angel. He needed Crowley to be there with him, to help him be brave, to ask the questions that Heaven needed to hear, to tell them God was wrong. Crowley is the inspiration that drives Aziraphale’s change, Crowley is the engine that fuels Aziraphale’s courage.
But then Crowley tells him that going to Heaven is stupid. That they don’t need Heaven. And he’s right. Aziraphale knows he’s right.
Aziraphale doesn’t need Heaven; Heaven needs him. They just don’t know how much they need him, or how much humanity needs him there, too. (If everyone who ran for office was corrupt, how can the system change?)
Terry Pratchett (in the Discworld book, Small Gods) is scathing of God, organized religion, and the corrupt people religion empowers, but he is sympathetic to the individual who has real, pure faith and a good heart. In fact, the everyman protagonist of Small Gods is a better person than the god he serves, and in the end, he ends up changing the church to be better, more open-minded, and more humanist than god could ever do alone.
Aziraphale is willing to go to the darkest places to do the Right Thing, and Heaven is no exception. When Crowley says that Heaven is toxic, that’s exactly why Aziraphale knows he needs to go there. “You’re exactly is different from my exactly.”
____
In the aftermath of Trump's election in the US, Brexit happened in 2018. Michael Sheen felt compelled to figure out what was going on in his country after this shock. But he was living in Los Angeles with Sarah Silverman at the time, and she also wanted to become more politically active in the US.
Sheen: “I felt a responsibility to do something, but it [meant] coming back [to Britain] – which was difficult for us, because we were very important to each other. But we both acknowledge that each of us had to do what we needed to do.” In the end, they split up and Michael moved back to the UK.
Sometimes doing the Right Thing means sacrificing your own happiness. Sometimes it means going to Hell. Sometimes it means going to Heaven. Sometimes it means losing a relationship.
And that’s why what happened in the end was so difficult for Aziraphale. Because he loves Crowley desperately. He wants to be together. He wanted that kiss for thousands of years. He knows that taking command of Heaven means they would never again have to bow to the demands of a God they couldn’t understand, or run from a Hell who still came after them. They could change the rules of the game.
And he’s still going to do that. But it hurts him that he has to do that alone.
#good omens#good omens 2#ineffable husbands#it's kinda like capt america: civil war#with Azi as Tony Stark: traumatized and trying to do the right thing#and Crowley being Steve Rogers: fuck the establishment let's go rogue#gos2spoilers#good omens meta#good omens 2 meta#go s2#michael sheen#go s2 meta#go meta#*mine#*mymeta#ineffables husbands#ineffable soulmates#*mybest
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please be real | p.js
ex!jay x fem!reader
warnings: angst, heartache, smut (mdni), fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, teasing, pet names (princess, baby), crying, mentions of alcohol, drunk jay, pure heartbreak in the beginning, not proofread, anything else lmk
synopsis: after a six-year relationship, you and jongseong part ways due to different needs for the future. when jongseong's first birthday post-breakup arrives, his struggle with your absence reaches a breaking point, prompting a late-night call from his friend that consequently reignites emotions and unresolved feelings.
wc: 9.4k
a/n: hi! it's me and it's jay's birthday so i wrote him a little something something. i didn't initially intend to rip my heart out as i wrote this yet here i am. this was oddly a healing one to write but i must warn you it does mention the reader not wanting to have children so if that doesn't appeal to you then this probs isn't the fic for you! as always, like, comments, feedback, etc. is all appreciated! ilysm and happy bday jay <3
A sharp, jarring noise pierces your ears, the peaceful sleep you were in rudely disrupted. You groan out loud, covering your face with your covers but it does nothing to stop the ringing from your phone, it doesn’t even dull it a little, the little black device only echoing around the room louder.
Disoriented and groggy, you fumble for your phone on the bedside table, clumsily searching for it in the darkness. It isn’t your alarm, the usual peaceful tones of the birds chirping would be a welcomed sound, one that eases you into the day; no this was a phone call.
Finally grasping your phone, your eyes fight themselves open as you blink away any remnants of sleep, trying to find any sort of centre from your dizzy awakening. You look at the name on your phone but your vision is so blurred you can’t make it out but answer it anyway, knowing that whoever is phoning at this ungodly hour is clearly in need of your help.
“Hello?” you ask quietly, as if you don’t want to disturb the quiet of the night, unlike the person on the other end of the call.
“Uh, Y/N? It’s Jake.” His soft Australian accent drifts from your phone speaker into your ears. He sounds unsure whether he is supposed to be making the call, which to be fair, you understand because you haven’t heard from him in months, not after…
Letting out a sigh, you rub your forehead with the base of your palm tiredly, “Jake, why the fuck are you calling me at…” you pull the phone away, inspecting the time now that you’re more alert, “3.36am?” you ask with a hint of disdain. Normally, you would welcome the boy’s surprise call, after all, you did miss him. But considering he woke you up from a good dream involving you, Jeongin from Stray Kids, and a happily ever after; he wasn’t exactly your favourite person right now.
You can faintly hear some music in the background as he stays silent and you swear to yourself if this is to give him a ride home from a concert turned party, you’ll have his head.
“Listen, I hate to ask you this but can you come to Haven?”
“The nightclub? Why?” Your earlier suspicions are proving to be right, he does want a lift home. That would be an acceptable request if you guys were actively talking every day and the best of buddies but he isn’t even your friend, not really.
You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the line, his voice can be heard trying to calm someone down but his words are obscured as if the phone is wrested away from his mouth, leaving only disjointed fragments of speech drifting through the receiver.
This sounds like more than just a simple ride home and it causes you to snap to attention, your senses heightened with concern.
Jake finally brings his attention back to you, letting out a sigh of discontentment, “It’s Jay, he’s a mess and he’s calling out for you.”
Jay. Park Jongseong.
It’s been so long since anyone has dared to mention his name to you that it almost sounds like a foreign word.
Seven months ago, you and Jongseong had decided to call off your 6-year relationship, both of you reaching the understanding that it was for the best considering your battling differences and needs within the relationship.
It wasn’t easy, the furthest thing from it actually. You and him had been inseparable since high school and once you both got together in year 12, it was always you and him against the world. He was the love of your life, that once in a lifetime kind of love that only happens in fairytales. Your souls were both painted from the same brush stroke.
But he wanted a peaceful, routine life - a classic white picket fence dream. Evenings would be spent with friends, savouring white wine and casual conversations over dinner. His heart was set on imagining the echoes of your future children's laughter filling your home, family trips to the seaside, and comforting them with kisses and band-aids when they got hurt.
And you craved spontaneity, to embrace life with vigour, travelling the world together was your dream, free from the responsibilities of parenting, cherishing moments just for yourselves. You longed for random midnight trips to Tesco for birthday cake simply because you could. All you wished for was to be with him, just the two of you.
Suddenly, your brain clicks into an important detail and you hurriedly check the calendar on your phone and the date makes you slump in your bed.
Today is Jongseong’s birthday, well technically not anymore given the time, but that means he has lived his first birthday without you by his side in so long. You would always celebrate his big day by doing something from his handwritten bucket list he has had since he was a child. Over the years he has added more to the list, each birthday scoring one out to add another.
The list wasn't extravagant; it was filled with simple yet heartfelt desires. You bought him a bundle of guitar lessons and a Taylor 114e electric guitar to fulfil his wish of learning to play. When you noticed the Download Festival marked with gold stars on his list, you surprised him with tickets for the year Metallica was headlining. And when he expressed a desire to cook a meal from scratch for his mum, you gifted him a kitchen knife engraved with his name and took the time to teach him how to prepare her favourite dish.
His birthdays were the most precious when you were in them, and you weren’t there with him.
“Y/N?” Jake’s sweet voice draws you back to his attention and out of the memory lane swirl your brain has put you in. He knows this is a tough call for you to take considering you and Jongseong said to cut ties completely; it’s better to act like you both didn’t exist than keep a thread tethered to one another that would only hurt you more.
As Jake and Sunghoon whisked Jay away for his birthday celebration, their intention was simple: to help him let loose and have a good time. Jay had been buried in overtime work lately, leaving little room for socialising. Since the breakup, the idea of going out without you - dancing together, stealing kisses in the taxi ride home - seemed unappealing.
Waking up that morning, Jay realised it marked the first birthday in six years without ticking something off his bucket list. The familiar, worn paper lay dormant on his desk, a stark reminder of your absence. He had no desire to celebrate today without you by his side. If he could fast-forward through the day to escape the weight of his birthday, he would eagerly do so.
Yet, with two very persuading friends and a whole lot of whiskey later, here he was, curled up outside Haven, yearning out for you.
“Y/N please, at least come and convince him to get up and come home with us,” Jake pleads. You can hear the cries of your ex-lover more clearly now as Jake kneels beside his friend, checking in on him.
With a resigned sigh, you nod, “Okay. Keep him warm, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”
Hanging up the phone, you quickly put a brush through your hair and change into a baggy top, one you bought for Jongseong before breaking up, and a pair of grey sweatpants. This is a bad idea, you know it is, but you also can’t leave him to wallow in the middle of the street. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you didn’t help and Jake wouldn’t call unless it was something he couldn’t handle.
You don’t want to see the state Jongseong is in, his wailing cries that you could slightly hear over the phone already made your heart clench in hurt.
As you drive to Haven, your heart races in anticipation with each mile that passes. Is your heart ready to face him after all these months? Staring into the love of your life’s eyes once again might break you even more. You’ve done a good job in keeping yourself together, at putting on a facade that everything is okay, when deep down you know that if one person asked you about Jongseong you would crumble and fall apart.
He wasn’t the only one throwing himself into work to forget. You’ve worked hours and hours trying to keep your mind off the heartbreak, you thought that if you just focused and kept your head down, the phrase time heals all wounds would kick in and you’d be free of the torment of losing your first love. But it hasn’t worked out that way, you know that now as you speed down the empty roads to console the one person you are trying to forget.
As you reach Haven, you can vaguely see three boys under the illuminating sign, almost as if shining a spotlight on them to add to the spectacle that Jongseong is making. Onlookers are watching as your ex-boyfriend cries on the pavement, wishing you would come home.
With a quick exhale, you step out of the car before doubts can creep in, determined to be there for him. Jake and Sunghoon's voices float to you, attempting to soothe him and inject some sense into the moment. Bracing yourself, you approach, ready to offer whatever comfort you can, despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.
Sinking onto the balls of your feet, you lower yourself to Jongseong's level, meeting his strained figure. Instantly, the sight of his distress instantly shatters your heart into a million pieces.
An abundance of tears cascades down Jongseong's reddened face, obscuring his features like a relentless waterfall. His clenched jaw and the prominent vein on his forehead portray the intensity of his distress as he struggles to draw each laboured breath. Curled into himself, his body seems to contort with the weight of physical agony, mirroring the emotional pain that ripples through his trembling form. He’s been keeping this in for so long that his body doesn’t know how to cope with it.
Reaching out to grab his clenched fist, you shuffle forward, “Jjongie? It’s me, baby, look at me,” you say calmly, trying to reassure him with your soft voice.
As your fingers gently encircle his clenched fist, Jongseong's body tenses at the touch. Slowly, he turns his gaze towards you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with an overwhelming mixture of sorrow and longing. For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes before they cloud over again with anguish.
He doesn’t believe you’re actually here, considering the long nights where he has conjured up the idea of you, clinging to his imagination on the lonely nights he wishes for your touch. But as you squeeze his hand, he realises this isn’t a dream-induced sighting, you’re really here in front of him.
"Y/N..." he murmurs, his voice choked with emotion. Tears stream down his face in torrents, some landing on your hand that holds his. His cries reverberate through the air, each wail a sharp stab to your chest.
Cupping his cheek, you settle yourself between his legs, ignoring the discomfort of the rocks beneath your knees, your focus solely on him. With a sad smile, you attempt to mask your own anguish, your touch a gentle reassurance amidst his storm of emotions.
"Hey, hey, enough of that now," you hush him softly, your voice a soothing melody in the tumultuous night. Using your thumb, you tenderly wipe away his tears, though they continue to flow unabated.
He leans into your touch, “I miss you so much, Y/N, please. Please,” he pleads as you feel his warm breath against your skin as he nuzzles into your palm, seeking solace in the familiar sensation he's been yearning for.
It’s hurting you just seeing him like this, the man you once knew to be strong-willed and resilient, keeping his emotions under control unless he’s sharing sweet vulnerable moments with you under the covers, is now a shell of himself, stripped bare by the weight of grief.
Turning your face to look at Jake, you offer him a small smile, “I’ll take him home.”
“You sure?” Jake asks, knowing that it’s a dangerous game for you both if you do.
“Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to move unless I do,” you chuckle sympathetically but there’s a bubble in your throat as Jongseong’s whimpers flow into your ear from beside you.
Nodding, Jake gestures to Sunghoon, silently enlisting his help in the task of ferrying the drunk man to your car. The weight of Jongseong's limp form proves cumbersome as you all struggle to navigate his dead weight, his limbs hanging heavily without offering any assistance.
"Let's get you home," you murmur softly, your hands pressing gently against Jongseong's chest to steady him, aided by his friends who lift him onto their shoulders.
His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity burning within them. "Please be real," he whispers, his voice trembling with desperation. Despite feeling your touch and catching hints of your scent, doubt gnaws at him. If this is merely a figment of his imagination, he knows he'll never forgive himself. You're so close, so tangible - it has to be you.
With much struggle, the three of you get him to your car, putting him gently in the backseat so he can lie down, but he wraps his arms around your waist as his legs stay situated outside of the vehicle, holding you close to him.
"Come on, Jjongie, lie down for a minute," you coax gently, guiding him to stretch out along the seats. But he remains unmoving, clutching onto you as if fearing you'll slip away if he lets go. With a soft sigh, you stroke the back of his head, your hands moving in a soothing rhythm. "I promise, I am not going anywhere," you whisper, your words a tender vow to him.
Yet, your attempts to reassure him seem to go unheard. His face burrows deeper into your stomach, his words muffled by the fabric of your t-shirt and the weight of his tears.
You exchange a worried glance with Jake and Sunghoon, “How much did he have to drink?” you ask, scared of the answer they will give. Your ex-boyfriend has always been so good at holding his liquor that it must have been a hefty amount he consumed.
“Like two weeks' wage worth,” Sunghoon winces, his neck tightening as he looks at his best friend.
"Oh, baby..." you sigh softly, feeling a wave of empathy wash over you. Returning your attention to Jongseong, you press a tender kiss to the crown of his head, hoping to offer some comfort amidst his distress. His response is to cling to you even tighter, his sobs echoing against your chest as he seeks solace in your embrace.
You need to get him home, he’s a mess and the longer he stays like this, the more his body is going to wear out.
With a gentle hand, you stroke his hair, your touch a soothing caress against his trembling form. Despite the chaos swirling around you, you find a semblance of peace in this intimate moment, anchored by the bond that still lingers between you.
"I've got you, Jjongie," you whisper softly, drawing back as he eases up his grip on you. His friends go to help you but you halt them with a firm gesture, "You guys can go, I've got it from here."
Sunghoon shakes his head, concern etched on his face. "He's too heavy, Y/N. You won't be able to manage him into the flat without us," he protests.
But you stand your ground. This is your and Jongseong's mess, and you can’t let others help you clean it up, "It's okay. You guys have done your shift for tonight. Go home," you insist, your voice resolute.
Reluctantly, Sunghoon and Jake nod and bid you goodnight before going their separate ways home, leaving you alone with Jongseong and the weight of your shared history.
Taking a deep breath, you hoist him in, his body listening to you a little more now that you’ve reassured him you aren’t leaving him. He sprawls over the backseats and lays still, the alcohol consuming him into some form of comatose now that he has relaxed slightly.
You slide into the driver's seat, the engine humming to life beneath you. Glancing at Jongseong's slumbering form in the rearview mirror, you steel yourself for the journey ahead.
_____
Arriving at his house makes you more nervous than before. This wasn’t just his flat, it used to be your shared home, the place you lived for 2 and half years and made countless memories in.
You were the one to move out and find your own place, thinking it was best since your work was further away and you could find an apartment closer to it. But the truth is, you just couldn’t face being reminded of him in each room and in the pieces of furnishings.
It was selfish of you to leave him with the remnants of your relationship surrounding him, all you thought about was you and your needs, neglecting to think about how he might feel being surrounded by nothing but memories.
Lugging him into the flat, his legs are working in tandem with you now unlike before but he still isn’t proving to be the easiest person to carry. The last time you had to hold his weight like this was when he got drunk at your prom after taking sneaky shots in the hotel garden with his friends. It was funny but you blame him for some of your back pain that you’ve endured in your early twenties.
As you push open the door and step into the living room, a wave of nostalgia washes over you like a tsunami. Though only seven months have passed, it feels like a lifetime since you last stood in this space with him by your side. Everything remains unchanged, frozen in time since the day you left. The same couch sits in its familiar spot, adorned with throw pillows and blankets you bought for last season. Photographs of you both, captured during Christmases and holidays, adorn the walls, each one a snapshot of happier times. Even the vase that his mum had gotten you both for your housewarming gift, one that you loved and he hated, remains in its pride of place on the mantlepiece.
You push your thoughts down and make your way to your once-shared bedroom, walking through the memories and heaving your ex-boyfriend along slowly. His nose nudges into your hair, sweeping in your scent as he loses himself in the feeling of you.
As you reach the familiar threshold, you can't help but feel a pang of bittersweet longing. This room, once a sanctuary where you both shared your laughter and bodies, now serves as a poignant reminder of the love you've lost.
Gently, you ease Jongseong onto the bed, sitting him up, “I’m going to get you some clean boxers okay?” you ask him but he’s not here, not really, so you make your way to the drawers on the other side of the room.
Walking over, you spot a familiar t-shirt lying crumpled on your old side of the bed. You make a b-line to investigate it and as you pick up the crumpled t-shirt, a flood of memories washes over you, transporting you back to simpler times. Your fingers trace the familiar fabric, still faintly carrying the scent of you, now mingled with his cologne. You piece it all together pretty quickly, the way it still smells faintly of you but is not starting to be overpowered by his cologne. He hugs it at night to find peace of mind.
“Oh, Jjongie,” you sigh, heart reaching out to him. You’re no better, you have one of his hoodies that you snuck into your luggage as you packed and wear it when you’re at home. Just like your t-shirt, his hoodie is starting to lose its scent from the amount of times you’ve hugged yourself to sleep in it.
Jongseong has always been reserved, his emotions carefully guarded behind a facade of reason and rationale. To see him like this, vulnerable and raw, strikes a chord deep within you. If he had always worn his heart on his sleeve, perhaps it would be easier to understand. But the complexity of his emotions only serves to deepen the ache in your chest.
You place the t-shirt back on the pillow before opening the dresser drawer and retrieve a clean pair of boxers, his favourite ones with the faded Hellow Kitty print that you've always teased him about.
Gently, you begin to undress him while he rambles incoherent nonsense that you can’t understand between the mix of tears and drunk slurring. The top half is easy but the bottom half proves difficult as he only looks up at you, whispering pleas as he stares at you, keeping his bum firmly sat on the edge of the bed.
As you finally manage to remove Jongseong's jeans and boxers, leaving him naked, a new layer of vulnerability settles over the room. He sits before you bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light, his silhouette outlined in the darkness.
His beauty, illuminated by the faint light, is both captivating and heartbreaking. The familiarity of his form, once etched in your memory, now lays before you in the flesh, a tangible reminder of the love you still harbour for him. How could you not still love him? He was perfect in every way possible.
"Stay with me," he whispers, his voice a gentle plea as his hands begin to roam your sides, tracing the contours of your body beneath your shirt. Each touch ignites a flurry of sensations within you, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
He pulls you onto his lap, your sweatpants becoming the barrier between his cock and your pussy. Yet, none of you are really thinking about that right now, all you both want is to hold one another again.
“Jongseong, we broke up, and for good reason,” you rationalise with not only him but yourself as you find yourself sinking into his touch as his hands roam your back.
Nuzzling his nose against yours, he begins to cry softly again, his face rubbing itself against yours as his tears transfer from his cheeks to yours, “Please, baby, don’t leave me,” he mumbles as his lips ghost over yours.
He doesn’t just mean tonight, he means forever. A tear from your eye cascades down your face, getting lost in the mixture of his, your empathy for him overwhelming you because you feel the same way he does. You need him in every way, you need to be close to him, to feel his heart beating in synch with yours once again.
But you know better than this. You’re both just prolonging heartache if you succumb to being with him again. You can’t give each other what you need.
“Baby, don’t do this,” you beg him, knowing that he has the power to pull you back into his life with the click of his fingers, that resolve you have worked so hard to build up now hangs in the balance, “Let me get you changed and then into bed, yeah?”
Reasoning with him is a lost cause, his arms now hugging you tightly like before as he ignores your suggestion. The last thing he wants is to put on those boxers because he knows when he does that you’ll leave.
"Please, Princess," his voice is raw with emotion, his desperation palpable in the air between you. And as you look into his eyes, you see the depth of his longing mirrored in your own.
His plea hangs in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on your already burdened heart. You feel torn between the overwhelming desire to give in to his request and the harsh reality of the situation.
With a deep breath, you summon the strength to gently extricate yourself from his embrace, feeling the weight of his disappointment lingering in the air. His hurt expression tugs at your heartstrings, but you shake your head firmly, "Just tonight, okay?" you assure him, your voice soft but resolute.
Curse you and your heart that caves into his pleas so easily.
You disregard getting him dressed and instead, remove your sweatpants and replace them with those very boxers you planned to adorn him with and swap out your t-shirt for the one on your old pillow. Jongseong clumsily climbs into his covers, getting comfortable and finding some happiness in the fact that you’ll be in his arms at least for a little while.
Once you climb into your side of the bed, he instinctively hugs you from behind, the comfort of your body pressed against his. He spoons you, tucking his face in your neck as he exhales in contentment. This is all he has been craving since that night you left and he couldn’t be happier. All the turmoil and anguish from earlier slowly depletes as he finds himself sinking into a much-needed sleep.
You can’t deny you feel the same, his arms wrapped around you feel like home, like you’ve been on a seven-month business trip and you’re now finally back where you belong. You sink into him further, relishing his skin against yours.
“Happy birthday, Jjongie,” you whisper, bringing his hand up to kiss it before intertwining your fingers with his.
_____
Waking up, Jongseong feels like his whole body has crashed into a brick wall. His bones ache and his head feels tight, but there is a weight that feels so familiar yet foreign, his legs tangled around something and his arms holding it close. This feels different from the t-shirt of yours he clings to every night, this has more substance.
Please don’t be some random girl he thinks to himself, scared to open his eyes.
Even if he did want to open them he couldn’t because they are being held together so tight by something. Was he crying last night? Actually, what even happened last night?
He replays the fragments of the evening in his mind, a few scattered images begin to surface - Jake and Sunghoon dragging him to Haven, the raucous atmosphere of the bar, and the ill-advised decision to ride the mechanical bull. And then nothing.
As he tries to recounter the night, you see him attempt to pry his eyes open and decide to help him out. Swiping your thumb over his eyes, you wipe away the mix of his dried-in tears and sleep. He looks so confused when you touch him and his body tenses.
Either he is having a severe case of hallucinations to the point where he is starting to physically feel you or the girl that he took home last night resembles your touch. God, how he hoped it was the first one.
Opening his eyes with your help, he blinks away the blur and sets his eyes on your face, his expression reading one of relief that quickly turns into astonishment.
“Y/N? Baby?” he whispers, his hands instinctively reaching for your cheek, “Please be real.” The same words he pleaded out last night leave his lips again. Jongseong has spent so many nights dreaming of you, wishing in an alternative universe that he can hold you again, so much so that this doesn’t feel real.
You don’t know what to say but obviously, you have to say something. It was one thing to confront drunk Jongseong who didn’t have a wit about him but now it feels like there’s a boulder on your chest as you try to conjure up the courage to speak to a sober, semi-alert Jongseong.
All you can do is nod, no words escaping your dried lips. You look down to see you and his limbs mangled together just like they used to be, the feeling of his body pressed so tightly against yours almost feels like heaven.
He takes in the sight of you, the lines of disbelief on his features soften, replaced by a glimmer of hope. Slowly, almost tentatively, he reaches out to you, his fingers brushing against your cheek as if to confirm your presence.
The touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, he’s caressing your cheek so tenderly it reminds you of the time you had the shift from hell and Jongseong held you the whole night, whispering sweet words into your ear and stroking your tears away, just like this.
Except there are no tears this time, you’re all cried out - months of mourning the loss of your relationship will do that to you.
As Jongseong's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passes through them, followed by a wave of embarrassment. His voice is soft as he speaks, a hint of uncertainty lacing his words, "What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone laden with confusion.
"You got pretty drunk last night," understatement "And Jake asked me to come pick you up."
You can feel the tension in the air as Jongseong processes your words, his expression a mixture of shame and regret, "Sorry, I don't usually drink that much," he murmurs, his voice tinged with remorse.
The explanation stings, not because Jongseong has been drinking more, but because of the distance it creates between you. It's as if he's explaining himself to a stranger, rather than to the person who once knew him better than anyone else. The past six years you’ve known how he knows his limit and that he doesn’t tend to breach it, not subconsciously.
All you do is nod, accepting his explanation as you slowly start to detangle yourself from him, “I better get going.”
“Y/N, please let's talk,” he pleads as his voice wavers, his grip tightening around your waist, and his desperation palpable as he pleads for your attention. But you've made up your mind, and no amount of persuasion can sway you from the path you've chosen.
"Jongseong, please, let's not do this," you implore, your voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and resolve, "We're only going to hurt ourselves again."
You both know the reasons behind your breakup are deeply rooted, immutable truths that cannot be changed. It's not a matter of cheating or petty disagreements—this is about fundamental differences in desires and aspirations for the future.
But Jongseong refuses to accept defeat, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he breathes his love out, "Princess, we can work it out, I know we can," he insists, his words heavy with sincerity.
You steel yourself against the onslaught of his love, knowing that to give in would only prolong the inevitable pain, "We want different things, Jjongie," you remind him gently, your voice tinged with regret.
“I can do without them. It’s you I can’t live without…I can’t breathe without you here by my side.” His words are sincere and you know it, but you can’t accept it. When you both discussed your future, he looked so excited at the prospect of kids that your heart broke instantly. You knew right away that you couldn’t give him what he wanted most.
Closing your eyes and sucking in the bottom of your cheeks, you steady yourself to have this conversation yet again, “You can’t give up the idea of having kids. Having the life you want is much more important than me. You can find someone who can give you that.”
It hurts to say but you need to rip the bandaid off quickly.
“You think I want that life with anyone but you?” His voice raises lightly, hinting at the anger rising into his chest. He needs you to listen to him, to understand him, “Y/N, if it’s not with you then I don’t want that life.”
Shaking your head determinedly, you sit up, “But I can’t give you that life, it’s not what I want.” You feel like you’re reliving the argument that ended it all those months ago.
“That’s okay.”
“No, It’s not,” It’s your turn to get angry, your eyebrows lacing together as you try to read him. How can he say all of this so easily? Like he wasn’t trying to promise you that he would change his entire life plan just to be with you. Is it romantic? Sure, but it’s also fucking stupid. No one should change just to keep someone they love because if they were meant to be, then their values would align…right?
"It's not that simple, Jongseong," you argue through the silence, your voice tinged with frustration, "You can't just sweep aside your dreams for the sake of our relationship. What about what you want? What about your own happiness?"
Jongseong sits up, the covers hiding his naked lower half; he hadn’t realised he was naked and it only adds a new layer to his vulnerability. He is laying himself bare to you.
But Jongseong's gaze remains unwavering, his determination evident in the set of his jaw, "Since we broke up, I've realised that you are the life I want," he declares, his words carrying the weight of his conviction, "Whatever that looks like for you, I want it."
You feel his words like a pickaxe, slowly breaking away at the wall you’ve spent months building around your heart and reason. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions sweeps over you. On one hand, his declaration of love sparks a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of your fractured relationship. Yet, on the other hand, doubt claws at your insides, gnawing away at any semblance of certainty, the pure love that you have for him only wishes to make sure he’s happy and gets everything he wants in life.
"Jongseong, I..." you start, your voice wavering as you grapple with the turmoil inside. How do you express the depth of your feelings?
Grabbing your face with his large hands, he kisses you, his soft lips now coating yours. You’ve missed him so much that you become overwhelmed by his actions, a soft tear leaking from your ducts.
So much for being all cried out, you think to yourself.
"It's you, Y/N, I only need you," Jongseong whispers against your lips, his urgency evident as he seeks solace in the warmth of your embrace, stealing kisses with a hunger born from longing.
In spite of yourself, you find your lips responding to his touch, drawn in by the familiar sensation of his mouth against yours. Your arms instinctively wrap around him, fingers grazing lightly over the muscles of his back as you hold him close; your brain is telling you to push him away but your heart is pulling him tighter to you.
"It's not fair to you, Jjongie," you murmur, the words weighted with a sense of guilt and remorse.
"I'd rather be with you happily than with kids and someone else miserably," Jongseong confesses, his words carrying the weight of his heart's deepest desires.
Jongseong wishes you could see it from his point of view; of course, he has wanted kids and a comfortable life for so long but the idea of achieving that when you are not his wife seems fucking ridiculous. There is no one in this world he wants to be with other than you and if that means he has to be an uncle rather than a dad, so be it.
You are all he has ever wanted. To grow old with you, to experience each of your accomplishments together and have you close to him. He wants to protect you and look after you the way he knows he should and that is his new life goal. This isn’t a decision he has made lightly but a decision he wanted to make.
His hands glide down your sides, trailing over your thighs as his kisses continue, each touch a manifestation of the craving that has consumed him. His need for you is overwhelming, every fibre of his being yearning for you in every possible way. Another moment without you feels unbearable, as if he might die.
You surrender to his touch, sinking back onto the bed as he hovers above you, his grip on your thighs firm yet tender. The intensity of his desire leaves marks, but in this moment, you welcome anything he offers.
It's astonishing how the feel of his lips on yours dismantles your resolve, scattering your apprehensions like leaves in the wind.
Slowly, he removes from you the t-shirt that has absorbed his tears on countless nights and the boxers you borrowed from him, leaving you exposed beneath him. As he looks upon your naked figure, his eyes drink in every curve and contour, offering silent gratitude to the heavens for letting him have you like this. You are everything he wants and more.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he whispers into your mouth as he presses his body hard against yours, his member rubbing itself against your folds.
The feeling of him rubbing against you is enough to elicit a moan. No amount of toys was enough to satisfy you, not the way Jongseong could. Over the years you learned about one another’s bodies so intimately that no one could ever know you the way he does, not even yourself.
You couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with someone else, even if you and Jongseong had broken up, your heart couldn’t do it. You never even considered a one night stand because deep down you knew that your body belonged to Jongseong and no one else.
He moves his hips, slowly rubbing himself against you, the bell of his cock grazing your clit teasingly. It feels like a dream for him to touch you this way again, and the fact that you were coating his cock with your wetness was enough to tell him that you need this too.
Kissing you desperately, his tongue darts into your mouth and swirls with yours as he seeks to taste you, his buds dancing along with yours. He moans into your mouth and acts as an echo of his love for you.
“I missed you so much,” he whispers as his hips continue to move slowly, teasing your hole with his tip each time he draws back. It’s becoming increasingly obvious how much it’s starting to irritate you, your need to have him inside you is evident in your whines of frustration.
"I missed you too, baby. More than anything," you confess, your hand finding his cock as you press against him, seeking to create greater friction between you. With each movement, the pressure builds, sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you.
With each synchronised movement, the tension between you mounts, the desire for one another lingering in the warm air. His hips continue their slow, teasing rhythm, each brush against your core sending sparks of want up your heat and into your chest.
Feeling the urgency building within you, you guide his cock with precision, pressing it against your eager entrance. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the head of his length dip into you only slightly, the anticipation of being filled with him heightening your senses.
"Please," you whisper, your voice laden with need and longing, a plea for him to take you.
With a teasing grin, Jongseong relents to your plea, but not in the way you expected. Instead of thrusting into you the way you want him to, he trails his fingertips along the curves of your body, igniting a trail of fire in his wake. His touch is light and tantalising, tracing patterns across your skin as he savours every moment. He wants to take his time with you, no matter how much his dick longs to be surrounded by your walls.
You like to be teased even for a little bit, the payoff at the end always hits the right spot.
You squirm beneath his touch, aching for more, but he continues with deliberate slowness. His fingers dance over your heated flesh, exploring every inch of your body with an intimacy that leaves you breathless. Each caress sends shivers down your spine, building the anticipation to unbearable heights. God, you missed his hands all over you.
As his right hand dips lower, he begins tracing circles around your sensitive clit and you can't help but arch your back in pleasure, a soft moan escaping your lips. The sensation is electrifying, sending waves coursing through your body as he expertly teases you.
Feeling your body tremble with anticipation, his touch becomes more urgent as he presses his fingers against your throbbing clit h and with practised skill, he begins to move faster, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you writhing beneath him.
“You look so fucking perfect, all desperate and whiney like this, Princess,” he says as he leans down to kiss you, breathing in deeply through his nose as he tries to fill each of his senses with you. It wasn’t just enough to feel you, he wanted to taste you, to inhale your scent, to hear you cry out for him, to see you unravel beneath him.
Your breath catches in your throat as the intensity of his touch sends you spiralling towards the edge of bliss. Each stroke of his fingers drives you closer to the brink, your body humming with the need to let go.
But just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, Jongseong suddenly slows his movements, drawing out the pleasure with agonising slowness. It's a torturous tease, the brief moments of intensity followed by long, drawn-out strokes that leave you gasping for more.
“Please, please, please, Jjongie,” you whimper in frustration, your body aching for release as Jongseong continues to play you like a symphony, alternating between fast and slow, building the tension to unbearable levels. Just when you think you can't take it anymore, he finally gives in, his fingers dipping into your heat and thrusting into you at a rough pace, your pussy soaking his digits as he coaxes out your orgasm.
“You’re clamping down on my fingers so hard, Baby, you gonna cum?” he asks arrogantly, knowing that with each curl of his finger, he is watching your body lose control and surrender to him.
Nodding quickly, you pull him down for a long, searing kiss as his thumb joins the party and flicks your clit rapidly, “Oh my god,” you moan out into his mouth through bated breaths, “I’m gonna cum, Jongseong, please can I cum?”
“You never have to ask baby,” he moves his mouth to your ear and lightly nibbles your lobe, “Cum for me, Princess,” he gently commands.
Jongseong continues to work his magic, his fingers moving with expert precision as he guides you through the throes of ecstasy. Your vision blurs and every nerve in your body hums with pleasure as you reach the pinnacle of bliss.
With a final, desperate cry, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You arch your back and cry out his name as pleasure consumes you, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.
His fingers remain still inside you, but his thumb maintains its relentless pace, each swipe sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your hips instinctively twitch in response, your nub throbbing with sensitivity and yearning for a respite. Yet, Jongseong shows no signs of letting up, his determined flicking only intensifying.
"You like that, baby?" Jongseong's voice is hoarse with desire as he intently watches your reactions. His eyes are dark with need as he continues to work you with wild desire.
Your senses are overwhelmed by sensations pouring through you, so you can only respond with a gasping nod. Every single nerve in your body is buzzing with ecstasy, and all you can think of is the delicious agony of his thumb against your delicate clit.
"Tell me what you want, Princess," he asks, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear, "Do you want more?"
You can only make a frantic plea, your words barely comprehensible in the middle of intense pleasure. "Yes, please, Jongseong... More..."
Jongseong's lips curl into a wicked grin as he hears your plea, his confidence growing with each breathless gasp that escapes your lips. With a teasing twinkle in his eye, he moves his fingers again, pressing them against your contracting walls, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks.
"What do you want, Y/N?" he whispers, his voice dripping with anticipation, "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."
Your mind is a haze of desire, but amidst the fog, one thought stands out clear and demanding. You need him inside you, filling you completely with his presence. With trembling hands, you reach for him, your fingers curling around his cock, guiding him to where you need him most, pushing his hand out of the way.
"I want you," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "I want all of you, Jongseong." When you utter the words, there’s a deeper meaning to them, a meaning that Jongseong is clinging to.
The way your fingers wrap around his rock-hard member elicits a hiss from him, your touch mixed with your words only fuels him to give you everything you need.
Jongseong lets out a guttural groan, entirely surrendering to your touch and words. His eyes darken with want as he watches you take control, and his breath quickens with anticipation as you guide him inside you. His breath coming in ragged gasps, he looks into your eyes with a mixture of desire and adoration, "God, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice rough with need, “You feel so fucking incredible. I’ve missed how you just suck me in like this.”
You look down and watch as his entire length gets lost in your heat, his cock’s head hitting deep within you. You’ve missed how he fills you up so much but you hadn’t realised just how badly until right now as he shallowly thrusts into you.
You respond with a low moan of pleasure, your nails digging into his skin as you pull him closer, urging him to go deeper. "Yes, Jongseong," you whisper, your voice laced with longing, "just like that. I need this so much, I need you."
With each thrust, he grunts in response, his movements becoming more desperate as he seeks to satisfy your every desire, "I'm yours, Y/N," he declares, his voice filled with raw emotion, "completely and utterly yours."
As he lifts your legs and closes them, gently draping them over his left shoulder, your warmth envelops his shaft, drawing him in closer. Jongseong relishes the sensation of your tightness, revelling in the snug embrace of your canal around him. And you too find delight in the pressure of his girth, relishing the way he stretches you further with every powerful thrust.
Each movement of his hips is deliberate, each one designed to bring you both closer to the edge of ecstasy. As his hands stroke your legs tenderly, contrasting with the intensity of his thrusts, you find yourself lost in the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies moving as one.
His jerks grow more intense, the pace quickening as he drives deeper into you, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge, "You feel so good," he groans, his voice filled with unrestrained passion, "so fucking perfect for me, Princess."
In response, you curve your back and meet his thrusts with equal conviction, the heat between you building to an almost euphoric level. "Jongseong," you exclaim, your voice a symphony of fulfilment, "don't stop, please don't stop."
Jongseong intensifies his efforts with a wild growl, each movement driven by a burning need to push you to the edge of satisfaction and beyond. At this moment, there is only you and him, burned by the fires of passion.
With a swift motion, your lover bends you in half, positioning your legs by your head as he quickens his already rapid pace. Lost in a whirlwind of desire, your eyes roll back and your hands instinctively grip his shoulders, your chest heaving with each forceful thrust of his cock. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving marks on his shoulder blades as you cling to him, lost in the intensity of the moment.
Feeling the sting of your nails, he grits his teeth and strains his neck, the veins in his temples pulsating as he fights the overwhelming urge to release inside you right then and there.
“Fuck, claw my back, Baby,” he growls, his voice thick with desire, “make me yours again.” With determination, he continues to pound into you, each movement bringing you closer to your shared orgasm.
After hearing Jongseong’s go-ahead, you dig into his back, dragging your nails across his skin, leaving fiery red lines in their wake, just like he wants. It burns him in the most delectable way, making his cock throb inside of you.
Your breaths combine in the air, creating an ensemble of desire as you both reach the edge. The tension between you grows with each thrust, a crescendo of want reaching its peak.
As he slams into you furiously, his voice fills the room with urgency, "You gonna cum again, Princess? You want it?" His words are a mixture of want and domination, starting a fire inside you that threatens to consume everything in its path.
With a firm nod, you meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with want. "Yes, Jongseong, please," you beg, your voice a frantic appeal for release once again.
In response, he increases his efforts, his motions growing more frenzied as he propels you both to your orgasms. And then, with a final, strong thrust, you shatter, your body convulsing from the ferocity of your release. Jongseong follows closely behind, his own climax mirroring yours as he finds release within you, “Fuck!”
His body stills as he shoots his seed into you, the tremble of both your bodies vibrates the bed beneath you. Finding it hard to keep himself up, he falls onto you, moving his cock into you further, only drawing out a final moan from your lips.
After a couple of minutes, Jongseong rolls over, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. God, he missed the way you feel under him, he could go another ten rounds if you asked.
But that would mean you would stay, and is that even something you want? He doesn’t want to ask, your answer being the deciding factor of whether he goes on his life with misery or happiness.
He knows he can’t force you into this relationship but he hopes he has done enough to convince you that you are all he wants.
“Please be with me again, Y/N. I can’t live without you,” he whispers into the air, not daring to look at you.
You on the other hand only want to look at him, to see if you can really try this again, “Even if it means no kids? No playdates with other parents? No family trips to Jeju?”
“Even without all that.” He does look sincere, his eyes now burning into yours with a new lease of determination.
The truth is, you’ve missed him so much that it hurts. Behind the strong facade is just a girl who misses her lover. Being without him is like being in a fire with no escape, constantly fighting your way out of a blaze while your lungs collapse. He’s the clear path to fresh air you desperately need, there is no denying it. And clearly, he thinks the same about you.
Seeing him last night so fragile and broken engulfed you in the flames, burning you alive because you know that you feel every ounce of hurt that he is. It was a mirror to how you were feeling and you don’t think you knew how badly you needed him until that moment. You were trying to be so strong about it all, giving yourself only a short amount of time to grieve that as you looked at Jongseong last night, you know he has done the same.
You need one another to extinguish the fire.
“Jongseong, truly think about this, this isn’t me saying no to letting you go on a lads holiday, I’m denying you the opportunity to be a father,” you plead with him one last time, giving him an out to all of this as you lay it all on the table.
“Princess, I have had seven months to think about it. I am not compromising or altering my needs for you, this is a decision that I have made on my own. If I truly wanted the life I thought I did, I wouldn’t be begging you to be with me right now. I know this isn’t an easy choice but I have never been more sure about anything in my life.”
Jongseong kisses all over your face, each one a receipt of his sincerity.
His words strike straight into your heart. He’s serious. A part of you wants to still feel guilty like you’re forcing him into this but on the other hand, he’s right. You’ve given him a multitude of opportunities to leave and find a girl who will cater to him, but he hasn’t.
He doesn’t need to because all he needs is you and your love, to Jongseong, that is all he needs in his life.
“Okay, but if you ever change your min-”
He interjects with a kiss, one filled with so much happiness and love that it’s almost intoxicating; either that or all the booze in his system has transferred its way into your bloodstream.
You giggle as he rolls over on top of you again, peppering loud and wet kisses all over your face and neck akin to a dog licking you from utter joy. Your hands try to fight him off playfully, your laugh growing louder as he nuzzles into your neck.
“Oh, wait!” Your lover's sudden pause catches your attention, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he swiftly rolls off the bed and rushes over to the messy pile on the chair by his dresser.
Curious, you crane your neck to see what he's up to, watching as he retrieves something from the floor.
“What is it?” you inquire, intrigued by his enthusiasm.
Turning back to you, Jongseong holds up the familiar torn sheet of paper that you recognise instantly, his smile lighting up his face. He grabs a pen from the desk and returns to your side, handing you both items.
“Tick it off,” he urges, pointing to the bottom of the page where a new addition was made yesterday morning. Despite his internal conflict about the list, he couldn't bring himself to tear it up. If he never saw you again, this would be a precious memory to hold onto.
So he added a new aspiration at the bottom.
Taking the pen from his hand, you read it slowly, “Make Y/N mine again..”
You gaze up at him in awe, understanding the significance of this gesture and how much the list means to him, “You wished for this?” you ask, to which he simply nods at your question, “Then you need to tick it off.” You push the pen and paper back to him but he stops you.
“No, you made the wish come true, so you need to tick it off,” he replies, the corners of his lips upturning slightly.
So with the pen, you draw a line over the words, scoring it off once and for all as you beam proudly, happy that both of your souls are now joined together again. You pull him in for a long, deep kiss, the bucket list discarded as you lose yourselves in the moment once again.
#enhypen smut#enha smut#enhypen x reader#enhypen angst#jay smut#park jongseong smut#aj writes#jay x reader#park jongseong x reader
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DPXDC: I wanna be like most girls ghosts.
or Danny: What should I do to make my mom happy?
or ~Danny deserves a little teenage rebellion as a treat~
Maddie: I just want this damned Phantom to stop pretending to be a hero! All ghosts are pure evil, who is he trying to deceive?
Danny: Oh, really?
And Danny took it personally.
It’s not Danny’s fault that he’s a good kid and wants to make his parents happy. But why would he have to be a monster to make them happy? Why must they hate him to be happy?
Danny’s obsession was going crazy.
Well, when your own parents call you a monster in the face, it hurts. Why do they always believe that only their opinion is the absolute truth? They have no idea how much worse things would be if at least some of the ghosts really behaved the way Maddie and Jack think they’re supposed to.
If he really is evil by nature, is there any point in fighting his own fate? They want to see him as a villain, he will become one. He will. He just needs a little help and practice. And not bring it to the level when Clockwork has to clean up his mess. Poor guy is without a vacation for how long? Couple of millennia?
Johnny 13: Sup.
Danny: F*ck off, Johnny, I’m not in the mood. Busy thinking about world domination. Get out of here or I’ll call Kitty.
Johnny 13: What’s wrong? You’re usually so grouchy only towards the end of the week.
Danny: Nothing. Just parents. Again. They are wonderful but I can’t help but feel sometimes that they, em…
Johnny 13: Suck?
Danny: Right…Damn. I’m a terrible son. Maybe something is wrong with me.
Johnny 13: What? No, no, dude. You’re just growing up. And you’re a little late, usually teenagers go through that stage before they graduate. Well, you’ve probably been busy with other issues, so just missed it.
Danny: I wonder whose fault it is. Aren’t there ghosts who enjoyed to ruin my life in the middle of school day?
Johnny 13: Oh, bother. Anyway, you’re entering a beautiful time of emancipation, where you’re going to shape your own view of life and, along the way, to get drunk on cheap alcohol at parties, maybe to go to jail and to become the greatest disappointment to your family..And then you will be ashamed to remember it for about the next ten years.
Danny: Well, it looks like I’ve already done two out of three additional things. Great success.
Johnny 13: When did you get drunk?
Danny: I didn’t.
Johnny 13: Oh. Want to fix that?
Danny: What? No. What an idiot wants to add a headache to his problems?
Johnny 13: Well, your loss, then I’ll go terrorize the bars of Gotham alone and no one can stop me. Let’s see what your boyfriend will say about it.
~~~~~
Danny: Bartender, another shot of Dead Man’s Fingers, please.
Red Hood: Babe, haven’t you had enough?
Danny: Have you ever felt that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many sacrifices you make, in their eyes you’ll always be nothing more than a monster? Nothing more than a mistake? Oh, Death doesn’t give people like me a break.
Red Hood: …I’ll have what he’s having. *gives the bartender a sign to switch the rum shots to a batburger milkshake for them, and starts talking to Danny so that he doesn’t understand Hood's scams*
~~~~~
Johnny 13: Other people’s kids are growing up so fast. It seems like yesterday he didn’t know how to shoot ectoblast, and now..
Kitty: Stop trying to make me feel bad, we’re leaving.
Johnny 13: But the boy needs our support, honey boo!
~~~~~
Danny: I'm fine. Really, I am. This isn’t the first time mom’s called me a monster. She often called me that when she was upset with my behavior in my childhood. Huh, it's even funny.
Jason: There’s nothing funny about that.
Danny: No, you don’t understand. Looking back, I was really a very active child and didn’t know when to stop. Not surprisingly that I often annoyed my parents. They’re very busy people, and Jazz couldn’t always keep an eye on me. And I was often afraid to go to sleep alone because there were shadows in the darkness of my room. Well, I used to think they were. But I pretended everything was okay to not distract parents from work.
Jason: Hey, it’s not your fault. You were a child. Obviously, kiddo requires a lot of attention, they must have understood that. You are the second child in the family, right?
Danny: Well, Jazz was different. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought if the monsters behind the curtain and under the bed were just like me, well, according to my mom, you know, then they wouldn’t want to hurt me. And since they look after me, they are friends. So I kinda greeted all the suspicious noises and howls. Huh, I was a strange kid.
Jason: If you smile at someone in the dark alley right now that someone is more likely to wet themselves or faint.
Danny: Rude! I’m not that scary. Admit that I’m adorable. Do it right now.
Jason: Stunning, darling. But still carry a gun and a knife, please. My childhood taught me that what's hiding in the dark is worth beating up.
Danny: Come on, what should I be afraid of? Death? Anyway, I want to try this shit. Like, the inevitable one. Being a bad boy, you know?
Hood *raises eyebrows*.
Danny: Oh damn it man, I'm talking about ghostliness. I want to try to be like most of dead ones. I want to unleash my side of the trickster and the villain. But only a little bit. I have to be supervised so that things don't go too far. Would you help me, honey?
~~~~~2 hours later~~~~
~~~~~
Goons used to expect a lot of weirdness from working with the boss.
Sometimes Bruce Wayne would go into their base and yell at the Red Hood like he's one of his kids. Of course Wayne's well-known as 'Gotta adopt them all' but the guy must really suffer from insomnia to count the Red Hood into his brood of chicks several times. Sometimes the boss would fight Robin or Nightwing over differences in morals…or for biscuits. It varied from moment to moment. Sometimes the boss caught the local street children, fed them and taught them to steal correctly. And most of the foundlings stayed with them under their protection.
To make a long story short, Red Hood is not the typical crime lord that some of them had to deal with before. Which is a blessing. Thanks Lord for the health insurance. But still the crime lord. Which means he's still scary, and sometimes deadly.
Anyway, when the boss brought in a guy who looked more civilian than any civilian in the whole Gotham and said he was going to be their intern, they thought it was a joke at first. Despite the fact that Hood was not in the habit of joking while working.
The teenager was too well-mannered and sweet to come from Crime Alley.
Phil thought the guy was gonna run when he saw the first murder, Jessica didn’t think the domestic boy wouldn’t chicken out at the sight of a fight.
But arguing with a boss’s orders in their profession is like asking for a bullet in the head, so these conversations were taking place outside of their boss's sight. God, how can they teach him anything? What do you take from a boy who’s only good to do the coffee run? Fenton will fall if they’ll give him something heavier than 10 pounds. And then boss will yell at them because he treats the new guy like a princess on a pea.
Well, at least that’s what they thought until the boss decided to give the new guy his own assignments:
~~~~~
Red Hood: So, what have you learned during your internship, my young Padawan?
Danny: Well, it looks like I’m gonna suck at being a criminal mastermind. I think I may have to find myself some other profession.
Red Hood: Come on, you just need a little more practice.
Danny: Thank you but I don’t think that’s fit my obsession that good. Don't misunderstand me, I wanna be like most ghosts. But I was wrong to go to hit that goal only base on human stereotypes about my nature.
Red Hood: What a pity. The newbies just learned not to flinch when you walk in. But, to be honest, I'm not gonna miss the adrenaline-boosting roller coaster of you at work.
Danny: Oh, and I guess to hold on to the concept of humanity was really stupid too. I clearly no longer fit in and I’m finally ready to accept that. So, hopefully, if you get into trouble, you can rely on my ghostliness and call for help. I am the spirit of many talents and of my word. I can haunt your enemies or walk through the walls of Arkham Asylum. Whatever you need, I’ll be here.
Red Hood: I’ll bear that in mind.
#dpxdc prompt#dpxdc au#dpxdc memes#dpxdc crossover#dc x dp#dp x dc#dpxdc#dcxdp#dead on main#dead on main ship#alcohol
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I love your writings about the marauders, and I recently had a thought about the boys first coming in contact with a vibrator or any sex toy really. Not even a like smut thing but just then walking into a muggle sex shop or they made a friend with a muggle girl and they stumble upon in some way lol idk, just a funny thought that’s been making me giggle a bit. If you have any thoughts I guess?? Hope you have a good day :)
this isn’t smut but it is explicit - mdni please! fem, 1k
“What is that?” Sirius asks.
You get yanked back. “God, sorry,” James says, letting go of your hand. You’d been in a weird fugue state of joy with his fingers twined in yours; it’s the first time he’s held your hand. You can’t tell if it’s platonic or romantic, you can never tell with the boys. “Wait, what is that?”
“What’s what?” you ask, trying to follow their gaze. You’re on a crowded high street divided by a two way road. It’s so loud you can’t hear yourself think, and stopping as you have has diverted foot traffic around you poorly.
“There’s a cock in the window.”
Remus yelps a laugh. You smile, befuzzled, as he takes your shoulders into his hand and turns you bodily to the right shop window. “Oh,” you say. “Oh! There really is.”
There is a vast array of the aforementioned appendage in the window, and in a variety of sizes and colours. A mannequin in dark lingerie holds a fifty percent off sign to the left, while a poster brags a multitude of ‘stimulating pleasures’ to be found inside.
“What am I looking at?” Sirius asks.
You forget sometimes how sheltered they all are. They’d gone to a rather elite boarding school, and they all lived in rural England and Wales for their summers. This is as city as they’ve ever been, and you’d thought they’d seen everything there is to see by now, but apparently not.
How are you supposed to explain a sex shop? Better, why is fate making you? They all turn to you for an explanation.
“Remus, you’re twenty three,” you say hopelessly.
“We’ve only recently relocated,” Remus argues.
“You’ve known me for six months. You’ve lived here for eight.”
“And yet we’ve never seen that,” James says, pointing at the lingerie. “You’re such perverts in the city. Why are there rainbow cocks in the window?”
“Can we stop saying that?” you ask.
“Sorry,” James says quickly. “Lovely girl, why are the dicks in the window?”
“They’re toys,” you say, feeling a little part of yourself shrivel away in shyness, their eyes like heat from your face and neck.
“For kids?” Sirius asks, disgusted.
“No! God, no, they’re for grown ups.” You shake your head uselessly. “Are you messing with me? You’ve really never seen them?”
“We’ve seen some rather tasteful underwear in our time,” Sirius says, to James’ delight and Remus’ derision.
“Stop,” Remus says.
“We have to go in. I must understand these toys,” Sirius says, ignoring him with ease. There’s something to his usually nice smile you don’t know, some burning excitement that will likely end in innuendos and teasings galore for you.
You make your way into the sex shop, shoes dragging, cheeks hot. James and Sirius seem as though they could burst into laughter at any second, but Remus is more understanding. He offers you his hand when he realises you’re behind them. You don’t have the strength to refuse him.
They’re the weirdest friends you’ve ever had, but also the best ones. They love holding hands and crossing legs and laying half on top of each other when they come around to watch a film. You’re pretty sure you saw James and Remus kissing a few weeks ago, but they’ve yet to say anything about it to you, so what do you know? You’d been jealous, but each boy has continued to love on you just a little too much considering the parameters of your ‘friendship’.
This lies firmly outside of your parameters, you decide.
Sure, you’ve thought about them sometimes as more than friends, but they don’t know that. Can you be blamed? They’re all so handsome in awful ways —Remus classic, Sirius Grecian, and James devilish. James. You shake your head in an attempt to dispel thoughts of their good looks while in close proximity to lacy knickers, turning your attention to the ridiculous gasps of awe the two idiots are letting out.
“What is that?” Sirius asks delightedly, knuckling at a row of plastic sex toys, all with different functions.
“That’s a…” You blow a breath up your face in an attempt to cool down. “Read the label, Siri.”
“Most of this stuff is for girls?” James asks you.
“I guess so.” You poke at the pink packaging of a glass massage wand. “I mean, not always. I think anybody can use all this stuff too. Or most of it.”
“What about that?”
James points at a vibrator in clear blister packaging. “A vibrator? What’s that do?” He turns to you with a surprisingly innocent curiosity.
“It vibrates.” You don’t want to say anything else, but they’re your friends. They’re nice to you, and they respect you, so it’s not like you think telling them these things will put you in an uncomfortable position. “You know how girls have a harder time finishing sometimes?”
If they’re surprised to hear you say it aloud, they don’t show it. “Not in my experience,” Sirius jokes.
“So the vibration helps?”
“It’s very intense. It makes the… climax come much quicker,” you say.
Remus seems very grateful for the energy your explanation takes, giving you a caring smile. He’s about to say something when Sirius interrupts, and asks, “Do you have one?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” Remus says, hitting Sirius in the arm. “She doesn’t have to answer that, don’t ask her stuff like that, it’s private.”
Sirius’ eyes go wide. “I’m sorry,” he says to you, all joking gone from his face. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just forget sometimes that you have boundaries we don’t have.”
You’re not expecting such a genuine and sudden apology, because maybe Sirius shouldn’t ask, but you totally understand what he means. You feel like you’ve known them all your life. “It’s okay, don’t worry. I know what you’re like.”
“So it’s a good time, hypothetically,” James says.
“What do you reckon that feels like?” Sirius asks, already moving on.
“Sirius,” Remus pleads.
“Sweetheart, can I ask you, hypothetically,” —Sirius taps his converse to yours, grinning— “what do you mean, it’s quicker? How does that even work?”
You frown, “You don’t know how it works?”
Remus and James laugh like bellows beside you. They laugh so much the woman behind the counter glares at you all, undoubtedly tired of people coming in here for a laugh.
“Awful girl,” Sirius says, frowning.
You smile back. “It just stimulates the nerves, Sirius. I don’t know how to explain it. I guess it’s kinda like magic or something.”
“Magic can’t do that,” James says. Remus elbows him hard, and you’ve no idea why.
#the marauders#marauders#poly marauders#poly!marauders#poly marauders x reader#poly!marauders x reader#remus lupin x reader#sirius black x reader#james potter x reader#remus lupin fanfiction#sirius black fanfiction#james potter fanfiction#remus lupin fic#sirius black fic#james potter fic#the marauders x reader#the marauders x fem!reader#remus lupin#sirius black#james potter
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Woo! I’ve finally got time to write! Had to go to a wedding, suffered through eight whole hours of pure disorganized mess, and got mad about it. Emphasis on the disorganized part. So, I bring you: party planner!Danny Phantom.
——
If anyone was to see him now, they’d definitely think that it was odd that Danny was the one in the party planning field. They wouldn’t be surprised if it was Jazz, but Danny ‘wing it’ Fenton planning things? Never.
But here he was, clipboard in hand and checking off hors d’œuvres from the list.
“Anton, could you do a check of the sound system? Make sure everything’s working?”
“Got it.”
Danny lifted the buffet table, laden with heavy food, and used a bit of his ghostly strength to move it over.
“Perfect.”
He double checked the seating chart, and readjusted the miniature ice sculpture centerpieces he made for the party.
Wayne Manor was all lit up and perfectly dusted. Danny ran through his mental checklist. Tabled? Check. Dance floor clean and scuff free? Check. DJ booth and open bar running without issues? Check. Live band setting up with back up instruments and strings? Check. Decorations on point? Oh, he’ll have to get the team to readjust those.
Time to check-
“Danny! How’s it going?” Bruce Wayne beamed and slung an arm around his shoulder.
Danny smiled politely. “Mr. Wayne. Everything is going smoothly. Would you like to check the food the chefs have made?”
“Sure, sure! I definitely need to eat before I drink, haha!”
“That’s a good idea! Good thing you’re about to try a bunch of food.” Danny matched the billionaire’s energy. He’s going to get paid so good.
“So, Danny, are you going to college?”
Danny passed him a small sampler. “Ah, I can’t. Some stuff happened in high school and I don’t really have the grades or the money to.”
Plus, his credentials were in another plane of existence and he hadn’t figured out how to transfer those records yet.
“You could still attend college, I’m sure! Your parents might be able to help pay?” Bruce nommed on the food. He gave a thumbs up.
Danny sighed. “It’s not always an option. Plus, my parents are dead.”
In this universe. His own? Alive and kicking GIW ass.
“Oh, I see-”
“Father.”
“Woah!” Danny blinked, looking down at the baby Wayne the popped up next to his father’s elbow.
“Damian! What’s wrong, kiddo?”
Damian shot his father a flat glare and dragged the laughing billionaire away.
Danny snorted and returned to his tasks. He has to check the speeches and the lighting. Hm… he doesn’t have time to adjust everything how he wants it.
Good thing he knew a guy that could stop time.
“Hey, Clockwork?”
——
“Father, I understand your inclination towards adopting poor black haired and blue eyed orphans, but I would like to remind you that I have far too many siblings to be adding yet another bumbling buffoon.”
“I was not considering that, Damian.”
Damian let go of his wrist with a grimace. “Denial is not becoming of a Wayne, Father.”
“Yeah, B. I could see you grab the adoption papers from all the way over here.” Tim adjusted his tie. “Anyways, Dick is on his way. He’s running a little late because of some stuff in Blüdhaven.”
“Thank you, Tim.”
——
“Batman.”
“Oracle.”
“Look at the footage of Wayne manor.” Oracle pulled up the video surveillance scattered through out the manor. Specifically, the ones of the west ballroom. Daniel Fenton stood in his spot, looking down at his clipboard but a second later, he's moved three inches to the left and the decorations had subtly been moved more aesthetic spots. "I think Danny might be a meta. We'll have to look into him."
Batman stood up, allowing the fondness he had for Danny as Bruce Wayne drain away. This is a potential threat, and Batman will treat him like one. (Danny will remember this.)
"Contact Flash. I need him to scan for any temporal disturbance."
"Understood."
——
"Brucie!" A socialite squealed as she came to bestow hugs upon a long suffering Bruce. "My god, this place is gorgeous! You must give me your planner's number. I could absolutely use some fresh eyes for the Annual Spring Party."
"Awe, Janine! I gotta keep some of the good things to myself!" Bruce whined, inwardly smirking as he saw his kids mock-gagging behind the lady's back. "What if your party's cooler than mine? What should I do then? You're already so gorgeous! Why, is that a Birkin?"
Janine lit up and all but forgot about getting Danny's contact information. Bruce patted his own back for a job well done, even if he had to listen to Janine's itemized list of random luxury goods she had to buy before being offered a bag.
He's a Wayne. The Gotham Hermes wished they could partner with the Waynes. Plus, he's pretty sure he's got at least three of those bags somewhere in the manor to bait out Selina.
Catching Danny sliding in between the servers and going towards the kitchen, Bruce quickly excused himself with a disarming himbo grin.
Time to subtly grill the kid.
——
"Hey, Timmy?"
"Hello, Dick," Tim smiled elegantly at the couple who's companies he was about to bring six feet underground and excused himself. "What's up?"
"Have you noticed that the ice sculptures haven't melted at all?"
Tim blinked, eyes sliding over to a harried Danny being followed by Bruce on a mission. Oof.
"Freeze?" He asked mildly, face innocent of any nefarious thoughts.
"That's what I'm thinking." Dick smiled sunnily, throwing an arm around Tim's shoulders.
"Heard the guy's living out near Crime Alley. We should get Jay to check it out." Tim pretended to laugh, grinning as his brains made plans for a stakeout.
"Heard, my ass. You totally stalked him, didn't you?"
"Got proof?"
Dick snorted, removing his arm. "Nope. I'll let Jay know. You should probably help Danny out, though, he looks like he's about to lose his temper."
"Bruce is at it again." Tim sighed. "Yeah, okay."
#batman#danny phantom#bruce wayne#himbo brucie wayne#stone cold batman#danny: im just trying to do my job#batdad and batsuspicion duking it out in the corner: i think not#damian wayne#tim drake#dick grayson#dcxdp#dpxdc#dp x dc crossover
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It’s Too Early
Pairing: Charles x Pregnant!Reader
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Tough pregnancy, premature birth, PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome), IVF mentioned, angst, fluff at the end
Synopsis: Being pregnant hasn’t been easy, especially when Charles is away for the season and can’t be with you 24/7 like he wants to be. So what happens when he finds out you went into labor from a reporter? Chaos, utter chaos
A/N: Wrote this morning and I picked PCOS because that's something I suffer with all the time, and felt the need to write a fic about now, everyone's experience with PCOS and the topics discussed in this are different, I did research and put my own hardships and feelings in this, I hope everyone reads with an open mind and enjoys this but also Dad!Charles who could give up Dad!Charles
Charles would kill for you; he really would. And right now, he wanted nothing more than to kill the FIA, who would refuse to let him sit out this season to be with you, his pregnant wife.
Finding out you were pregnant was the happiest day of his life, but soon it turned...not a nightmare, but a living hell. You were classified as a high-risk pregnancy due to polycystic ovarian syndrome, something you let Charles know when you first started dating.
He was there through the painful periods, the cramps that left you defenseless and laying in bed all day, to the doctor visits and the mood swings. Through it all, he was still with you and loved you more and more each day.
When you both married and settled down a bit more, the conversation of becoming pregnant came up. Charles knew the risks and had done research before bringing it up with you; he even explored other ways of having children. But you told him you wanted to try naturally and go from there before discussing different ways and seeing what happens.
After 3 years of trying and doing everything, even trying IVF, that damn stick showed that fucking plus sign. You sat in the bathroom for hours just staring at the positive test, and that's precisely how Charles found you when he came home. On the bathroom floor, staring at the test.
He can still feel the tile on his skin as he hugs and kisses you, calming your fears away from the worst thoughts in your head.
It hasn't been an easy pregnancy, from cramps to horrible morning sickness, to the doctors worried you might give birth way too early, even being put on bedrest for the rest of the pregnancy due to worries of preeclampsia. Charles fought hard with the FIA, saying he needed to be with you, but they refused to listen and told him he needed to race. You talked him off the ledge as he called to quit and stay home.
"Charles stop; this is ridiculous. You love racing; you aren't quitting because of me." You groaned, going in circles with your mess of a husband.
"No! What's ridiculous is that the FIA won't even see why my wife has a high-risk pregnancy and that I'm needed home, not driving in goddamn circles!" He snaps, slamming his phone down and pulling his hair.
"Char, breath." You whisper from the bed, in agony, simply because you can't get up and comfort your husband.
Charles, almost sensing your dilemma moves from the end of the bed to laying down next to you, placing his head on your chest, careful of your swollen breasts, knowing how much they've been hurting lately. No words are said as fingers run through his hair to calm him down and stop him from making a huge mistake.
"Charles, I'll have your mother here with me. Me and the baby are going to be okay. Listen, if anything changes, I will call you immediately. You can't miss this; you have a real chance this year and must show the world that Charles Leclerc will be a World Champion." Your words convince him as he lets off that familiar defeated sigh of his, making your smile grow at this.
"Immediately. Do you understand? I don't care if it's stupid like your back itches you call me." He bargains, making you laugh and nod in agreement.
Pascale has been staying with you for only a month, and you finally reached the safe zone, where if you did go into labor, it wouldn't be so dangerous for you or the baby. It was race day, and Charles was in Silverstone, needing to finish P2 or higher to challenge Max for the title.
It was a typical day as Pascale fixed you a light snack as you weren't feeling well, your lower back was hurting, and it felt like your pelvis had its own heartbeat. You didn't think much of it as it was a hot day in Monte Carlo, and you had read in books that it was customary to feel this, so you didn't say anything to Pascale to not worry her. The race was halfway through when the first real cramp startled you to the point you dropped your cup; thankfully, it was rubber, so it didn't break.
"Y/n? Honey, what's wrong?" Pascale was right there in an instant picking up the cup, looking over you.
"Just...a cramp, it's nothing." You mummer rubbing your stomach but flinch from how much it hurts to touch it.
"Y/n, when did this start?" Pascale asks calmly, knowing it was wise to keep you calm and not start to freak out because you might be in early labor.
"Last night, but it's picked up this morning. It's nothing, Pascale, honestly, just the baby moving." You try to reason, not wanting to jump straight to labor.
"Y/n, I'm calling for an ambulance, okay? I think you might be in early labor, and with you being on bed rest, they need to help me, alright." She mummers pushing your hair back, trying everything to keep you calm.
"Okay, okay." You repeat as the cramp passes, and you hear her on the phone telling them everything as you force yourself to pay attention to the race and not to the growing pit in your stomach that you might be in labor.
They get here fast as you breathe through another cramp. Tears start to flutter down your cheeks, the realization of you possibly in labor while Charles isn't here, but in the UK. They ask you question after question and share a look, a look that sets you off.
"No! No! I'm not in labor, okay? I'm just having some cramps, which is normal; I have PCOS; okay, nope, I'm not." You argue as the medics alert the hospital to your condition.
"Mrs. Leclerc, I understand that you are only 29 weeks and you're scared, but right now, you are in early labor, and we need to get you to the hospital as soon as we can, okay?" The friendly medic tries to reason with you, but you refuse to see reason.
"I'm sorry, but no. Charles isn't here; he should be here; I can't do this alone. I'm sorry, but I'm not going anywhere." You argue as Pascale packs your bags and looks over at you.
"Y/n, I know you are scared, but Charles isn't here right now, but he will be okay. I'll call him when the race is over and let him know immediately what's going on. But, please, if you wait, it'll be worse for you and the baby." She can reason with you, finally getting you to the hospital as you try hard to stay calm and not make things worse.
But of course, Pascale could never make the phone call as everyone was too busy keeping you calm.
Charles was on top of the world. He had won Silverstone and was only 4 points behind Max now. Sticky with champagne, he checks his phone, looking for the standard text from you, but not seeing a text from you, he hits dial, calling you. But, you don't pick up, making him call you again, yet again, you don't pick up.
He reasons you must be asleep, knowing you had been super tired lately, and his mother said everything was fine. You're eating normally and just sleeping or reading. He moves and takes a picture of the trophy, telling you he won it for you and the baby and he couldn't wait to get back home to you both. Sadly, he's pulled away from his phone to go do media even though he wants to head to the airport and go home, but he needs to do this first.
Only 4 more hours before heading to the plane, then another 5 to 6 hours before he's back home to you.
He makes it through all 5 interviews before coming to the last one, Pierre on his right and Carlos on his left as they all give their final interviews.
"Charles, amazing race. I have to say that it was fabulous to see you win this and to have your teammate and your childhood best friend up there. It must've been something." The reporter gushes, making Charles smile at how genuine the reporter is.
"Yes, um, having Carlos and Pierre be there next to me was something. I mean, the Red Bulls put up one hell of a fight, but we know not to get too comfortable and that we really need to start pushing it more and more each day so we can close the gap and pull in front of them." Charles smiles.
"Yes, this must be a wonderful day with you; with what winning Silverstone and your wife going into labor, you must be just on top of the world." Charles freezes, hearing the words come out of the reporter's mouth and let's put a nervous laugh.
"I'm sorry? My wife isn't in labor," he argues, starting to fidget and lick his lips.
''Really? Reports are that she went into labor at the start of lap 23 and has been at the hospital, your mother." Having cut the camera, realizing that Charles honestly had no idea.
"Nope, she's not, okay, she's not in labor. She would've called." he snaps, hands fumbling for his phone, trying to call you again. This time, it goes to voicemail, sending his heart plummeting to his feet.
"Alright, that's enough for today." Pierre voices and grabs Charles leading him away from prying eyes as he keeps calling you repeatedly.
"Charles. Charles, stop!" Pierre yells, snatching the phone away as his friend cries. Fear takes over Charles as he starts to imagine the worst. What if something was seriously wrong, and you went into early labor. You're only 29 weeks. That's 6 months. Yes, the baby would be okay, but would you?
"Come on, let's go to the hotel. Get your stuff, and you and I will fly out and call your mom. Okay, let's go." Pierre reasons, dragging his friend away and to the cars trying to calm down Charles.
'Pierre calls Pascale and puts her on the speaker; thankfully, the woman picks up after 3 rings.
"Why the fuck didn't you call me the moment she went into labor? I wouldn't give a damn if I was still in the car. Why didn't you call!" Charles rips out before Pascale can say anything, and Pierre groans, knowing that if the situation was different, the Ferrari driver's mother would bury his ass in the ground.
"Because Charles, I've been trying to keep her calm. She's freaking out because you're not here, and honestly, honey, I forgot, as I was trying to make sure your wife's blood pressure doesn't get worse; now, get here as fast as you can because she's almost fully dilated and she needs you Charles, and she needs you to be calm and strong for her because right now she's not." Pascale hangs up, leaving the car in a stiff eerie silence.
"Get me to the airport as fast as you can," Charles whispers, making Pierre nod to ensure he'd get there.
"I can't do this, Pascale; nope, I'm sorry, but I can't. It hurts too much, please, make it stop." you cry as your mother-in-law soothes you. She tells you Charles is on the way. But that did nothing to comfort you. It only made you more anxious about the fact that this would happen.
"Y/n, I know you're scared but Charles will be here soon, okay? But you can't stop pushing, okay? All these nurses and doctors are here to help you, ow let them." She urges as you scream out from another contraction.
"I want Charles." You sob, collapsing against the bed from exhaustion. This was too much for you, the pain, Charles, and everyone in the room; you can't do this.
"Baby!" A familiar voice cries out as the door swings open, and Charles runs in. His hair is messy, and he looks so bewildered you could kiss him, but all you can do is scream.
"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!" Making Pascale and everyone else jump, Charles just smiles and pushes everyone out of the way to get to your side.
"I'm sorry, I was on a plane, and my phone wasn't working." And lies, not wanting to tell the truth of no one telling him but a reporter that you were in labor.
"You're lucky I'm giving birth right now or so; help me go-" Your words get cut off by another contraction, making you grab Charles's hand and squeeze it so hard he'd thought it'd break.
"Okay, Mrs. Leclerc, we need you to push." the doctor instructs while Pascale slips outside, startled to see half the grid in the hallway.
"Come on, let's give them some privacy." Pascale smiles, wrapping an arm around Pierre as she leads the boys down the hallway.
"I love you," Charles whispers, kissing your forehead, not caring for a minute you are drenched in sweat.
"I love you too, but we're adopting or surrogacy next time." You cry as you get one more contraction, everyone yelling at you to push, and soon your cries are mixed in with smaller ones.
"He's here. He's here." Charles repeats, kissing you all over and making sure you are okay. He wanted to check on his baby, but first, he needed to ensure you were alright.
"It's a boy? We had a little boy." You whimper, leaning into Charles's chest as you cry in relief that everything went as smoothly as possible.
"He's perfect, Y/n, all ten toes and fingers, and god, I love you so much." Charles mummers finally kissing you while the nurse cleans up your son.
"Here you go." the nurse smiles, handing you your son, who cries his little lungs out but soon stops when he's placed on your chest.
"He'll need to go to NICU for just a night so we can go over everything and make sure there are no complications, but after that, he can come down here and stay with you, Momma." the nurse smiles, going back to help make sure your vitals and everything else was good.
'Charles, and you can't help but stare at your little boy while you start to feel that ache and tiredness settle in, but Charles holds you both, his entire world in his arms.
"We need a name," Charles whispers, making you hum in agreement.
"I've got the perfect one. Also, tell Pierre I say thank you for getting you here."
Charles blinks down at you, confused, but you just giggle.
"I can smell his cologne." Making Charles laugh right along with you.
You fell asleep after picking the name, and the nurses follow Charles to the waiting room where everyone is, Pascale the first to see her son.
"Everyone," Charles starts making the others turn their heads, Isa and Carmen gushing at the tiny little baby in Charles's arms.
"Meet Pierre Hervé Jules Leclerc." Charles announces, making everyone laugh as Pierre stands there stunned, looking at his best friend holding his son.
"Really?" Pierre asks, making Charles nod. "Of course, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have gotten here in one piece. Also, Y/n says thank you." Charles smiles but adds, "she could smell your cologne on my clothes." Making everyone laugh at this.
"Can I hold him?" Pascale asks, but Charles shakes his head no.
"Sorry, but he won't be held by anyone but us and the staff for right now; he's got to go to the NICU overnight, and frankly, I want Y/n to get a say who holds him first after us, Mother." Charles smiles, but Pascale just beams, seeing Charles transform before her.
"Say goodbye to all your uncles and aunts, Pierre," Charles whispers, laying him in the trolly as the nurse reassures him that he'll be fine and he can come up and visit if he'd like.
Everyone watches as the Ferrari driver just smiles at his boy and leans down, whispering something to the baby before pulling away and watching the nurses take him a floor up.
"What did you say?" Pierre asks his friend.
"We'd always love and protect him, and he's only allowed to root for Ferrari." He laughs, making Pascale slap her son on the arm, everyone joining in on the laughter, a memory no one would forget.
#f1#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#formula 1#f1 fandom#f1 imagine#f1 2022#f1 scenario#formula one#charles leclerc#charles leclerc imagine#charles imagine#charles x reader#charles x y/n#f1 charles leclerc#Charles leclerc angst#dad!charles#tw: pregnancy#tw: premature births#tw: pcos#tw: rough pregnancy#charles leclerc blurb#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc x reader
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hi mae!! i was wondering if you’d write poly!marauders x reader with some angst? maybe they’ve had an argument (they say something really hurtful to her) and reader wants to be left alone and they assume that she wants to break up w them? maybe some begging/pleading on their side pls
totally okay if you don’t want to write this<3 have a lovely day ml 🫶🏽
Hi sweetheart! Thanks for requesting and hope you're having a lovely day too :)
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words
It had started laughably small. Tensions had to have been high for awhile, you must just not have been able to see it, because you were all so ready to go off. Sirius had remarked that you’d left the living room a mess. You’d shot back that if he’d offered to make dinner, you might’ve had time to tidy. It had devolved into an argument about why you were so busy in the first place, even though he knew you’d been absolutely mobbed at work lately. You’d been getting more and more piled onto your plate, and you weren’t sure whether the higher-ups were testing you to see about giving you a promotion (or, Merlin forbid, firing you) or whether it was just a busy time of the year, but it didn’t matter because you loved your job and you’d do whatever it took to keep it. It didn’t matter to Sirius, either, apparently; what mattered was that you’d been spending more time at work, and when you weren’t there, you took your work home, always bent over your laptop instead of spending time with your boyfriends.
When Remus and James tried to smooth things over, they only ended up getting dragged in too, and soon you were fighting about whether you should tell your bosses you couldn’t handle your workload (you’d rather cut off your left foot) and how they didn’t understand how important this was to you (they claimed they did) and that you were prioritizing work over your relationship and that they were needy for making you choose like that, and on and on with voices rising and tensions heightening until Sirius all but yelled, “I don’t care what happens to you at work, you shouldn’t want that more than you want us!”
You’d gone quiet. Everyone had. Remus and James seemed to know that he’d crossed a line with you, but they didn’t correct him. Their silence was clear enough: they agreed.
Your body couldn’t decide between anger and anguish, and you’d worried that if you kept going, you’d scream at them. So you’d just said, “I can’t do this,” and left.
You’ve been walking around for over an hour now. Aimless circles around your neighborhood and the surrounding streets. Lamplights are flickering on as twilight turns to darkness, the nighttime breeze cooling the teartracks on your cheeks. You keep turning the whole thing over in your head, but you can’t stop fixating on the last thing Sirius said and the other boys’ wordless agreement. Selfishly, it’s the first part that troubles you most: I don’t care what happens to you at work. Your work is endlessly important to you. Before you met the boys, it was nearly the only thing you were living for. You’d put years into school and menial, boring jobs to get the one you have now. You love what you do. Do they not understand that about you? You don’t get how they can claim to care about you, and not care about this thing that is at the core of who you are.
Then there’s the second part. You shouldn’t want that more than you want us. As a statement, it’s true. But the implication is dead wrong. Because you don’t care more for your job than you do them. If you had to lose one or the other, you’d give up your job in a heartbeat. But as far as you know, you’re only at risk of losing one right now, so why can’t your boyfriends just sit tight for a couple weeks while you fight to keep it?
You’re hurting for yourself and for them, because how could they think that you don’t care about them? You feel like your heart is being cleaved in two.
When you arrive back at your apartment, you still don’t know what to do, but you feel calmer. You don’t really expect anyone else to have cooled down—Sirius especially, whose anger ignites quickly and takes time to burn out—and you don’t particularly want to keep arguing, but you will, until you all see each other more clearly. You’re ready to explain yourself better, to soothe and smooth over whatever you can.
But when you open the door, the silence startles you. It’s like someone has sucked the air from your apartment, the atmosphere stale and morose.
James turns from where he’s sitting on the couch, eyes widening. “You’re back.”
Remus appears, sitting up from where he’d been lying next to James, and Sirius emerges from your bedroom. Each of their eyes look as red as yours probably do, and the sight makes your heart feel heavy in your chest.
“Y/N,” Sirius says, and it’s not so much the croakiness of his voice as the fact that he’s not trying to hide it that raises alarms with you, “I’m sorry. I went too far, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”
“It’s okay,” you say without thinking, even though it hadn’t felt okay at the time. You’ll say anything to get him to snap out of whatever this is, the misery in his eyes unfamiliar and terrifying.
“We shouldn’t have asked you to choose between us and your work,” Remus says, his features tight with something that looks like grief. “Do what you need to, just stay here with us, please.”
You hesitate, feeling like there’s something you’ve missed. You hadn’t been gone too long, had you? Had they been worried you’d been hurt or something?
Before you can ask, James reaches out a hand to you over the top of the couch, and you step forward to take it, giving him a reassuring squeeze as his eyes well with tears. “We love you so much,” he says, uncharacteristically quiet, and you feel like someone has plunged a knife into your middle and twisted. “It’d feel so stupid to break up over the living room being messy. Let’s just talk this over, yeah?”
Your hand goes limp in his. “Break up?”
You get only blank looks in reply.
“You’re breaking up with me?”
“Wh—dovey, no,” Remus sputters. “But aren’t…we thought you were breaking up with us. Weren’t you?”
“Of course not!” You press a hand to your chest, just to make sure your heart’s still going in there. “I was upset, but not…I was never going to leave you over it.”
“You said you couldn’t do this anymore,” Sirius says, almost disbelieving.
“I meant the argument, not our relationship.”
“Oh, fuck.” James throws his head back on the couch cushions with a relieved exhale. “So we’re all still together, just in a fight?”
“Just in a fight,” you agree, and you’ve never been happier to admit to conflict. You start towards Sirius, throwing your arms around his neck, and you can feel his shock as he stiffens, then brings his hands to your back. “I’m sorry too,” you say, letting go after a moment and turning so you can see all of your boys. “I didn’t mean to make you all feel like you weren’t important to me. I just wanted you to understand that my job is important to me, too. And I’m getting really scared that if I can’t keep up, I could lose it.”
“Sweetheart.” James beckons, and you go into his arms, settling in. These are the kinds of arguments you like best; the ones where you all listen to each other, working towards a solution as people who love each other instead of opponents. “We don’t want you to lose your job either.”
“I don’t think this busy season will last much longer,” you say earnestly. “And if it does, I promise I’ll talk to someone and try to get a lighter workload. Do you guys think that you could give me a couple more weeks? I’ll try to be around more, but I just want…it’s important to me to be sure I’m going to be able to keep my job.”
Sirius huffs, going to sit in the chair across from you. “Well, it sounds so fucking rational when you put it like that.” He cracks a smile, and you return it hesitantly. “Yeah, I think I can manage a couple weeks. What about you guys?”
Remus hums his assent, and James nods eagerly, clearly ready to be done with the conflict portion of the evening.
“Sorry I scared you,” you say, guilt still a dull ache in your chest. You kiss James’ cheek, and the skin there tastes faintly salty, but a dimple forms as he smiles at you. “I’m not going to break up with you guys, ever, but I swear that if I’m ever thinking about it, I’ll be more explicit.”
#poly!marauders#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders fanfiction#poly!marauders fanfic#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders angst#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders scenario#poly!marauders drabble#poly!marauders oneshot#marauders era#marauders#marauders fanfiction#marauders fanfic#marauders fic#the marauders#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#james potter#james potter x reader#sirius black#sirius black x reader#angst#angst with a happy ending#poly!marauders hurt/comfort#hurt/comfort
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Spoiled and Loved
Art Donaldson x Fem!Reader
In every way, you were the person that made the college experience that much better for Art. You, on the other end, were still struggling to find your place at Uni.
Watnings: inscure reader, lost reader, small angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, reader has rich parents, one s3x joke
There he was. In your usual spot in the cafeteria eating a lunch that his athletic nutritionist must've assigned him to eat. God was your boyfriend beautiful... "Baby?" He called you out of your trance and you smiled at him. "Come?" He motioned for the chair in front of him with his head. You walked toward it and sat down with your lunch that was healthy but certainly not planned. "Hey!" You said. You started eating and asking how his morning practice was and he smiled throught it all. After finishing his lunch and while explaining his morning, he drew mindless doodles on your left hand with a pencil. One was a tennis racket the other a heart and another a paint brush. Once he was done, silence had fallen and Art looked up at you, stopping his drawing. "Y/N?" Art asked while looking for your gaze. "Hmm?" You answered still looking at your left hand. "Look at me." He asked and lifted your head up with the help of his palm on your jaw. You looked at him and smiled. "How was your day so far, baby?" He then asked with certainty. You sighed and went to look down again, only to feel your boyfriend rubbing your jaw and hearing him hum no. When you met his gaze again you felt it.
The need to tell him the truth.
"Art?" He nodded at your interpellation, waiting for you to continue. "I don't think I belong here." You had felt like this for a while, but your boyfriend's joy at being here made that feeling simmer down a little.
That was until yesterday.
"That's Donaldson's girlfriend, right?" A girl said behind you during your history of the arts lecture. You normally tuned these type of conversations out, but today your ears decided that it was a mighty fine time to do as they wanted. "She play any sports?" The girl, Jenny from what you heard her friend call her earlier, proceeded to ask her friend, Luna. "Not that anybody knows of. Not to his level at least." The other girl answered with a certain turn in her voice. It wasn't a nice one at that. ""But she must do something else around campus for her to be with him, right?" Jenny continued her interrogations. "The only place other than her lectures that people see her at are Donaldson's games. She just does those two things that includes school life. People have said and know that she doesn't even have a major yet. She just does classes until she finally finds something that makes her spark. It's pathetic really." Luna said and chuckled with her friend who fired back : "Why would he want to be with her? If I were Art Donaldson-" And you never heard the last of her life hacks, because your ears decided you had been tortured enough as it was. The notes you had started taking were the only ones you took for the rest of the 3 hour lecture. Well, what was one more exam failed?
You would stay in this godforsaken place until you found a stupid major to work in life with.... Why bother studying right now? Your parents paid for your acceptance at Stanford. Your life was as corrupted as that.
"What do you mean Y/n/n?" Art asked with a concerned look and rubbed his tumb over your jaw. "I don't know what I mean by that. But that's also a problem, I never know..." you tried to explain but it was still unclear to him. He only wanted to comfort you and make you feel at ease at all times, but right now he couldn't understand you. That made him mad at himself. "I don't know what I am going to major in, I don't know why I went to college in the first place and I don't know what you find in me. Before you start to argue that point, I have to tell you that I don't doubt your love, I doubt my ability of being loved right now. I am a mess Art... I can't do it anymore! The only thing I do know, is that I'm going to end up like I always feared..." You continued to elaborate on your feelings while he was listening. "Baby... I love you for who you are. I'm sure what you feared for your future isn't even that bad-" you cut him off on that and laughed while letting some tears flow. "Oh yeah, it is. I will end up as every other rich kid who doesn't amount to nothing and will live off my family's money for my whole life." You said and removed his hand from your face. You didn't feel deserving of his touch right now. "Stop." He said sternly. How could he have left this go this far? How couldn't he have seen you were feeling like this? How bad of a boyfriend was he? "Y/n, you are not messed up. You are beautiful and intelligent and you are worth more than your family's wealth. You are important. Not only to me but to a lot of people. Listen, college isn't for everyone, baby. I know it 's easier listening than believing, but please don't pull away from me." He had tears brimming his eyes now.
What did you do to deserve him?
"I love you, Art. I'm sorry for upsetting you..." You explained and held his hand that had been squeezing the edge of the table. "Don't, baby. You do not have to appologize. I should appologize for not seeing how you had been feeling. Please... talk to me about these things. I want to be there for you like you are for me." He took your hand back in his to play with it lightly. "Okay." You said and smiled softly at him. "Okay?" He asked smiling softly too while looking into your eyes. "Yeah. I'll talk to you more about my feelings, baby." You nodded and affirmed.
As you both walked to your last class of the day that you shared, the girls of your history of the arts lecture passed you. They were looking at you and art with sadness. It was then you realized what they had been doing. Only wallowing in their jealousy because:
Art had chose you. Not them.
His heart was set on you and that made them mad. Some part of you felt like you could see them. Maybe you were loved by someone like they wanted to be, but you were also envious of how these girls would be graduating in Teaching in less than two months likw you wanted to be graduating.
Everybody was jealous of somebody in this world.
"Art?" You asked while going closer to his side. "Hmm?" He had answered when wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you in even closer. "I think I'm jealous of you." You confirmed while giggling. "Oh yeah? How come, y/n?" He smiled at your randomness. "You have a massive dick. I want that." You said in the most serious tone you could master in that instance. Art burst out laughing and admitted that he was jealous of you too. "How come, Art?" You copied his sentence. "Imagine being as pretty as the one and only Y/n Y/l/n under sun rays. I'll pray for that to happen one day." You looked up into his eyes and stopped walking for a second. You smiled at him and went up to kiss him on his lips. The kiss was slow and full of love, just how you prefered then to be.
"I love you, baby. Even if you are a spoiled little brat sometimes." He said and tried to cover his head before you shoved his head to the side playfully.
#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson#challengers#art donaldson x you#art x reader#art x you#art#challengers x reader#challengers x you#challengers movie
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L "Lawliet"
rewatched Death Note and just couldn't resist...
TW: strict schooling ig, orphan reader, creepy behavior
gn reader
You were placed in Wammy’s House at an age you don’t remember. To you and most of the orphans here, it’s been your entire lives. Birthdays aren’t celebrated. The days are cold, the residents even colder. There was a time when you’d consider them brothers and sisters, but that’s also long ago now. No one is close to each other in this house.
It’s a rather stale existence with boring conditions unfit for normal children – the solitude, the competition, the games, always a ploy to make each other feel worthless. And for what… more riddles to solve?
You’d long lost interest in proving yourself among the prodigies. When you were given puzzles, you always played with them differently than the rest. They’d tell you to fill out the sheets, and you ended up making origami swans instead.
Looking around at the others, you knew you would never understand them – all blank faces staring into space. They all make you uneasy. You don’t know if it’s you or them that’s missing something, but you recognize it’s a rather pointless question to be begged.
So you leave your paper flock on the floor and walk away.
You’d started putting the chisel of a black marker to the library books in your spare time – trying to make something else out of the boring pages. Something more palatable than the droning of law and policy you’d already read ten times over.
You had blacked out the word doppelganger when there came a disturbance.
“You had 84% of them right.”
You peeked up from the book, lowering your knees from where you had them tucked close for privacy – sitting on the floor between two bookshelves – a little nook you’d discovered to hide yourself from the rest of the busy readers in the usually crowded library.
It was empty now. Everyone was otherwise busy with the test still.
And yet, a mess of black hair was crouched down in front of you, shadowing his equally dark eyes. He held your swans unfolded in his hands. It was a disturbing sight for some reason – as though he’d dissected their guts.
“You left 16% unanswered. Most people would test their luck and guess.”
L must have been the least creative alias born in the dull walls of Wammy’s House, and yet, he’s supposed to be the brightest of all those living there. He always finishes your tests early and leaves in favor of his own devices. Much like you, you suppose. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him speak before.
Suppose it’s only courtesy you pay him the same effort even when what you really want is to tell him to leave you alone…
You narrowed your eyes a bit, looking at him.
You sensed foul play in a game you had no wish to partake in but moved across the board like a sacrificial pawn anyway. That’s how you play these things, after all – never show your cards.
“There’s nothing to guess.” You sigh – despite knowing he already knows all this. “The blanks are trick questions.”
“So you noticed, too?” His eyes are like inkblots – much like those spills you’ve made in your book when you let the marker rest too long. He dropped your papers between you in favor of gripping his knees, leaning forward. “We’re the only ones.”
You purse your lips at his eagerness. You should have played dumb from the start – should have said you swiped the answer sheet from the headmaster’s office. He’d only spoken all but four sentences, and you were already exhausted. Any conversation with any one of your peers was like an interrogation.
“You started folding paper cranes when I was 94% done. Easy logistics would put you 6% ahead of me. But, unlike me, it didn’t seem you were filling out the answer sheets in any hurry. In fact… you seemed bored. And in that case, I’d put you around 16%, no... 18% ahead of me.”
You allowed the following silence to inform him that his ramblings were boring you. But it didn't seem he took the hint – showing no signs he planned on leaving.
Your eyes grew more jaded.
“Paper swans.” You corrected blandly. “You know my alias is Swan.”
You clapped your book together and sighed again.
“And we both know you were finished long before I started folding them.”
He had a small smile on his face. It looked as if you’d drawn it on with your marker.
“You can state all the percentages in the world to try and confuse me, but your mind games won’t get under my skin for one single simple reason, L…” You got up and brushed off the dust, then walked away while saying, “I’m not interested in playing – not with you or anyone else in this miserable place. So do me a favor and leave me alone.”
L watches you leave and taps his lips with his pointer.
Puzzles and answer sheets have bored him for a while. Maybe he ought to play with you instead…
#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yancore#yandere L#yandere death note#yandere dn#yandere l lawliet#l lawliet#death note
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Ask 'I very much enjoy the whole Gen z Overlord thing, I have been wondering you can do a what would they do when they meet Lucifer in the hotel. It interesting when they see how different he is to what they've been told of him.'
By @darkwrath32
During Dad beat Dad
Trying to write the whole episode, let's see how long it works out..
Slightly rush at the end
-
(Y/n) sat on the couch while watching Charlie theorize, well they aren't actually sure what she's doing exactly anymore.
"Charmander, I think it's time rest." Said (Y/n). Vaggie had ask them to help Charlie with figuring out the redemption plan as (Y/n) is the only Overlord trying to help with it, they agreed not knowing Charlie wasn't going to go to bed anytime soon.
"You can go to bed, (Y/n). I got the handled." Said Charlie, looking at (Y/n).
"Yeah, no. Vaggie will be super upset at me if I just went to bed." They said, getting up heading to the kitchen. "Plus I personally think the best time to think is the middle of the night. I also enjoy helping you with whatever we're doing because I've lost track. You want coffee?"
"Yes please, I'll explain to you when you get back."
-
"Charlie? (Y/N)?" Said Vaggie seeing the two standing infront of Charlie's planning board with a bunch of paper and string attached and to the side a few empty coffee cups and energy drink cans are on a table and floor.
"I'm just not quite understanding why it's not working. Okay, okay, think Charlie. Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, think. Okay if I do this, it's going to be-" Charlie said, panic in her voice. "I have trust falls every single morning-."
"With who? And why?" Said (Y/n) in a less panicked voice. "I can only see you doing it with Vaggie." Both of the demons look like a mess and that they obviously didn't sleep.
"Yikes." Said Angel Dust.
"Come on, come on, come on, come on." Said Charlie when (Y/n) noticed the crowed behind them, holding a ball of string with some of it in their mouth.
"Charlie? Sweetie? You uh, you good?" Asked Vaggie, Charlie looked back with sleep deprived look while holding a piece of paper. "(Y/n) this isn't what I ment by help her." Vaggie told the young overlord, who just shrugged.
"Nope! No, not really. Ha ha, I've been up all night trying to figure out why the hotel isn't working." Charlie said, crushing the paper in her hands.
"We've done trust falls and sharing our feeling which still ew." Said (Y/n), bitting the string in their mouth off the ball.
"And now we only have a month before the angel come-." Charlie said before laughing in her demonic form before turning back. "At this rate-."
"May it's time-"
"NO."
"-to ask-"
Charlie getting close to Vaggies face and holding her checks before saying "DON'T SAY IT."
"-your dad." Vaggie finished saying and Charlie just groaned. "Charlie, I know you don't want to but we need every advantage we can get."
"He let the extermination happen to begin with. They just had a meeting and said, "Go ahead and kill everyone"- Wait, that's it!" Charlie suddenly realized something.
"Kill everyone?" Questioned Vaggie.
"Say sike." Said (Y/n).
"No! He could get me a meeting with Heaven!" Said Charlie.
"Boo! It sucked last time! Adam is a dick!" Said (Y/n).
"He was being an asshole but he isn't in charge of all of Heaven. We could go to the top. There's sure to be some angels who will listen." Charlie said, getting out her phone but hesitant on calling.
"What's the holdup? You got daddy issues?" Asked Husk.
"Doesn't everyone?" Said (Y/n), earning looks. "Okay, well then must be a generation thing then."
"No, we just have never been close. After he and mom split, he never really wanted to see me. He calls, sometimes, but only if he's bored or like needs me to do something." Charlie answered.
"Daddy issues." Said Husk and (Y/n), with one being more quiet about it.
"Well I'd like to meet the big dick in charge." Angel Dust said.
"The ultimate bad boy." Said Niffty before laughing and while holding a knife that Angel Dust quickly took away. "I bet he's scary."
"Wait, who is Charlie's dad?" Asked (Y/n) when Charlie decided to call.
"How the fuck do you not know? Her last name is Morningstar!" Said Angel Dust.
"Well I know she's a princess and Morningstar is a weapon." Said (Y/n).
"Toots, who would be the big dick in charge of Hell?"
"The devil?" Said (Y/n) before it clicked in their head. "Oh shit!"
Angle Dust and Husk laughed at their reaction.
"How have you not know yet?" Asked Husk. "You're an Overlord, you got to know politics in hell for that."
"I know I'm just busy making sure my area is taken care off and then helping here, I guess I never had time to draw the connection." Said (Y/n). "I didn't know the devil had a last name! Or a child!"
"He has a first name too."
"Oh shut up."
"Welp, we have an hour until he gets here." Said Charlie interrupting the conversation.
Vaggie then assigned everyone to do something and everyone scattered.
-
(Y/n) stood next to Angel Dust while he was doing his makeup while sitting on the table. Angel Dust finished and got scared by Niffty who was just staring at him, (Y/n) laughed.
"Come on, my dear. As the other one sponsoring the hotel, we both have to be front and center when he shows up." Said Alastor before guiding (Y/n) to stand beside the door next to him.
"Okay everyone, it's showtime." Charlie said before opening the door to a shorter blond hair demon with fancy attire.
"Charlie!!"
"Hey, Da-." Charlie didn't get to finish before getting hugged really tight by her Dad.
"He's so short." (Y/n) whispered to Alastor, earning a soft chuckle from the demon.
"Oh its so good to see you. Haha!"
"It's uh, good to see you too, Dad." Said Charlie before he finally put her down. "Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!"
KeeKee showed up along with Razzle and Dazzle to greet him and Lucifer, as (Y/n) finally remembered, greeted them and slight threat to Razzle and Dazzle to keep protecting Charlie.
"Wow! This place sure looks, uh...uh huh yah uh huh...It's got a lot of character!" Said Lucifer looking around the hotel before catching sight of the bar. "OH, what in the unholy hell is that?!"
"Just some of the renovations we had done. Adds a bit of color, don't you think?" Said Alastor, leaving (Y/n) and appearing next to Angel Dust.
"And who are you?" Lucifer asked, Alastor with a flare of the dramatic reappeared behind Lucifer.
"Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you, sir. Quite a pleasure." Shaking Lucifer cane before wiping his hand off on his jacket. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name. Like my colleague said you are much shorter in real life." Panicked (Y/n) quickly got next to Alastor.
"Excuse him, I did not say those exact words." (Y/n) said, nudging Alastor. "But I'm (Y/n), pleasure to meet you."
"Who is this? Who is this man and child? Are you the bellhops?"
"Aha! No! I am the co-host of the hotel. You might have heard of me from my radio broadcast." Said Alastor.
"Not a kid, I'm co-manager slash other host slash sort of guest, usually when the others are busy. You probably haven't heard of me." Said (Y/n), copying Alastors introduction, shaking Lucifer's hand.
"Atleast this one has manners." Said Lucifer. "And nope havent heard of you! I guess that's why Charlie called it the Has-been Hotel, ahaha." (Y/n) quickly moved back away from the two.
"Ha ha ha. It was actually my idea."
"Ahaha. Well, it's not very clever."
"Ha ha! Fuck you." Alastor said before Charlie got in-between the two.
"Okay! Okay, anyway. Dad, look at this lovely parlor where people can get to know each other and share secrets and stories and intimate feelings! Without Alastor or (Y/n), we wouldn't have been able to pretty it up this much."
"Charlie has a very unique vision. I am happy to fulfil her bizarre requests." Said Alastor, putting his hand on Charlie's shoulder.
"Well they aren't bizarred request. Charlie thinks outside the box and it's nice to see her dreams become real." Said (Y/n) from the table, not getting closer to whatever beef Alastor decided he had against the other.
"Oh thank you guys." Said Charlie
"Ahem, Charlie! Dear, eheh, why don't you introduce me to your OTHER friends?" Said Lucifer, getting between the two and pointed at the group around the table.
"Oh yes, of course." Said Charlie getting next to Vaggie. "This is Vaggie, my girlfriend."
"Oh my golly! You like girls? So do I! We have so much in common! You put her there Maggie. Hey!" Lucifer said Hugging Vaggie, tightly. "Oh yeah, she's so pretty."
"Lovely to meet you, uh sir." Said Vaggie, taking a deep breath after being let go.
"This is our guests Sir Pentious, Angel Dust, and (Y/n) when they want to." Said Charlie.
"Your Majesty!" Said Sir Pentious trying to defend his cookies from Angel Dust and (Y/n).
"Heya short king~" Said Angel Dust, (Y/n) making a face at how Angel Dust said that.
"Hello from the otherside, again." They said, waving.
"(Y/n) helps with managing with Vaggie and helps when Alastor is busy." Said Charlie. "They just like helping, But anyway Husk is our bartender, and Niffty is our housekeeper."
"Nice to meet you." Said Husk before Niffty runs over and climbs up Lucifer's coat.
"Hello. I clean." She said before the chandelier fell making everyone cough.
"Alright then." Said Lucifer, pointing his cane at the chandelier magically making it disappear.
- "No one is gonna call you dad with that creepy ass smile" the song-
After Mimzy appeared, taking Alastor attention for alittle bit.
"So... you look nothing like how your depicted on earth." Said (Y/n), looking at Lucifer. "They used way to much red."
"..You're a sinner? When did you arrive in Hell?" Asked Lucifer.
"A few years ago. Around 2019 ish? It kinda blurry. I'm technically an Overlord." Answered (Y/n).
"(Y/n) is the youngest in the amount of years in Hell and age." Said Charlie. "They got here when they were 18 so that why they look like a kid." Said Charlie before Mimzy noticed that Lucifer was here, pushing Sir Pentious out of her way.
"Pleased to meet ya! Your Highness." She said before nudging Alastor. "Alastor, you gotta warn a girl when she's in mixed company."
"Charmed, I'm sure." Said Lucifer, sounding like he didn't care.
"As much as I'd love to catch up, Charlie, (Y/n) and I have a tour to continue." Said Alastor, Lucifer hearing this dragged Charlie.
"I'm sure Charlie can handle showing me around." Said Lucifer. "Along with (Y/n)."
"Why am I getting dragged into this?" They questioned with no response.
"Nonsense!" Said Alastor, grabbing Charlie and moved foward. "We started the hotel together, and we'll show it off together. Right, Charlie?"
"I was here before you!" Said (Y/n)
"Oh, right." Charlie said and Alastor let her go so she could show her father around with Vaggie and (Y/n) following behind.
This is going to be an interesting tour.
-
"So, once we have the proof that redemption is possible, this whole hotel will be full of demons wanting to check out into heaven! We just need a little time to prove it. The sharing circles haven't been working as fast as I hoped." Charlie told her father, leading the group. (Y/n) walking close to Alastor noticed when Alastor stop and looked back to see Husk.
"Hey, boss. Can I have a word? Uh alone,(Y/n)." Asked Husk.
"Hurry along (Y/n), I wouldn't be long." Said Alastor and (Y/n) got a nervous feeling about what the conversation going to be.
"Okay, see ya Husk." They said before walking to where Charlie and the others went, not seeing Alastor turn his head an 180 degree to face Husk.
"What is it?"
-
(Y/n) caught up with Vaggie, who was walking behind Lucifer and Charlie.
"What happened?" Asked Vaggie, who noticed (Y/n) and Alastor had stopped earlier.
"Nothing hopefully, Husk just wanted to talk to Alastor." They explained. "How's it going?" Noticing the nervous look on Lucifer's face. Vaggie didn't answer before they got on a balcony and Charlie had her help explain the hotel mission.
"And we've almost been able to find all of Angel Dust's drug stashes… almost." Said Vaggie.
"I remember when I found one the first time, still had no idea what it was." Said (Y/n), remembering how they showed Vaggie it and she quickly took it away and scold Angel Dust for it.
"So, once that's out of the way, it should be much smoother sailing!" Said Charlie, (Y/n) zone out know with how Lucifer acting Charlie would be disappointed in his response. They leaned on the railing, looking at the view of Hell.
"-Heaven, is not exactly as carefree as you might think. Yeah, they have rules, lots of rules, and they aren't very open minded as you'd hope. Look at (Y/n)!Why would heaven put a kid here? Unless they're a mass murder." Said Lucifer, getting (Y/n)'s attention.
"I'm not."
"These are our people, Dad, I… I have to try!" Said Charlie.
"Our 'people' Charlie, are awful! They got gifted free will and look what they did with it! Everything's terrible!" Said Lucifer.
"Hey! I didn't even get to even use my so call freewill and Charlie is trying to help!" Said (Y/n).
"Well I don't want her to herself on the line for people like-." Said Lucifer before a loud thud, shaking the hotel.
"For fucks sake."
"Geez! What now?!" Said Vaggie before everyone looked out to see Loan sharks at the front door with a battering ram.
"Well, like that." Said Lucifer.
"Mimzy! We know you're in there you lousy bitch!" One of the sharks yell
"Oh go fuck yourself!" Yelled (Y/n) before being pulled into a portal by Charlie.
"Que Carajo?!" Yelled Vaggie.
"What's going on?!" Said Charlie.
"I maaaaaay be in trouble with some loan sharks. I may or may not have borrowed 50 grand from—." Said Mimzy before hiding from a loud sound "And I may have also stolen a car… and crashed it… into the loan shark's girlfriend, but that bitch had it coming!"
Then all hell broke lose by the windows breaking with a barrage of fireballs, scaring everyone.
"My windows!" Yelled Niffty, upset with the broken windows.
"Ah, we're under siege! Ah! Take cover!" Said Sir Pentious, finally letting go of his cookies while dodging a fireball. Everyone panicking scrambled for cover.
"I'm going to fucking kill these assholes!" Said (Y/n), getting pulled by Charlie again away from a fireball.
"You see? This is exactly what I'm talking about Charlie. You build something nice, you invite people in and offer them everything and they just bring violence and chaos to your doorstep. It doesn't matter how well intentioned you are, they're always going to disappoint you." Said Lucifer unbothered with the chaos, getting on (Y/n)'s last nerve.
"You- just shut up! I'll handle this-." They said before Alastor appeared infront of them.
"No my dear, leave it to me. It's time to remind everyone why I am here."
"I'm also here for a reason, Alastor." Said (Y/n), glaring at the other overlord.
"Very well, shall we dear child?"
"We shall."
"A reminder to all, not to mess with the radio demon!"
"Oh, finally! Took you long enough!" Said Mimzy, earning a look from (Y/n).
(Y/n) let Alastor eat everyone in his demon form while they fought off and weakened the rest for him to finish.
"Does it even taste good?"
"Do you want to try some?"
"No thanks old man."
(Y/n) left Alastor to deal with Mimzy, seeing Charlie and Lucifer comforting each other before singing from the door way.
-"I'm happy they are solving their issues but why does it always have to be by song?"-
"Aww, that's so sssweet." Said Sir Pentious.
"It was." Said (Y/n), patting him on the back.
"Ok, I can get you the meeting but once you're in Heaven, I won't be able to go with you. Will you be ok?" Said Lucifer.
"I'll be fine." Said Charlie.
"That's my girl, good luck kiddo." He said before vanishing in red mist. (Y/n) got closer to Charlie.
"So you're gonna actually do this? Fucking mint, I guess." They said, not completely on board about Heaven of all places.
"The next part is going to be scary, you ready?" Said Vaggie.
"I'm ready, cuz you're gonna be with me." Said Charlie, hugging Vaggie.
"In spirit, right?" Said Vaggie.
"In Heaven!"
"Yay..." said Vaggie before (Y/n) started laughing at her reaction, earning a glare from Vaggie and a look from Charlie.
"You're coming too, (Y/n)!" Said Charlie, making (Y/n) stop laughing.
"Why?!" They said.
"Because you were the first one to help after Vaggie! You're a main part of the hotel!" Said Charlie, pulling (Y/n) in the hug.
"I'm killing myself." Said (Y/n) with a blank look on their face.
"(Y/n)!"
"I'm kidding... mostly."
"Shit.."
-
"Why would they want to meet (Y/n) aswell?"
#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin angel dust#platonic hazbin hotel#charlie morningstar#platonic#hazbin hotel#hazbin lucifer#hazbin alastor#hazbin niffty#hazbin vaggie#hazbin mimzy#genz reader
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Nothing to fear
summary | jonathans girlfriend accidentally takes some fear toxin, while finding out that he is the scarecrow (i suck at summaries, lol)
pairing | jonathan crane x innocent!fem!reader!
word count | 1.2k
genre | fluff with some angst!
requested? | yes! thank you so much for this request @kpopgirlbtssvt i had so much fun writing it!
warnings! | the reader gets drugged, but I think that’s it! Please let me know if there is anything that I am missing! And, this is not really proofread yet, lol
author’s note! | my requests are open for these characters! please send in your requests for blurbs, headcanons, or imagines! And as always, I do I have really bad OCD that causes me to write in some random capitalization, and punctuation, But I think that we don't have to worry about that in this fic lol. And let me know if there are any mistakes, but please be kind!
Jonathan has been at work the entire day, irritated and stressed beyond belief. The only thing getting him through it? Knowing that his beautiful girl was home waiting for him. She called him earlier to let him know that she was going to his place after her last class, he insisted that she just rest after, but she kept saying something about a surprise she had planned. He knew there was no talking her out of it, so he decided that it would be better to just look forward to anything she had planned.
When he met her, he could have sworn she wasn’t real. She had accidentally bumped into him while she was getting her coffee one day, and knocked his coffee to the ground. She immediately started apologizing, and asking what his order was so she could get him a new one. And, no matter how many times he told her it was fine, and to not worry about it (mostly so he could just hurry on to work) she wouldn’t stop. He finally caved and gave her his order, and she immediately ran and ordered him a new one. She gave it to him with an intoxicating smile on her face while still apologizing. After the encounter Jonathan had to dig deep into his mind and make sure he hadn’t just imagined it. Just to make sure, he went back to the same coffee shop the next morning, and saw her sitting there at a table, her pale pink nails tapping away at her computer, while sipping her drink. As he was about to leave, she looked up at him, and invited him to sit with her. They sat and talked until the coffee shop was closing up.
Jonathan unlocked his door and walked into his home, while the smell of a freshly cooked meal immediately hit him in the face. He realized what the surprise must have been. She had mentioned last week how she wished they had enough time to spend a proper meal with each other. He had something planned for the weekend, but she must have beat him to it. As he walked into the kitchen he saw the lights dimmed, candles lit, and the amazing meal set out on the table. The only thing missing? His angel was nowhere to be seen. He suddenly became very aware of his surroundings as he heard small whimpers coming from the bathroom beyond the shut door.
“Sweetheart?” He called out, as he knocked on the door. When all he got back was a scared whimper he decided that he couldn’t wait for a response, and walked into the bathroom only to be met with a sight that broke his heart.
His girlfriend trembling in the corner with tears streaming down her face, the nice dress she had on now all wrinkled up. Her once done up hair had now been messed up from what he imagined would have been her fingers pulling at it. She had her head down on her knees while mumbling something to herself that he couldn’t make out. He didn’t understand what was going on until he noticed the now knocked over, and empty bottle of his fear toxin on the sink.
“Angel?” He said calmly as he bent to her level, slowly taking her face in his hands as he tried to make eye contact with her eyes darting everywhere but at him.
“J-Johnny? There was a-” She stopped as she started to sob again. He pulled her into his chest and held her until she started to calm down.
Once she calmed down enough, he helped her into the shower to calm her, and make sure she knew that whatever it was she saw was fake, but what she was feeling was real. After he helped her get dried off, dressed, and wrapped in a blanket on the couch, he brought her a warm cup of tea, and sat opposite of her, waiting for her to talk first.
“What was that?” She quietly mumbled out, while taking a sip of her tea, staring straight ahead.
“It was a fear toxin, something I use on patients.” He tells her slowly in fear of her freaking out, but she stays surprisingly calm, while just staring straight ahead, so he continued. “I give it to them so they can face their fears, and see that it is all just in their heads”
“And the mask?” She asked, finally looking at him, her eyes puffy, and red from all the crying she had done. “I saw it in the case, I went to put it away, but when I picked it up, it was unlocked and everything fell out. It’s the mask of that man they show on the news, is that you Jonathan?”
He stared at her for a minute, trying to figure out how to answer this without her freaking out. “Yes, it’s me, and I completely understand if that makes you want to end this.”
Saying that to her broke his heart, he wanted her to stay, but he knew that if this was too much for her, he needed to let her leave. She was the only person in this world that he could never even dream of hurting, no matter how much it would hurt him.
“Jonathan, I’m not completely sure what it is that you do, but I do know that you make me feel safer, and happier than any other man in this city could. I’m not sure that I'm ready to know exactly what it is you do, but I’m not ready for this to end.” She has to him in almost a whisper.
“Thank you, Sweetheart. I’ll explain everything when you’re ready.” He says while pulling her down to lay on his chest, while wrapping the blanket around them both. As he kisses her head he notices that she has already fallen asleep, probably worn out from the fear toxin. Jonathan eventually falls asleep with her on the couch, with her all wrapped up in his arms.
The next morning, Jonthan woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes, and his girlfriend was no longer on his chest. He walks into the kitchen to see her, dancing around the kitchen while fixing breakfast. She jumped a little as he walked up behind her, and wrapped his arms around her.
“Shhhh Sweetheart, it’s just me.” He mumbles into her neck, while leaving small kisses. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I was hungry.” She said to him with a smile, while making them both a plate.
“Hey Jonathan?” She says while sitting across from him as they ate. “Am I going to get hurt?” she asked him somewhat quietly.
Jonathan made his way to kneel down next to her chair. “Never, that is the last thing that would happen, angel. You have nothing to fear.” He said, looking at her with complete genuineness.
“Okay” She said to him with a nod, and a smile. Jonathan stood up, and leaned down to give her a quick kiss. As they pulled away smiling, Jonathan picked her up while she gave a small squeal. He smiled down at her only to see that she was smiling back at him as he carried her to his bedroom. While they were smiling at each other, Jonathan knew that this would all end up all right.
#jonathan crane#jonathan crane imagine#jonathan crane batman begins#jonathan crane the dark knight#cillian murphy#cillian murphy jonathan crane#jonathan crane cillian murphy#batman begins#the dark knight#jonathan crane x reader#jonathan crane fic#jonathan crane fluff#jonathan crane smut#jonathan crane angst#jonathan crane fanfiction#jonathan crane fanfic
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DPXDC prompt ~Dead on main~Someone is walking over my grave
Jason sits on his tombstone and thinks about..something.
He lazily washes off the dirt that has been stuck on his army boots after the rain. It covers the year of his death perfectly. Grinning, he puts out a cigarette by using the mentioned stone. The cigarette butt throws between ugly funeral wreaths.
Danny: Hey, asshole, stop it!
Jason turns around. A very angry twink is rushing at him. The notorious crime lord does not have time to react when a fist hits him. Red Hood falls into a puddle. Shit! His favorite leather jacket!
Jason: What the hell are you doing?
Danny: No. What the hell are you doing?! Just because a man is dead doesn’t mean you must not respect him. You’re in a cemetery. Behave yourself, shithead. Or I’ll teach you manners.
Jason: You’re not from around here. Right?
Danny: So what? I doubt it’s normal to wipe your feet using a tombstone. Even in Gotham.
A malicious gremlin folds his arms on a chest.
Jason sits in a puddle more comfortably and pulls another cigarette out of his pocket. Damn, it’s wet.
Jason: If you were gothamite, I wouldn’t have to explain. It’s my grave, idiot. I do what I want with it.
Jason throws useless source of nicotine at his photo with black ribbon. The person who convicted him takes a couple of seconds to compare the vandal to the buried one.
Danny: Aw, shit, man. My bad, I didn’t mean to interrupt your break.
Jason’s eyebrow rises in surprise. From the outsider he expected more screaming and running. Not…apologies.
Jason: Yeah? Tell that to my favorite leather jacket. Now you can bury it next to me.
Bad Jason, bad. That’s not how normal people talk.
Danny: I’ll make amends. Tomorrow, okay? It’s my first working day. I’ve decided not to take my wallet. Need to find a safe route.
Jason: First day?
Danny: Yes, new cemetery guard here in the flesh. But I have not had time to meet all of inhabitants. Mistook you for a bad boy in a story. Well, it is your fault too! I understand you’re upset about death or maybe about the color of wreaths but please just put all the shit in the trash. I’m Danny, by the way.
Jason: Ha, I was wondering why there was no regular dude at work. Probably my neighbors drove him to a breakdown. He was an asshole, so no regrets.
Danny: Do you think so? Mrs Dent didn’t seem restless to me, she was quite nice.
The guy didn’t seem to catch the joke. Or was crazy. Why are all the hot people in Gotham are? Doesn’t matter. Why not try, right?
Jason: Don’t worry about the money. You can repay me with something else.
Danny: So you regenerates the suit? Cool. What do you want?
Jason: Um, I don’t get it, but… as compensation, I’m wanna have your number and one date.
Danny: Sure, why not.
Danny looks at the headstone.
Danny:Can you go outside the cemetery...Jason? The place is romantic, I agree, but where I grew up, it’s not customary to bring a mate at the place of rest until you meet parents.
Jason: Seriously? Cheesy horror movies didn’t teach you not to mess with zombies?
Danny: Well, I’ve never had a partner who was attracted to my brilliant brain. It must be pretty nice. And I don’t mind a couple of love bites, zombie boy.
Danny’s playfully batting his eyelashes. Jason can’t help laughing.
Danny: The less fair opinion among my friends is that I’m just brain-dead idiot. But I think they just don’t understand the benefits of adrenaline addiction, miserable humans. *pretends to wipe off a tear*
Jason *pretends to sniff*: Aw, hell, you really are a brainless doll, aren’t you?
Danny: Even so, it just means I’m perfectly safe.
Jason: Don’t think so. I want a piece of you.
Danny: Then don’t be afraid that the feeling is mutual. My teeth are also quite sharp. And when I’m haunting, it’s not easy to get rid of me.
The cheeky smile has given way to a serious look.
Danny: If we don’t get along, tell me right away, I’m not good at reading other people’s emotions.
~~~~~
Red Hood may be the son of the greatest detective but blinded by love Jason realizes that his boyfriend is quite dead only after a couple of months. He used to think Danny was a little…weird. Well, who in Gotham isn’t? It wasn't a problem. But during a funny fight about ignoring Danny in favor of a conversation with Tim , Fenton goes through him to grab his phone and then shouts that 'ghosting him is racist'.
Jason was delighted that he was able to hide his surprise. His boyfriend was too sweet, but sometimes insecure. Jay didn’t want Danny to start being cautious. Evidently, Honey thought from the first day that Jason knows. Let him keep it that way. Nothing has changed.
But now Danny’s promises to haunt Joker for the rest of his life if Jason wants it stopped being just super-hot flirt. So Jason need to make sure he doesn’t sic his darling poltergeist or whoever Danny is on someone. Even if it sounds good.
~~~~~Family dinner~~~~~
Dick: How did you two meet?
Jason: That’s a great story. My brave man beat the vandal who was messing with my grave.
Bruce: What? Who dared?
Danny: Jason, stop. It’s embarrassing.
Jason: No~ My family needs to know that chivalry is dead. My hero. Jason can’t resist a kiss on the cheek.
Danny: Taking this opportunity, I want to thank you all. It means a lot that you accepted Jason even not fully alive.
Alfred: Nonsense. Of course we..He’s family, no matter what.
Danny: Until the death separates us. Even at a wedding, love is promised only for a while. In parenthood, they do not take any oath about it. You’d be surprised how little past relationships can mean to people and how easy it is to hate what we are.
Danny: Damn, I ruined the mood, didn’t I? Sorry.
~~~~~
Jason: B, with all due respect, back off. You should ask Constantine how to help Danny if his family becomes a problem. Don’t mark my babe as a problem.
Bruce: I asked. And he laughed at me and said that you are the one who need protection. not him. Your Fenton is dangerous. Ghosts of such power only emerge in cataclysms after a large burst of energy or reach this level after centuries of battles or cannibalism and battles.
Jason: Seriously, old man? My boyfriend’s not gonna eat me. I’m not Red riding hood and he’s clearly not pretending to be my grandmother.
~~~~~~
Danny: Hi, honey. what’s new?
Jason noted with satisfaction that Danny had eaten all the supplies he had prepared for him.
Jason: Nothing, but now I have an idea for great Halloween costumes for us. They are gonna drive the old man crazy.
Danny: Did you fight again? What is it this time?
Jason: Guess what, now B’s worried you want to bite off my dick or something.
Danny: First, eew, disgusting. Don’t talk about our intimate life with fucking Batman. Why would he think that? I like you whole.
Jason: Whore?
Danny: Idiot.They don’t even sound alike.
Jason: Just admit that I am an eye candy and kiss me already. I need a break from the madness of my family.
~~~~~
Later Danny blackmails Constantine for information about the interrogation from Batman.
Then he sends a short message to the group chat : Tell the future father-in-law that while Jason can cook, he is safe from me.
The chat explodes from questions of Batclan to Bruce. Jay has great brothers and sisters. Danny knew their chaotic energy could be relied upon.
~~~~~
In the morning Jason yells at Tim. Why the hell did Replacement put "Friends For Dinner" from The Land Before Time as his alarm melody?
~~~~~
Bruce *is suspicious of the ghosts at the wedding*.
GhostWriter: Do not think that we like it. The boy is involved in his own version of Twilight. Oh Ancients, I hope the Ancients don't know about it.
Clockwork aka one of Ancients: Come on, that’s sweet. And story will have a happy ending. I guarantee.
~~~~~
Jason's in a date simulator with no chance of losing when everyone thinks he’s in a horror game. Is Danny dangerous? Yeah. Did he hunt when they first met? Who knows. The main thing in the middle of the conversation Danny realised he found a creature with a similar sense of humor. So that made Jason 10 out of 10 aka soulmate and he would kill for him.
#dpxdc#dcxdp#dpxdc prompts#dpxdc crossover#dp x dc crossover#dc x dp#dp x dc#ghost hunger au#dead on main#danny phantom x jason todd#danny fenton x jason todd#dirty talk#??? idk
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(Be)Longing
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Summary: Mutual rescue, mutual jealousy, longing and belonging.
Warnings: None, really. Angst, jealousy, fluff. Shyness and insecurities. Minor character injuries. Time jumps.
Word Count: 5.2k
Authors Note: This is an anon request fill here (request: Benedict x shy!insecure reader, with some angst, jealousy fluff, and all the good stuff. Happy ending, of course.). Sorry it took so long to get to this Nonny; I have no idea if this is what you wanted, and I'm really not sure about it, but I hope you enjoy <3
I: Saved
“Unhand her at once!”
The smooth, confident, older voice rings out across the village green, and suddenly the pack of nasty bullies who have your arms in a grip seem to melt away from around you.
You don’t even think to pause and thank the person who broke up the mob. No, your fight-or-flight response is in full-on flight mode. The minute your arms are released, and you see the break in the circle, you run. Run as fast as your legs will carry you. Bolting down the road and into the safety of the churchyard near your house. You do not want to run home upset and worry your mother, so you do the next best thing, the thing you are becoming increasingly good at, hiding. You climb a crabapple tree. And then you let the tears flow—just flooding down your cheeks.
You hate this new village your parents have moved you to. Your father, a doctor, had been offered the position as village physician, and now here you are, moved from Surrey to Kent, but it might as well be the other side of the world. You miss your friends. You miss your old village. You are not the most outgoing of people, and the upheaval in your life has been immense. You yearn to be back in your old, familiar, comfortable home.
You are sniffling, taking deep breaths, angrily wiping tears, and preparing to face your family when he appears.
“Are you alright?”
You startle. Beneath you, squinting up into the tree, is the owner of the voice who rescued you. Seeing him now, you feel an odd warmth in your ribs. He looks older, maybe fifteen, if you had to guess. He seems benign with a calm face, and his expression is one of sympathy and concern.
“Yes,” you squeak quietly.
“It is safe for you to come down,” he says gently, “should you wish.”
“Are they gone?” you query, wishing you could hide the tremble in your voice.
“They will not bother you again; I can assure you,” he states with absolute certainty.
Your eyes go wide, “What did you do? I don't want to make it worse for my brother,” you fret.
“I told them if they mess with you again, they will have the Bridgerton brothers to contend with,” he nods, with an air that suggests the name is of some local import.
“Is that you?” you ask timidly, not wanting to get down from the tree just yet.
He chuckles. “You must be new here?”
“Yes… we just moved here two weeks ago. Those boys have been tormenting my brother since his first day at school. They appear to have chosen me to pick on as he is not around,” you frown, dusting a twig from your skirt.
“Well, that ends now. Now, do you need help down?” he asks.
“No,” you sniffle, “I am capable.”
“I wouldn't doubt it,” he nods politely and steps aside to allow you space to jump down.
With a quick swing, you do so, landing neatly on your little brown boots. You unfurl to your full standing height, but even then, you have to crane your neck to look up at him.
“Very impressive,” he smiles warmly. “I am Benedict. Benedict Bridgerton. Welcome to Kent.” he thrusts out a hand to shake and, bemused at the formality, you take it and shake as if a businessman, not a ten-year-old girl.
“Thank you, Benedict. I am y/n y/l/n. My father is the new physician,” you gesture vaguely over the church wall towards your home next to the rectory.
“Ahhh,” he nods in understanding.
“And thank you,” you curtsy.
“Whatever for?” he frowns.
“For rescuing me,” you clarify.
“Oh please, that was nothing,” he waves dismissively. “I cannot abide bullies. Or any injustice really,” his eyes appear briefly unfixed, and he looks thoughtful, as if what he said just occurred to him as truth. Then he shakes his head and brings his attention back to you. “You are alright, though, correct? Able to get home?”
“Yes,” you confirm shyly.
“Then I shall be on my way” he tips an imaginary cap at you that makes you giggle, and he smiles goofily before turning away and walking out of the churchyard.
A little part of your heart yearns to follow him, the boy with the hazy, kind eyes and the pleasing smile, who just made your transition into life in the area much more bearable.
You and your brother are never bothered by that gang of boys again.
II: Envy
“Y/n, this is Miss Clarissa Worthing.”
Benedict introduces you to the willowy blonde whose hand is looped through the crook of his arm.
“Clarissa, this is Miss y/n y/l/n. She will beat half of my family at Pall Mall once you can coax her out of her shell,” he teases delicately with a friendly glint in his eye that makes your heart flutter against your ribcage.
Clarissa nods in cool acknowledgement, then cranes her neck to whisper something, her lips brushing his earlobe, her regard for you already gone. You curtsy politely, smile weakly and scurry away, feeling clumsy and out of place, unsure of what else to say to this swan-like beauty.
It's the summer after your fifteenth birthday, and he is back from his second year of university. It doesn't take much to deduce that this is the lady he is currently courting, accompanying him as she is to a garden party at Aubrey Hall. Jealousy clings to your skin like an invisible oily substance and taints your every thought.
Ever since that fateful day when he chased away your bullies, you have carried a torch for Benedict. The year after that incident, you sadly have to attend his father's funeral. Your own father unable to save the Viscount’s life. The forlornness on Benedict’s face as he stood there in the chilly church made your chest ache. You didn’t fully understand why at the time, but your impulse was to go up and wordlessly hold his hand. He looked so utterly unmoored and sad. You didn't, of course; you would never be so bold, but the impulse was so strong, a tingle on your palm that needed to touch him. It was all you could think about for days.
Over the intervening years, your soft spot for him grew with every encounter, the childish admiration morphing into something stronger, a deep-rooted longing. He always seemed to be the one who cared the most—about his siblings, his mum, and even the problems of the wider world. And as your body started to change and you began to feel differently about boys, your feelings for him had another layer of confusing complexity. His was the first face that popped into your head when your friends giggled about boys and talked of marriage.
Even now, it seems ridiculous to entertain that he would ever pursue you… you are stuck in small village life, the daughter of a doctor, not from a noble family, and he is off in the world, experiencing things you have no notion of. And yet he is the only man you have ever met who intrigues you that way. The idea of marriage not being entirely abhorrent, provided it is to him.
And so you just watch—the perpetual wallflower. Watch as Benedict and Clarissa make the circuit of the party. Effortlessly chatting among various members of the Ton, looking like the picture-perfect young couple.
“Makes you sick, doesn't it?” Eloise’s dry tone pops over your shoulder.
You smile at Benedict's little sister, just a couple of years younger than you and a kindred spirit at these events, mostly wanting nothing to do with them.
“She is very beautiful,” you offer politely, sipping your lemonade.
“She steals,” Eloise states plainly, making you splutter your drink all over your face and dress, the little immediate crowd of attention it draws to you mortifying. Luckily Benefict is far enough away and otherwise engaged that he does not see it. You are not sure you could live that down.
“That's a scandalous thing to say,” you hiss softly as you blush under the attention of a few strangers and furtively clean yourself with a serviette as best you can.
“Tell that to mother’s silk gloves,” Eloise volleys back, her disgust evident. Apparently oblivious to your embarrassing predicament or perhaps just uncaring of what others think. “She will be gone before the weekend is out, mark my words.”
You don't doubt it, knowing how spirited Eloise is. And how well she has her brother's ear. You know he will instinctively trust what she says as truth. As she marches up to grab his arm and pull him away, mostly, you wish you had more of her bravado, her fearlessness. While you agree with her outlook on many things, you are not built of the mettle she is—not one who draws attention. Still, you watch with a twisted, guilty, but victorious smile as Eloise pulls Benedict aside and has words with him.
You never hear of Miss Clarissa Worthing again.
III: Jealousy
“Lord Boswell would be a wonderful match, my dear,” your mother smiles encouragingly, handing you a slice of lemon drizzle cake.
You can't hide the curl of your lip at the mere thought.
It's the morning after the first ball of the season, just after your twentieth birthday, and you are in the London townhouse your parents have rented for the season, awaiting any suitors to call. Less than three days into your first season, you want the merry-go-round to stop. A dizzying whirl of social engagements you feel unequipped to deal with, wanting nothing more than to be back in Kent, stealing into the grounds of Aubrey Hall with a good book. Perhaps even spend time with Benedict.
Just the very thought of him causes a flare in your belly. Since his return from his studies in Cambridge, he has seemingly moved to Aubrey Hall full-time, spending his days painting the Kentish countryside with hopes of establishing himself as an artist. You have spent more time together in the last year or so than ever before, often finding yourself reading quietly in the shade with Eloise as he paints nearby, his company always somehow a balm as much as a thrill. And it feels as if there has been a subtle shift in how he regards you, giving you the unbearable lightness of hope. Perhaps he sees you in a different light now that you have come of age, no longer the child you were. There have been some moments where he has looked at you and felt it, like a weight on your skin; even as you doubt many other things about yourself, you don't doubt there is something there—a most wondrous and perplexing development.
Your butler bustles in and announces something that makes your heart leap into your throat.
“Mr Benedict Bridgerton has arrived.”
Your mother's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, giving you a sideways glance. A Bridgerton, even if not the Viscount, would be more than sufficient in her eyes. Especially one known so well to your family.
“To call on Miss y/l/n?” your mother asks, excitement evident in the breathy question.
“Oh no, ma’am, apologies. To see your husband. His brother, the Viscount, has dispatched him here to talk about some business in Kent,” your butler explains, somewhat apologetic as he realises the misconstrued intent.
Your mother’s disappointed face is only a match for your roiling stomach.
Your father folds his newspaper and jumps up. “I shall meet with him in my study, Jenkins. Please show him there,” and with a nod to you both, he leaves.
It has been just two days since your presentation to the Queen. That had been a waking nightmare. Parading down a long hallway at the Palace to be presented to her majesty filled you with utter dread. All eyes upon you, your every move and inch of appearance judged, and you are certain you were found lacking. Your status is unknown in the Ton; your parents pushing you into the season, hoping for an advantageous match. But you feel they could tell from one look where you belonged—almost invisible, on the periphery, a wallflower. Quiet, reserved, bookish, watching more than participating.
“Lord Boswell is here,” your butler reenters the room moments later.
Your stomach clenches. Your mother can barely contain her glee. You are so confused; you barely spoke two words to the man as you danced the previous night. Your conversation skills were utterly lacking, and he seemingly could not find an engaging topic to broach. You were keen for the music to end so you could return to standing and observing. You cannot believe that awkward interaction would be enough to propel the man to call on you, having said so little to each other just a few hours earlier. And yet here he is, a bunch of flowers in hand and a slightly vacant smile. The fleeting thought of marrying such a dull person makes you mildly nauseated.
Your mother hurries to the other side of the parlour and leaves you to converse, wearing a happy, hopeful expression that you hate to dash. And so you stumble the best you can through small talk. He talks of the weather, his property, and his interests but never asks anything about you—as if he is a candidate for a job you are interviewing for. In some ways, that is perhaps accurate, but part of you yearns for him to show interest in you, not just talk incessantly of himself.
Just as you give up hope of escaping anytime soon, you startle as he lays a hand on yours on the sofa between you. You don't even hear what he is saying anymore, just staring at where his glove covers yours, not liking the sensation, wanting to claw yourself away and withdraw.
Motion in the doorway makes you look up; Benedict is with your father. And suddenly, your heart is racing. Benedict looks taken aback; something sour in his expression you have never seen before makes you want to run to him and ask what is wrong. But you don't. You do the polite, reserved thing and smile.
“Mrs y/l/n, Lord Boswell,” he greets politely. “Miss y/l/n,” he adds, and you could swear he uses a different, lower register. Something inside you turns pulpy and ripe, blossoming just for him.
Before you know it, he has taken a seat on the sofa facing yours, shooting you the tiniest of winks that could be an eye twitch, but you know him better than that—seeing the sparkle of mischief in his eye. Your parents seem to exchange nonplussed glances, uncertain why he has chosen to stay.
“Boswell,” Benedict begins, shooting the man his most impervious glance. “What of your qualities make you an ideal suitor for Miss y/l/n here?” he questions.
Boswell splutters and seems taken aback, clearly not expecting such an interrogation, especially from a man who isn't your father or brother. Benedict’s eyes are back on you as the man stumbles through an inadequate and entirely uninteresting response that you do not even listen to. Your whole focus is on Benedict, feeling unable to breathe.
“Hmmm,” Benedict hums as he ends, “and what have you to say about Miss y/l/n’s interests? Are they perhaps complimentary to yours?”
“I… I did not think to ask,” Boswell falters, his cheeks reddening at the faux pas.
Benedict looks almost disgusted.
“You claim to be interested in providing your suit but ask nothing of what makes her the wonderful person she is?” he scolds, and your mouth opens into a little O of surprise. “Have you not asked her about her excellent marksmanship? How she can shoot an archery target better than anyone else within ten miles of Aubrey Hall? Have you not asked after her artistic skills? You see that cushion you sit next to? That is the work of her fair hand.”
You barely register as Boswell twists to look at the item and then at you; you have eyes for no one but Benedict as he continues, his voice loud and clear even over the sound of your heart pounding hard in your ears.
“Have you asked her about her love for literature and poetry? How she will correct you that it was, in fact, Guildenstern, not Rosencrantz, who enters first in the first folio version of Hamlet?”
You duck your head and blush. That is precisely what you did to him last year, surprising even yourself with your boldness. And he remembers.
He continues. “Have you asked about her love of animals? Perhaps you need to hear the tale of Mr Whiskers and how she was able to nurse the beloved cat of my sister Hyacinth back to health. You have not asked her of any such things?!?” his tone incredulous.
Even from the corner of your eye, you can tell that your parents’ faces are as shocked as Boswell’s. And suddenly, you recognise this as a Benedict Bridgerton you have seen before. It’s the one that comes out when defending those he loves against injustice or an unworthy opponent—the staunch guardian.
“If you cannot find it in yourself to show such interest, I would hope she will entertain better suitors,” Benedict sniffs dismissively. “As a long-term friend, I cannot in all good conscience allow this young woman to be pursued by anyone unworthy of her,” he concludes cuttingly, his nostrils flare, and his lip curls just a fraction as his eyes flit to where Boswell’s hand still rests upon yours.
Even as you struggle through your jumble of thoughts about everything he has said, one question so singular strikes you. Is this is Benedict….. jealous?? Jealous of your suitor? Finding ways to cut into him with his precise knowledge about you? The thought seems so fanciful that you want to dismiss it, but the sliver of possibility it offers is exhilarating. Just the chance of it being true has you utterly undone.
You barely even listen as your father jumps up and, with some belated sense of defence, agrees with Mr Bridgerton and asks Boswell if perhaps he should take his leave and return another day when he has thought of more engaging things to ask of you. Every fibre of your being yearns to talk to Benedict somewhere private, but he gives excuses to leave as quickly as your chastised suitor is dispatched.
Boswell never darkens your door again.
IV: Rescue
“Penny, for your thoughts,” Eloise smirks as she catches you staring into space on the terrace. Your cheeks blush, and you do not admit to where your thoughts had wandered—to her older brother.
“Will you come with me for a walk?” you ask, feeling the need to get away before you cross paths with the man who has occupied your thoughts more often than not of late.
It’s the week of the midsummer Hearts & Flowers ball at Aubrey Hall, and you are glad to have escaped the hubbub of the London scene and to be back in Kent for a few days' respite.
“No, I would prefer the company of Mary Shelley this afternoon,” she states airily, waving a book she holds.
So you set off alone, walking the grounds you now know so well. You are half an hour into your stroll, admiring the wildflowers along the eastern fringes of the grounds, not far from the village, when you see him approaching in the distance.
Benedict is riding his trusty horse and looks so majestic your chest constricts. Clothed in just a billowing white shirt and beige britches, you have rarely seen him look so informal. Or so very, very attractive. Your palms feel sweaty, and something stirs deep inside your body as you slink slightly into the treeline, hoping to remain unseen. A chance to merely observe this beautiful man, even knowing it is wrong to do so. To spy on him as such. Just as he draws close enough that you can see the flex of his leg muscles under the material, which causes all sorts of sensations in your body, a startled deer darts across the path and spooks his horse.
Time seems to slow as you watch his horse rear up and make the most terrible whinny of fear.
And then your heart is in your throat as you watch horrified as Benedict loses his grip on the reins in surprise and is thrown violently backwards to the ground.
Bile rises in your throat as you see how his body hits the dirt path, unable to brace for impact. The air fills with a blood-curdling scream that you belatedly realise is your own, and before you know it, you are sprinting. Sprinting towards him. Your whole focus narrows to his body splayed on the ground, worryingly still, as his horse bolts away. Heart pumping wildly and adrenaline coursing through your veins, you pull up to him and skid to your knees.
He is still conscious but barely. Moaning slightly.
“Do not move!” You bark, and even in his woozy state, he appears taken aback by your ferocity. “I mean it, Benedict!” you bite out as he attempts to move his arm.
He seems to mumble a noise of ascent as you try your best to assess any injuries, having learned some things from observing your father over the years, but you realise he needs proper medical attention. Where you are on the grounds, it’s closer to your home than Aubrey Hall.
“I am going to get my father,” you explain as calmly as you can, “for the love of God, Benedict, do NOT attempt to move until he gets here.”
A wan smile spreads across his face even as he winces in pain. “Hmm, fine. I promise to stay still,” he sighs, “....prefer to do it for the love of you…,” he mutters slurringly before he appears to pass out.
Knowing he has likely struck his head, you try your darndest to put what he said out of your mind. A head injury would be the only way to explain such a comment, even as you are praying he doesn't have one.
Heart still beating out of control, and not knowing what possesses you, you lean over and press the quickest shyest of kisses onto his lips—pulling back a few inches before he can even acknowledge it happened.
“Don’t you dare go anywhere on me, Benedict Bridgerton,” you whisper fiercely, just in time to see his eyes pop open, hazy and clouded with something you have never seen before. It’s not the pain he is in, though. And it’s not confusion, amusement or even irritation. It’s something else, so blisteringly intense your legs want to turn to jelly.
“I won’t, I promise,” he attests, his tone rough, ragged.
There are a couple of seconds where all you do is stare wildly at each other, and then, with a reassuring squeeze of his hand, you take off running. You have never run so far and so fast in your life; fear makes your muscles work harder than they ever have before. It’s probably only a few minutes, but it feels like a lifetime.
Your parents almost burst out of their skins in shock as you barrel into the house, panting wildly, wordlessly grabbing your father's medicine bag, and he reflexively springs into action.
You run to the stables and hurriedly hook up the long cart he uses when he needs to transport patients, and the look he shoots you is filled with concern.
“Who is it?” he asks as you climb aboard and direct him.
“Benedict,” you tremble, and there is a world of understanding in your father's eyes as he cracks the whip, and the horse jolts faster.
Perhaps your adoration is less concealed than you like to believe, but at this moment, you only care about getting him the help he needs. You are grateful your father doesn’t ask questions as you speed along.
And it becomes a blur as you reach the site, grateful Benedict laid still as you requested. Your father examines him and fires questions that are answered lucidly, tending to some immediate wounds and bandaging in places. Before you know it, you are helping your father with a canvas stretcher and insisting on sitting with Benedict in the back of the cart as your father takes the patient back to Aubrey Hall.
Never addressing the fact that you grip each other's hands so tight that both of your knuckles go white.
V: Belonging
“You can come in.”
Benedict’s voice calls out, bemused as you vacillate in the doorway, not realising that he can see you in a mirror reflection.
So at his invitation, you blush and scuttle into his room. Awkward, unsure what to do after your bold, daring, downright impertinent behaviour when he sustained his injuries. Part of you is hopeful he does not remember it.
It’s been two days, and he has made excellent progress under your father's watchful eye. The minute your father had pulled up at the house, you dropped your hold on his hand. And as word spread, it was a frenzy of activity that you found yourself superfluous to. The last you had seen was Benedict being carried inside for a more thorough examination.
Luckily, it turns out he has no lasting damage; his head was uninjured beyond a mild concussion. He is bruised all over, likely has some cracked ribs and has a sprained wrist, but he will be fine after some rest.
“H.. how are you?” your ask quietly, stilted, fiddling with your dress nervously.
“Much better,” his tone soft, “only because of you.”
You look up and meet his gentle gaze. “I merely did what anyone would have done,” you demure.
“Nonsense,” he counters, “you ordered me to stay still and await the doctor. If you weren’t there, I likely would have done myself additional injury being stubborn,” he points out dryly.
You don’t know what to say in response, so you change tack. “Is your horse alright?”
“Yes. Colin found him wandering around the wildflower meadow, munching on all manner of grasses. Never happier, completely uninjured,” he assures.
You nod, glad to hear the news. Then you allow the room to lapse into silence, unsure how to commence your profuse apology.
“I am very sor….”
He stops you with a bandaged hand held up.
“If you even begin to apologise for saving me, well then I shall be most vexed,” he chides, but there is no heat there, a lopsided grin tugging at his handsome features. “Besides, the more pertinent point of discussion is the fearless woman you can be when needed. The person you are becoming, when you allow yourself to, is quite something,” you bow your head as your cheeks heat at his praise. “I would have injured myself months before now had I known I would meet the creature who sits behind that cloud of shyness. Just look at what you did, taking change so very effectively,” he flatters then there is a pause. “Hell, even being brave enough to kiss me.”
Your head shoots up, and your mouth falls open.
“Oh yes,” he chuckles, “don’t think I forgot that part,” His voice has lowered to a pitch that buzzes right through your being.
“I… I was worried I… I was going to lose you,” you stutter, “and I-I’m sorry that was terrible of me to take liberties like that. Please, please forgive me?” you beseech.
“It was not in any sense of the word terrible,” he disputes, “the exact opposite. There is nothing to forgive. But there is one way you can make it up to me…?” he hedges.
“Anything, please,” you beg, so hopeful of absolution.
He holds out his hands and gestures for you to perch on the bed beside him. Almost without thought, you do so, even as you feel your pulse speeding up. You have rarely been this close, and now you are transfixed by all the tiny flecks of colour in his iris and the hints of stubble around his jaw.
“Kiss me again,” he requests; a finger trails lightly over the back of your hand. “But properly this time. Give me a chance to kiss you back.”
You just gawp at him in utter shock, heart pounding again, just like it was that day. You don't move away. You can't. Rooted to the spot. Unable to stop staring at his plush bottom lip.
“You cannot mean it…” you stutter when you finally find your tongue, disbelieving.
“Does this seem like I do not mean it?” he argues ardently, and before you know it, he is sitting up and leaning in.
And then warm lips touch yours, and fireworks explode inside your chest.
You feel like you are drowning in the very best way as your lips move together gently. Everything about the moment is sweet and light, but promising more, something tart that makes you want to climb atop him and crush yourself against him. Just as you feel the instinct to open your mouth to him, he pulls back, looking lost and found all at once.
“I need you to know something,” he begins, grabbing both your hands and placing them between his. “It pains me to see you ever doubting yourself or if you belong. You belong. Everywhere you go. You have so much to give to the world,” he states passionately.
“I… “ you falter, wanting to believe him, the version of you he sees.
“You do. Hell, you give me a reason to get up every day. To try. To be better. I would not be the artist I am now were it not for your words of encouragement as I painted all those afternoons.”
You are dumbstruck. You honestly didn't believe he was taking on board what you said. Mostly just encouraging him to follow his instincts when he seemed to doubt them.
“And now it’s time someone did the same for you. Be the encouragement you need. You deserve everything, y/n. And it would be my greatest honour to try to give it to you?” he adds, a gently loving smile lighting up his face.
Your heart sings as you realise this is the declaration you have been waiting half of your life to hear. Before you can stop yourself, you launch yourself at him, this time being the one to demand a kiss that he happily obliges.
“I have a question,” you state as your lips part, your boldness growing with every moment. “Mr Bridgerton, were you jealous when I had a suitor?” you tease, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.
He chuckles and nuzzles your cheek. “My god, you have no idea.” You cant help the victorious giggle, basking in the fizz in your veins.
“I suppose it was payback for Ms Worthing. She of the ironic name. She was never worthy of you,” you state passionately.
He laughs with a headshake. “Perhaps it is our ability to rescue each other that makes us so best suited,” he opines. “I do believe we may belong together,” he adds.
And you couldn't agree more.
In fact, you are never alone again from that day on.
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