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maccreadysbaby · 5 months

Text

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

a little bentley + tim and bentley + damian action ain’t never killed nobody (seriously dami and bentley might be my favorite pair to write atm)

part two

❝ METAHUMAN PROBLEMS ❞

MONDAY — JULY 27 — 9:46PM

BENTLEY PADDED BACK DOWN TO THE BATCAVE WITH PUPPY-DOG-EYES AND PUPPETEER CHARM AT THE READY TO ASK TIM FOR HELP WITH THE PHONE. He was in a Red Robin t-shirt and pajama pants that used to be Tim’s (just for good measure), and his red hair was floppy and wet from his shower, to assure maximum cuteness. Getting Tim away from that computer was more a job for, like, Batman himself than Bentley, but he didn’t intend to fail.

It was pitch black outside now, and Dick had left for Bludhaven a few hours ago. Jason hadn’t been at the Manor for the past couple days, Duke was out with Steph and Cass doing some community service or something for school, Damian was in the training room, and Bentley had a solid excuse for needing Tim’s help.

He walked into the Batcave with the phone clasped ever-so-tightly between his hands to ensure its safety. Damian was still in the training room, now throwing knives at a dummy. Bentley saw him land five square in the dummy’s chest in a span of three seconds through the windows.

Tim was still at the computer. There was a fourth cup of coffee there now, steaming next to him like Alfred had just brought it down. The papers had been shuffled around, and it looked like more had been added to the massive pile. There were a bunch of files pulled up all over the Batcomputer with information and photos of villains they’d fought recently. Tim was staring between the screen and pages like he had been the whole time.

Bentley drifted up to the left side of Tim’s chair, glancing between all the different villain faces on the screen. “Hey.”

Tim didn’t even glance up from his papers. “Hey, Bentley.”

Bentley stood there for a moment, reading some of the information on the screen before he continued: “Whatcha working on?”

Tim hummed, flipping a paper over. “There’s been a massive influx of new metahuman villains in and around Gotham. I’m trying to find whether or not they’re coming from the same place. Maybe working for the same person,” He muttered, then tapped a key on the Batcomputer. All of the villain photos went away, and civilians replaced them. “And I’m looking into the disappearance of several different Gotham citizens that have vanished over the past month. All completely gone without a trace.”

Bentley’s eyes flicked across the screen. Being a Metahuman meant all these supervillains had literal superpowers — no wonder patrol had been tougher than usual recently. “Do you think they could be-“

“No,” Tim shook his head. “Metahumans are all born or endowed with the same genetic traits. None of the missing people have them.”

“How do you know?” Bentley murmured, leaning closer.

Tim shrugged. “Medical files, military history, school records. We have access to a lot of stuff here, and none of them have the genetic information of a metahuman. So I’m working with two completely unrelated, very strange occurrences.”

Bentley hummed again. “Guess what?”

Tim finally glanced over at him, and Bentley nearly frowned at how tired his eyes looked. “What?”

“Bruce got me a phone,” He stated, holding the little green device up so Tim could see it. “I was gonna ask if you would help me set it up.”

Tim rubbed his eyes with his pointer finger and thumb. “Did Dick already go home?”

“Yeah. And Duke is still gone. Bruce said you’d be way better help than him,” Bentley explained quietly. “Please? I don’t think it’ll take super long.”

“Why don’t you ask Damian?”

Bentley glanced up, past Tim, into the training room just in time to see Damian throw a knife at the dummy so hard the blade came out the back of its head.

Bentley screwed his face up, and Tim chuckled. “Yeah, me too,” He sucked in a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, you got me. Just tell Bruce to be a bit more stealthy in his attempts to make me come upstairs next time. He is the Batman, after all.”

Bentley nodded sheepishly, and Tim pushed the chair out from under the desk and stretched his legs. He grabbed the coffee mug and chugged the whole thing in just a few seconds. “You might want to plug it up for a few minutes before we start messing with it. Where’s the charger?”

“In my room,”

“Brilliant. I guess that’s our next stop,” He stated. He stood up and scooped Bentley off the floor, who squeaked in surprise. Thankfully the death grip he had on his phone didn’t let up as Tim lifted him up to sit on his shoulders.

“What are you doing?!” He exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Tim’s neck tightly from behind so he wouldn’t fall off backwards.

“You don’t have to choke me, I’m not gonna drop you,” He stated. He was holding onto Bentley’s legs but it didn’t feel secure in the slightest.

Bentley loosened his arms. A little. “Sorry.”

“No worries,”

Bentley glanced back at the training room just in time to see Damian throw a knife. It missed.

Damian never misses.

He didn’t get to watch any longer, though, because Tim made for the stairs and Bentley had no choice but to go with him. He had to duck under all the doorways back into the Manor, and going up the stairs was borderline terrifying, but they made it to his room without any casualties. Tim dropped him backwards on the bed with a flop.

“Okay, let’s see what this thing can do,” He stated, plopping down next to Bentley on the mattress. He’d already plugged the wire into the wall earlier, and he plugged the phone into it. It was just long enough to reach the mattress without being too tight.

They shimmied up to the headboard and stared at the screen for probably a couple hours. Tim handled all the fancy stuff, like setting up the memory and an email address and fiddling with the settings. He organized his Home Screen nicely and taught him how to use the most important apps. (Which just ended up being messages, making calls, the camera, Google, and maps.)

Then he gave it to Bentley and let him download cool games and other stuff. (Even games he had to buy, which he’d been hesitant about, but Tim assured him it was okay.) He made sure to sit extra close to him and sort of use him as a pillow so he couldn’t move.

By the time they had actually finished, Bentley was playing a game called subway surfers, and Tim was asleep in a strange little ball next to him.

Mission success.

After he was sure Tim was sleeping, he wiggled out of the comforter and climbed out of bed. He left his phone on the nightstand and flicked his bedroom lights off, leaving the bathroom ones on for a little visibility, and closed the door softly as he returned to the hallway.

The Manor was quiet now. Damian’s bedroom door was still open, which meant he wasn’t inside. Duke, Cass, and Steph hadn’t returned, because Bentley would definitely be able to hear them, and he wasn’t sure where Bruce was. So he floated back down to the cave to check if Damian was still there.

He was. Bentley could hear the knives landing before he even turned the corner to see the training room. It was nearly ten, which meant they’d be leaving for patrol sooner rather than later.

Damian was doing the same thing he’d been doing for hours — sticking knives to the dummy. He didn’t even look up when Bentley entered the room, just threw the final knife in his hand, and it landed in the artificial man’s face with a dull thud.

The knife was still planted in the padded wall where he’d missed earlier.

Bentley, satisfied that Damian didn’t have any knives left, drifted over to the one sticking out of the wall. “Damian?”

“Yes?”

Bentley carefully grabbed the hilt of the knife and pulled it out of the wall, blinking at his own reflection in the blade. “Are you okay?”

The quiet thumps of Damian pulling the rest of his knives out of the dummy made Bentley turn. He watched him rhythmically wiggle the hilts up and down until they shimmied out.

“I am fine. I have no reason not to be,” Damian replied flatly. Bentley took a few steps forward and handed him the knife (hilt first, like Jason had taught him in the kitchen) and Damian took it. He momentarily thought about reminding him that last time he told Bentley he was fine he ended up passing out cold in the floor of the library. But Damian was holding about eight knives and he didn’t want to bother him about it.

“Are you sure?” Was what he said instead.

“Positive,” He replied.

Bentley hummed, moving off to the side incase Damian was going to throw them again. To his surprise, the assassin grabbed a little fabric holder off of the bench and began putting them away.

“Are you nervous for patrol? Dick told me it’s been harder lately, with all the new villains popping up,” Bentley tried again.

He thought he might’ve heard Damian scoff. “Tt. Of course not.”

So he decided it was time to stop talking about it. He drummed his fingers on his pajama pants and stood in silence for a few moments as Damian strapped the knives into place.

“Do you think you could teach me how to do that?” He finally muttered. Damian glanced over at him, his greenish eyes dancing across his face for a moment.

“Throw knives?”

Bentley shrugged. “Yeah. I think it’s pretty cool.”

Damian blinked for a moment, folding up the little fabric knife holder. “I can attempt. I was young when I learned — I do not remember all of the specific instructions. I simply know how to do it.”

Before Bentley could think better of it, he inquired: “How young?”

Damian slid the pack of knives away in a large rack used for storing their practice weapons. “Four or five, I believe.”

Bentley said nothing. He could hardly dress himself when he was four, and Damian was already learning how to throw knives in combat?

He had lots of questions about the League of Assassins, but he decided it would be best not to ask them. Maybe Jason would answer a few. He was older when he was in the League, after all, and wasn’t born into it. He didn’t know how differently his and Damian’s experiences had been. Maybe he’d just keep the questions to himself, actually.

“Todd might be a better teacher than me,” Damian continued with a quiet sigh. “But I will teach you if you’d like me to.”

Bentley nodded. “I would.”

Damian made his way to the dummy and began moving it back into the corner near the rack. “Looks like you managed to get Drake away from the Batcomputer. That’s not an easy feat, given his extraordinary amount of stubbornness when it comes to staring at that screen.”

Bentley snickered a little. “I basically had to lay across him to make him stay still enough to go to sleep, but yeah. He’s in my room.”

Damian made a tt again. “He seems to like you.”

Bentley blinked a couple of times, unsure how to respond. He’d been living in the house Tim spent most of his time in for about ten months now, literally right across the hall, so he’d hope he liked him.

“Yeah,” Is all Bentley said. He had no clue where Damian was going with that, but apparently neither did he, because he didn’t say anything else about it.

“Are you going to see if Gordon will let you sit in on patrol tonight?” He asked as he positioned the dummy next to the others and gathered his water and phone off the bench. Bentley shrugged.

“Probably. I really like to listen,” He replied. Damian hummed in response.

They fell silent again for a few moments. Bentley had no clue what to talk about. Apparently Damian didn’t either. So Bentley just dragged himself back up the stairs with him, not entirely convinced he was fine, but staying quiet nonetheless.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

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ladytauria · 5 months

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19. “The paint’s supposed to go where?” JayDami?

it took me over a month but i finally got to this prompt xDDD

i've known what i wanted to do for a while, but it just. wasn't happening. and then!! today!! it finally clicked!

this is my first time writing jaydami <3 i hope you like it, abyss!

this one got smutty <3 featuring top!dami, bottom!jason; bottoming from the top; riding; blow jobs; & a tiny amount of breeding kink that i don't?? think??? actually counts???? it's more 'trying for a baby.'

also! this ended up being 3k AND i got two more fic ideas while writing it, bc truly, the well of wips never runs dry

> AO3 <

Damian twirls the fine tipped brush through the black paint, then allows it to drip before turning to his canvas. He gives himself a moment to pause, to stare.

Jason is beautiful. He lays on their bed, completely nude. It is not the first time Damian has seen him such. They have lain together many times, both before and after their marriage. Jason has also allowed Damian the privilege of drawing him, painting him, more than once.

But it is different, tonight.

Tonight, Jason’s very skin will be his canvas, and not simply for their pleasure, but for their future.

“Are you ready, beloved?” he asks quietly.

Jason looks at him with soft eyes, brushing his hand over Damian’s knee. “I’m ready.”

Damian nods, once, and then begins to paint.

He has practiced these markings many times over the last month. Both on paper, and on the practice CPR dummies they keep in the cave. His hand moves through them now almost on instinct. The ink is stark against the pale skin of Jason’s abdomen; his usual dark fuzz shaved away to make way for the paint. Damian misses it, a little—Jason is hairier than he is, and Damian finds carding his fingers over his stomach pleasant.

There is still his chest, though.

For his part, Jason keeps very still, taking slow, shallow breaths; moving his stomach very little, if at all, eyes half-closed.

The air is warm—warmer than they usually keep it, so that Jason is not uncomfortable while they do this.

He is halfway through when Jason says, “Mm… Tingles.” He breathes the words; low enough that even in a quiet room with Damian’s attention almost entirely tuned to him, he almost doesn’t hear.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“No. S’kinda nice, actually.”

“Tell me if that changes.”

Jason’s mouth twitches. “Still can’t believe you’re such a worrywart, baby bat.”

Damian sniffs. “It’s a reasonable concern.” He resists the urge to jab Jason’s side. He’d rather not have to begin again.

The ritual they are using is old. It has been practiced within the League for generations—and Damian has questioned their scholars upon it extensively. There are risks, as in all things, but they are minimal. Damian has every confidence that they will be fine—neither of them would not dare attempt it otherwise.

However, now, in the final hours—Damian cannot help but worry more.

Jason’s teasing is strangely soothing, though. As is the way he looks; the lack of tension in his body. Damian knows he is as anticipatory of what’s to come as he is, but in this moment, in the now… He is calm. Relaxed. Perhaps it is a facade. Regardless, it is reassuring.

“We’re going to be fine, baby bat.” Jason peers at him through his lashes. The green of his eyes is strong tonight. It makes Damian’s stomach flip. He can’t help himself—he pauses in his work to bend forward, slotting his mouth over Jason.

It is the chastest, tenderest kiss they have ever exchanged. Damian’s body buzzes with it.

When he pulls away, breath still ghosting over Jason’s plush mouth, Jason’s mouth twitches up, a soft smile creating wrinkles around his eyes. “Keep going,” he murmurs. “We’re almost there, baby.”

Damian swallows. He nods, pulling back. He wets the brush again, and resumes the painstaking process, until he has completed the piece. It is—beautiful. It sits just above Jason’s pelvis, right over where his womb would be, if he possessed one. The markings swirl and bleed together, forming a shape not unlike a heart. The stylistic one, anyway—not the anatomically correct one.

“It suits you,” he says, after a moment; swallowing hard.

This time, Jason grins; the dim light catching on his teeth. It makes them look a little sharper—and that makes Damian shiver; toes curling.

“How long until it dries, again?” Jason asks.

“Five minutes,” Damian says. He sets the timer. The first half is likely dry already.

“Mm,” Jason hums. “Good. Plenty of time to get you ready for my turn.”

Damian’s ears turn red. He has been doing his best not to think about his turn—the very idea flusters him. He remembers when he first proposed the ritual, showing it to Jason. Luckily for him, Jason had been too incredulous to notice Damian’s flustered state.

“The paint’s supposed to go where?” he’d demanded.

“I know you can read, beloved,” Damian had drawled back, ignoring the way his skin felt tight and prickly, cock twitching in his pants.

Jason had made a face at him, and then they had moved on to discuss things further.

“C’mon, Dames,” Jason says. “Pants off. I’m tired of being the only one naked here.”

The color spreads across his cheeks. “Ah, but it’s a look you pull off so well, beloved.” Still, he obediently hooks his thumbs into his lounge pants, shucking them—and his underwear—off. He also takes a moment to set the timer they had prepared.

“Mm… you don’t look so bad yourself.” Jason’s mouth twitches. “I hear they’re trying to get you to do a swimsuit edition again.”

Damian huffs. “Ridiculous. Just because Father—” He cuts himself off. There are some times, and places, where his parents should not be mentioned. The bedroom he shares with his husband, while he was naked, is one of those.

Jason grins unrepentantly, and closes his hand around Damian’s cock.

Damian’s hips jerk forward. Jason’s hand is warm. Unnaturally so, much like the rest of him—a leftover from his brief dip in the Lazarus Pit. Of course, with as much heat as he gives off, he retains little. Damian spends a lot of time curled up under the blankets with him during the winter, which suits him just fine. He’s not fond of the cold either, and he’ll take any excuse to soak up Jason’s warmth.

Especially if Jason is reading. He is voracious in his appetite for literature; the ceiling-high shelves in their personal library can attest to that. It is a habit of his that Damian loves—even down to his penchant for annotating. Though he turned his nose up at it at first, being able to view his beloved’s analysis and commentary when he goes to read something himself… Damian enjoys it. Sometimes more than the book itself.

He also loves when Jason reads aloud. The cadence of his voice, the passion he has for the words… It’s soothing.

Now, though, there is nothing soothing about Jason’s touch at all. Instead, it is stimulating, heating; stroking Damian’s half-hard cock with an expert’s touch. It is no time at all before Damian is at full hardness; curving up toward his belly, cock flushed and beginning to glisten with pearly beads of precome.

His hips chase the feeling of Jason’s hand, lips parting around soft breaths; growing quicker and deeper the more Jason touches him, his hand moving faster, tightening and loosening his grip in quick pulses.

The timer rings.

Jason’s hand stops.

Damian can’t help the low, pained noise he makes. Jason, cruel, terrible creature that he is, laughs, low in his throat.

He climbs to his knees, tangling his dry hand in Damian’s short hair, and tugging him into a kiss. This one is the furthest thing from chaste. It ignites a fire in Damian’s loins. Or, perhaps, it is more accurate to say that it stokes that fire higher, hotter, making him burn with want. With need.

His want, his need will go unfulfilled for some time yet, though.

There is still Damian’s mark to prepare.

Jason is still grinning when he pulls back, though his breaths are coming out just as harsh as Damian’s. “Am I going to need to tie you down, darlin’?”

Damian whimpers. It takes only a brief moment of imagining the ropes locked around his wrists before he is gasping— “Yes. Please.”

He does not know if he will be able to keep still, to keep from grabbing Jason otherwise. Even knowing what’s at stake. There are some things that even Damian’s iron self-control is not up for, and unfortunately, resisting his beloved is perhaps highest on that list.

Jason smirks at him. “I thought so.”

He retrieves the rope not from its usual place, tucked away in a box in the closet, but instead in the drawer, where they also keep the more frequently used supplies. Damian allows Jason to arrange him on the bed, lying much as he had once been. His warmth still lingers there.

His beloved makes quick work of the ropes; tying intricate knots against Damian’s forearms with practiced fingers. He hears Jason hum to himself, before securing his hips as well. It would be little for Damian to slip his bonds—but they are not meant to truly hold him. Only to remind him to be still; and to give him that lovely feeling of pressure.

With Damian so secured, it is Jason’s turn to pick up the paintbrush.

“Be good,” he says.

“You do not have to remind me, beloved,” Damian says quietly.

Some of Jason’s mirth fades—or, no. It doesn’t fade so much as soften. “I know,” he says, brushing his hand over Damian’s thigh.

Both of them know exactly what they're hoping for—what they have their hearts set on. Even if they fail this time, they will try again, and again, and again—until they get it right.

Jason draws the brush through the ink. He takes careful hold of Damian’s cock, and begins to paint.

Like Damian, he has practiced the markings many times over the last few weeks, both on paper and on various phalluses. Although he had never quite been able to resist starting off with a joke, or two.

He does not do so now.

Instead, he goes right into the movements. The featherlight touch of the brush is—tolerable. At first. Surprising, but tolerable. However, the more it went on… the less tolerable it became. He ends up grabbing onto the ropes, clenching them tightly to keep from jerking. His toes curl; his legs quiver. His belly goes taut, the muscles of his abdomen on display for Jason to see.

And he breathes. In through the nose, out through the mouth, as slow and measured as he can.

And then—

The tingling starts.

It’s mild. Gentle. If it had been on his stomach, as it was Jason’s, he thinks he could have handled it. But the tingling—and the movements of the brush—

He moans, deep in his chest. “Beloved,” he begs.

“Almost, Dames,” Jason soothes. “Almost.”

Damian squeezes his eyes shut. It is almost a mistake; without the input of his eyes, it is all too easy to focus on sensation instead. But he forces himself to focus instead on the slide of silk beneath his skin, the chafe of rope around his wrists and waist, the warmth of Jason’s body between his thighs. He listens to the hum of the heater, the sound of the wind outside, the quiet crackle of electricity powering their home.

Time passes. It seems like both none at all, and like an eternity. But, finally, he hears the brush click against the wooden tray. “I’m done,” Jason says, quietly.

Damian opens his eyes again; blinking in the dim light. Jason moves the tray of ink to the nightstand, and takes restraints off of Damian’s hips. He slowly, gently, unties his arms as well.

Damian nearly stops him—nearly tells him to leave them in place. He loves when Jason rides him, loves it even more when he is bound. However… Though he loves that, the urge to hold Jason in his arms tonight is strong.

And so, though he mourns the squeeze against his skin, he puts up no resistance as Jason removes them.

By the time he is done, the timer rings again. The ink has dried and set on his skin too.

Damian takes a cloth and wipes away the paint on Jason’s skin. It has already begun to flake, and it comes off easily at the first kiss of water. Left behind are deep brown markings, sitting on Jason’s skin like a tattoo. Like the Robin Damian drew for him, now permanently etched over his breast. They will fade within a month. Damian will spend all of that time following the path with his tongue; worshiping the marking—or. No. Worshiping the body, the flesh of his beloved.

His fingers linger on the damp skin for a moment, and then, he allows Jason to do the same to him—to carefully caress his cock with the cloth, warmed in his hand. His beloved can be so considerate, when he wants to be. The paint on him, too, flakes away easily; the markings still visible on his flesh.

The first part is done.

Jason tosses the cloth aside, usual penchant for neatness gone as he pushes Damian back against the pillows; straddling his hips. His own cock stands at attention, flushed and weeping, looking desperate for some kind of attention. Jason ignores it in favor of crashing their mouths together. Their teeth clack together, and then Jason’s tongue is in his mouth, licking into him like he’s never tasted him before, like he has not already explored all of what Damian’s body has to offer.

Damian is helpless to do anything but moan against it, clinging tight to Jason’s shoulders. He rocks his hips up, groaning when his cock brushes Jason’s.

Jason pulls back, then. “Ready for the fun part?” he asks, breathlessly.

“Beyond ready,” Damian says, just as breathless.

Jason guides one of Damian’s hands between his thighs. Damian’s eyes widen in surprise when his fingers brush against something cool and hard.

“You—”

“I thought I’d prep in advance,” Jason says, lips twitching.

“Clever man,” Damian breathes, and tugs Jason down for another kiss, licking into his mouth, chasing the unique flavor only Jason provides. The praise makes Jason shiver. His mouth slackens, allowing Damian’s tongue to intrude as deeply as he desires.

Damian takes hold of the plug in Jason’s ass and pumps it—once, twice, relishing in the gasp Jason lets out, the way he grinds down on Damian’s cock, making stars burst behind his eyelids.

“Fuck—” Jason pants, when they are forced to separate. “I— Damian, now.”

He could not agree more.

He eases the plug from Jason’s rim, tossing it aside carelessly. His hands find Jason’s hips; the rounded curves of them fitting perfectly in his palms. Jason fists his cock again, angling his hips over Damian’s pelvis.

His cockhead brushes Jason’s entrance.

Damian’s teeth dig into his lip. His hands flex on Jason’s hips.

Jason eases down—Damian can feel the tight ring of muscle flutter around the head, stretching to accommodate him. He breathes, short and shallow, his belly twitching as he resists the urge to snap his hips up, to bury himself in the furnace of Jason’s body.

Jason’s thighs twitch.

That is all the warning Damian gets before he slams down, taking Damian to the root in a single thrust.

They shout in unison; Damian’s throaty groan mingling with Jason’s high keen. Jason’s walls flutter around him, tight and wet and searingly hot. It’s almost too much.

They stay like that for a moment, both of them adjusting to the feeling—and then Jason begins to move. He sets a hard, steady pace; rising halfway off of Damian’s cock before slamming back down again. Damian’s head swims. It’s hard to focus on anything except the way pleasure licks through his veins, lighting up his nerves like a fireworks display.

Damian rolls his hips, meeting Jason’s next thrust. The high, broken noise Jason makes is music to his ears.

“F-fuck— That’s it, baby—”

The look on Jason’s face is nothing short of divine—eyes half-lidded with pleasure, kiss-swollen lips parted enticingly. His skin shimmers with sweat; his curls a halo around his head. A pink flush decorates his face; spreading down to his chest, dark, flushed nipples tight and hard.

He’s a vision, a wonder—and he’s all Damian’s, bound to him for life by the golden bands around their fingers.

It does not take long for Damian to approach his peak. The tingling in his cock is back again—stronger than before. It’s almost painful, pricking like blood rushing back into a previously-numb limb. He hears Jason’s sharp gasp—knows his own mark is echoing the feeling.

“Beloved—” he warns, voice sticking in his throat.

“Give it to me,” Jason demands, breathless. He grips Damian’s wrists. “C’mon— Breed me—” He slams his hips down and clenches, tight, around Damian’s cock, and he—

The entire world seems to still, and then—he breaks, whole body shuddering, hips jerking forward as he comes.

Jason rides him through it; hips moving in quick, shallow jerks, barely rising an inch off of Damian’s cock before swallowing him back in again, walls fluttering around him, milking his cock for every last drop of semen, stilling only when Damian’s cock stills.

For a moment, both of them are still; only their chests moving as they pant from exertion. Then—Jason rises, Damian’s cock slipping from him.

“The plug—” he demands.

Damian fumbles for it, rising; Jason bends forward, bracing on his elbows so Damian can push it in again. Jason’s body swallows it greedily, hungrily. Saliva pools in Damian’s mouth. His cock twinges, unable to muster even a twitch despite the desire in his veins. He touches Jason’s hip, lightly.

“On your back, beloved. I wish to take care of you.”

Jason’s breath hitches. He does as Damian has asked. Damian kisses him briefly—sweetly. He does not linger long, though, despite the temptation of Jason’s mouth. Instead, he trails kisses down his jaw, his neck. He lingers on Jason’s chest; unable to resist flicking his tongue over his nipples, or biting into the supple flesh.

Jason writhes. The sweetest sounds fall from his mouth, ruining the way he tries to growl, “Damian.”

Damian laughs—but obediently continues his way down, lapping at the pre smeared on Jason’s skin. Jason pushes at one of his shoulders, not hard, not forcing, but demanding nonetheless. Damian laps at him one more time, and then finally—

He wraps his lips around Jason’s cock.

Jason groans, throwing his head back, baring the column of his throat. It is littered with bruises, perfectly shaped to Damian’s mouth, still lurid purple from this morning.

Damian suckles at the head, teasing the bundle of nerves at the base. Jason’s thigh muscles bunch, one of his legs drawing up. Fingers dig into his shoulder, tight enough to leave bruises.

He bobs his head, taking him deeper, delighting in every gasp, whimper, and whine from Jason’s throat. Delighting most in the pained keens of his name, the way he pleads.

If he were kinder, he would take mercy.

He is not.

Instead he takes Jason inch by torturous inch, bobbing up and down, teasing him with his tongue. His hands hold tight to his hips, stopping every aborted twitch and thrust of Jason’s hips. Jason’s desperation grows, his voice starting to crack.

Then, finally, Damian slackens his throat and takes him all.

Jason shouts, nearly raising up off the bed; his knees tucking. His cock twitches, balls starting to tighten.

Damian braces his hand on one of Jason’s thighs, lifting his leg. Then he grips the plug, breathes in through his nose, and sets a punishing pace.

Jason does not last long.

He gets a garbled, babbled warning and then Jason spills into his mouth. Damian swallows it all, slowing his thrusts with the plug but still determinedly fucking him through the orgasm, milking him for all that he is worth.

He doesn’t stop until Jason’s whimpers take on a pained edge. Then, he lets go of the plug and eases Jason’s cock from his mouth. He slides up; pausing only to press a soft, open mouthed kiss over the ritual markings. Then he lies beside him, pulling Jason in against his chest.

Jason buries his face in Damian’s neck; his nose tucked safely in the hollow of his throat. Damian dips his chin, burying his nose in Jason’s hair, breathing in the smell of sweat and soap and sex and Jason. His hand follows the curve of Jason’s spine.

He can feel Jason’s belly against his. Imagines how it will look, soon; round and swollen with child. With their child.

Damian cannot wait.

#deepwithintheabyss #jaydami #damijay #dcu #tauriawritesfanfic #asks and answers #tauriawritessmut #nsft

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batbirdies · 10 months

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So a helpful commenter pointed out to me that it looked like some dialogue was missing from my most recent chapter of the Jason & Dami fic and sure enough kjhgffghjk AO3 ate it thinking it was HTML code because I’m a dummy. I updated the chapter and hope you will consider rereading 🥺 its hurty dialogue.

a world in repair - chapter 2

#ugh #lmao #I'm so mad about this

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mtdthoughts · 4 months

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Moonlight Pt. 2 (Migi & Dali Fanfiction)

Link to Chapter 1:

https://www.tumblr.com/mtdthoughts/738293425820057600/moonlight-pt-1-migi-dali-fanfiction?source=share

CHAPTER 2

Together, we walked downstairs into the dining room, and I greeted the old couple with a smile, because now Dali was finally here with me!

The old couple's faces lit up with tears like I've never seen before. We were so lucky to get adopted by such loving people, and as soon as Dali and I sat down, I looked to Dali to express my joy.

Dali was now looking unusually nervous, but I guess it was because this was his first time facing them as himself and not as Hitori.

I gave him a warm smile to make him feel better, and he looked back at me and returned a smile of his own.

"Merry Christmas!" The old woman’s cheerful voice rang as we all raised our glasses and toasted with our own "Merry Christmas" in response. We began to eat our breakfast as usual.

Suddenly, the old woman handed a plate to Dali, and with her usual warm expression, she said, "Here you are my dear, an omelet. It's your favorite food, right?" It seemed like she made this just for him, since Dali was the only one to get an omelet, and there was even a heart drawn on it.

"Huh? It is," Dali responded nervously, "How did you-"

"Oh? Don't underestimate me, my dear," the old woman replied.

"I remember that there was a time when you were alone. If memory serves me right, it was right before Halloween." the old man added.

"That time, you left a lot of food on the table, but I remember that you would always eat all of your omelet. Isn't that right?" the old woman said.

Wow, this old couple really was amazing; I didn't even know Dali loved omelets that much!

Dali took his omelet and began eating. I wasn't looking because I was too busy enjoying my own food, but the old woman must have been right, as I never heard Dali eat so enthusiastically.

Then, the old woman asked, "Say, what should we call you two boys?"

Yes! This was the moment I was waiting for, so I instantly replied, "I'm Migi!" as some food leapt out of my mouth. "And this guy is- "

Before I could finish, I was surprised to see that Dali was now fully in tears, with snot dripping from his nose.

"Da...mi..." he said as he tried to hold back from completely breaking down. The old couple's faces lit up once more.

"Dami! What a fine name you have. It's got an edge to it!" the old woman said warmly with a smile.

"No! It's Da - li!" he yelled as he smiled. I smiled too, because Dali was not only crying in front of me for the first time but was also smiling in a way that I haven't seen for a very long time. He was finally free and no longer needed to hold back his feelings.

To celebrate this, I decided to poke fun at him. "Looks like your new name is Dami the Dummy!"

Dali looked back at me with a teasing smile and said, "Oh yeah, well your new name is Miji the Midget!" I didn’t see this coming!

"Dami the Dummy!"

"Miji the Midget!"

We continued to tease each other with the same silly faces, and we laughed together with the old couple and continued our breakfast.

After breakfast, the day went by pretty quickly. We did some chores around the house, we baked some pies with the old woman, we hung around the Christmas tree, and we watched birds with the old man and gave him the best shoulder massage in his life. Even though we were doing these things together as two like usual, our new parents watched us with awe as if they had never seen anything more amazing.

Before dinner, we had some time to play with our Christmas presents. The clay pasta set was really fun, and I made all sorts of delicious food! Dali was always looking like he was thinking while he was playing with his science set. Was he having fun? I think so.

When I was done creating, I excitedly took my creations to Dali. I held them in both hands and said, "Hey Dali, check out what I made! Look, here's cherry pie, and here's an omelet, and here's jambalaya!"

Dali put his head next to mine, and with his hand on his chin, he looked down and took a few minutes to look over my work.

"Hmm, I see. They don't look like the real thing at all, but I can see what you were trying to do, and it looks a lot more fun this way. I'm sure that with practice, anyone will appreciate your unique style." Dali said with a warm smile as he patted me on the head. Dali is usually so strict with me, so it felt great receiving his praise.

We then continued playing with our presents, and after a while, Dali said, "Hey Migi, come here," as he made a hand motion.

I walked over to Dali, and he was holding a dropper with a strange liquid over a cup with another strange liquid.

"Check this out, Migi." He then dropped a single drop of liquid into the cup, and all of a sudden, a burst of flame popped out of nowhere. (*Disclaimer: The author knows nothing about chemistry)

"Aaaaah!" I screamed as I turned back and ran since I had bad memories with fire. I stuck out my tongue and yelled, "Dali! Are you trying to burn the house down!?" No response.

"Dali...?"

I turned back, and Dali was gone. Then, I looked at my pasta set, and noticed that a lot of my dough was gone too. Wait a minute…

"Dali!"

I ran out of my room looking for him. That guy must have used that fire to distract me, took my dough, and was now planning on doing something bad with it!

"Dali, where'd you go!?" I yelled, as I frantically searched our room, then the old couple's, then the storage closet, and then the bathroom. Dali was nowhere to be found.

Dali was always better at hide-and-seek than me, so I knew I would have a hard time finding him.

Eventually, I gave up and went back to our room.

"Dali..." I muttered, as I tried to fight back tears.

Then, all of a sudden, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Huh?" I turned around, and immediately my cheek was greeted by Dali's finger. He had a smirk on his face.

"Dali! What was with that fire and what were you doing with my dough!?"

"Heh, did I scare you Migi? Don't worry, I think I was able to make it up to you."

He showed his other hand, which held my dough. But there was something different about it now, because now it was bright and colorful.

"Dali, you-"

"That's right Migi. I thought I'd give your pasta set a little upgrade. Now, your art will be even better, right?"

"Dali~!" I exclaimed as I gave him a hug. He patted me on the head.

After I released him, I asked, "But why did you have to do all that? I would've said yes if you had asked."

"I thought it'd be more fun this way, and your reactions only proved me right!" he said as he laughed.

"As arrogant as always aren't you!?" I yelled.

But I couldn't stay upset, and I even laughed a bit too.

"Migi! Dali! Time for dinner~!" The old woman's voice rang throughout the house. We looked at each other, nodded, and went downstairs together.

#migi and dali #migi to dali #fanfic

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wonderfullymadeanj · 1 year

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Medyo natatakot nako sa dami ng mga nag ffollow na dummy accounts. Please tell me na hindi lang ako haHa. Ano gagawin ko sa mga to. 🤣

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icechocodami · 2 months

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And I Will Hold on to You

yoohyeon x dami wc: 3.8k genre: angst, hurt/comfort read on ao3

There are rules to follow, Yubin reminds herself. Don’t fall for your coworker. Don’t fall for your best friend. Don’t fall for someone you shouldn’t have. Don’t fall for Kim Yoohyeon. But in a moment of desperation, Yubin decides to break the rules. (a 2yoo story about first wins and early promises)

“Yubin?”

There’s a single knock on the door before it is pushed in. The lights in the room are already off for the night except for the glow from Yubin’s phone that illuminates only her face. She looks up at the girl waiting in the door frame.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Yoohyeon asks, shifting her weight from her heels to her toes and back again awaiting a response.

Yubin goes back to her phone but scoots over to the side of the bed closer to the wall. Yoohyeon takes the silent invitation, closes the door behind her, and carefully makes her way to the bed in the dark. A path memorized by her feet.

The blankets rustle but eventually settle. Yubin puts her phone down to adjust to the new body in the bed. Even in the dark, Yubin feels Yoohyeon staring at her. She turns her head to face the girl. Her eyes try to adjust to the darkness engulfing them.

“Happy first win,” the taller girl says under her breath, which still has the smell of alcohol from a celebratory company dinner earlier that night.

Yubin finds herself smiling, “Happy first win, Kim Yoohyeon.”

Yoohyeon rests her forehead on Yubin’s shoulder, automatically reaching for a hand to hold, which Yubin gives her. She’s always like this, clingy and a little bit needy, made worse when under the influence. Yubin is always there to take care of her.

Yoohyeon’s feet rub against each other under the blankets, something obviously on her mind.

“Yubin?”

“Hm?”

“Do you remember that promise we made?”

Yubin’s stomach drops at the same time her heart jumps to her throat. She swallows hard to get rid of the nervousness, hoping Yoohyeon doesn’t notice the change in her heart rate.

“Yeah. I’ll still go with you to Incheon next week,” Yubin replies, making herself sound fake annoyed.

“Not that dummy,” Yoohyeon whines, pinching the hand that’s holding her own. “You know what I’m talking about–”

Yubin is not stupid. Of course, she knows what she is talking about. It’s a promise made in the secrecy and quiet of an empty dance studio years ago. Before Dreamcatcher was even a concept. Back when the girls did not know how much longer Minx had as a group.

The members growing close was inevitable. Some grew closer than others, but the bond between them was unbreakable. To live each day so close to their dreams, only to fall so short, who else would be able to understand that kind of heartbreak besides each other?

—

Yoohyeon and Yubin sit next to each other on the floor in the empty practice room waiting for the older three members to finish with their meeting with the vocal teacher. The only time the two had completely to themselves.

“You know, I started looking at other agencies,” Yoohyeon breaks the silence.

Yubin wants to throw up. A reality she never wanted to face.

“Have you also been planning for something? You know, just in case.”

Yoohyeon is being careful about her wording, but Yubin wants her to shut up. Yubin never thought it’d come down to this. Maybe if she practiced a little harder, maybe if she didn’t sneak junk food, maybe if she agreed to change her appearance as the company suggested, then maybe just maybe Minx wouldn’t be failing.

“I’m not saying anything is gonna happen,” Yoohyeon adds quickly, sensing the shift in the mood, “I just think it’s good to have a backup plan.”

Yubin hates this conversation. Hates the way it feels like Yoohyeon is talking down to her. Hates the way that Yoohyeon is expecting an answer. Hates the way that Yoohyeon has a point.

“Maybe I’ll go to university,” Yubin replies plainly. Just to say anything to make her stop talking.

“Oh? You don’t want to be a singer anymore?” She sounds surprised.

Yubin doesn’t answer. She doesn’t dare take her eyes off of the clock across the room, hoping that somehow the tears will stop threatening to come up if she doesn’t move. Praying the other girl will get the hint that she doesn’t want to continue the conversation.

“That sounds like it could be fun, besides the studying part— but you were always good at school anyways,” Yoohyeon shrugs.

Yubin remains silent, holding her breath.

“Must be nice, you know? No more rules to follow. You can eat whatever you want, act however you want, you can even date whoever you want,” she trails off.

Yubin doesn’t need to be looking at Yoohyeon’s face to see her smug expression. She tries to elbow the taller girl who is now giggling, but Yoohyeon is able to dodge the attack. The two settle down to comfortable silence, Yubin now resting her head on Yoohyeon’s shoulder. She smiles to herself. As ridiculous as Yoohyeon is sometimes, she can’t deny that she is her best friend, someone who taught her that it’s okay to let people in.

“You know, no matter what happens,” Yoohyeon starts, “I’m glad I met you.”

“Stop talking like that,”

“I don’t know, it's just a feeling I have and you’re the only one I can talk to about it,” tears begin to welt up and tiny gasps punctuate each syllable she manages to get out.

Yubin pulls Yoohyeon into a hug and rests her chin on top of her head. She sees Yoohyeon’s skin pebble at her touch. She hears her sharp breathing as she shudders, trying to stop more tears from falling to no avail. She inhales the smell of her shampoo. It’s the smell that lingers on Yubin’s pillows when Yoohyeon naps in her bed. The smell on Yubin’s hoodies after they’ve been borrowed. A smell of comfort.

All of Yubin’s senses are filled with Kim Yoohyeon, except for one.

They sit like this for what feels like forever. Breathing in each other’s breaths. They’ve been this close before, but something about this time feels different. The threat of loss amplifies suppressed feelings. The feelings that shouldn’t be felt for the girl in her arms.

There are rules to follow, Yubin reminds herself.

Don’t fall for your coworker. Don’t fall for your best friend. Don’t fall for someone you shouldn’t have. Don’t fall for Kim Yoohyeon.

It’s impossible not to. Kim Yoohyeon, who looks at her with stars in her eyes, who is there to listen to her when no one can hear. Who wears her heart on her sleeve while Yubin keeps hers a little too guarded. Kim Yoohyeon, who is the exact opposite of her, but Yubin doesn’t mind.

When it feels like everything is against her, Yubin decides right there that the peace Yoohyeon provides is something she is willing to fight for.

So she needs to hold on. Hold on as long as she can. Hold on as long as the universe will let her.

In a moment of desperation, Yubin decides to break the rules.

She pulls Yooheon in closer until their lips find each other. They’re soft. It’s sweet and gentle, everything that this world is not.

She can’t tell if this is an act of rebellion or an act of selfishness. Even more terrifying, this could be an act of confession that Yubin sees them as more than just friends.

Cold hands that find their way to Yubin’s face pull her mind back to reality just enough to realize that the other girl is letting her kiss her. She’s surprised that Yoohyeon doesn’t reject her. Yubin is leading the kiss, but Yoohyeon is following. She’s kissing back, and it’s all the confirmation Yubin needs to pull the girl closer, tightening the grip around the back of Yoohyeon’s neck.

She doesn’t let up until she feels her face get hot and she realizes her cheeks are wet. Not from Yoohyeon’s tears, but her own.

“Yubin,” Yoohyeon breathes out, finally pulling away. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Yubin’s hands find Yoohyeon’s face, her thumb brushing against the other girl’s bottom lip.

“Then tell me what we should be doing.” Her frustration is manifesting into anger in her chest, but the words come out with desperation, almost like a plea. As if the other girl will have an answer.

To both of their surprise, it’s Yoohyeon who instigates the second kiss. It’s much more certain than the last. Yoohyeon’s hands grip onto Yubin’s shirt collar, pulling her deeper. In response, Yubin’s hands drop to Yoohyeon’s waist to hold her even closer.

“We’re gonna get in trouble,” Yoohyeon gasps in between breaths.

“Let us get in trouble,” she chases after the other girl’s lips.

“We can’t,”

“And they’re gonna do what? Kick us out of the group?” Yubin’s hold on Yoohyeon’s waist tightens. “You’re right, they’re gonna let Minx die. Let’s just have fun while it lasts.”

Speaking those words out loud feels wrong, but in some twisted way, it makes sense.

Yubin leans in again, but Yoohyeon pushes her back. “I don’t know, maybe agencies talk? Tell them I can’t keep my hands off of other members? It’s not exactly the idol image.”

“Oh, so you do this with all of the others?” Yubin smirks.

The comment earns her a slap on the shoulder, but it’s worth it to hear the other girl laugh.

After a moment of silence, Yubin speaks up, “What do you want to do, Yoohyeon?”

Yoohyeon’s eyes flicker between Yubin’s eyes and her lips.

“Don’t make me pick.” She drops her head, resting it on Yubin’s chest. Taking in her scent, as if these are the last moments they have together, reaching for Yubin’s hands to hold. Listening to her heartbeat.

Yubin is there to hold her, as always.

“What if we just wait it out?” Yubin whispers to the top of Yoohyeon’s head. Yoohyeon squeezes the other’s hand to let her know she’s still listening. “You were the one bringing up having a plan in case things don’t work out, so what if this is our ‘just in case’?”

Yoohyeon remains silent, thumb rubbing over Yubin’s hand.

She continues, “Realistically we have what? A couple of months? Maybe even a year? Yoohyeon, they’re not preparing anything for us.”

They’re thoughts that all the members have had, but no one was brave enough to admit out loud.

Yubin’s eyes are tearing up again, but she doesn’t bother to try hiding it. “We deserve to be happy, Yooh.”

Yoohyeon is quiet. The way she usually is when she’s thinking, but the silence finally allows for Yubin’s realization of her actions to set in. She doesn’t usually act on impulse. Her dreams and career are already failing. She can’t lose her best friend just because of a stupid impulsive decision. She feels her hands get sweaty and prays that Yoohyeon doesn’t sense her nervousness.

“Fine,” Yoohyeon finally agrees, “but when this is all over, you can take me on a date.” She punctuates the sentence by poking at Yubin’s chest. She looks up to kiss Yubin and Yubin exhales the breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Me? Why not you?” Yubin laughs, pretending to be offended.

“Not sure, I guess that’s how I always pictured it,” she teases.

A shout from Bora down the hall notifies them that the older members are finished with their schedules for the day and everyone should be getting ready to head home. Yubin gets up first and offers her hand to help Yoohyeon up. They walk out of the studio linking arms. Nothing too out of the ordinary since Yoohyeon always does that with the members. However, Yubin can’t stop repeating the last words the other girl said to her. She tries to wipe the stupid grin off her face before the older members can question it.

—

The car ride was silent on the way back to the dorm. After the company’s director had called each of the girls to his office individually telling them how Minx was to disband, but how he wanted all the girls to re-debut in a different group.

The older three immediately go into Minji, Siyeon, and Yubin’s shared room and shut the door. The younger two get the hint and go into the other bedroom. They know they shouldn’t listen in, but the walls are thin and curiosity gets the better of them.

“I don’t want to go through this again, I’m just tired,” they hear Siyeon say through the door.

“And you don’t think we aren’t?” Bora snaps back.

The two in the other room hear Minji mumble something, unable to make out the rest of the conversation.

Soon after, a door opens and slams shut. There is a small knock on Yoohyeon’s door before Bora peeks her head into the room. “I’m gonna start cooking dinner, any requests?”

Bora’s eyes are red. Her voice nasally. A version of herself she’s never shown the younger two. She’s always taken pride in how she presented herself, always strong, always so sure of herself.

They both leave the decision up to Bora and she closes the door behind her when she leaves.

Yubin gets comfy in Yoohyeon’s bed, and Yoohyeon snuggles into Yubin. It’s been weeks of secret kisses and hand holding underneath tables. It is irresponsible to be behaving this way, but neither one cared. Despite everything falling apart, they found something to hold on to.

Yubin chews on her nails. “I’m kinda with Siyeon on this,”

“Well, I’m with Bora.” The reply is fast and curt.

“Yooh, I don’t want to go through another heartbreak. I don’t think I can even handle it. I’m starting to hate everything about this.” She blinks away her watery eyes and steadies her breathing. Trying to push her emotions back down.

“Well, who says it’s gonna fail?”

“You know what I mean,” Yubin’s voice cracks, unable to keep her composure.

“I’m all in. Unlike you, I don’t want to give up on my dream just like that.”

The words hurt.

Yubin lets go of Yoohyeon.

“You think I’m just giving up?” It comes out as a raspy whisper. Trying hard to prevent her voice from shaking. “You of all people should know how hard it is right now having your ‘dream’ slip out right in front of you.” Tears are building up. “If I was just going to give up, I wouldn’t be practicing for eleven hours of the day. I wouldn’t be in the studio on our days off. If I was just going to give up, I would’ve quit months ago, but I’m just tired.”

Yubin blinks and the tears start falling. She can’t control it no matter how much she tries.

“Can’t you have a little faith? In yourself? In all of us? Well, at least someone does for them to give us another chance.” Yoohyeon sits up now, forcing Yubin to make eye contact with her. Her voice is louder now. There’s no doubt it can be heard through the walls. She doesn’t care who might be listening in, this is a point the other members need to hear.

She reaches to squeeze Yubin’s hands. “Not everybody gets a second chance, Bin. Don’t just throw it away.”

Yoohyeon gets up and goes to help Bora with dinner.

—

Though it took a lot of convincing, all five members agreed to take the chance at a re-debut. In the next few months, they were introduced to Handong and Gahyeon, and preparation and training picked back up.

It became a part of their schedule, in between dance practice and vocal lessons, Yubin would pull Yoohyeon into an empty practice room and lock the door.

They never did anything more than kiss but each time the kisses became hungrier, with hands becoming more curious.

“Yubin, we shouldn’t,” Yoohyeon breathes, grabbing the hands that had begun playing with the top of Yoohyeon’s waistband.

“But this is the only time we have together.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

Yubin doesn’t stop, continuing to kiss along Yoohyeon’s jawline. “What, you don’t like this?”

Yoohyeon sighs, her body reacting in ways she doesn’t want it to. “I do, it’s just— what if something happens? Between us? And we still need to work together. Live together.”

Yubin makes her way down to her neck.

“I’m saying it might get complicated.” Yoohyeon finally pushes Yubin off of her.

“Like it isn’t already?”

“You’re upset.”

“I’m frustrated.”

“I just feel like there’s too much at stake. I don’t want to risk anything.”

“Well, what do you want to do then?” The words come out more angrily than Yubin wants.

What Yoohyeon is saying makes sense. But at the same time, nothing in her life right now is making sense. Yubin’s heart feels heavy, knowing exactly where this conversation is leading. She regrets asking.

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere. You’re not losing me completely.”

Isn’t that worse? The words can’t form.

“You know, if this group succeeds, then let’s ride it out for as long as it will take us. If the worst comes to worst, we can pursue this. It’ll be like a pause. Whenever this is all over we’ll still be there for each other. No matter how long.”

Yubin would call herself a realist, but to what extent is it just because she’s protecting herself from heartbreak? Whether that be believing her dreams of being an idol will come true, or believing that this relationship with Yoohyeon will work out. She learned a long time ago that she needs to be able to pick and choose her battles, and losing Kim Yoohyeon from her life isn’t a risk she’s willing to take.

Yoohyeon holds out her pinky. Yubin wants to scoff at the childish gesture. But she finds Yoohyeon’s childlike optimism endearing. Something she realizes she needs in her life.

She links her pinky finger with the other girl.

“Yeah,” Yubin kisses Yoohyeon for one last time. Savoring her taste. Making a note to remember the feeling of her lips. “When this is all over.”

—

It was nice being busy again. Exhausting themselves during the day and falling asleep as soon as they returned to the dorm kept them from overthinking about everything.

Dreamcatcher finally debuted. A few months later they had a comeback, and then another. A slow and steady growth after each promotion was promising. It wasn’t instant success but none of the girls expected that.

It took months after debuting for things between the two of them to return to being as normal as it could be. Yubin could finally look at Yoohyeon without needing to blink away watery eyes. She could finally be touched by Yoohyeon without her skin burning, without wanting more.

By the time they were nearing their first anniversary, those shared moments in an empty practice room felt like a vivid dream.

—

Yubin is sincere when she tells the livestream she wants Dreamcatcher to last forever. She thanks the fans for giving them their first win and holds up her pinky to promise them that they’re not going anywhere. She’s never been happier. She thinks back to the promise she made herself. How she’d continue to work no matter how hard it got if that meant living happily. It hasn’t hit her until today that she’s making it up to her younger self. She thinks about how she promised her parents that she’d take care of them once she made it in the industry. How she promised her school friends she’d remain in touch no matter how busy or famous she got. She takes pride in how she was able to keep these promises.

It’s when she drops her hand that she finally remembers the promise she made with Yoohyeon. It wasn’t like she forgot about it. But rather, constantly pushing it to the back of her mind, afraid of what feelings it could bring back up.

Yubin never dared to bring it up, no matter how much time had passed, no matter how close she had gotten with Yoohyeon. It was a promise made by hormonal teenagers at a vulnerable time in their lives. Maybe she’s the weird one for still being hung up over it. Things are going well, it doesn’t need to be ruined. She has Dreamcatcher. She has Yoohyeon. It’d be greedy to want more.

But that hasn’t stopped Yubin from wondering. On some nights, she lay awake wondering if Yoohyeon still remembers that promise. She wondered if Yoohyeon remained single all this time because of it. She wasn’t blind to the many suitors that the other girl would always turn down. She wondered if the lingering hugs meant something more. If the frequent sleepovers would ever lead to anything more. If the other girl, after all these years, would still want something more.

—

“I do know what you’re talking about,” Yubin finally whispers back.

It might be because of all the emotions from earlier that day, but Yubin feels like crying again. Over the past five years, she developed new reasons to keep going. In the beginning, it was surface level things, like fame and fortune. But she soon realized it's not just about that. It’s not just about herself. There are other reasons to keep going.

Above all, she does it for the other members. She does it for the eldest three who sacrificed so much of themselves taking care of the other girls, despite them going through their own troubles. She does it for Handong who is so far away from home, who she hopes she can provide a second family for. She does it for Gahyeon, who gave up so much of her youth for this career, like too many in the industry, Yubin included.

Yubin doesn’t want to admit how much of this she does for Yoohyeon. The one who pushed her to keep chasing after this dream. The one who makes all of this worth it. Her light at the end of the tunnel.

Her motivations have grown past just wanting to pursue a romantic relationship with Yoohyeon, but she can’t deny that the hope of doing so got her through a lot of the earlier days.

It’s selfish, but Yubin hopes Yoohyeon feels the same way.

Yoohyeon flips to lay on her stomach, her chin resting on Yubin’s chest so they can look at each other.

“Do you know what you’re talking about?”

Yoohyeon takes a moment, “I do.”

It takes everything in Yubin not to kiss her at that moment. Opting to push back Yoohyeon’s stray hairs out of her face instead.

Yoohyeon reaches for Yubin’s hands once again, playing with her fingers. She stops at Yubin’s pinky and immediately locks it with her own. An action Yubin remembers all too well.

“When this is all over, right?” Yoohyeon is mumbling her words, the way she always does when she’s sleepy.

Yubin doesn’t say anything but squeezes her pinky even harder around Yoohyeon’s. She doesn’t need to say anything.

“Good night, Kim Yoohyeon.” Her hands move to rest on top of Yoohyeon’s back, drawing mindless shapes over her shirt. When the girl in her arms finally falls asleep, she holds her a little tighter than usual.

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