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nnight-dances · 9 months

Text

LOVE & OTHER CLICHÉS

PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader (ft. kim mingyu)

GENRE: fluff, angst, suggestive content

TROPES: brother's best friend, slow burn question mark, skirting around communication because that's a good plot point, jealousy as requested, banter, teasing, arbitrary social norms about words like "cute" and "sweet" pls don't listen to a word i say ever, etc.

WORD COUNT: 12k (for some reason)

The first time you re-meet Jeon Wonwoo, your brother Joshua's best friend, you think a lot of things. He does, too. It's really interesting how neither of you say exactly what you think.

"Y/N! Is that really you?"

If you hadn't been on the phone with Karina when you heard Wonwoo's voice, you think you might've genuinely passed away because his voice is something of nostalgic value to you, something distant and definitely not in the same living room as you. You look up and your eyes widen when you find the man gaping at you. "-Oh, hi–" you shoot up from your seat on the couch and then quickly remember your friend still on the line. You tell her, "Sorry, Rina, mind if I call you back later? Okay, thanks, love you. Night."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at you like you'd said something amusing and it's turn to take him in as you drop your phone onto the couch. "Wonwoo, god, you're alive?" you start with a small smile and continue, "Wow, um, you look… the same." What you mean to say is: How did you get even taller, you attractive bastard?

Wonwoo offers you one of his smug smiles at that and replies, "Thanks? I think. You look much more… grown up, you know." He really should've said: Holy shit, you're pretty. And then he opens his arms, "Bring it in, kid. Let's see if I can still get away with tackling you to the ground."

You scoff even as you step closer to him, ignoring the way his arms are a lot bigger than they once used to be when you tell him, "I think you're remembering it wrong, dude. I was the one tackling you."

It's no use, though, because when he wraps his arms around you, you sigh contentedly because this right here? This is a hug. Wonwoo's so warm around you and you can only pretend that the way you feel his hard muscles tense around you doesn't send chills up your spine. Wonwoo's smiling wide, only barely controlling a comment about how good you smell and how you might've grown taller but somehow still manage to fit just the same in his arms.

All in all, it's a pretty sweet reunion. You haven't seen each other in over five years so the curiosity and surprise is barely uncalled for. You only wished you could've held onto the hug longer before Joshua entered the room with a disgusted grimace on his face.

"Gross. Can you guys not do that?"

You're the first to pull away with a flustered sigh at Joshua's comment, rolling your eyes. Wonwoo tries to cover up the way he's slightly out of breath by countering, "Why? You can't handle us interacting like two normal humans? Want us to claw at each other's eyeballs like the good old times?"

–

"I don't get it, though," Wonwoo tells you, a slice of donkatsu hovering near his mouth, "Why didn't you just move in with Shua?"

"That's what I've been asking her! Haven't I been a good enough brother to you? What did I do wrong? Huh?"

You'd already seen Joshua's reaction coming, sipping the beer from your glass to brace yourself. "And as I've politely reminded you many times, big brother, it's not personal. I just thinking that would be the equivalent of moving back in with my parents. Plus, I can afford to live alone now, remember? The promotion that came with the reallocation?"

Joshua flashes you the unconvinced glare he always does when you reason with him. But you train your eyes on Wonwoo instead, determined to get him on your side at least. "It would be waste to just live with him and not do the independent thing. Plus, I literally live across from you, man, so I might as well be moving in with you."

Wonwoo nods quietly as he washes his bite down with some beer, "Hmm. That's fair enough. I don't know why Shua's been whining about it then."

You break into a pleased laugh at that where your brothers gasps in offense. "Hey, Jeon Wonwoo, whose side are you supposed to be on here?"

Wonwoo shrugs, "I'm on the side of logic, my man, I'm sorry."

"God, don't let her fool you. She says all this reasonable stuff but–"

"Oh, so you agree that it's reasonable then?" you question him with a raised brow but he ignores you as he spews his nonsense.

"-- But the real reason she wants to live alone is so she can get laid."

You hit Joshua real hard in the arm at that, "Ew, dude, don't be a pervert."

Wonwoo looks postively entertained between the two of you as he provokes you, "What does he mean?"

"Fuck if I know. I don't know what gave this guy the idea that I like to sleep around, if anything, he's the player."

Joshua narrows his eyes at you, "Uh-huh, me, the guy who was in a long-term relationship of nearly five years?"

"Emphasis on was in a relationship. How many people have you slept with since then? I don't want to know. I'm just making a point."

Wonwoo chuckles, "She's right, man. You're not exactly on the higher ground here."

"Okay, okay, but I did overhear you telling your friend that, quote, living with my brother would be the greatest clockbock there is, end quote."

Your jaw falls open when you hear him recount your words to Karina only a few hours ago. "You're eavesdropping on my calls? Wow, see, this is why I don't want to live with you."

"You weren't exactly very quiet! And you were sitting in the living room, too!"

"Whatever," you roll your eyes and then catch the questioning look Wonwoo sends your brother and you take matters in your own hands. "Fine, I said that because I mean, yeah, it's not like the hottest thing to be living with your brother, okay? Like what if I meet a cute guy and lose him to the fact that Shua's the biggest prude to exist?"

"Man, you just made a player, and now I'm a prude? Choose a story, goddamn it!"

You shrug with a grin, "People can be two things, bro."

–

"So, you all moved in yet?" Wonwoo asks you and you try to ignore how silly he looks with the edges of his glasses fogged up against the heat of the coffee in his hands. Last week, he'd texted you asking if you'd like to get coffee and catch up. You'd replied with a goofy grin playing on your lips at 1 AM with a: sure :))) if u pay!

You hum as you stir your own latte, "I think so. But everytime I think it's all done, there's always something small I forgot. Like, this morning I realized I don't have wine glasses."

He chortles, "Ah, I know what you mean. Something small but inconvenient. Like a good night lamp."

"Ugh, I need one of those, too. I brought my old one with me but ended up leaving it in the study because I didn't have one there." You sigh as you slump in your seat, "God, I hate moving. I'll have age twenty years by the time I'm fully done."

Wonwoo watches you with a bemused smile. "I can help you with shopping, if you'd like."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's not like I moved in recently but I still remember some good places for this stuff. And it might be less tiresome if you have some company."

Your replying smile is so genuine that it's got Wonwoo smiling and he thinks he's helping you out more for himself than Joshua. It's an unsettling thought for a moment but then your voice pipes back up with an anecdote from your work and he can't care for the thoughts.

"...So, you have any luck finding cute guys to bring home?"

The question catches you off-guard and your grip on the wine glass you were inspecting loosens dangerously, but you hold onto it before it can break like your pretense of sanity.

"God," you groan as you look at a chuckling Wonwoo who's standing next to you, arms crossed in that infuriatingly attractive way. "I was slightly drunk when I said that, so it would be nice if you forgot about it."

"Why? I mean, it's understandable you'd want to get into the dating pool here. It's one way to get to know a new city."

You turn all your attention to a different glass. "I guess. But I haven't had too much luck, no. Maybe waiting around to find love organically is my problem."

Wonwoo doesn't immediately respond to that, making you uneasy and sending heat to your ears. Whatever. You'd just have to scream into your pillow and cry yourself to sleep so you could forget this embarrassment.

"Hmm, I don't know. It'll just take more time that way, I suppose. If you're willing to wait."

It's your turn to go mute except this time the silence is comfortable, only broken by a comment here and there about the glasses.

"What about you?" you ask Wonwoo at checkout, watching the worker wrap up your chosen set of glasses in bubble wrap. "Are you… with someone?"

Wonwoo's lips twitch with a small smile at your question. "Not at the moment. I like the space of being single." You nod in understanding.

"And I haven't really met anyone worth spending my time with," he says, eyes floating to you as he pushes his glasses up with a finger.

You pause at his words, thanking the cashier for their help and making your way to the exit. "You make it sound like dating's a chore, Wonwoo."

He shrugs with a shoulder, "It can be. With the wrong person."

–

"So… tell me all about your hot brother's hot best friend?"

"Ew and ew, Karina, do you want me to block you for real this time?"

"I'm just being honest but all right, do you want to talk about your years-old crush on your brother's best–"

"That's not any better. And I don't have crush on him. Also, it would really nice if we didn't say the word crush anymore. We're both adults with jobs."

"And adults with jobs aren't allowed to have a little fun?" Karina's voice is laced with laughter and you groan in frustration. Who has she been hanging out with to make her so much worse? Not you.

"Anyway, since you asked so nicely, I'll tell you. My older brother is okay. And so is Wonwoo. There."

A few minutes of further pestering from Karina and you finally let slip that Wonwoo and you have been hanging out here and there, sometimes over coffee that led to shopping dates (Karina's words, not yours) and other times spent over at Joshua's, drinking or playing video games on his couch. It was pretty cozy and you couldn't really complain about this new life.

"Oh, so you don't miss me then, huh? Nice to know. But also it seems like you're hitting it off with Wonwoo and before you cut me off, you did like Wonwoo for like half your childhood, remember? Maybe this could become something. Who knows?"

Oh, you remember. It was you who spent long summer afternoons staring at Wonwoo as he came over to your home after class, spending all his time arguing with Joshua about a card game they'd been playing or about which villain was cooler in the new movie they'd watched. For a while, it had been a distant thing but over time, you'd warmed up to them and started talking more to Wonwoo, now a regular participant in their arguments.

And as it turns out, it doesn't take a lot of arguments to fall for Jeon Wonwoo.

–

One thing about you is that you're stubborn. You like to think it's a genetic thing because the only person who could rival your firmness was none other than your brother. And this meant that when Karina tried to convince you that you still had a soft spot for Wonwoo, you tried to tell her that's all it was: a soft spot. Like a platonic affinity for someone you'd spent a lot of time with growing up.

And you reasoned it out with yourself that night, thinking back to the time you'd spent with him recently. It was familiar in the best way possible. Where meeting new people at work was absolutely exhausting, coming back home to your brother and Wonwoo was like a hug to your soul.

Speaking of hugs, your mind rolled over to the one you'd shared with Wonwoo a few weeks ago, an event that you often found yourself thinking. As sane and rational as you thought yourself to be, the way you'd find yourself unable to control a giggle in the dark every time you remembered the way you all but melted into his arms, strong but fond in their embrace around your waist.

And when you come to your senses, you realize it's ridiculous how stuck up on that hug you are. It's stupid your smile that breaks through anyway and the way your heart beats faster when you remember the plans you'd made with Wonwoo for tomorrow, a trip to a local bookstore because he had found your collection of books lacking the day he'd come over for a visit.

You roll over in bed then, groaning a little because you're starting to think the soft spot might be… growing.

–

"You know I really didn't think I would spend this much on books today," you mumble as you tap your card at the register. It was almost funny how many conversations you and Wonwoo have had at check-out, almost inevitable because often the shopping experience itself meant a lot of focused silence as the two of you browsed around in tandem.

It was a weirdly heartwarming way to spend time together. Or maybe that was just you and your weakness for quality time.

"What do you mean? We literally mutually decided that you needed a better collection." Wonwoo leans against the counter with a cocked brow.

"Well, the mutual part is up for discussion. It's more like you shamed me for keeping a modest book collection. And I mean, I wasn't so sure if I'd find anything good here."

"Really?" he asks, picking up the heavy bag from the counter before you can reach for it, "Because I remember you agreeing pretty quickly and enthusiastically to my proposition to go book-shopping."

"That was only because you made it sound like fun." And it meant that I'd get to spend more time with you. "And it was fun. So that's one thing you're right about."

Wonwoo's smile turns smug as you exit the bookstore, each with a paper bag in hand. You'd settled for carrying Wonwoo's own purchase of two new books that he'd apparently been meaning to come out and buy.

"Anyway, now what? You wanna go to my place and break into one of these bad boys?" You shake the bag in your hand with a gleeful grin. But Wonwoo's looking at the mall across from you with mouth slightly ajar in concentration. And then he smiles, pure excitement plastered across his face when looks back at you.

"I have a much better idea." That's all he says before his unoccupied hand finds yours and tugs you after him. Admittedly, you're a little dizzy at the sudden touch and let him pull you across the road with quick steps, struggling to keep up with him. At the back of your head, you store away how attractive it is that Wonwoo's holding a good dozen books in a hand and yours in the other, racing ahead like it was the most important thing in the world. And honestly? If it was with Wonwoo, you think you feel the urgency in your veins as if it were travelling across your intertwined palms.

It's a good day to be a romantic for you, as you later find out, standing in line with Wonwoo to purchase tickets to a newly released movie. The genre? Rom-com.

"Well, it's not so much a rom-com as the poster makes it seem. That's actually a deft marketing stunt. It's actually a pretty serious movie about love and I've heard it's not for the weak."

So many questions. You have so many questions.

For one, "I didn't know you were into romantic movies," you comment, watching Wonwoo from the corner of your eye, too afraid to look him in the eye now that your hand was no longer in his.

"It's possible to avoid romance. Everything is about love these days, even if it isn't."

You also can't believe that you're about to watch a movie with Wonwoo. It's all strangely… different. You'd never been to the movies alone with him. It's a new territory for you. But you're not mad. If anything, the smile on your lips is playful.

"And it's not just that you're too scared to admit that you like rom-coms?"

"I'm not. Into rom-coms, I mean. The humor is straight-up bad and the romance is tolerable at best. It's like if you're going to do a x to death, you might as well do it well."

"I can't believe this," you mutter more to yourself than him, "Jeon Wonwoo watching a rom-com? This must be a dream."

"You dream about me, hmm?"

You narrowly avoid whiplash when you turn to look at Wonwoo, his teasing only another addition to the list of things you didn't think you'd hear your brother's best friend every say to you. But the more you know, huh?

The movie itself is insane. The plot is devastating enough on its own but the way Wonwoo's shoulder pressed into yours the whole time, despite there being more than enough space between the two seats, has you more vulnerable than usual. So find yourself tearing up halfway through the movie and sit through the credits with half-contained sobs. And where Wonwoo had laughed at your tears mid-way, when he noticed your sobs, his hand found your back, rubbing it comfortingly.

"That was horrific," you mumble when you're less overcome with sadness and pout at Wonwoo. "I hate you for making me watch that. I will never find happiness. And worse, I will never find love."

Your words, punctuated with that small pout of yours, has Wonwoo a breath away from falling to his knees with his head in hands because fuck, you're adorable. And truth be told, he was tearing up at the end, too, but he wouldn't let you know that because the way you accuse him for your state is just incredibly precious to him.

"It was terrific," he corrects you, "And I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd get so emotional."

You glare at Wonwoo at that, as if you hadn't just been dabbing at your eyes with his pocket tissues, "Okay, Mister Emotionless, don't think I didn't catch you wiping tears away in the closing scene."

Wonwoo shoots a guilty grin and pats your head, "You're cute."

The statement leaves you speechless enough that Wonwoo gets away with it, starting to walk away with a gaping you in his wake. You're deeply confused and slightly jittery when you finally catch up to him with a small "I wasn't trying to be" of affront under your breath.

–

"That's bad, right, isn't it? It's so bad. It's horrible."

"Calm down, Y/N, he called you cute, just so we're clear? Not a bunch of bad words right? So why is it bad?"

"Because!" you cry out, "Because cute is like the most platonic adjective. I thought we were having a moment, what with a movie date and all– but if he thinks I'm cute then I was wrong. So unbelievably wrong."

"Okay, I know what you mean but that's not always how things work. I mean, you said he held your hand and stuff, right? That's more than platonic. And it's all about the tone. Cute can be a very romantic word if in the right context."

"The context," you tell Karina with a sigh, "is that he's my brother's best friend! He couldn't make it any clearer. Wow, and I was all up in my head over him, too."

"Can we just take a moment to acknowledge how I told you that you still had feelings for Wonwoo?"

"We will do no such thing. Because the feelings are gone now!"

"Right. I believe you, Y/N," Karina deadpans over the phone, "You can call me when you're done being an idiot. Bye."

–

It's Karina's sarcastic tone that your thoughts catch onto the next few days, the ones you spend half in agony because Wonwoo hasn't contacted you and after your personal dilemma, you think you'd let someone shoot you before you texted him first.

So you try your best to distract yourself with work, showing up earlier than you'd built a reputation for, and staying a little later than most. It's a new routine for you, one that leaves you pretty tired in a way that your bones are not used to.

Maybe that's why your legs don't seem to be working that morning when you bump into someone on your way to the coffee machine. You'd been rubbing your neck, trying to feel out the knot that you'd woken up with, and had effectively lost track of where you were going and collided with a solid figure, sending a few steps back.

You sigh as you regain your balance, ever so thankful that you didn't fall flat on your butt as you look up at the person in front you. He's tall enough that you should've seen him coming so you're first to apologize. "Shit, sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going. Sorry about that!"

"No, no, I should've been more careful. I'm lucky I wasn't carrying a coffee or that could've been really bad. I'm sorry." The man's voice is hoarse and he talks over himself, as if eager to get all his thoughts before he forgets what he's saying.

You meet his eyes with a small smile, "I guess we're both at fault, huh?"

He reciprocates your smile with crescent eyes. "Yup. Can I get you a coffee as reparation?"

"I mean, it's not a big deal at all."

"I insist," the man levels his gaze at you and you wonder how he looks like he could throw you across the room without breaking a sweat, but still manages to be so soft.

"I'm Mingyu, by the way," he tells you as he hands you a cup of warm coffee. "Thanks Mingyu. I'm Y/N."

"I've seen you around. You were a new hire, right?"

You take your time with a sip of your coffee before responding, "Yes, I was originally at another branch but my leader wanted me closer to headquarters before they opened up new branches in this city. I don't know, something exposure for me and experience for them."

"You must be good if they sent you here," Mingyu points out and you brush it off with a noncomittal shrug. You find yourself pleasantly enamoured by Mingyu for the next ten minutes or so and you wonder how you'd missed him at all in the first place. But when he tells you he better get going, you nod with a smile, "Of course. It was nice meeting you, Mingyu."

Mingyu becomes the perfect distraction, as one might predict he would. He has a unique charm, what with the contrast between his intimidating physique but surprisingly shy demeanour. He's the textbook golden retriever in people and though you're not a dog person, you find yourself grow fonder of him every time you run into him near the coffee machine or while leaving work in the elevator.

"You have a work crush?"

You groan loudly, throwing a half-eaten cracker at Joshua. "Come on, what is it with all the people I know and having the most childish vocabulary?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I not erudite enough for you? You know it may not seem like it but I am four years older than you and I have that much more–"

"Yeah, yeah, something about experience and knowledge, I've heard it before. And by the way, it's technically three years and three months, not that I'm counting."

"You very clearly are," Joshua points out with a frustrated laugh, "Anyway, you gonna make a move on this guy?"

"No, because if you were actually listening to me, you'd have heard that I like him as a friend and that I need help buying a gift for his birthday."

"Right, right," your brother mumbles in thought, "And that's next week?"

You nod as you pick your phone up, scrolling through the chat with Mingyu to reach the text he'd sent you a day ago: by the way, i'm throwing for my birthday on the 6th. love it if you came ;)

Winky emoji and slightly short notice aside, you'd replied as enthusiastically as you could muster: your birthday??? when were you going to tell me!! and: ofc i'll be there but not before i make you suffer for hiding smth so imp from me :(((

Before you can squeeze any more vaguely helpful tips from Joshua, his bell rings and you sit up with a frown as he stands up to get it. "Ah, Wonwoo's here."

"Wonwoo?" is your shocked gasp to that information, body going stiff because you'd seen him only in passing since the day of the movie. You think you might pass out. Why does nobody think it's important to tell you anything these days?

You hear their voices in the corridor as Joshua lets Wonwoo in and your mind races with your options. Hiding in the bathroom for the night would be feasible if your brother wasn't a monster who would drag you out within thirty minutes. Maybe you climb out a window? But you were on the eight floor and as much as you liked to joke about death, you'd prefer to escape alive.

Your brother's voice breaks you out of your scheming, alerting you they're in the living room. "Oh yeah, Y/N, here's someone with not childish vocabulary if you want to replace me."

You look over your shoulder with a scowl but immediately lose your spirit when you lock eyes with Wonwoo, a lopsided smile greeting you. He's wearing a cozy sweater that's a shade of blue so dark that it might as well be black and you want to start crying because his hands are concealed beneath the sleeves, fists turned sweater paws as he stands there, looking between you and your brother.

"Why are you two fighting this time?"

"Nothing." "She has a crush at work."

Wonwoo lets out a sigh when you both answer simultaneously but seems intrigued by Joshua's statement, eyeing him. "What did you say?"

"She has a–"

"I'm warning you, if you say the word crush one more time, I will do something so unimaginable to your face at night–"

"She likes a guy from work."

Wonwoo looks surprised as he looks back at you inquisitively and you frown. "Untrue. It's just a guy I made friends with recently. And I only mentioned him so I could get advice but clearly, nobody here supports me so I'm going to take this conversation elsewhere."

"I support you." Wonwoo's quick response has you freezing in your dramatic exit and you turn to look at him in doubt but when his expression is clear of any mischief, you sit back down.

"Nice to know. But I'd love it if we talked about something else for now. Like dinner."

The night takes on a more comfortable journey from thereon, with the three of you ordering take-out and fighting it out with a card game while it was on its way. You were actually proud of yourself for acting normal around Wonwoo, despite all your past internal conflict. And you would've gone to sleep somewhat peacefully if he hadn't approached you in the kitchen, while Joshua was taking out trash, having lost the game.

You were placing the leftovers in the fridge when Wonwoo materialized behind you, the only warning of his presence the question he asks you, "You want any help?"

You barely hold in a surprised squeak as you spin around to him. "Goddamn it, Wonwoo, make some noise next time you sneak up on me?"

"Then I wouldn't be sneaking up on you, would I?"

You roll your eyes, closing the fridge behind you as you declare, "Well, I'm done here. Thanks for washing the dishes, by the way."

"Sure, I know how much you Hongs hate touching water. I was surprised you installed a faucet in your kitchen at all."

You give Wonwoo a push in response, "That's a very funny way to conceal the fact that you lost at rock paper scissors."

"I just think it was an unfair way to decide tasks. I'm really bad at that game."

"Right, and assuming one can be good or bad at a game of rock paper scissors, what else would you have preferred to play?"

Wonwoo's eyes twinkle with an idea and then, he puts up a hand and wiggles it around in your face. "Arm wrestling."

Your smile falls, "No. That's just–"

"See," he points at you, "That's how I feel about rock paper scissors."

Despite how much you claim that the two games are not at all on the same par, you let Wonwoo drag you to the kitchen table, standing across from you and arm ready for the wrestling. Slowly, you lean closer to him, hand coming to rest against his.

"Don't be too cocky," you mumble when his hand squeezes yours, already triumphant before the game had begun. The result of the game itself is pretty obvious but when you start to wrestle and feel Wonwoo's forearm tense against you, it has you light-headed. Your eyes leave the match to look at him, only to find him watching you with a glint in his eye. He smiles when you make eye-contact with him, going strangely silent for all his gloating a minute ago. You raise a brow at him and the bastard has the audacity to send a wink your way before pressing your arm against the wood of the table.

"Whatever," you tell him before his already obnoxious grin can swell any more. He opens his mouth and you're already anticipating something insulting to meet your eyes. But instead, Wonwoo says, "Your hand's so small." You look up at him only for him to take your hand in his and carefully line it against his own palm.

You feel your cheeks burn. It's all so cliché, especially if he's flirting with you. Arm-wrestling turns into a hand-measuring contest. So trite. And yet, you find yourself smiling.

"See?" your hand wriggles, imitiating Wonwoo from earlier, "This game was rigged. Maybe if you had a handicap or something."

"Okay, I think I better leave before you take a knife and cut my hand up or something…"

–

wonwoo: hello you

you: hi?

wonwoo: heard there's live music at the pub today. wanna come with?

you: ok creep

wonwoo: excuse me??? just informed you of a one in lifetime opportunity. shua's treating

you: WAIT he is???????

you: the one time i can't come?

wonwoo: you can't?

you: yes… have to attend a coworker's birthday party tonight. sorry :(

wonwoo: u should be sorry

wonwoo: imagine how much damage we could've done to joshua's wallet

You throw yourself into your sheets with a disappointed sigh, stomach uneasy at the thought of missing a hang-out with your favorite duo. But then you roll over to your side and think it's better if you go out with people who you didn't grow up with, for once. It might be a new experience. Just to be clear, this was Karina's voice resounding in your head. She had her way of giving you advice without you calling her for it.

Three hours later, you're tiring yourself out at Mingyu's birthday party. It's intense, the party, bustling with people but then again, you'd be a fool to think Mingyu wouldn't have a roster full of friends to invite to a party. You meet the man of the night an hour into the party and he throws his hands around when he recognizes you.

"Y/N, I'm so glad you could make it!"

"Of course. Happy birthday, Mingyu!"

He leans over the bar and yells something at the bartender who eyes Mingyu and upon recognizing him as the birthday boy, places two shots in front of you.

"Have a shot with me?" Mingyu grins, a slight layer of sweat shining on his forehead. You chuckle in defeat, "Sure, why not?"

A shot turns into two and you're working on swallowing the third one when your phone buzzes in the back-pocket of your denim shorts. You're about to take a look at the caller ID and decline almost immediately but when you realize it's Wonwoo calling you, you pause. You excuse yourself from Mingyu's side quickly, making your way to a slightly quieter cornern of the party and answer.

"Wonwoo?"

"Oh," comes Wonwoo's voice, a little distant, and he seems shocked as if he hadn't expected you to pick up. "Hey, Y/N. How are you?"

"Um. I'm fine, Wonwoo, just at that party I told you about. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. You're not too drunk, are you?" he asks, ironically slurring the question.

"I should be asking you that question. Wonwoo, where's Joshua? Do you need me to come pick you up?"

"No," his voice is laced with disbelief, "I'm fine. Just a little tipsy. Sorry, you should get back to the party."

"Yeah," you reply, feeling a little uneasy as the liquid in your stomach sloshes around with each movement you make.

"Stay safe, Y/N. Call me if you need anything? I'm gonna go find Shua now."

Before you can ask him what he means by finding Joshua, Wonwoo's hung up on you, almost as quickly as he called you. Okay, so that was weird. And cool, now you're nauseous.

–

When Wonwoo drunk-calls you, he thinks he's officially lost you. If you didn't find him weird before, you probably thought him a lot weird now. That's great, he thinks. But the regret of his decision doesn't outweigh the need to see you right now, something about the fact that you're at some guy's birthday party making him all worked up. It should be obvious why he's like this but Wonwoo can avoid a serious thought for days if it keeps him slightly more sane than usual.

But then the Joshua's bell rings and he opens the door, finding you standing there just like he'd imagined a few minutes ago. You're in a slouchy shirt that unbuttoned all the way to your mid-torso to reveal a black bikini top. He clears his throat to contain the thought that threatens to escape him: fuck, you look hot.

"Shit," you exclaim when you see Wonwoo, "This isn't my place. Ugh. I'm stupid."

Wonwoo steps closer to you, "Are you okay, Y/N? Did you just get back?"

You nod silently and then take a step back from him. "Sorry, I'm just gonna go to the right place. You can sleep… or whatever."

"Wait, no," he rushes to your side, taking your elbow in his hand, "I'll help you."

You roll your eyes, "It's okay, I'm not drunk, Wonwoo. And by the looks of it, neither are you." But you don't push off the hand on you and simply let him follow you to your door, "Is Shua already asleep?"

"Hmm, he passed out. I don't know why he claims to be heavyweight when he can barely handle alcohol. I had force him to leave the pub before he made himself sick."

You listen intently, unlocking the door with a hum, "He's an idiot." You throw the door open and Wonwoo lets himself in after you. He's clearly not too sober because when you bend down to take of your shoes and your ass juts out dangerously close to his crotch, he almost falls over in an attempt to jump away to give you space. But he remains close just in case you stumble, his own shaky state be damned.

But you're unnervingly stable as you stand back up, taking your hand off the wall when you're done taking your shoes off and brushing them against yourself with a suspicious look thrown at him– unnerving because Wonwoo just wants an excuse to get his hands on you somehow. You're effortlessly magnetic, moving across the hall to your kitchen to pour yourself some water, still unebelievably stable, and Wonwoo follows you in a trance-like manner.

"You want something to drink?"

Your question hangs in complete silence and it's only when you look over at Wonwoo that he comprehends that you're asking him. He clears his throat again, "Um, I don't want to bother you if you want to go to bed."

You raise a shoulder nonchalantly, "'M not sleepy. And you're here so we might as well hang." You disappear from his sight as you crouch down behind the counter, sliding open a shelf, "I have some shiraz I've been meaning to break open, if you're up for it?"

"Oh, that sounds great actually," he replies and you reappear with two wine glasses in your hand. You beam at him and he feels a thrill down his spine, recognizing the set you'd bought with him. "Great. Go sit in the living room and I'll be right there."

"No, I'll help you get the stuff."

You pause your movements toward the liquor shelf, "Come on, I thought it was clear I'm not drunk by now."

"I know," Wonwoo walks closer to you, picking up the glasses you'd set down earlier, "Just want to be here with you."

You turn back around and Wonwoo doesn't know it's to hide the flush that colors your face at his confession. You spend a minute too long picking out the shiraz to recover and you're glad Wonwoo also doesn't know that you could pick the bottle of red out without actually looking.

"Geez, I've got sand in my feet now," you complain as you take your first sip of the wine from your glass when you catch sight of the particles lodged in your toes.

"Sand?" questions Wonwoo as he leans over to get a look.

"Yeah, it was a beach-themed party," you tell him. He nods, thinking that your outfit makes a lot more sense now. "Mingyu's a silly guy for someone who's turning twenty-five."

"Mingyu, huh?" Wonwoo tries out the name, watching out for how you react. You don't give away much, simply taking another sip but your chest burns for reasons other than alcohol.

"Hmm, yeah."

"So do you like him? Joshua seems pretty convinced about it."

You hide your face against the couch, "Fuck Joshua. He's an idiot."

"So you've said."

"No, but really. Mingyu's a sweet guy and all, but he's… not my type."

Now this is something Wonwoo can work with, relief flooding his veins at your honest reply. "What is your type?"

You meet Wonwoo's gaze for the first time in this conversation and groan again. In your head, you can't help but be burdened by how unbelievably cliché your situation is. Your brother's best friend sitting next to you swirling a glass of red wine, asking you about the guy you liked when it was clearly him you liked. In fact, you think your entire relationship with Wonwoo's always been full of clichés: falling for his charm as a youth and growing into the feelings long after, hanging out with him as grown-ups, going on dates that are left unlabelled, measuring hands with him for fuck's sake– It was a little too on the nose, you think.

But you don't tell Wonwoo any of this, maybe because you're too scared to or maybe you'd liked to see the plot thicken a little. "I don't have a type."

Wonwoo is surprisingly quick to leave the topic alone after that and you're thankful, but half-irked because you'd hoped for more. But you can't complain when he has you wrapped up in a completely different conversation, distracting enough that you can barely remember how you finished the wine in your glass.

"Want a refill?" he asks you when the empty glasses have been sitting on the coffee table for long enough.

"Mhm, I think I'll have some apple juice instead."

"As you wish."

He doesn't even bother asking you where you keep your juice and takes off with the glasses to the kitchen. You watch him keenly, letting your heart lead your mind for a little as you take in how cozy the night is when you're in Wonwoo's company.

It's with that uncontrollable giddy smile on your face that Wonwoo catches you.

"Happy about something?" he asks, placing a cup with golden liquid in front of you and keeping his glass of wine next to it.

"Yeah. About everything. I'm happy."

Wonwoo smiles, arm reaching to your side and squeezing your hand in a way that leaves you thinking that you might actually like physical touch more than you've been led to think. "I like the sound of that."

Your smile only turns goofier. "What about you? Are you happy?"

He huffs out a breathy laugh, "I'm not too bad myself. Things have been looking up recently."

Fucking fuck, even everything you say to each other sounds like it's been said before, somewhere else in an idealistic movie about two people slowly falling in love with each other. But you can't get yourself to hate the idea so you simply shift closer to him.

Wonwoo notices, obviously, and smiles a little because he notices the light dusting of red on your cheeks. Your hair's come undone from what was presumably a low bun at the back of your head and he has an itch to brush the strands away from your face– a thought that if you were privy to would only be an addition the list titled reasons why wonwoo and you are a straight-up cliché.

But you find out soon anyway, because Wonwoo acts on the itch, hand coming to cup your face before a few fingers find the crown of your head, gently tucking the stray hair behind your ear.

You hum in satisfaction and Wonwoo's heart hammers, thinking that is probably the best reaction he could've hoped for. He takes a sip of the wine in his hand and moves to rest his face on his fist.

Except you intercept him mid-way, closing the space between you with a noise of surprise that Wonwoo lets out when he feels your warm lips against his. The shock causes the wine in his mouth to bleed into yours, just like you'd hoped, and before Wonwoo can act on your advance, you've already pulled back.

Your smile is warm with shyness when you notice the starstruck expression on Wonwoo's face. "Sorry, I wanted to taste the wine."

Wonwoo's silent as he processes this, moving slower thanks to the wine in his sytsem and now– the feeling of your kiss on his mind. When he does break from the silence, he moves to take another sip of wine and this time it's him crossing over to you, big palm steadying your jaw so he can spill into you, literally and not. You let out a little noise this time, not expecting him to reciprocate your shameless move but delighted anyway as you move against his mouth.

There's a third kiss. And you pull away with a dreamy sigh because really, this was straight out of your dreams. Wonwoo rests his head on his hand like he'd intended to about three kisses earlier and watches as you avert your gaze, suddenly bashful. You fix your gaze on the coffee table, proud that you'd finally chosen to place it opposite the couch instead of near the bookshelf.

"I haven't dated anyone for a while, you know," Wonwoo suddenly blurts out, your hair once again in your face when you turn to face him. "I was in a pretty… fucked-up relationship after high school and that made me give up on love altogether."

You listen attentively, eyes on his as he tells about the person he was with, voice dropping to a soft octave. When he finishes you find his hands with a smile, "Thank you for telling me that. And I'm sorry. You deserve so much better than that. You're a pretty solid guy."

"Really?" Wonwoo's mood turns light again at your comment and you try to maintain your composure, reminding yourself that his smile might be casual but your words still hold weight.

"Yeah, you're a rare find, Wonwoo. Quiet but not boring, witty yet funny, tall but nice to hug."

You bite your lip at that last part, clearly giving yourself away. But Wonwoo's eyes light up anyway, "Nice to hug, huh? That's a new compliment. Glad to know."

You can feel him lean closer to you without looking because his voice is closer to your ears. Flustered, you reach for your abandoned apple juice and take a sip, but overestimate your own sobriety because you manage to spill a third of it on yourself. "Fuck," you curse under your breath and throw your head back against the couch in frustration over yourself.

"Fuck," Wonwoo echoes you, shifting beside you, "You okay? Wait here, I'll get you a towel." He's already standing up by the time you have it in you to find your footing. You stop him with a slightly damp hand on his arm.

"It's okay, I'll just go throw this in the laundry. Needed to change anyway."

Wonwoo nods as he makes way so you can pad lightly to your room, ears adorably red. He lets out a heavy breath when you close the door behind you though, placing a hand against chest because the sight of your half-exposed chest slightly wet with juice– well, it was doing more things to him that he'd like. Your low expletive followed by your limp body hadn't helped his wild imagination either, instantly wondering what it might be like to run his hands through–

"All right, that's it. I need some fresh air." Fresh air so he could feel less like a pervert and more like… normal. And it helps to step out onto your balcony, the scenery of the moonlit night a pleasant surprise to his senses. He hums happily, almost forgetting about his preoccupied thoughts entirely.

And then he hears your voice resound in the living room faintly. He calls out your name, telling you to come out to the balcony, and a minute later, you step out, now clad in a cozy night set, matching blue shirt with shorts. "Hey," you mumble as you join him near the railing, body visibly relaxing in the night air. "Woah, it's nice here."

"It is, isn't it?"

"Yeah, this is actually my first time coming out here since I moved in. I always figured this place would be full of spider webs and like bird shit."

Wonwoo chuckles, "I mean we're probably standing on something that's not supposed to be here but it's for us to worry about tomorrow."

–

When you wake up the next morning, it takes you a good amount of groaning and screaming to figure out if last night was real. Taking shots with Mingyu at his birthday bash? Understandable. Receiving a call from a self-proclaimed tipsy Wonwoo? Confusing but not impossible. Inviting Wonwoo over for wine and ending up making out with him? Insane.

What's worse, you couldn't really remember how the night had ended, a consequence of your inebriated self combining with sleep deprivation. But that was a pretty important thing to remember, wasn't it? It could be difference between a regretful farewell and a promising one. You don't know which one would ease the storm in your stomach faster.

You roll over to unlock your phone and sit up when you see you have two unread texts. And then, you see they're both from Mingyu.

mingyu: thanks for coming last night :D

mingyu: sorry i couldn't see u out. hope you made it home safe!

You sigh in barely contained disappointment as you throw your phone back into the sheets, looking up at the ceiling. You suppose you ought to do something about the Mingyu situation soon but right now, you find the idea of suffocating in your bedsheets for the next two hours much more comforting.

–

See now, this right here is your problem. As much as you complained about hating being a cliché, you kind of wish your situation with Wonwoo was more of a cliché because right now doesn't exactly feel like something out of a film.

It feels like hard cold reality. And it's not the first time either.

1: things will happen between you and Wonwoo: he holds your hand, he kisses your lips.

2: he doesn't text you about it and you're too much of a coward to force him out of his shell.

3: things end up all in the air. And now, you're miserable.

But later that evening, you find out there's more to this list of not-so-cliché things that happen between you and Wonwoo.

4: you run into Wonwoo at your brother's place.

He's so casual, too, dressed in a plaid shirt and lounging on Joshua's couch, gaming his time away. You almost immediately regretting making an impromptu trip to your brother's place but it's too late to back out because Joshua's already set the dinner table for three. How you despise your extroverted, loving brother.

"Did you make that deadline you were complaining about yesterday?" Joshua asks you over a spoonful of his soup. You nod, "Yeah, turns out it was easier when I stopped whining about it."

Wonwoo lets out a laugh, earning him a look from you which you quickly retract, going back to your quiet self when the two engage in conversation. You're glad to ignore but they find it less than easy to, given how unusual your disengagement is. Wonwoo does have an idea for your mood but he doesn't feel like discussing it with your brother just yet.

So when Joshua asks him, "Do you know what's up with her?" when you excuse yourself to the bathroom, Wonwoo stiffens. Why was he asking Wonwoo? … Had he been obvious?

"Dunno. Maybe work's busy or something."

"You think I should go pester her with some ice-cream later tonight?"

"Best if you don't do that. She might disown you."

"That's like legally impossible, Wonwoo. Right?"

When you take an unexpectedly long time in the bathroom, Joshua goes on. "Did something happen between you two?"

Again, Wonwoo tenses up. "...No. Why do you ask?"

"I mean, she seemed fine yesterday when she came over. So I don't think I'm the problem here. Not that I'm accusing you of anything. Just… I know y'all have been bonding recently."

Wonwoo averts his gaze, deeply uncomfortable with this chat. "Um, yeah, I guess."

"Listen, man, I don't mean to take on the older brother tone in this conversation or anything but…" Joshua sighs as he plays with a leftover piece of bread, "You know I'm okay if something does happen with you and her, right? I trust you. And well, she was an adult long before me so I hardly have a say there."

Wonwoo stares at his half-empty glass of water, frowning. "Okay, cool." His answer is curt because he's still caught off-guard by this conversation. He'd wanted to bring up the developments between you himself, in his own way, but this left him a little panicked. Like, he was being rushed to make a move. And his brain ended up shutting down in the process.

…but it really wasn't the best time for his malfunction, given that you'd managed to overhear a good half of that conversation, specifically on the Joshua asking Wonwoo about you and him being indifferent about it. What was he thinking? What were you thinking?

5: you storm out of dinner without an explanation. you pretend you don't hear wonwoo call after you when you do. his texts that night go unanswered.

How's that for a cliché, huh?

–

These days, you're trying find the joy in small things. Like waking up to your very first alarm for the morning. Or brewing an especially aromatic coffee at home.

Like making it to the end of a phone-call with Karina without talking about Wonwoo.

"Oh, wait, before I forget to ask, how did it go with Wonwoo?"

Almost.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, "Not too well. I mean, we kissed. But then, he didn't text me for like three days after. Then I run into him at Joshua's and he acts all… cold. And judging by that one conversation I overheard, he thinks everything that happened between us was a mistake."

"Okay, okay, hold your horses, friend, I feel like a lot happened there. You kissed? Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?!" Karina sounds genuinely upset and you let out a groan.

"Well, I was trying to stop bringing up Wonwoo every time we catch up. It's annoying and I want to hear more about your life than complain about mine."

"We can both complain about our lives, Y/N. I have all the time in the world. At least till six. Anyway, that's besides the point! You kissed but he ghosted you afterward? And did he actually say he thought it was all a mistake?"

You bite your lip in rumination and then admit, "He didn't actually say that but it was implied. You would agree if you'd heard the same conversation as I!"

As it turns out, Karina doesn't seem to approve of the conclusion you've come to all on your own. But then you point out that it's been over a week and it's been radio silence. So you have every right to feel as hurt as you do.

"I suppose you do. But still, it wouldn't hurt to approach him first."

"I would rather die."

"Okay, well, maybe find out how he's doing from Joshua?"

"Will not."

"You're being difficult right now, Y/N. What do you want to do then?"

"I want to move on and not think about Wonwoo. Maybe I should go on a blind date or something."

"We're not in a movie right now, man, plus, I'm pretty sure you were the one who swore your life to finding love organically and whatnot."

"...Gah, I was hoping you'd forgotten about that. Fine, I'll do… something."

Your words are nothing if not misleading because by something, you don't mean to communicate with Wonwoo like a sane person might. Instead you check up on Mingyu, who you've still been succesfully making small talk at work with, and ask him if he wanted to get dinner. The enthusiasm with which he responds is comforting, a relieving contrast from the tension in your relationship with you-know-who.

mingyu: omg i woud love to

mingyu: but im unfortuntely busy tonight :((((

mingyu: would you be down for tomorrow? i can make some killer spaghetti if given the opportunity

you: make???? i was thinking of buying the food… but i won't turn that offer down

mingyu: i'm a man of many talents ;)

You work out the details of the date (neither of you call it that, but it's understood to be one) over the night and you feel a little uneasy as the afternoon of the day comes to a close. Either way, you find a comfortable dress that is flattering against your skin and welcome Mingyu into your place, letting his excitement work its contagious magic.

If you're following the plot line of this story closely, you'd figure out that the next cliché is this: Wonwoo behind the door across from your home, just now learning about this date of yours with Mingyu.

He's broken his pledge to himself and asked Joshua about you, after having missed seeing you there for the past week. Joshua had hesitated to respond but is honest anyway, muttering, "I think she has a date over."

"A date?" is Wonwoo instantaneous question, barely-concealed dread underlying in its tone.

"Yeah, remember that guy from work whose birthday she attended?" Joshua pretends to have forgotten his name but his best friend is quick to chime in, "Mingyu?"

But you'd told him he was just a friend. You'd called him sweet for fuck's sake, and that was the most platonic adjective you could use for a potential love interest. Well, he's been proven wrong by your date tonight.

He looks down at his clasped palms, the same ones that were intertwined with your skin, first the skin of your hands, then your cheek when he'd leaned into kiss you. And if he hadn't spent the last four days regretting every minute he didn't call you up, he sure did want to punch a hole in the fabric of time right about now.

"You okay there, buddy?"

Joshua's concern brings Wonwoo back to his body and he looks up, lips pursed and your brother thinks how ridiculous it is that both of you won't just talk it out. But he keeps that judgement to himself, choosing to sit back and watch his best friend pace it out.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Fine. Really fine. I'm okay." He clears his throat, the first tell. "I'm just… um, a little hot. It's hot in here, huh."

Joshua tames his bemused smile. "Is it? I just turned up the air-con though?"

"Oh, well, it's just me then. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, um, I love this video game."

"Wonwoo, we were in the middle of choosing a card game to play."

"Fuck. Okay, sorry, just give me a minute, I need to go call… my mother."

"No worries, my guy, give Mrs. Jeon my greetings!"

Across the hall, you're busy watching over Mingyu as he makes his way around your kitchen. You say watching over because really, the man is so clumsy in his own feet, you wonder how he's lived this long. You have to make sure he doesn't cut a limb off every two seconds.

But then your phone buzzes urgently in your pocket and you pull it out, the light smile playing on your face falling when Wonwoo's name pops up on your screen. Now he texts you?

wonwoo: hey! you think we could talk?

You lock your screen almost as soon as you read the message because honestly, you don't have time to dwell over this man in your phone when there's a whole another person cooking you dinner in front of you. That's what ends up leaving a heartbroken Wonwoo, slumped on Joshua's couch as he barely zones into the movie that was playing on the screen.

Joshua's had it with sitting around when Wonwoo stays unmoving throughout the ending credits– the man hates the credits for crying out loud!-- and instead decides to play cupid. It wasn't ideal, having to set up his sister with his best friend but well, any commoner could see how clearly you were meant to be with each other and he'd rather not have to listen to both sides' misery.

It's okay timing, you've finished eating dinner with Mingyu, showering his food with compliments the whole time and flustering with your genuine shock at his abilities the whole night. He's helping you clean up with a cheeky grin on his face whenever he leans in a little too close to place a utensil back in its place and you let a smile overtake your face. But you can barely let yourself enjoy the date because if Wonwoo ill-timed text wasn't enough, you're done for when both him and Joshua show up at your door.

"What the fuck?" you ask your brother because you're positive you told him you had a date tonight and then you spot a spaced out Wonwoo next to him, and suddenly put two and two together.

Wonwoo's eyes never leave your figure, taking in how beautiful the blue dress you were wearing was and how you'd put your hair up in a half-bun, a few strands framing your face prettily. He feels sick, first in a good way and then Mingyu pops up behind you, and now Wonwoo's sick in a bad way. The tall man looks so comfortable next to you, arm brushing against yours as he raises his eyebrows in confusion at the two intruders.

"Sorry, Gyu, these are…" you start to introduce them as they are and then, find a particularly provoking way to put it, "...my brothers."

Wonwoo might actually throw up right here and right now. Gyu? Brothers???

Joshua butts in quickly, "Well, technically, I'm Y/N's older brother, and this is Wonwoo, my friend."

"Ohhh," Mingyu nods in understanding, bowing when he realizes Joshua's your sibling, "Nice to meet you. I'm Mingyu and I work with Y/N."

Before you know it, Joshua works his charms on Mingyu and suddenly, date night for two turns into family night for four. You watch in dismay as your date spends a full hour talking to your brother about one thing and another, actually considering setting them up for a minute. And then, Mingyu glances at his watch and sighs, telling you he needs to take off.

Joshua, devil incarnate, offers to walk Mingyu out and before you can protest, Mingyu accepts (????) and you watch helplessly as your brother leaves you alone with Wonwoo, narrowly missing the pointed look Joshua sends his best friend on his way out.

The room now silent with them gone, you stand up with a wary sigh, patting down your dress. Wonwoo's watching and you know because the first words he says that evening are, "You look beautiful tonight."

You hate how the heat creeps up your neck immediately at his beck and call. But you keep from telling him off because even that would mean you caving in.

But then he follows you to the kitchen, steps in tandem as you pretend to busy yourself with the dishes. The space between you is small though and you end up bumping into the man trying to reach for the fridge. He takes the chance and holds your wrist in his hand. "Hey," he breathes, "You won't even look at me?"

"No, I've seen enough."

"I'm assuming that includes the text I sent you tonight. And the ones before that?"

God, you hate how good Wonwoo is at frustrating you. You snap, "Don't act like this is on me, Wonwoo. You're the one who pretends like nothing's happened between us."

"Really? Because a lot's happened between us, Y/N. A lot of things that haven't happened with you and that Mingyu."

You scoff, brushing his hand off your wrist. "That is so typical of you. Coming around because you're jealous? But you can't stand to tell my brother something happened between us? What is this, a game to you?"

Wonwoo freezes when he considers what you've said. "Did Shua say something to you?"

You cross your arms, "No. I overheard you telling him. I can't believe it though. I really thought we had something good going for us."

You break away from the arm that Wonwoo raises to keep you close and throw yourself onto your couch with an exasperated sniffle. This couch sure has seen a lot, you think wistfully, silently listening as Wonwoo's footsteps came closer. He's sitting next to you then, hesitant arm around you.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I'm really sorry. What you heard was… me being an idiot. I wasn't ready to talk about it with Shua so soon. I meant everything happened so fast. I hadn't exactly planned on falling for my best friend's sister, you know? Or kissing her in her apartment either. But it happened and I'm so glad it did. I was just slow at processing it. I'm sorry."

You groan. "It's not completely your fault, I guess. I just wish you would've talked to me about it. I felt so alone the whole time."

Suddenly Wonwoo's moving up from next to you and dropping onto his knees so that you're now meeting his eyes. He looks concerned, mouth ajar as he takes your hands in his. "Are you with Mingyu?"

You let out a sound of disbelief, "No! I'm– I just called him over because I was mad at you! I thought you thought it was a mistake so I…"

"I don't. And I never did. I'm just scared. But I shouldn't have made that your problem. I love hanging out with you though and I especially love kissing you. It would be great if you'd let me take you out on a date instead, please?"

And in that moment with Wonwoo on his knees in front of you, looking at you like you'd just told him he would live forever, you don't think you could do anything but say yes.

–

"You think we're a cliché?!"

You flinch at Wonwoo's shocked question after you'd revealed to him the mental list of clichés that you embodied in your relationship with him. He's nearly seething when he finds out you're not joking.

"Y/N, you know that's the meanest thing you could ever say to me? Am I really that bad a boyfriend?"

"Woo, my love, will you calm down?" you take one of his hands in yours, "I don't think clichés are as bad as you think they are. They're cliché for a reason! It's because they're meant to be done over and over again. They're tried and true."

"Tried and trite, more like."

"Come on, Woo, you can't act like you don't see it! From the very beginning!"

He takes a lick at his gelato and you smile when you see him softening a little. You stop walking and stand in his way, barely concerned about the strangers littering the small ice-cream shop when you press a kiss to his lips. "I love you," you mumble against his ice-cold mouth. He shoots you a look that informs you that he knows what you're doing but he shoots back, " I love you, too."

"And love itself is cliché, don't you think?"

Wonwoo closes his eyes as if in physical pain while you uncontrollably laugh. "I knew I shouldn't have fallen for that! You're trying to make me cry in public, aren't you?"

"Aww, it's okay to cry, Woo, baby. Emotions are only natural–"

"I'm calling Shua and asking him to pick you up. I'm leaving."

"Okay, I went too far. Don't make me commute with my brother, I beg you."

–

"Love, you ready to go?" you hear Wonwoo ask from the living room. You'd banished him to the couch after he'd made it his life mission to get in your way while you tried to get ready for your date. Well, double date actually. Karina was visiting you on break with her boyfriend, Taeyong, and she'd asked if you'd be down to get dinner with them. You had never agreed to dinner plans faster.

"I am," you call back, just as you smear on lipstick, checking your teeth for any missed food particles for good measure. "Can I come in now?"

You can see Wonwoo's silhouette at the door, gingerly watching you from the back for confirmation. You melt with a soft smile, beckoning him in, "Yes. Your exile's over."

Wonwoo celebrates with an exaggerated fist pump and you laugh at his antics when he skips over excitedly. "I'm a free man," he murmurs as his hands naturally slide down your arms to find your fingers. He twirls you around, admiring the black dress you broke out for the ocassion. "You look gorgeous," he says with a kiss to your cheeks.

"Are you quoting Taylor Swift at me?" you ask him with a giggle.

"Who's that?" he questions with a poorly feigned frown of confusion. You roll your eyes but open your arms invitingly, "Will you hug me?"

Hugging had gradually become your favorite part of your skinship with Wonwoo, even more so than kissing, because the way he would shoot you a loving smile before wrapping his arms around and swallowing you into a world of cozy and comfort… yeah, you don't think anything could compare easily. Sometimes, he would hum happily, the vibrations would only soothing you into the embrace further and often your boyfriend had to peel you off him so you could actually get on with your day.

Today, he lets you cling on longer than usual (he likes to say he's rationing his hugs. You tell him he's just a big tease), probably because he's busy relishing in being overwhelmed by your scent and the little kisses you sprinkle across his exposed neck. When he pulls away, you don't complain like normal, instead revealing the stars in your eyes to him. "You're warm. I love this sweater of yours."

It was the same navy sweater that had you sweating over Wonwoo back when you were still going back and forth with your feelings for each other. He chuckles in amusement and then steps away without warning, earning a whine from you. But then he tugs the sweater off and your expressions turns playful.

"Woo," you start warningly, "you know we're meeting them at the restaurant by nine–"

You're stopped mid-sentence when Wonwoo straightens out his garment and commands out, "Raise your arms for me, baby?"

But this is not his bedroom voice, no, no. This is his sappy voice and you already know what he's doing when he pulls the sweater over your head and down your torso. "It looks cute," Wonwoo comments by the time you have the sleeves pulled down properly.

"You know I hate that word, Woo," you complain but he doesn't let you, pecking your forehead. You sigh in defeat and admire the sweater in the mirror, the fabric sitting surprisingly well against the skirt of your dress. You shrug, "I suppose I can work with this new outfit."

"If not, I can always just take it off for you–"

"Okay, we're leaving before you say another word!"

Wonwoo laughs as he lets you pull him out after you, out the living room and into the hallway. He stands next to you, hands in his pocket while he waits for you to lock the door and glances at Joshua's door, wondering what his best friend was up to. You don't give a chance to do something about it though because your hands back on his arm in no time – and he swears you touch his arm for reasons beyond appropriate but you'd rather die than admit to it– and walk into the night.

You meet Karina at a place called Love in the Air and Wonwoo's had listen to you go on, super smug, about how beautifully cliché the name and ambience of the restaurant is. Each dish has a romantic origin, like the shall I compare thee to a summer's day cocktail that Karina and Taeyong share, down to the lipstick-shaped bottles of wine served to your table. And as much as Wonwoo pretends to hate the cliché of love, he still orders the matching Valentine's soup as you just so you can watch his order come out in surprise.

And as much as Wonwoo pretends he doesn't love the cliché of love, when you lean into his arm at the end of the night, already dozing off when he runs his fingers through your scalp, he can't help but let his heart soar with affection for you. And he thinks he would, after all, be in a cliché if it means to end up in your arms night after night.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

hiii oh my god why is this fic actually long!!! i wrote in like a day too so i'm just confused... it was 3k a minute and then 29 pages the other?? that's just wonwoo magic or smth i guess... this was requested and i hope the anon who asked for this enjoys it!!! writing it made a lil sick because of how sappy it is but ... it is what it is.

and consider this me admitting that i wouldn't mind having joshua be my brother... and that's just the flavor of parasocial relationship i'm dealing with these days lol

as always: lots of love to all friends and foes !!

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f1byjessie · 3 months

Text

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part four.

“Saw McLaren posted pics of the new car,” Jack says in lieu of a greeting when he sees you after the weekend. He picks up his pace and crosses the distance to meet you where you’re fumbling with the keys to your “office”, and then he takes a few of the many equipment bags you’re attempting to juggle, saying as he does so, “You take any of those or no?”

You laugh, “Ah, no. They actually hire on a whole studio crew that does that. They’ve got lights, green screens, special camera lenses, the whole lot. The post-production on those photos is mad though.” You get the door unlocked and usher him inside, “I got to sit in on it once, and it’s crazy how much work goes into getting just a couple week’s worth of promotional content.”

He sets your bags down where you direct him to and then offers you a snarky grin, “Still probably would’ve looked cooler if you took ‘em, to be fair.”

It makes you laugh again. Jack seems to be good at that, and it feels nice to get along so well with someone you work with. You’ve found a surprising friend in him. At the end of your conversation on Friday, you’d exchanged numbers and he’d made you promise to reach out if you needed him for anything. You hadn’t, but he’d still sent you an unflatteringly angled picture of Kyle Walker from after their match against Newcastle, followed quickly with━ “use this in the next media drop thx,” and the chatter had gone from there.

You set down your own bags. “Well, thank you. Pretty sure it’s not as fun as this job, though.”

And you mean it. You’ve had opportunities to switch over to studio photography, and though you respect the people who do it and the unique challenges it poses in its own right, there’s nothing like being upfront and personal with all the action, getting to see the athletes in their element and know them on a level that goes beyond an hour or two shoot. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Wait,” you pause, hands stopping just above where you’re ready to start sorting through your equipment, “since when did you keep up with Formula One?”

Jack shrugs. “I don’t. But you work for that team, yeah? So I figured I might as well see what they’re all about.”

“Well, if you need something to do during the summer, let me know and I’ll see what I can do,” you tell him, resuming your sorting. “They give me extra tickets for each race but they usually end up going to waste.”

You don’t bring up the falling out you had with your parents at eighteen when you told them you were going to pursue photography or the fact that you haven’t really talked to them in years because of it. You also don’t mention that due to the strenuous, near-constant traveling and the strict schedule of your job, your friendships are limited to the athletes you work with and the other McLaren staff that travel with you━ all of whom have passes of their own, for obvious reasons.

Jack, thankfully, doesn’t ask about it either. Whether he’s made his own assumptions or respects that it’s probably a sore subject, he leaves it alone and the two of you carry on in companionable silence.

You get your equipment unzipped from the bags and organized across the room per your system, guiding your temporary helper with pointed fingers to where it all should go.

The silence is only broken again when he asks you a question. “You got a favorite driver?”

It’s so out of the blue that you nearly jump, startled by the suddenness of it against the quietness of the room. But then you laugh and shake your head. “Officially no, but just between the two of us, me and Lando started at the same time so he’s got a special place in my heart. He’s also my best friend.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?” Despite the persona he puts on, you think he secretly loves gossip. “How’d he take the news about you being with Ward, then? ‘Cause I’d have some choice things to say to any friend of mine if they got with a prick like that.”

You purse your lips, divert your gaze to avoid Jack’s eyes, and shrug, fiddling with the neck strap of your camera as you do so. “I don’t know.”

“You ‘don’t know?’”

You shrug again and feign checking over the settings as if your camera’s aperture is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “He hasn’t been picking up my calls,” you start, “or answering my texts since the paps released the pics, so.”

When you glance back up, Jack’s making a face. “So, your best friend finds out you’re dating a total bellend, and instead of asking you about it or at the very least taking the piss, he ignores you?”

When he puts it like that, you feel a bit stupid for being more sad than you are angry.

All you can do is shrug.

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yourusername ladies and gentlemen, jack grealish (i was threatened into posting these, send help pls)

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You decide that if Lando gets to be petty, then so do you.

The thing is, you’d told Lando you wouldn’t replace him with any of the guys from Manchester City, and you’d meant it━ you still mean it, despite your frustrations and annoyances with him telling you otherwise.

But if he’s going to play games, then so are you.

Technically you hadn’t started the relationship with Garrett willingly, but Lando doesn’t know that, and even if you had that doesn’t give him the right to go about ignoring you. You’ve been supportive when he’s gotten girlfriends━ you even ate greasy pizza, drank cheap wine, and cried watching The Notebook together when he ended his long-term relationship back in 2022. He could at least pretend to be supportive, or better yet he could pick up the fucking phone.

As pathetic as it sounds, you’d let him yell at and berate you if it just meant he’d answer your calls. Because having Jack around to gossip with and shoot the shit is nice, and he really does help you not feel so alone at Etihad Campus, but Lando’s your best friend and he has been for years now. There’s nobody that understands you as well as he does, even if he is a twat half the time, and what you need now most of all is that particular Lando brand of annoying to cheer you up.

The door opens, drawing your attention from where you’re scrolling through McLaren’s newest posts. Garrett stands in the opening.

The memory of that night still lingers like a bad taste in your mouth, bitter and unpleasant. You’ve managed to avoid him for the most part in the time since then, ignoring the looks he shoots your way out on the field or in the weight room, and lucky enough that his meetings with the physio team keep him preoccupied so that he can’t seek you out in between training sessions. You’d known it was inevitable that you’d have to face him, but that doesn’t stop the dread from pooling in your stomach when you see him standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised as he surveys the makeshift office you’ve done up for yourself.

“They couldn’t find you an actual office?” He comments, looking disdainfully towards your desk and the large Manchester City logo emblazoned across the front.

You shrug, wishing he’d just get to the point. “I’m only here for a few months. Doesn’t matter much to me. What do you want?”

He takes a step farther into the room and closes the door behind him, taking his sweet time to cross the distance toward the seats. When he’s finally lowered down into one, he looks up to you with a nonchalance that fills you immediately with anger.

“I’m making some amendments to our agreement,” he announces.

“Like hell you are.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you seriously expect people to believe we’re a couple if we never actually do anything to give off the impression of being a couple?”

You scowl. Obviously, you hadn’t expected to just skate by on the coattails of pictures from a single night. You’d known from the very beginning that you would eventually need to make another public appearance together at the very least if you wanted to keep the paparazzi fed and encourage the idea to the media that you’re in a committed relationship with one another. You’d just been hoping you would’ve had more time until then.

“I’m not an idiot, Garrett,” you grumble, crossing your arms in your seat. You had been looking through pictures from the day’s morning practice, but now you think having to look at any more of Kevin De Bruyne’s grinning face will make you lose your mind when you feel the furthest thing from happy.

“Obviously,” Garrett scoffs. “But you’re the one who said I get one kiss and nothing more. Newsflash, love━” your scowl deepens, “━couples do more than just kiss one time.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

He pulls his phone from the pocket of his joggers and swipes across the screen for a few moments of anticipatory silence. “Well,” he finally says, “it’s the sixteenth now. We haven’t got a match until the twenty-sixth. Go on a date with me this weekend.”

You can’t say no. There’s no plausible excuse for you to get out of it, and deep down you know the only way you can get rid of Garrett is to just do what he says and hope the media make their conclusions about his change quick enough that you can ditch him before the summer break.

At least during the Formula One season, you can use traveling as a reason to get out of dates. When the Champion’s League starts back up he’ll be traveling around Europe a bit more than he is now, and there’s always a chance you could be in the same country at the same time, but the likelihood of your schedules aligning is slim and that means you’ll be safe from any ventures out into public.

But for the time being, you’re stuck.

“Okay,” you reluctantly agree.

He claps his hands, a deceptively cheerful grin on his face. If you didn’t already think of him as the worst prick you’ve ever met, you might’ve found it charming. It’s the same smile he used to flash at you in your first week when he was trying to cozy up and ease his way into your good graces. The sight of it makes you sick to your stomach, now.

“Great,” he rises from his seat. “We’ll do some shopping, get some lunch━ make a full day out of it.”

At this point, you don’t care what he has planned. You just want him to leave you alone so you can try to at least pretend like you’re gonna finish the rest of the work you need to get around to.

Garrett’s made his way to the door and has his hand reaching for the handle when he turns back around and gives you a smirk. “Might wanna work on your happy face, though, love,” he comments, gesturing towards you with a nod of his head. “‘Cause if you look like that in front of the paps they definitely aren’t gonna be very convinced that you love me.”

Just to spite him, you let your scowl deepen. “I don’t need your advice. I know how to handle myself, Garrett.” You say his name like a curse━ like the very feeling of it on your tongue causes you pain.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment. His face turns thoughtful, but there’s still the smugness painted across his features that makes you so unfathomably annoyed. “You must be pretty familiar with the paps if you’re always around those drivers, yeah?” He knows the answer to his question already, so you’re not sure why he’s even asking.

He stays silent, though, like he’s genuinely expecting an answer, so you shrug your shoulders. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats back to you.

His laughter is all you hear echoing in your ears even once he’s long gone.

Until your phone starts to ring and Lando's name flashes across the screen.

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry @sideboobrry11 @d3kstar @mcmuppet @happylittlereader @casperlikej @5starl1ght

━━ a/n: cliffhanger hehe~ also, i promise we're getting to ACTUAL formula one stuff soon

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 #oscar piastri

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pupcuck · 5 months

Text

JINGLE BALLS !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, daddy-daughter incest, leon is creepy ngl, dub-con at first then consensual, daddy issues, you get compared to your mom lots, creampie, daddy kink

note. HAII sorry for this being late omg :3 umm this is weird and jolty and the plot im not totally happy with but :333 ignore typos or I will cry!! feedback and reblogs always so appreciated :3

tumblr removes fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that these fics contain dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

“Pumpkin!” Your dad’s embrace is stiff per usual. This guy - he seriously needs a lesson in intimacy. Can’t go hugging your daughter the same way you do a girlfriend. Dads shouldn’t put their hands below your midriff. They certainly shouldn’t grip your hips and pull you close with such fervour, now you’re tit to tit with the man who gifted you your pornstar rack. And it’s a bit awkward to say the very least.

“Hi, dad.” He backs off, skittish when he hears your tone of voice. Flat and clipped.

“Sweetpea, I’m so glad you’re here,” Leon starts, he’s laying it on super thick, “We’re gonna have a lot of fun.” Oh, you’re exhausted already.

“Mhm.” You nod in disinterest as you toe off your shoes, place them beside his mud-caked boots. Leon is your dad. Your dad is just a guy to you. One that’s around never, you see him seldom and from afar. He’s not exactly awful, but he’s nothing great. A little touchy if anything, and enthusiastic in a way that comes across as disingenuous.

The only thing you really know about Leon is that he’s your dad, he works with the government, and he’s still hung up on your mom. You can tell from a mile away. Looks at her like she crafted the earth itself, mapped out the stars, plucked them from the sky to make him a new moon. Totally whipped for a woman who forgets he exists until major holidays roll around. And you get it honestly, your mom is pretty, fun, and she’s all you’ve got. So you might take after dad in that sense.

You’ve seen the kinda women he brings home. That time you caught him mid disgusting, nasty, abhorrent sex act that you’ve only seen in porn. Had this poor girl’s head tilted so far back, blonde curls like liquid gold running along her back, brushing the swell of her ass, his arm wrapped around her neck - like, was he trying to fucking kill her? Well, she liked it clearly. That’s beside the point, when you saw her face the following morning, her sheepish smile and the slant of her eyes - you got it. Mom. She looked like mom. You overheard him telling her she was too young for him, a college girl, his daughter’s age - only after he came down her throat though. What a creep.

Then there was his girlfriend from a few years back, this chick who popped her gum too loud, bossed him around and got him to pay for a new set of acrylics weekly. It was uncanny the resemblance between her and mom. What next? You? Is it your turn to be pursued by Leon, by dad? The only thing you’ve got from him is tits, busty like your daddy, pretty like your mommy. And he fucking knows it. You know he does.

Leon places a hand on your lower back. Like, way lower back, the spot a boyfriend would touch when he wants to initiate a quickie. You shiver, glance at him through your peripheral as he guides you to the lounge, the wooden floor is so cold you feel it through the fabric of your winter socks. This dude is loaded and he can’t even get heated floors installed? Not even for lil ol’ you? His daughter? The one that resembles his one true love?

There’s a red box that contains a gingerbread house sitting on the coffee table, you groan inwardly. Here we go with the bonding activities, it’s so forced it makes your skin crawl. His Christmas tree is, well, it’s a tree alright, crudely and hastily decorated with a sparse amount of baubles and god-awful paper crafts you gave to him as a toddler. Aw, the sentiment is there though, kinda cute. You’ll cut dad some slack.

By the time midnight rolls around, you realise cutting dad even the slightest bit of slack was a mistake. “Take that off.” You jab a finger into his stomach, met with sinewy, toughened flesh. Woah, dad’s still got it going on. “It’s ugly, and I’m not twelve, dad.”

“Moving fast.” Leon - your dad, biological, held you as a baby, rocked you to sleep at night - wiggles his eyebrows at you. All while dressed in a Santa suit by the way, ‘cause that is one very important piece of information. He looks fucking ridiculous. It’s the same one he used to pull out when you were a kid, back when you actually gave a shit about him, what he thought about you, whether he even wanted you. ‘Cause if your daddy wanted you, why was he away so often? Told mom to jingle his balls once, an unsavoury recurring memory that you’d like to forget.

“Oh, dad, that’s actually really concerning, like, I’m not gonna lie.” You frown at him so hard the wrinkles that form on your forehead become permanent. “Don’t say that to me.”

“I was messing around.” He defends, “Christ, what is up with you today? Got a stick up your ass or somethin’? Y’know, in my day, kids used to be able to take jokes.” Now he’s pouting like a toddler in a sour mood.

“That was not a joke, dad!” You don’t mean to raise your voice, but it happens and within seconds he’s sat on the couch dejected. This fucking dude. Ugh. He’s pathetic. How did he manage to bag a hottie like your mom?

“I just want you to love me, sweetheart.” Here we go again. Leon sighs hopelessly as he slumps back into the cushions, and you can’t take him seriously when he’s wearing a fucking Santa hat.

“I do love you, dad.” And you do. Honest. Really. Like, pinky promise. You love him out of obligation - he’s your dad, and you’re meant to love your dad. Doesn’t mean you like him though. In your very objective-totally-not-biased view, your dad is just a bit unlikeable. A bit of a strange one.

“Yeah?” He lightens up, “You love me?” God, it’s like he gets off on it. Oh, you’re just being mean now. You scoot closer to him, lean in for an awkward side hug.

“I do, dad. I love you.” You don’t have the courage to look at him. Leon’s arm snakes around your waist, and you know what’s coming. How much do you love me?

“How much do you love me?” Called it. Up until now it’s been a harmless question, but when you face him, gaze flitting from his eyes to his nose to his lips, the general wear and tear of his aged face - it’s different. This time you won’t be able to get away with the regular bout of flattery, wax poetry about how much you love him, how you wouldn’t want anyone else but him to be your daddy. When in reality, you’d swap out Leon for any poor sod. They wouldn’t leave you hanging so damn often.

“A lot, dad.” You turn your head to roll your eyes, getting it out of your system proves worthy, now you can plaster your mommy’s smile onto your face, the one he loves so much. “So much, you know that, don’t you?”

“Just don’t seem like it, pumpkin.” Leon gives you a sideways glance, “I’m trying… I wanna make it up to you, y’know? For how much I was away.”

“Dad, you don’t have to do that. I’m over it.” You’re not. But, you’re good at pretending you are. “I don’t need you to make it up to me.” You do. Oh, you so do. You need it to a devastating degree. “Like, I’m not a kid, I don’t want Santa, and I don’t wanna make fuckin’ gingerbread houses, or watch Home Alone-“

“What, so you’re a big girl now?” He tilts his head to the side, there’s an edge to his voice that’s hard to decipher. Don’t know if it’s good or bad.

“Well, I’m not little anymore, dad.” You gasp when he tries to take a subtle glimpse down your shirt.

“I can see that.” Leon pokes his tongue into the corner of his cheek.

“Yeah, and I saw that!” When you go to stand, his grip becomes almost crushing, wanting to hold you in place so badly. For a moment it’s scary, only for a moment, this is just dad. Just Leon. He’s harmless. As lame as he is, your dad wouldn’t hurt you.

“I didn’t do nothing, baby, c’mere, don’t be like that.” Dad pets your head, and it reminds you of your childhood bedroom. “I’m sorry, alright? I never spent Christmas with just you, and I wanted to make it good for you.”

“I know, dad, and I appreciate it, just don’t need you to get all weird about it. Like, we can just— we can just be normal about it. Don’t have to do all this shit, I just want us to be normal.” Normal, huh? Neither of you can do normal, and you’re fully aware of that. ‘Cause your dad is a freak, and you can’t exactly drain Kennedy blood all that easy. You’ll be your father’s daughter even when he’s dead. “Like, I really, I really can’t deal with this whole Santa thing, did you really expect me to like it? I’m not a baby.”

“I just thought it’d be cute.” Cute? What is cute about a grown man in a Santa costume that’s covered in a thin layer of dust, dug out from the boxes he still hasn’t managed to open ten years after the divorce? “Listen, baby, I’m sorry, alright? I’m real sorry, look at me,” Leon cups your cheek, stares into your eyes with his gentle ones, “Dad’s sorry, yeah? I’m just stupid sometimes.”

“You are,” you nod, “but, I’m sorry too.” No, you’re not. Just saying it so he doesn’t drag this on, so he doesn’t call up your mom and tell her you’re not having a good time. Then your mom will be down your throat, your dad’s missed you, and you missed him too, you should be nicer to him, he tries his best, darling! “You, like, went through all that effort, and I didn’t even say thank you, I just got mad at you— so I’m sorry, dad.”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, shifts so he can bring you into his chest, cheek squished against one of his fat tits, god, why’re they so big, you swear it’s bigger than both of yours combined. “It’s alright, I know you’re growing up, and I’m sorry for treating you like a baby, it’s just, it’s hard ‘cause you’re my little girl, y’know?” Not true. You’ve always been a mommy’s girl. Dad is an acquaintance.

“Yes, I know, dad.” You blink at him, he melts, traces your cheekbone with his thumb. Thank god he took that dumbass hat off, you couldn’t take him seriously.

“Gosh, baby, you look just like your mama.”

“I know, dad.”

“Crazy, ain’t it?” Leon kisses your forehead, “Only got these from me, and nothin’ else, huh?” Dad gropes your tits. The man that put a baby in your mother, that baby being you, obviously, the man whose name is on your birth certificate— the man who has given you his name, is groping your tits. “Certainly not from mommy are they?”

You shake your head. In agreement though. ‘Cause you can’t deny it, your mom’s as flat as a board. It feels weird, yes. But not bad. Maybe you’ve detached Leon from the title of ‘dad’ to the point where it doesn’t even matter anymore. It’s wrong, so you go to stop him, but he’s unyielding in his perversion.

“You look like your mommy down here, baby?” Dad asks, he cups your pussy through your jeans with his big hand. “Can daddy see?”

You shake your head again. Slowly. This time a flimsy no, one that teeters on the boundaries of a yes. You do owe him, you’ve been acting like a bitch ever since you arrived in D.C. Making a right fuss the moment you stepped through the door. Poor guy put the rather intricate gingerbread house all together by himself, he’s dressed as fucking Santa, all ‘cause he thought you’d like it. How bad can it be? Not like fucking your dad could land the two of you in jail, right? Well, it could, but that’s not the point.

“No? C’mon, sweet girl, dad just wants to see,” Leon’s plump bottom lip juts out, you kinda sit there for a minute, then lay back on the couch. What have you got to lose? You have no emotional attachment to this man. You do. It’s not weird at all. God, it’s so weird you want to claw your skin off. “That’s a good girl.” He butters you up while he unbuttons your jeans, taps your hips so you lift ‘em up and off they pop, jeans thrown to the ground. “Oh, look at her, baby, how sweet, just like mama,” Leon rests your left leg on his shoulder, holds the ankle of your right one to spread you open. “You think she likes it like mommy did?”

“How did… How did mom like it, dad— daddy?” You correct yourself, feel this horrible churning in your stomach. Both nausea and need flooding your shaky body.

Leon presses his wide nose to the bump of your clit through your tight panties, there’s a wet patch that seems to get bigger and bigger the more he sniffs around down there. He lifts his head, rests it on your thigh as he slides them to the side, sticky, gooey arousal stringing apart, sticking to the seat of your undies like PVA glue when he separates the fabric from your soaked centre. “She liked it real sloppy, baby.” With that, he spits on your drippy cunt, runs his finger through your folds, pinches your clit. “Daddy’s gonna give it to you just how mom liked it, alright?”

“Okay, dad,” you tell him breathlessly, hands clasped together as you try to calm your nerves. The warmth of his breath on your puffy clit is enough to make you shiver, he spreads you open with his index and middle fingers, the tip of his tongue traces along the centrefold of your cunt. Then Leon grows agitated by the way your panties insist on snapping back in place, so he has a little wrestle with them and your limp legs, once they’re off he tucks them into his pocket for safekeeping. Santa’s back pocket.

Sweetly, he kisses your clit, sucks on it like he’s getting to the centre of your cunt, blows a raspberry on it - you’re so wet it’s pooling beneath your ass. Leon spreads your cheeks to lick into your cunt, press his nose into it real nice ‘n deep, smacks his lips against your fat pussy, stubble smeared with your slick. Leaking all over your dad’s pretty face, letting your dad tug your clit between his teeth and fuck his tongue into your tight hole. “Should stop shaving.” Is all dad says once you cream on his face, “Your mama didn’t.” Okay, didn’t need to know that, but here you are, dad’s fat cock hard and heavy against your thigh. So you guess fucking him comes at that expense - finding out all sorts of details about their wild sex life. To be honest, you pegged Leon as the kinda guy who knows what missionary is and missionary only, not that you ever thought about that before. He unbuckles his belt, unthreads the prongs from the holes one by one, and drops his red Santa pants. Good riddance.

“Dad,” you whimper when he sits you up, handles you like a dolly. The tight-fitted Santa coat stretches around his biceps when he scoops you up, puts you on his lap, gosh, you’ve never really noticed those. Maybe that’s what your mom saw in him. Big blue eyes and big tits and big fucking arms. This Santa attire is really fucking you up, it’s hard to take him seriously.

“Your mommy’s real good at riding cock, y’know that, pumpkin?” Leon squeezes your ass, you feel him. All of him. His clothed cock grinding upwards into your bare cunt, a toothy grin stretching his lips as he watches the way your lips squish together. Yeah, fat pussy, so what. Get over it, creep. “Best I ever had she was, best fuckin’ pussy,” he licks up the sweat dripping down your collarbones, “but you’re made for me, ain’t you, baby?”

“Yes, dad.” You don’t know what else to say, breath stuttering when he sits you down on his cock. Thick and fairly long in all the ways a dick should be, you suppose. Look at that, giving a review of your dad’s cock. How far you have come. Fucking degenerate cock critic. It sure does feel good, his tip nestled snug against your cervix, pulsing within the silky walls of your tight cunt. Feel every vein, how his tip leaks pre endlessly, how it twitches when you clench around him.

“Baby, you’re such a big girl now,” Dad kisses you smack-bang in the middle. On your pouty lips. The ones that remind him of your mom, same lips that sucked his cock in the marriage bed, same eyes rolling back into your skull when he begins to rock his hips into you. “Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t you? Better than mommy.” Almost, he wants to add. You know he does. He’s so predictable.

There are no words in your brain, only able to let out shaky breaths and the occasional yelp as he takes you, grabs your hips and bounces you up and down on his cock. “Fuck, wait, let me— let me-“ he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead he’s sliding you off and bending you over the couch. “Better like this.” That’s ’cause you look like mom from behind. Same hair, same hips, same perky ass. Leon fucks you harder, his strokes deeper, knocking his cock into your poor cervix with his brutal thrusts. Your nails scratch at the cracked leather of his couch, unable to help the way you moan for him, it’s so embarrassing, even more so when your hips begin to move on their own, fucking yourself back on dad’s dick.

Each thrust is harder than the last, god, is he trying to go through you? Put you in A&E ‘cause his cock got tangled in your intensities? “Is this… Is this how mom likes it, dad?” You manage to get out through a stifled groan, he digs his teeth into your neck, licks a stripe over the tender skin then tugs at your hoop earring with his teeth.

“Your mom likes it even harder, baby,” Leon snickers, “your mama is a dirty bitch.” You gasp, tighten around him involuntarily, your pussy behaves in mysterious ways. “She liked it when I did this,” his hand comes down on your ass hard, you squeal, almost lose footing and fall face-first into the couch cushions. “And when I pulled her hair, and slapped her tits, and spit down her fuckin’ throat.” Your mom is one nasty bitch, good on her. Personally, you’re new to it all. “You want that?”

“I don’t know, dad.” You say helplessly, thighs trembling when he reaches round with his nimble fingers to rub neat circles into your bud, so you come undone around his cock. Coat the shaft in cream, drip slick down his balls. You muffle your moans into a pillow, painted toes curling against the wooden floor, suddenly thankful for his lack of underfloor heating - ‘cause you’re sweating like a pig.

Your body trembles with aftershocks as he continues to fuck you through it, helps his little girl out by kissing the wet nape of her neck, a big hand on her waist to steady her. Sweat prickles your skin, jolting as he gives one last sloppy push into you, hips jerking as he unloads all he’s got to give and you milk him just right. ‘Cause you know, you’re his kid, made for him. That’s why he fits like a glove. Born to get your cunt bred by dad. You think he says your mom’s name into your hair, but you don’t question it, slumping over in exhaustion.

“Dad, can you just do me a favour and take that off, please? I’m really tired and it’s pissing me off.” You curl up on the sofa, uncaring of the seed that drips out and trickles down your plush thighs.. Leather’s easy to clean.

“Why? I like it. Don’t you think it’s cute, sweetpea?” Normalcy or what the two of you consider normal returns.

“No, take it off, or I’m taking the next flight home.”

“Alright, pumpkin.”

#leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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seresinhangmanjake · 6 months

Text

The One I Want: Part 2

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Warnings: Judgment related to weight. Cursing. Fluff. Angst. Eventual smut (alluded to/or other). Self-esteem issues.

Words: 2010

---

He shakes his head, like clearing the fog from his brain, and steps forward. “I’m Jake,” he says, reaching his hand out toward you.

It’s done in such a casually confident manner that it dares you to take a step back, out of his reach and far from his influence. You take his hand anyway.

His palm against yours creates a slight buzzing sensation at your fingertips making you pull your hand away and tighten it into a fist before tucking it behind your back. “That makes more sense than the pretty brunette.”

“Oh, don’t flatter her. She’s not that great,” he says. There’s a light chuckle as he slips his hands into his front pockets. On any other man, you’d acknowledge the hint of nerves accompanying the action, but with this man in particular you brush it off. There is no way this man has ever been nervous a day in his life. “I’m surprised you’re up. Are you okay with your room?”

You glance down at the suitcase not far from where you stand. “I didn’t look for it. Seemed like snooping.”

“Oh, shit. That’s my fault.” Hand flying out of his pocket, he runs it down his face again. He blows out a breath that feels like some form of self-scolding for letting himself neglect you, then bends down to wrap his fingers around the handle of your suitcase. “You can come with me.”

The apartment, while nice, isn’t overly large. The door to what you learn is your room can be seen from your first few steps through the front entryway, but still, you’re glad you didn’t peek on your own. You could’ve found yourself face-to-face with his private space and unable to avoid developing opinions of him based on the first-glance contents of his room.

With a turn and a push, Jake opens your door and stands back against one side of the frame so you can enter. Side-stepping past him, though, is a bit of a squeeze and you can’t help the way your breasts brush across his chest. You don’t miss his flinch and the sharp intake of air through his nose.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

Whether or not he heard you goes unknown as he sets your suitcase down once you’re inside the room and begins his mini tour. “Um, bed,” comes out a little gritty. He points to the largest piece of furniture in the room like you’re a two-year-old learning the names of basic household items. With a cough to clear his throat, he continues. “That door over there is the closet,” he points some more. “And that one’s the bathroom. It’s small, but I hope it’ll be alright for you.”

There’s a pang in your stomach from his last two words. For you. An unnecessary addition with so much power. Power you refuse to let yourself dwell on.

“It’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Right, well I’ll, uh–” Those eyes do their scanning of you again. Lips, breasts, hips. Blink and you would’ve missed it. “I’ll let you get some sleep,” he says. "It's nice to meet you."

You would say the same, but he’s gone before you get the chance. Shutting the door behind him, you toss your suitcase onto the bed and begin to unpack.

—

The funny thing about these towns—while each one is different from another in appearance and people, they always reveal themselves to share a core component. Your willingness to stay put, and for how long, lies with this component. It is a matter of how intense this component—this judgment—is, and whether or not it infects enough around you to transform everything into a reminder of why you do not belong. While many things have the potential to prove you right or wrong as far as the degree to which you might be judged, what remains a constant disappointment is your attempts to obtain a job.

It doesn’t matter where you look. You get the same once-over, the same raised brow, the same unspoken questions lingering in the air. Are you lost? Did you stumble through the wrong door?

In one day you’ve been turned down by three jobs with ‘help wanted’ signs stuck on the inside of their building’s front window. What’s worse is that, in following typical company policy, they don’t shoo you away at the door. They take your resume, they sit you down, ask you a host of questions, and eventually declare you’re not right for the position.

A restaurant manager did not see you fit for a waitress. Neither did a cafe owner find you capable as a barista. The most painful, however, was also the riskiest. The head of the sales floor at the lingerie boutique who seemed to think women of a certain size aren’t in need of lacy fabrics that accentuate their best bits and pieces because surely they don’t have sex.

That was the one that did you in for the day and now has you moseying back to the apartment.

You walk through the door and shed yourself of jacket, purse, and shoes, likely looking as exhausted as your new roommate did when you first laid eyes on him the night before. You knew you recognized something in the weariness of his eyes. While unexpected, last night Jake Seresin was tired because someone—or many someones—had worn him out.

“Hi.”

You jolt upright, head instinctually turning toward the voice. You’re not used to sharing your space, and obviously so since Jake immediately raises his hands in silent apology for startling you.

“Hi,” you reply, the word riding on the sigh that passes through your lips.

With as much as you can muster for him, you offer a smile before aiming for your bedroom. But you don’t get far.

“What have you been up to all day?” he asks, halting you.

He’s not going to let you go, you realize, not without giving him something in return. Though, seeing as he’s your new roommate who took you in on short notice and charges you pennies to stay, you figure you can oblige.

He’s sitting at the island in the kitchen, now with a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. His thumb taps away at the screen, but when you near him he quickly sets it down to offer you his full attention. It’s then that you notice his missing shirt. Your mind must have filled in that blank. You’d assumed some sort of tank top was hidden by the angle at which he sat when you entered the apartment; that the fabric’s color was not so different from the tone of his skin. Looking at him in his bareness now, you can’t ignore how ridiculous that thought was.

You also can’t ignore him; sitting there without shame, practically taunting you to run your eyes over every ridge and valley of his sculpted form. And it is sculpted. Artwork.

But you don’t allow yourself the luxury. Instead, you answer, “Looking for a job.”

Jake sits a little straighter. “I can probably help with that,” he says. “I’ve got a friend who owns a bar down the street, and–”

“No!” you snap. The hope that it wasn’t as harsh as it sounded is snuffed out by the slight widening of his eyes. “Thank you,” is softer, “but no bars.”

He watches you a moment longer before he nods and repeats, “No bars. Got it.” Another moment of silence fills the room until he breaks it. “I’ll ask around.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.” You wave away the thought and shake your head, aiming to get off the topic. Solidifying that is your immediate shift onto him. He seems like a guy who probably enjoys talking about himself, anyway. “So, you don’t fly on the weekend?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“Have people stopped traveling on Saturdays?”

Blond brows pinch as he twists the beer bottle in absent-minded circles with his fingertips. “What?”

Crossing your arms, you step further into the kitchen until your stomach is resting against the edge of the island. “Your friend said you’re a pilot. I just figured you’d be working a lot.”

Jake’s face doesn’t change; still the epitome of confusion, and you don’t know how to fill the painfully long beats while he examines you. Why you let him examine you must be a slip of the conscious mind, but you keep still. Then his face settles. He takes a sip of his beer, sets it down, and, instead of simply looking at you, stares hard into your eyes.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Wh–” you pause, readjusting your stance. “What makes you think that?”

“Anyone who says ‘pilot’ in this town—or frankly, even close by—assumes Navy, not airline,” he says. If he’s insulted, it doesn’t show. “I’m far from some Delta guy.”

Internally you curse. That err in knowledge peels back a layer of your paint, inviting curiosity and questions. And by the gleam in Jake’s eye, you’re sure you’re going to get plenty. “You’re in the Navy.”

“I am,” he confirms with a single nod. “And most people here have ties to it in some way. But not you, it seems.”

You fidget in the gap between his statements.

“So, where exactly did you come from,” he continues, a wry smile stretching his lips, “And how did you end up here of all places?”

When you meet his stare, you don’t care for the sparkle peeking through. “I drove.”

His head throws back in laughter. “That’s all I get?”

“That’s all you need,” you stress. It’s his own fault for not asking those questions following your email answering his ad. He had an opportunity. He didn’t take it. That’s not your problem. And the longer you stand here, clearly providing him with entertainment, you're once again struck with the desperation to get his attention off of you.

Without much to grasp, you go for the obvious. You allow your eyes to trail downwards and morph your features into a forced grimace. “Don’t you wear clothes?”

“Oh.” Looking down at himself, a gulp bulges his throat. “My bad. It’s been a while since I’ve had to wear a shirt around the place.” Is that disappointment in his tone? Maybe. Who in the world wouldn’t be insulted at the request to put on more clothes instead of removing an additional article? You certainly have been, so who is to say Jake Seresin—who undoubtedly has never faced such a request—wouldn’t feel the same?

To your surprise, he hops up immediately and rounds the island for his room; a move you would appreciate much more if it didn’t reveal the gray sweatpants settled low on his hips. There’s a defined V and a line of hair that disappears below the waistband. You hate that V. You hate that dusting of hair, blonder against his tan skin. Men with Vs and an irritatingly perfect amount of hair there are trouble. Each and every one of them.

“I’ll go get that shirt. Don’t go anywhere.”

For whatever reason—one you’re unwilling to dissect—you do as he asks. But then a light flashes in your peripheral vision. The screen of his phone in response to a new message.

You don’t want to look, not really, but you can’t help yourself. Years of people whispering behind your back, sneaking glances, chuckling, has planted the evergrowing seed of paranoia. Inching closer to the phone, you tap the rectangular block on his screen that reads Nat. Though the phone is locked, the notification expands to reveal the full message.

See, Paranoid is an interesting label. It accuses you of misunderstanding, of being too suspicious, too anxious, or even crazy; and you won’t deny you’ve probably been wrong before, assuming people are talking about you who haven’t spared you a thought. But sometimes, that label is unfair. Sometimes—often, in fact—you are right.

And when you read ‘Not what you expected, is she?’ followed by a tiny smirking face, you know this is one of those times.

---

A/N: I hope you liked it! If there are typos blame that on my anxiety. I've got a life-defining procedure tomorrow so wish me luck

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin x y/n #tgm #tgm fic #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction

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bigassmoonchild · 8 months

Text

Lost and Found

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: The results came back, the pregnancy results. You fear losing Simon, even after your talk and he holds you close. Things slowly go back to normal, but by god was Simon starting to smell a little too good. And the scent was coming from his door.

Content Tags: Angst, Almost Pregnancy Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Simon Communicating, DROPPING THE L WORD (leprosy), Simon likes compound drama, Mentions of Masturbation, Use of Pet-Names, Teasing, No Use of Y/N, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost

A/N: I'm working one day a week because they only need me one day a week. I might quit, ngl. Anyways, I'm getting better! Not as sick! I'm going to figure out at better way for people to navigate the maple syrup series, but you know the drill. Content under the cut and asks are open!

Part 1 | Previous, Next | Headcannons, Masterlist

The next few days felt incredibly slow. You'd worked on a bit of paperwork before heading back to your rooms and sitting in your nest, going through the clothes you were intending to give back to Simon because the scent was growing stale. As you were folding one of the last hoodies, a knock on your door made you pause.

Opening it, you saw a soldier standing outside. He gave you a salute before looking down and reading off of the paper he was holding.

"Your presence is required in room 62B. Please be presentable and there within the half hour," he handed you the paper and marched away. Glancing at it, they were requesting you for more questioning based on the hearing you'd been part of.

Shit.

You stood and dug through the wardrobe you had, pulling out a few of your better shirts and pants. At this point, you didn't really care what you wore. So long as it wasn't dirty and didn't have any rips or holes.

Reading the door numbers down to 62B, you took a deep breath before entering, nodding at the few people who were sitting, glancing past Price. You sat, folding your hands on your lap as the people across the table looked at you. They shifted, glancing from the door to you for a few minutes.

"We're just waiting for Riley, you needn't be so stiff, Doctor," you looked away from them, finding Prices eye before looking the other way. You just wanted to get this over with, they hadn't even notified you about your test, so the fact that they only told them about it was weird.

The door opened, and all you could smell was Simon. Leather and tobacco, hints of the gunpowder used on base came through. It smelled muskier, though, and as much as you could smell it wasn't sweat. Not like normal.

He sat beside you, not looking in your direction. The people in front of you shifted the papers about on the table, looking between each other. They didn't say anything for a few minutes.

"The pregnancy test came back," you heard Simon scoff beside you, a quiet 'no shit' coming from him. You rolled your own eyes, glancing down to the carpet under you. It was old, probably older than you.

The man cleared his throat. "It came back positive, at least at first," you looked up, brows furrowing. "After a few minutes, though, it turned negative. We did a few more tests and they eventually came back negative. Conclusively," you closed your eyes, head tilting back.

Why were you feeling so disappointed? Were you actually somewhat excited about having a pup, even if Simon didn't want it?

"Although, they did find some hormones synchronous with what is called a 'false pregnancy'," they explained, reading off of the sheet they had.

You glanced up, watching as they tried to find a way to explain it. "My body had hormones, probably from a fertilized egg that never attached properly, and it left my hormones thinking I was pregnant. They never cleared my body, so my scent and body was changing to prep for the pup," you explained, playing with your fingers.

So close, and yet you were so far from having a pup. You could almost smell distress on Simons scent, but you didn't want to go into the specifics. You couldn't think of his normal scent, not with how deep in your head you'd become.

You could faintly hear them explaining the outcomes, faintly heard a few 'probable cause for the attack' and a few other 'nothing is being pressed,' and finally you came to.

"We're considering this almost exactly the same as if the Omega was actually pregnant," they explained. "So you're getting off on just about the same as a slap on the wrist, but don't think we won't add this to your file," and you stood, turning and walking out.

There was nothing you'd realized you wanted more. A family. A pup to care for and watch grow and eventually maybe, just maybe, add more to your little family.

But no, you didn't have the luxury of that. No, you weren't allowed to have your family, your Alpha had been so mad at you and possibly didn't want you sometimes.

Alpha doesn't want a broken Omega.

You had to fight the tears you could feel building, jaw locking in place as you found yourself moving to your room. A few more halls, one or two more turns and you'd be able to curl up in your nest and hope to God that your Alpha would still want you.

As you went to close your room door, something stopped it from closing. You turned to figure it out, slightly pissed off that it happened. Simon.

"I'm sorry," you could feel tears starting to run out of your eyes, felt him pulling you into his chest and sobs tearing out of your chest. "I'm so sorry," you were muffled by his chest, hands grasping at his shirt and holding tight. You could faintly hear the door close, your legs moving with him as he dropped you back into your nest.

Simon pulled you into his chest, hands running along your back. Your hands never left his chest and you could hear him murmuring into your hair.

"S'alright, lovie, s'alright," he whispered, arms wrapping around your back to pull you in as close as he could. It felt like everything was back to normal but nothing was. Everything was changed but nothing was at the same time.

For what felt like hours, you laid there, grasping at Simon to stay where you were. He rubbed at your back and chuffed into your ear, your tears slowing and sobs breaking into hiccups, breathing slowing as you laid there.

His hands stopped, albeit slowly, before pulling you back to look at him.

"Y'alright?" He asked this time, wiping your face dry. You nodded, then shook your head before dropping it back onto his chest.

"'m sorry, Simon," you whispered, his hand finding your back and resting there. "Failed you," you added finally. He hummed in confusing, head lifting to look down at you.

You swallowed, closing your eyes. "Lost the pup," he shook his head, squeezing you a little. He ran his hand down your arm, rubbing it slowly.

"Didn't lose anything, lovie," he whispered. "Your body was just confused, it's not your fault," you wanted to argue with him, wanted to tell him he was crazy. You lost the pup, and he should get rid of you.

He kept murmuring loving words into your ears, telling you how good of an Omega you were, how much he cared about you. How much he adored that you were his and didn't want to leave.

"Love you, y'know that?" He whispered, hours having passed since the two of you found yourselves inside your nest. He slid you into his hoodie within the first hour, let you lay there and inhale his scent.

You hummed, fighting sleep. It hadn't hit you what he'd said, not yet at least.

"Love y'too," you whispered into his neck, breathing slowing as you were falling asleep. He loved you, Alpha loves you, your head snapped up. "Huh?" Simon barked out a short laugh, pulling his mask from his face as he looked at you.

"Y'didn't hear me?" You blinked slowly at him, smile slowly spreading on your face. His voice grew softer, eyes drifting away from you. He seemed almost, nervous. "Y'forgive me?" He whispered, hands tightening on you.

You nodded, dropping your head on him. "Thought you would've thought of me as a bad Omega," you whispered. "Thought I'd lost you after I said I might be pregnant, then again when they told us I wasn't," he shook his head.

He gave a humorless laugh. "Never lost me," he said. "'m not good at emotions," he started, looking down at you briefly. "Never was, never will be. I want to try, though, try and make sure you never feel like that again," he spoke into the side of your head, pressing his lips against your head.

You swallowed thickly.

"Thought I lost everything," you whispered into his neck, closing your eyes.

You glanced at your new squad, looking them over.

"If you don't want to be led by an Omega, leave. Get out, I don't want to see your face," you said, glancing amongst them. "If you don't like that I'm leading you, get the hell out. I don't want to see you, if you're going to cause problems, get out," you said.

No one moved, looking down at their boots and away from you. Nobody said anything, it all remained quiet. You smiled, arms crossed as you watched them stand still.

You crossed your arms, glancing amongst them. "The only problem I've ever encountered is you guys not understanding what it means to be a soldier. Combat medic, combat comes first," you told them. "Which means you're a soldier first,"

You sighed deeply, rubbing the migraine out of your temples. They were the worst group you'd ever had. They seemed to not have any knowledge on anything medical, and even less knowledge about combat awareness.

"Bad day?" Simon asked, placing a tray of food in front of you and putting his own on the side of your desk closest to him. You groaned at him, dropping your head down.

You glanced up, watching him pull the mask off of his face and place it next to his food, scooping some of it into his mouth. You snorted softly, watching him.

His brows raised in questioning. "We went from me absolutely despising you just a few days ago to you eating in my office," you laughed softly. "Anyways, I have the worst squad ever," you groaned and he paused his eating.

"They saying things?" He said, moving to stand and you hushed him, hands gesturing for him to sit back down.

In the few days since you two had been cleared back to work, he had made it a habit to bring you at least two meals during your shift. Usually lunch and dinner, which he had at the same time as you, quite thankfully.

You'd grown to begin telling him tales of what happened, whatever drama you could find that happened throughout the day. Oh my god, Simon, apparently Amanda now has an Alpha? And he works on another force, I think something air, you told him the first night.

Surprisingly, he was really interested in what was happening around base. Today, though, he appeared a little more out of it. He seemed slightly off, watching you closer and staring down Alphas who walked by you when he just so happened to be near.

It was weird, but you hadn't put too much thought into it. You were finally back to a normal, something the two of you were putting together. Maybe it was just his new normal, but you weren't going to ask questions.

He stayed quiet, giving you a few murmurs of agreement or interest at all of the new things you'd discovered. Once the two of you finished, instead of sitting with you until you were finished to walk with you back to your room he grabbed your trays and walked out, giving you a short murmur about needing to workout or something.

It left you a little confused, but you weren't going to mention it. You knew this took up a lot of his own time, and you knew that he would want to spend some time on his own to relax.

You felt the same way, but something was off and you could tell. By the time you finished putting away the last paper into its file, it was nearing 10 at night. You walked to your room, bag in hand as you watched the door numbers slowly shrink to your room number.

As you entered it, you'd been expecting to see Simon there, but maybe tonight he just wanted to relax in his own room and take some time to chill out. You understood, and found yourself slowly going through the motions of your nightly routine, some part of you hoping he would walk in right before you finished this part. Then it became this part, then the next.

Eventually, you were curled in your bed, lights all out while listening for movements outside. You found yourself waking up the next morning, groaning as you turned off your alarm clock. Simon never came to your room, but that was okay you told yourself.

It was fine, because everyone needed a moment to themselves here and there. So you began your routine, getting something small to eat as you walked through the clinic, checking on people who had come in overnight to be treated for something.

You ran your training, having the squad work on taking care of those who were harmed and trying to tourniquet them.

"I'm bleeding out, help me! Aaah! It hurts so much, I'm writhing in pain!" Soap was all too pleased to help you with this. Gaz was helping as well, but had stopped his acting to roll on the ground laughing at him. It seemed to work just as well as Johnny's screaming and writhing.

Shutting your eyes tight, you had to hold yourself silent to keep from laughing too hard or distracting everyone. Even as your back was turned, you could hear little squeals coming from Johnny, but as you opened your eyes you saw Ghost watching from a distance.

Gesturing him over, he shook his head and turned back to his own training group, leaning over to shout at someone. You sighed, turning around to watch the group once more.

"Steph, no, that tourniquet is way too tight, I can see it from here. You're cutting the blood flow off, not his leg,"

At lunch you grew a little worried when Simon didn't show up. He had been making sure to bring you food (and letting you watch him eat) every lunch and dinner. Sometimes it was breakfast instead of lunch, but he hadn't come during breakfast.

It took you a few moments before you decided to try and find him, but everyone you spoke to had turned away from you, telling you that it was in your better interest to leave him alone. When you found Gaz again, you pulled him to the side.

"What's up with S- Ghost?" You asked and he looked away, grimacing a little. "Go on, tell me. I'm his mate, it's not like he's doing something that would kill me," you said, brows furrowing as he didn't say anything.

You gestured for him to tell you. "He's been really violent today. Look outside, there's more people running than usual, and his temper is getting the better of him," he whispered, looking around like Simon would jump out of nowhere.

At dinner, when Simon didn't show up you found yourself walking the compound to look for him. To find out where he'd gone, or what was wrong. He wasn't anywhere you'd expected him to be, not the gym or field.

Walking to his room, it was a few halls before when the scent hit you hard. Leather and tobacco, some hints of the gunpowder used on base. You walked a little closer, musky tangs of something just entirely Simon breaking through.

Standing outside of his door, you stared at it. Hearing long groans and whines, huffs of your name. Trying the door, it was locked and everything in the room paused.

A bang on the door made you jump back before leaning in. "Simon?" You whispered, trying the doorknob again. He whined at the sound of his name coming from you, and you could hear nails on the door.

"Please," he whispered back, voice muffled by the door. You could hear another bang on the door and you gave a little laugh.

"Y'gotta unlock the door first, Alpha," a growl came from behind the door.

Tag List:

@sae1kie @shinebright2000 @zechie-spams @itsmadamehydra @smiley-roos @enrapturedbythemoon

If I forgot you, please send me a message, reply or ask. I apologize for any mistakes in the Tag List, I'm trying to get it all organized.

#angst #hurt/comfort #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 #modern warfare ii #task force 141 #ghost mw2 #no use of y/n #simon riley #call of duty #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #teasing #pet-names #dropping the L word #Maple Syrup

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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year

Text

Stop Running | Thranduil x Reader

Read on AO3

Pairing Thranduil/Reader

Synopsis: Thranduil confesses his feelings for the reader but they feel they are not well suited for a king and basically avoid him until they come face to face once more.

Content: Angst. Fluff.

Prompt: (#10 & #14 on this list). They’re in bold in the text below.

Requested by anon (so freaking long ago, I know! I’m so sorry lmao)

“I'm pretty sure about my feelings.” Thranduil had told you four days ago, in a soft voice while brushing his fingers through your hair.

Thirty seconds before you had fled from his sight.

You had been avoiding him ever since and he was growing weary of it. Of appearing in a room only to hear that, not even a minute before, you had hurriedly vacated it. Of not being able to just find you in these very halls that he knew like the back of his own hand!

Thranduil knew what he wanted and what he wanted was you. He had thought that you were of the same mind. So, how had him asking - very nicely, he might add! - to court you, ended up like this?

It was another week before you found yourself once more face to face with the King of Mirkwood.

As a very last resort, he had sent an official summons and guards had turned up at your door to take you to him in the throne room. There seemed to be no other way to get you to speak to him and he knew that you could not ignore an official summons, though he also knew that if you did have the courage to do so, he would have to be ready to dole out the consequences.

As it was, you went as willingly as you could given the circumstances. You had always been one to follow the rules, after all.

Once you were finally standing in front of him, Thranduil dismissed the guards from the throne room altogether. You kept your gaze forward, but not up, so you would not look at him.

Thranduil looked down at you from on high for a few long, silent moments, before he finally spoke.

“You are most difficult to find of late.” His tone was devoid of any real emotion but you could detect the hint of bitterness lingering in the background. Hurt. You could read him well enough... you always had been able to do so.

It was not that you did not feel the same way for Thranduil. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was because you felt the same way that you had withdrawn from him so suddenly. He was the king, he could not be seen courting somebody like you.

Thranduil was staring at you, waiting for you to speak, yet you gave him nothing. His frustration further spiked. He felt quite humiliated, truthfully, as he had never truly experienced a rejection such as this before and he would not have even spoken of it if he had not been so certain that his feelings were returned. So how could he have gotten it so wrong? He still was not entirely convinced that he had but he could not figure out why you would lie.

“Do you truly have nothing to say?” He asked, tutting as he suddenly rose from his seat upon the throne and turned, descending the stairs with slow, careful steps. He paced the floor until he was standing directly in front of you, looking down upon you.

Still waiting.

Still receiving nothing.

“If it is that you are uncertain as to my sincerity, I can assure you that I do not say things for the mere fun of them.” Thranduil stated, leaning down into your personal space just a little. “I am sure about my feelings.”

“As I am about my own. As in, I have none.” You snapped in response, not missing the hurt look that flickered across his expression before you turned your face away from him. “Please let me get back to my work, aran nin, or I shall fall behind.”

Thranduil straightened, silently glaring down at you before he shook his head. “I do not believe you.”

You blinked, lifting your attention back to him with a frown. “I am expected to take you at your word but you will not take me at mine?” You could not help but point out the hypocrisy.

Thranduil only scoffed.

“I do not love you, Thranduil.” You said quietly, doing your utmost to keep your voice steady as you all but forced the words out. You could not break, not here, not now. You needed to stand firm in your decision... even if it broke your heart to do so.

“And I said I do not believe you!” He hissed, reaching out and taking gentle hold of your arm as you tried to turn away from him. He tugged you back to face him, his other hand tilting your chin up and forcing you to meet his gaze. “Do you expect me to disregard all these years?” He wondered, his voice softer now, tinged with sadness. “All those long nights? All those talks? The ways in which you looked at me? You tell me now I imagined it all?”

You almost broke. You almost gave in. The pleading look in his eyes was enough to completely undo you but somehow you held firm, pulling yourself from his grasp and shaking your head. “You saw something that can never be.” You told him, turning and making for the exit. If he wanted to punish you then so be it but if you stood there much longer, you were going to break down.

“Stop running away from your feelings!” He exclaimed from behind you, his tone full of sorrow. Thranduil knew he was not insane. He knew he was not making it up in his own head. He knew that what he had felt between the two of you was real. The only thing he did not know was why you were now trying so hard to pull away from him.

“It was all just a dream, Thranduil!” You cried, spinning back round to face him, finally having reached your limit.

The silence that followed was deafening as you both stared back at each other for a long while. Thranduil studied you keenly, trying to read in your expression what you meant by your words but not entirely understanding.

“What does that mean?” He asked, breaking the silence first. He did not move, just stood where he was and hoped that you would not leave again until this matter was fully resolved.

You were frustrated. If he had just kept quiet, if he had not said a word in the face of your retreat, you would have been gone in a matter of seconds and you might have been able to continue to stand firm.

Yet, as well as you could read him, he too could read you. Thranduil could tell - he could see - that you were running from what you felt, from what he knew was real. Trying to squash down the truth of it

You sighed heavily, resigned as you lowered your gaze to the floor, shaking your head. “You are a king.”

“Yes.” Came his reply, his tone as if nothing about that fact mattered. “And?”

You lifted your head again, looking at him once more. He looked confused and you envied him for it. “And... I am not enough as to be matched with a king.”

His brows drew together as he stared at you, immediately shaking his head. “Nonsense.”

You let out a humourless chuckle, one hand raking up through your hair in exasperation. “It is the truth!” You cried. “I am nothing, I am no one! It was just a dream.”

Thranduil moved then, crossing the distance between the both of you in less time than you could process. He took your face in his hands and this time you could not find the strength to push him away. The fight had gone out of you.

“You are not nothing.” Thranduil’s expression was pained as he looked at you. “Not to me.”

“I am low born, Thranduil, I am-”

“What should that matter?” He interrupted, shaking his head as he kept your face carefully in place with his hands. His hands were soft, his touch gentle. He was afraid you would turn away from him again, afraid that your fear would come back and you would run from him.

“Why do you think it should not?” You hated how your voice shook but you could not help it any longer.

“I am king, yes, but that should not mean that I am doomed to cast aside the one I love, regardless of who they are. Would you have me take someone more ‘suited’ but wholly uninteresting to me, simply for the sake of being ‘proper’? Who cares if you are not some high born noble? Who cares! You can do anything, be anything. You can be taught the necessary work of a queen. It is not-”

“Queen?” Now was your time to interrupt him, blinking at him in surprise, though half of you wondered why. If he loved you would it not stand to reason that he would wish you to be his queen some day? “You... you would have me...?”

“Well, of course.” Thranduil said matter-of-factly, shaking his head as if he could not believe you had any doubt. “Do you truly believe this some passing fancy? Do you truly think me capable of such?”

He looked hurt and you were quick to shake your head. “No! No, I mean... I... I do not know. I just... you would make me your queen? In front of the whole realm? You would... you would truly?”

“Yes.” His answer came without hesitation.

You were not sure if you had known whether or not he was quite so serious about it. About you. You had been far too tangled up in your own doubts, your own worries and fears. However, something about him saying out loud that he wished to eventually take you as his queen was... shocking somehow. It also put into perspective just how seriously he must really feel. Even if you had known on some level, even if he had asked to court you, part of you must have still been a little unsure. As if you thought perhaps he would hold the beliefs you did about your status and would eventually change his mind. To be thinking of you as his queen, beside him... he would not say that lightly.

Thranduil watched your expression change. Your soft frown faded away. Your eyes widenened. The tension seemed to fall out of you and he dropped his hands from your face, skimming them down the length of your arms before he took your own hands in his.

“Please.” He whispered, not above begging, not when it came to this - to you.

You did not speak another word. Instead, you moved forward just a little and leaned up towards him, pressing your lips softly against his own. One hand let go of yours and his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

Relief flooded through him as he understood your action for what it was. Apology. Acceptance. Adoration. Love. Everything you had been running from.

Thranduil knew then, as he swept you up into his arms and turned to carry you from the room, that everything would be okay.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #lotr x reader #hobbit x reader #thranduil fanfiction #requests

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corrodedhawkins · 2 years

Text

Upskirt: Perv!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Based on this inspired by @hauntinghawkins

Content warnings: Graphic smut (minors DNI), language, Perv!Eddie, looking up the readers skirt, being deceptive (Perv!Eddie’s specialty), grinding, blow jobs, cum swallowing, face sitting.

“M’lady”, Eddie bows, unlocking the door to his trailer before holding it open for you.

You giggle as you skip up the steps towards him, ponytail swaying as you move.

His head tilts to one side, eyeing your ass as your skirt flutters up as you pass him.

“Whoops”, Eddie lets out an exaggerated sign as he lets his keys slip from his fingers to hit the ground.

He leans over to grab the keys, giving him the perfect view up your skirt.

This isn’t something new for Eddie. He’s perfected his stance over the last few months so he gets the best view without being too obvious.

You’re wearing black lace panties, in what he suspects is a cheeky cut based on the ample amount of flesh peeking out of the fabric. He’s looked at enough Victoria’s Secret catalogues to recognize them.

These might just be his favorite pair yet, though the dark red pair with the bows on the hips from a few weeks ago is a strong contender.

Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly brave, he’ll even get you to bend over for him.

“Can you grab that for me, babe?”, Eddie will ask as he points at whatever it is he’s let slip from his grasp.

Tonight, he practically throws the lighter from his hand across the room.

He puts his hand on his lower back, making a pained face. “Fucked up my back loading the equipment at the show last night.” A lie, of course. Eddie had stood there and flirted with the bartender as the rest of the band packed everything up.

“Aw”, you coo, bending to pick it up for him, smirking over your shoulder as you catch him staring straight up your skirt.

He gets another eyeful, the lace hugging the curve of your ass so perfectly his mouth practically waters.

“Weren’t the guys helping you?”, you ask as you hand him the lighter.

“Nah, they were trying to flirt with the damn bartender, so. I was on my own loading everything into the van.” He does his best kicked puppy impression, eyes big and sad.

“Oh you poor thing!”, you rest your hand next to his on his lower back. “Do you want me to massage it for you?”

Eddie puts his hand up in protest, “oh no, that’s ok. Don’t worry about me.” He makes sure to wince as he says it, the hand on his lower back kneading his ‘sore’ muscles.

“Don’t be silly, I’m happy to help. Lay down.”

He hides his face in his shoulder and smirks, “you’re too good to me sweetheart.”

Crowding into your space, he gestures for you to come closer. “Here, help me with my shirt first?”

He bites his lip as you help him out of his vest and jacket, your breasts pressing into his chest as you lean up to slip them off of his shoulders.

He stifles a moan when your hand grazes his happy trail as you pull off his t-shirt, the sound turning into a groan of discomfort as he grabs his lower back for show.

Now shirtless, he lays face down on his bed, head pillowed on his forearms.

“Do you have any lotion?”, you ask, eyes scanning over his desk and dresser.

“Bedside table.”

He keeps a huge bottle of lotion next to his bed right alongside a box of Kleenex, you note. Of course he does.

Grabbing the lotion, you dispense a few pumps in your hands before rubbing them together to warm them.

Eddie still jumps at the cold when your hands finally touch his back, dispersing the lotion over his skin before you start to massage.

He knows he’s fucked the second your hands start to move. Instantly hard, he feels his cock kick against the mattress as your hands glide over his back.

Your hands move down his back, “where does it hurt?”

“A little lower”, he directs.

“One sec”, you straddle his ass, your lace covered core grinding into his backside.

You put your hand on his lower back right around where he had been clutching earlier.

“Yeah”, he moans as you dig your fingers into the muscle, grinding your pussy down onto his ass.

He can feel the warmth of your core through his jeans, and he swears you’re wet. His hips grind down into the mattress, cock throbbing against his zipper.

You knead his muscles, hips grinding you down into him with every sweep of your hands.

After a few moment, you decide he’s had enough.

“Turn over”, you swing your leg over his hips to sit on your knees to his side.

“W-what?”, he chokes out.

You pat his leg, “come on. Turn over.”

He huffs out a laugh, brain scrambling to find an excuse as to why he can’t lie face up.

“Eddie.”, you bite out. “Turn. Over.”

He squeezes his eyes shut as he rolls over, jeans tented obscenely. There’s a very obvious wet spot near his zipper.

You smirk, swinging your leg back over his hips to straddle his thighs.

“If I blow you, will you stop looking up my skirt?”

Eddie’s convinced he’s having a stroke. This cannot be happening.

“Yes”, he chokes out. No way in hell, he thinks.

“Great.” You reach for the button on his jeans, undoing it and his zipper before shoving them and his boxers down.

Eddie hisses as the cool air of his room hits his cock, throbbing and practically dripping precum.

You shuffle down to grab the base of his cock, mouth sinking down onto him before he can even register what’s happening.

His hips immediately buck up, tears springing to your eyes as he forces his way into your throat.

Eddie fists the sheets on either side of him, head tipped back as he he lets out a string of low moans.

You can tell he’s close already, his cock already pulsing against your tongue, balls drawn up close to his body.

Grabbing his hips to pin him down as best you can, you swallow, throat contracting around him as he careens over the edge.

Eddie shakes as he cums down your throat, chest heaving as his mouth hangs open in a wordless cry.

Once you’ve swallowed his release, you shimmy out of your panties and straddle him once again. This time, it’s his face.

“My turn”, you murmur, threading your hands into his hair to hold his head still.

When he tips his chin up and pokes out his tongue, you grind yourself down onto him.

Tag list:

@ghastlyentity @sweetpeapod @e0509 @simpingoverfictionalppl @quinnswife86 @munsonquinns @thorfemmes @khaleesibubblegum @manddoublee @mcplestreet @lizziesfirstwife @kellynickelsgirl00 @wroteclassicaly @msmimiandrew @emokid-ellie @stardust-galaxies @escapingthereality @marsbar127xx @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @dickchomper @xcarabear @just-absolutely-feral @hellfirebabes @ely-seum @fireflyislands @anaisweird @suhsouza @stardustmunson @bayouteche @prozacandnicotine @latenitewolves @munsons-bunny @tiannamortis

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #perv!eddie munson x reader #perv!eddie x reader #perv!eddie #perv!eddie munson #melissa writes

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sv5hive · 16 days

Text

in every universe? | cl16

pairing(s): charles leclerc x fem!reader

content warning(s): use of y/n, pretending the university of monaco has an architecture course shhhh, inaccurate architecture course information bcos i am lazy, ma**ia bin**to mention IM SORRY

word count: 2,580

note: this is my longesttt fic yet and i had so much fun writing it!! i hope you like it just as much 🫶🏻

masterlist!

"so in summary, i want to see how you will finance your project while keeping your budget in mind, any issues you may come across and their solutions, the influence behind it, how it might impact the environment and the population as well as visual aids to guide the audience. these presentations are due next month and remember! it is your responsibility to arrange times to work on the presentation together. i won't be accepting any excuses whatsoever!"

you chewed on the end of your pen at your professor's reminder as you watched everyone filter out the doors from your seat right at the back.

group projects always meant you would have to do all the work yourself just to share equal credit with everyone else in the group who didn't even attempt to contribute. this project was unlikely to be any different. it didn't help that you hadn't yet managed to make any genuine friendships with your classmates. it was understandable though, considering the expected workload at such a renowned university like monaco.

"hi, are you y/n l/n?"

too deep in your own thoughts about the assignment, you didn't realise the room had emptied completely. you also didn't realise other people apart from your professor knew your name. moving your gaze up to the source of the sound, you found a man almost too good looking to be true.

"oh, uh, yeah. yes, i am. sorry, who are you?"

with each word that escaped your mouth, you felt your face heating up. you didn't mean to be rude but you truly had no idea who you were talking to. how had you never noticed this greek god of a man in your class until now?

"i'm charles leclerc. we're in a group together for the assignment and i thought it would be a good idea to get your number so we can talk set up a time to talk about our ideas."

he held out his unlocked phone to you, inviting you to type in your number. if he was offended by your failure to recognise him it certainly didn't show which helped calm your frazzled nerves.

"oh, of course! sorry, i'm not used to someone else taking responsibility in a group project. usually i'm stuck doing everyone's work on top of my own. here you go." you replied while saving your number into his contacts.

he smiled at your admission and reassured you he wouldn't dare leave you to handle the entire project alone.

"i already have everyone else's numbers so i'll make a groupchat too. when are you free?"

as much as you would like to lie and say you had a life outside of studying, you didn't. but you would gladly say yes to any get together if it meant charles would be there too.

"honestly, i'm always free so any time works for me." you explained while packing your bag and standing up from your seat.

he grinned and walked with you towards the exit and out the building.

"yeah? how about now? there's this café i've heard is really good and i've been meaning to try it, i just haven't had the time recently."

you stopped in your tracks.

was he asking you on a date? this was definitely new. obviously you had been in a few relationships before but they had never quite managed to get you flustered like this on the first meeting.

truth be told, he had gone to that café a million times over as it was the closest one to campus that served the best croissants for cheap but you didn't need to know that.

"are you asking me on a date?" you asked, not hesitating to get straight to the point.

his grin flickered for a split second, almost in surprise at your bluntness, before growing impossibly wider.

"uh, yeah, i'm asking you on a date right now. so? what do you say?"

"hmmm, and what do i get out of it if i say yes?"

you didn't think twice about taking him up on his offer but it was fun to watch him scramble for reasons you should have a coffee with him. you watched him come up with several nonsensical arguments before you decided to put him out of his misery.

"relax, i'll go on a date with you! you should've seen your face!"

he blushed at your antics before joining in your giggles at his own expense. he had a feeling your laughter would become his favourite sound.

"what are you waiting for then? lead the way."

unsurprisingly, you two were the only ones who took part in the group project but you couldn't complain when you had such good company to help you.

"this is charles leclerc, he will be your race engineer starting from next season." your team principal fred vasseur gently pushed you away from your teammate to the new hire fresh out of internship at haas.

after the quick decline of your 2022 season, ferrari had wasted no time in sacking binotto and your less than competent engineer for much more suitably equipped individuals.

"pleasure to meet you, charles. i'm y/n l/n. are you sure you're ready for this?" you outstretch your hand to shake his.

"thank you, it's a pleasure to meet you as well, you are an inspiration to so many. i'm extremely grateful to be given this opportunity to work with such a talented driver like yourself. and yes i'm one hundred percent ready to give my everything so you can bring home some wins and maybe even the championship." he spoke with a conviction almost as if he had been practicing it in the mirror for weeks.

his hand wrapped around yours and you couldn't help but notice how warm they were even in the frigid winter. you grinned at his confidence and faith in not only himself but also the team and you as a driver. it was certainly the energy you needed after the less than impressive season that you had just wrapped up.

"i like him already! so much more positive than my last engineer. where have you been all this time?" you declared patting him on the back while looking at your team principal in approval.

he was so sure you could notice the pink tinge on his cheeks as he nervously smiled at your praise and suddenly found the carpeted floor the most interesting thing in the room to observe.

"i'm glad you two are getting along! now let's get on with this meeting. i would like to get home at a reasonable time today."

as the meeting dragged on, you found yourself staring at charles opposite you out of nothing but pure curiosity and maybe a little bit of humour. it was clear he harboured some feelings towards you that he couldn't hide no matter how hard he tried. that much was evident in the way he refused to even glance in your direction at the risk of making eye contact.

"we don't quite know how the others will perform yet but we definitely expect to be more on pace with red bull next year. this season wasn't our best but it gives us a good foundation to improve on which is better than nothing. any questions?"

even if there were any questions left unanswered everyone was much too tired to articulate them and so the meeting room fell into silence before you all said your goodbyes to each other wishing everyone a restful winter break.

you were headed out the door when you heard your name being called. you turned to see charles jogging to catch up to you and so you decided to wait for him at the exit.

"you excited for the winter break?" you strike up a conversation with him as you dawdled towards the car park together.

"yes, but i'm more excited for the season to start. i've been preparing for this my whole life. what about you? surely you're tired of being in the car?" he questioned with genuine interest.

"no, not really. i mean i've been preparing for this my whole life too. the travelling is a lot to handle but there's nothing more i enjoy than being in the car. don't get me wrong, i do like being at home too. i just love racing so much i wish i could do it all the time."

"really? you don't ever get tired of racing?" he looked over at you in wonder and you smiled at his disbelief.

"really. ever since i was a kid i've always wanted to be racing constantly. what about you? i mean pretty much all of us drivers got into the sport through karting. what made you want to be a race engineer?"

"well actually i did get into karting too. my father took me and my brothers to a local track and it all started there. i liked karting but i was always more interested in the technical side. my younger brother arthur liked it a lot though and he decided to pursue a career. he's actually stepping up to formula 2 next year."

"yeah? he must be pretty good then." you didn't recognise his brother's name because you were too busy with your own preparation every race weekend to watch the support series but you took his word for it.

"yeah, i'm really glad he's made it this far. we didn't have much money for karting when he was just starting out but we managed to make it work."

you were all too familiar with the struggles of funding and putting together enough sponsors just to make it through the season. there were already very few people getting into motorsport and the high costs didn't help. you had seen too many young talents drop out because they just couldn't afford it anymore. you were one of the lucky ones to secure a place in the ferrari driver academy and have their money to fall back on.

realising you were getting closer and closer to your car, you slowed down in hopes you could keep talking to charles for longer.

"so, why ferrari? it's a team with lots of history but we haven't won a championship since 2008." you asked with no ill intentions.

you really were just interested seeing as the team was currently the laughing stock amongst the grid and the fans - which you didn't blame them for. they had thrown away several chances of a championship with some of the most talented drivers, purely due to their own inability to perform when it was needed most.

"that doesn't matter to me. i've supported ferrari since i was little so it wasn't even a question which team i wanted to join. i remember i used to always follow the red car when they raced at monaco even before i knew it was a ferrari. anyone who has the chance to be a part of ferrari, would take that chance, no? i've barely started here but there's something special about being a part of ferrari." he explained with a look in his eyes that you could only imagine was the same wonder that appeared when watching the red ferrari of kimi räikkönen speed around his home track.

"what about you? you're the one who actually drives for ferrari so what made you sign with them?"

you stopped upon reaching your car neatly tucked inside the white lines.

"ah, i would love to tell you but i do have to get home."

charles' smile fell before he agreed, making his own excuses about his neighbours complaining of his late night ruckus he caused. both of you were disappointed at the fact you couldn't just keep talking for hours but you had another idea up your sleeve.

"but i would be happy to have dinner with you tomorrow to continue this conversation if you're free? if you want to join me that is! you don't have to."

"no, no i want to! that would be great! here's my number. i'll pick you up at 7?"

his initial plans of acting casual around you had been thrown out the window and he was already wishing for time to go faster. you couldn't help but smile at his eagerness - it was a change from your usually soulless dates who treated you like arm candy.

"great! thank you, charles, really. i haven't been this optimistic about an upcoming season in a while but you've already made me excited for the future, even though we just met. i have a feeling we're going to enjoy a lot of victories together." you admitted honestly.

you hadn't been completely happy with any of your seasons with the scuderia so far, always hungry for more despite exceeding the expectations of many.

"thank you, that's the biggest compliment i could receive. i have no doubt we can bring the team many wins."

the 2023 season went on to be one of your best performances in a time where red bull dominance was ever growing. although the championship was not quite in your firm grasp just yet, you had come closer than ever with the help of new management and, more importantly, charles. this was simply the beginning for you two.

"hey charles?" you called out looking up from your phone screen to find him pulling on his race suit.

"yes, mon ange?" he replied turning to face you sitting on the tiny bed.

even though you two had been dating for years, him and his pet names never failed to fluster you.

"do you think we're soulmates in every universe?" you asked after seeing the tik tok trend appear on your phone.

you weren't really expecting a serious answer from charles. you knew it was a silly theory but you decided to entertain the thought. however it seemed that charles had a different idea.

"maybe, maybe not. i'd like to think we are but even if we're not, that doesn't matter. what matters is that we're together in this one, no? besides, even if we weren't destined to be together, i'd still find you and choose you in every universe." he voiced casually, placing a soft kiss on your forehead while looking around the room for his racing boots.

his confessions of undying love to you had become a daily occurrence and it was always certain his words would make your heart melt.

"you've seen the trend, haven't you?" you questioned him. there was no way he had just come up with that answer on the spot.

"what trend? mon amour, you know i am not on social media as much as you are."

"the tik tok trend! are you sure you haven't seen it?"

"yes, i am very sure, mon ange. come on, i don't need to see a tik tok to tell you that i will always choose you."

you didn't fully believe him but you also knew that he was a terrible liar, his facial expressions giving him away no matter what with each attempt made.

"come here. one last good luck kiss for me?" he asked with a pleading look you could never deny and pulled you from the bed by your arms.

"of course, my love. i want you back safe in one piece, ok?" you held his face in your hands and placed a delicate kiss on his forehead, nose, each cheek and finally, his lips.

"anything for you."

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x you #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #cl16 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc oneshot #charles leclerc x female reader

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

Text

sO i got to part two of the daniel jason todd fenton au :)

>:) word count 8k+

So, first, taglist for folks who asked for it: @blep-23 @mikyapixie @isnt-that-grape @randomenglishmajor @illryiannightmare @the-navistar-carol

SECOND: this part needs a trigger/content warning list: - CW Mild Swearing - CW Slight Psychological Horror - ^ CW mild depictions of being haunted by your own ghost/death flag and not realizing it (other people do though) - CW Brief Emetophobia (Danny throws up during a second nightmare) - CW Danny has nightmares of dying - except its of Jason Todd's warehouse death. It's not explicit but it's implied - TW Mild mentions of perceived Blood - TW Depictions of Corpses (first is non-descript, and then second one is slightly more descript but its not anything uh, super descriptive) - TW Mild description of burns (the descriptive part above) - TW Depictions of Panic Attacks (Danny's nightmares)

I mentioned that this au was inspired by a song lyric from Jann's 'Gladiator' here is that line:

I know your addiction's attention, Let's start a show Is it everything and more than you were hoping for? Show us something we ain't never seen before

The day after Danny meets himself, he's downstairs having breakfast in the dining room with the rest of the family, listening idly in on their conversations. Tim Drake is talking about something about Wayne Industries with Mr. Wayne - and wasn't that a startling surprise to learn the first time? - and Damian was slyly trying to feed Ace under the table. Duke Thomas was mid conversation with Cass, much of it audibly one-sided as Cass swaps between ASL and verbal speech.

(Danny comes across her a fair few amount of times in Wayne Manor. The first time was in the library. She hands him a book about planets, smiles, and walks away.)

(He hasn't talked much to Duke Thomas yet, but he plans to - he seems cool. They just haven't had the time to run into each other yet. Danny might just have to corner him, he thinks.)

And finally Dick Grayson on his left, his Dick Grayson, was talking away with the other Dick Grayson - who had stopped by from Bludhaven for the morning for his day off. He was a cop, ew. They were comparing lives, specifically college lives. There wasn’t much to talk about in their childhood, it seems. Danny was quietly listening in.

(They both gave their Bruces headaches as children, apparently. Climbing the chandeliers and sliding down the staircase banisters. Flips and tricks only a child raised by the circus could do.)

All-in-all, a very quiet morning, Danny thinks. That is, until the other Dick Grayson turns to him and goes; "I'm sure you've been asked already, but what do your parents do, Mini Jay?"

Danny squints at him, and releases his grip on his spoon to raise a pointed finger. "First off: only my Dick Grayson can call me Jay, you have your own." He says, slightly playful and nodding to Dick - oh that was going to get confusing, fast. He should come up with a nickname for one of them, probably - "And second: you're the second person to ask me that, actually. Jason - er, myself? - asked me yesterday. My parents are ectologists."

Apparently, mentioning that he met himself is a set of magic words, because the whole table stops what they're doing, and Danny's half-sinking back into his chair when all eyes turn to him in varying degrees of surprise. Dick - Richard, he’s going to call him Richard - looks at him with wide eyes and furrowed, confused brows. "You saw Jason?"

(Danny sends Bruce a confused look, but he's not paying attention - looking at everyone else with threaded eyebrows and a faint frown. Well, at least Danny isn't the only one confused by the reaction.)

(What a comfort.)

"I guess that nickname is a dimensional constant." He mutters under his breath, and straightens up, eyeing the room warily. It... doesn't bode well to him that the Waynes were surprised by his other self's appearance -- was hisself estranged from the family?

...He hopes that doesn't happen in his world. Dick and Bruce may not be his adoptive family, but he likes them quite a lot. He wants to stay in contact with them when they get home.

"Yeah, he was in the library." He says, frowning at Richard Grayson. "He was sitting in my armchair." He supposes it was Jason's armchair first -- god, that was so weird to refer to himself in third person. "We talked for a little bit, and he asked me what my parents did. They're ectologists, by the way."

He turns to Mister Wayne and tilts his head, "Did you really not know that he was here?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. He wouldn't expect Richard to know, he doesn't live here. But Mister Wayne looks just as surprised, perhaps even a little remorseful.

(There’s a pit in his stomach that’s growing bigger.)

(His neck burns with a new pair of eyes, ones that he can’t see.)

Mr. Wayne looks thoughtful for a moment, and then carefully, he goes; "Jason is rather... independent. He comes and goes from the manor when he feels like it." And the way he speaks sounds like he was choosing his words carefully. Danny suppresses the shiver of unease.

Something was not well in this house. Something unspoken was haunting the air.

(Jason would know about hauntings, wouldn’t he?)

He hopes history won't repeat itself, he likes Bruce quite a lot.

"...Alright," he says after a moment of silence, not hiding his wariness as he slowly turns back to Richard. His eyes flick towards Bruce, and then to Ricard. "Anyway, my parents are ectologists, as I've said for the third time now."

Richard, for his effort, takes the topic change easily, and his surprise shifts into one of curiosity - as does everyone else. (Did Danny really not mention what his parents did? Even Dick and Bruce look intrigued.) "That's... new." Richard says lightly, Danny commends him for the way he sounds non-judgmental. "What are ectologists?"

Danny quirks a dry half-smile, and deadpans; "Studiers of all things dead and afterlife."

...And there is that reaction again. A ripple of surprise and intrigue that spreads throughout the room as everyone looks at him, like a bunch of cats perking up their ears.

On the other side of the table, Damian scoffs quietly, a sound much like the one Jason - the other one - did when Danny told him. Danny's eyes snap over to him in an instant, he stares at him, trying to study him. Why that reaction - again?

He lets himself frown, briefly, before addressing Richard again. "Everyone just calls them ghost hunters, but the 'official' term is ectologists." He drawls, air-quoting the word 'official' with his fingers as he rolls his eyes. "They've been obsessed with ghosts since college. We even have a lab in the basement, and they keep liquid ectoplasm samples in the fridge."

Danny's been in the lab a handful of times, he and Jazz both have, either to clean it as part of their chores, or to listen to a lecture from their parents for their newest invention. The lab is cool, kinda, but Danny thinks it wouldn't look out of place in any evil lair of a Rogue with a doctorate.

…He’s glad that the Fentons weren’t stationed in Gotham. They would have blown up a street. He’s surprised they haven’t already.

"Ectoplasm?" Dick asks, leaning over to catch Danny's eye. Almost by instinct now Danny smiles at him, and then nods.

"Mom and dad say it's the stuff that makes ghosts." He explains, leaning back against his seat, his arms crossing. "It's invisible in its natural state, and it makes up everything. Kinda like the Force from Star Wars, or just, matter in general."

That cracks a few quiet, laugh-like sounds through the dining room. Danny halves a smile again, a swelling of pride in his chest that lingers for a moment. "My parents say that when ectoplasm condenses enough in one area, it can start taking on visible properties," he continues, "they say that ghosts are just the memories and emotions of a dying person or animal being imprinted on a concentration of ectoplasm, and that the ghost itself isn't actually the person or animal, just matter trying to mimic it."

Which Danny guesses makes sense, even if the way they talk about ghosts made him really uncomfortable. His parents insisted that ghosts weren't actually people, but he just couldn't shake the idea that they were. How close to ‘human’ does something get before they actually are?

Well, no, that wasn’t fair. Superman wasn’t human, and yet everyone treated him like he was. Let him rephrase himself:

How human-like must something get before they are considered as such? Before they’re considered sapient and sentient, and real?

"That's... quite interesting." Someone says, and Danny turns to see Bruce leaning his elbows against the table and putting his chin on threaded fingers. He looks genuinely engrossed in what Danny's said, and pride once again leaks into his heart. "You mentioned they kept ectoplasm in a liquified state in their... fridge?"

"Oh yeah," Danny says, putting his full attention to Bruce, "it's crazy. They keep little test tube racks in the freezer full of liquid ectoplasm, and it's this - uh - glowing, bright green stuff. It used to be the weirdest thing in the house."

(From his peripherals, Danny notices the room tense up again at his description — and he bites back the urge to slow his talking down and narrow his eyes. Suspicious. Suspicious. The Waynes weren’t scientists - why do they react to something like they are?)

(Nobody knows what ectoplasm is. To the scientific world, it's an unconfirmed theory of a state of matter. Why do the Waynes act like they know what it is?)

(Danny is not stupid. Even if his scientific family makes him feel like it, sometimes.)

Bruce gives him this half-tilted, confused smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "Used to be?"

Danny opens his mouth, the answer already on the tip of his tongue -- and then he freezes. His jaw clicks shut as he frowns. Should he say what his parents' latest pet project was? Surely, surely, it would be fine? Their inventions never work - and a life-sized portal is just another thing on his parents' crazy ideas list.

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, chewing on the skin as he rolls the answer over in his head. ...Surely, it would be fine. His face turns in hesitance, and his shoulders scrunch and twist to his ears, like he's about to admit something that could get him grounded by his parents.

"They... may, or may not, be building an inter-dimensional portal in the basement?" His voice steadily pitches upward nervously the longer he speaks. By the time he finishes, his voice is close to a squeaky pitch.

There is a horrified silence that follows him, sitting in the air so still-like that Danny could hear the whoosh of a pin drop. He should have expected that, nervously surveying the ranging horrified expressions on the Wayne family's faces. "...I promise they're harmless... to the living." He hesitates, "Mostly."

Bruce stares at him for a long moment. "Mostly?" He repeats, his brows arched high and pinched together. Danny cringes back a little.

"Dad's a little clumsy, that's all." He says, shrugging with a helpless smile. It doesn't help, he thinks, and the silence is strangling. Sitting up, he's a little frantic to add; "I really, really, doubt it's going to work, Bruce. Their inventions never do. Mom and dad built a mini portal in college and it didn't work either!" There's a moment of silence following him, before he quietly adds, wincing, "It- it did hospitalize the guy who was helping them, though."

He only heard about that when he asked his parents about the portal - it was still in production when they picked him up. Jack Fenton claimed it was safe as safe could be - they’d make sure that the ‘college’ instance never happened again.

Bruce - both Bruces actually - looked vaguely ill at the thought. Mister Wayne’s face was blank, his face sunk into his folded hands, and Bruce’s stare burned into Danny, intense like concentrated fire.

Danny for some reason - either through his panicked urge to make things better, or through temporary insanity - laughs forcibly. "The worst thing that could happen is that the portal could explode, but that never happens."

Next to him, Dick makes a stressed sound. "That's not better, Jay." He forces out. He looks even more horrified.

Danny sucks on his bottom lip for a long beat. Then lets out a breath.

"Yeah, I know." Danny sighs, deep and long while his shoulders slump. He watches the room for a moment, with their various stony-like expressions, and looks back at the very concerned-looking Bruce. "But Bruce, I swear it's fine. Nothing's gonna happen, please don't call the Justice League on my parents. They really are harmless."

Bruce looks conflicted.

"I was being dramatic when I said the portal could explode, it won't." He continues, giving Bruce what Jazz has called his 'cheating puppy eyes'. "My parents are eccentric about their line of work, but they understand lab safety. They'd never do anything to put me and Jazz in danger."

...Actively or on purpose, that is.

He and Bruce stare each other down. One second, two seconds; what feels like thirty seconds pass in silence before Bruce relents, sighing deeply and uncannily dad-like. He drags a hand down his face, and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "When we get back to our universe, you are giving me your phone number so you can contact me if anything happens."

Danny beams, nodding hurriedly. "Thank you, Buzz."

Bruce isn't able to hide his smile - small as it was - quickly enough. "You're welcome, Danny."

—-----

Danny has a nightmare that night. He doesn't remember most of it. There's a ticking sound, and high laughter, and there is a thumping heartbeat in his ears. Everything is dark and he is in agonizing pain.

He wakes up in paralyzing terror, a scream lodged in the back of his throat. His head pounds like a concussion and there is a shallowing ache in his ribs, like someone's kicked him, and kicked him, and kicked him until all air has been knocked from his lungs. He can't breathe.

Danny's hands scrabble for his throat, and even though he can hear himself gasping for air, it doesn't feel like he's taking any of it in. There is no relief in the action, no reassurance, and everything is so hot. He kicks at his blankets, his panic growing higher as they tangle around his legs.

He needs-

He needs--

He needs to move. He needs to get up. He needs to free himself. He needs to prove that he's not dying. He feels like he's dying. He feels like he's burning. There are tears swelling in his eyes as he finally gets the blankets off his feet, and he rolls - quite literally - out of bed.

He tries to catch himself, he does. But he doesn't. He hits the floor with a heavy thud and can hardly bring himself to care -- he catches himself on his elbows, and the sting it causes makes him feel worse. The air is knocked out of his chest again.

The ground is cold though, blessedly cold. And before Danny can realize this, he lifts his head and, disoriented, looks for the door. It's too dark, it's too dark. His head swivels blindly in search of it. He needs to get out, he needs to escape.

"Bruce." He croaks, still trying to force air down into his lungs. His call comes out raspy, weak, and hot tears blur his vision.

"Dick." He tries instead when a minute passes and no one comes, and he thinks he can finally start breathing. No one comes to find him - his voice is too quiet to wake anyone up. The tears in his eyes bubble and pop, and stream down his face.

He makes a distressed noise. "Jazz?" He whispers, his voice shaky and uneven with an encompassing want for his sister. It's nearly been a month since they got here. He wants Jazz.

No one hears him. He's alone.

God, he doesn't want to be alone. Please don't make him be alone.

Danny eventually gets himself calmed down. But he is curled up on the floor, trembling with the lingering traces of fear from whatever dream had woken up. His fingers dig painfully into his arms, leaving crescent-moon indents by his nails. The contents of the nightmare are already fading further into his mind, slipping out of his hands like water. Like ash.

He feels no need to chase after it.

The back of his shirt is damp with sweat, and in between the trembling he is also shivering, goosebumps lacing up his arms. His eyes have adjusted to the dark, and he stares with wide, crying eyes at the side of his bed. His breath comes out in short, shaky pants.

He doesn't know how long he lays there, trying to comprehend what happened as his mind still hangs onto the edge of the dreamworld. It feels like there is something in the room with him, crawling along the walls.

Danny forces himself to get up, and the sudden standing makes his vision blacken and swim as blood rushes to his head. He stumbles, slightly, and lurches halfway across the room for the light switch.

He squints as the room is drenched in light, chasing away the lingering paranoia in the back of his brain. He is still shaking. His head still hurts. He still looks, wide eyed, around the room for anything out of place.

There is none.

But he still feels unsafe. He needs- he needs to find someone, or go somewhere else. He grabs a firm pillow off the bed, and leaves.

(He ends up in the library alone. He turns on the lights and grabs a book Dick recommended to him, and he curls up tight in his armchair. He ends up falling asleep just as the sun is rising.)

(He doesn't tell anyone about the nightmare.)

Progress in getting the three of them back to their home dimension is slow. Dimension Hopping is a rare experience, and what update Bruce gets he relays back to Danny and Dick: they're trying to figure out a way to send them back safely, from the exact time they disappeared, and to find what dimension they're from. It's complicated magic.

It's been three weeks.

Danny, for one, is getting homesick. He misses Jazz, Sam, and Tucker terribly, and his parents. Bruce and Dick are great, really, and Danny kinda wants to keep in touch with them after they return to their own world, but they aren't replacements of his sister and friends.

His nightmare from a few days ago still haunt his steps. He closes eyes, and that high-pitched laughter and blood-rushed pounding burns itself his ears and fills a level of unseen terror into his heart. Danny thinks that if he was hit with Scarecrow's fear gas, this is what it would feel like.

He tries to avoid falling asleep by reading in his room, by stargazing, but the place sets him on edge; an unsettling reminder of that nightmare. So he goes to the library when it gets too much, he's run into Bruce twice now doing it, and they both do reading.

Danny thinks Bruce can suspect something is up with him, but he doesn't want to tell him about that nightmare. Dick either, for that matter. He just wants to forget it.

They spend afternoons in the gym, they have it mostly to themselves - Tim Drake is at Wayne Industries, Damian Wayne is at school, so is Duke Thompson, and Cassandra Cain is... doing whatever she does during the day. Danny's not totally sure.

Dick in that time, tries showing Danny how to be more flexible. He says he's a fast learner, but Danny knows he's been slacking lately with his lack of sleep.

There isn't much they can do outside of the manor - Bruce and Dick can't go outside because they'll catch the attention of the paparazzi, and they are both significantly younger than their counterparts, and Danny isn't allowed out without a chaperone.

Which has its own unique set of problems because rumors could rapidly start if he's seen with any of the Waynes multiple times. The paparazzi aren’t dumb enough… okay, most — some — of them aren’t dumb enough to make a tabloid claiming there’s a new Wayne kid just because they see the Waynes interacting with one kid, one time. Multiple times however? That’s another story. And, he has the same issue as Bruce and Dick - he's a baby-faced Jason Todd. Who is Bruce Wayne's adoptive son in this world. He could be recognized.

And how do you explain a tiny Jason Todd to a world where Jason Todd is a full grown man?

So all three of them are... stuck inside, so to speak. And making do with what they can. Danny spends most of his morning and early noon with Dick, and then they both separate after to have time to themselves before dinner.

Bruce is in one of the studies, doing... something. Danny's not sure and he keeps forgetting to ask.

Dick likes Danny - Jason? - Jay. Danny said that he can call him Jason, and he doesn't protest to being called Jay.

Point is: he likes Jay. He's a delightful kid to be around; he's funny, and clever, even if he doesn't realize it himself. And Dick's a little upset that Jay isn't his brother in his world, he would've loved to have him around the manor. He probably would have visited more if he was around.

Something that he and Bruce were still slowly trying to fix...

He likes spending time with him - getting to teach him his acrobatic tricks was not something he expected, but he loves showing Jay how to do them. He thinks this is probably how Bruce felt when he was training Dick how to be Robin, all those years ago.

Speaking of which, Dick was still not over the Robin jacket that Jay wore. The origins of it weren't the best - Jay started wearing it to take back the insult the other kids at his school were throwing at him - but isn't that what part of what being Robin was about?

Cheesy, he knows. But his point still stands.

He thinks that if he had to pass the Robin title down to anyone, it would be Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton. Or perhaps just Jason Fenton-Todd? Jay doesn’t seem all that attached to the name Danny.

(“Mom and dad just started calling me it when they picked me up.” Danny — Jay shrugged when Dick asked him about it, the two of them swinging from bar to bar. “I wasn’t tellin’ ‘em my name at the time, so they gave me a new one.”)

If he had met Jason before the Fentons had, Dick thinks maybe he would have adopted him instead. And what would that future look like? Would he have been able to, when he had to go to college and classes? Would he have been able to keep going out at night, and keep that secret to himself?

He’ll never know, he supposes.

“I think that’s it for today.” Dick says, swinging off the jungle gym and landing on the mats with a cat-like thump. Behind him, Jay groans, and drops with a less graceful thud as Dick stretches out his spine. There’s a satisfying pop-pop-pop of his back as he leans back.

He turns, and sees Jay going for his water bottle. He looks tired — from what, Dick doesn’t know. But there are dark bags under his eyes and a sleep-distracted look on his face. He’s been distracted, and their lessons have been suffering from it.

Dick wants to know what’s bothering him, but Jay hasn’t said anything, and Dick doesn’t know what he could say to make it better.

“I can still keep going.” Jason insists, but he tiredly slumps over to grab his water, and straightens up sluggishly. It’s probably not a lie, but anything Dick shows him he doubts that Jay will retain it. “You don’t have to stop.”

“Oh but I want to.” Dick says, walking over to grab his own water. “I’m human too you know—” and Jay snorts at him with a grumbled ‘doubt it’. “—so I also need my breaks.”

“With the way you can bend I really don’t think so.” Jason mutters, eyeing him up and down. Dick laughs quietly and takes a long sip of his water. “Seriously, circus boy, what do they feed you? Actually - what did they feed myself?”

Dick’s laughter doubles as Jay’s eyes grow wide and wild, his head shaking with spasming arms. “No, seriously! I don’t know if you’ve seen the other me yet, Dick, but he- he’s fucking huge!” He exclaims, and jumps as high as he can as his arms try to make a silhouette above his head. “I- I’m almost as big as Jack Fenton, and we’re not even biologically related! I don’t know where he got that much height to him, ‘cause- ‘cause Willis, that drunk bastard, was never that big!”

Dick hasn’t seen the elusive other Jason Todd, and he’s been so curious about him. Both he and Bruce have — especially considering that everyone else doesn’t seem to want to tell them about him. He tried stopping his other self to ask about Jason Todd of his world, and his other self just said that he was his little brother and the second robin, and that he did a lot of his own stuff.

It was a whole bunch of fucking nothing. And he and Bruce were growing suspicious about it. They hadn’t thought of it before because, well, they were busy adjusting to being in a new world and trying to figure out a way back. And then Jason was never really brought up, but neither was Dick Grayson unless Dick asked about it, and he didn’t think to ask about Jason Todd before.

It was all just strange.

But Jay’s exclamation over the size of himself distracts Dick long enough that he forces himself to put the mystery of Jason Todd on the backburner for now. “I’ll- I’ll have to see him for myself, Jaybird.” He says when his laughter subsides, and he straightens up.

“Seriously,” Jay stresses, and he starts to make his way towards the gym door. “He’s fucking massive, Dick. Built like a brick shithouse.”

Dick almost starts laughing again, “Where did you even learn that phrase?”

Jay rolls his shoulders back and grins at him slyly, “I read.” He says, and it’s so clearly not how he learned that word that Dick barks out a laugh.

They reach the door, and Jay holds the door open as Dick reaches for the light switch. He looks behind him, surveying the room quickly to make sure that there’s nothing they could have left on the floor, before turning off the lights.

Bright green eyes stare at him from the mirror. Right where Jay is standing.

In an instant, the lights are back on. Dick’s heart has been kickstarted into fifth gear, suddenly and loudly racing in his chest as he darts his head around the room. It was only two seconds, perhaps only even one, but fear has been shot like an adrenaline needle into Dick’s veins. An inhuman, skyrocketing fear alike to Scarecrow’s fear gas.

What was that?

WHAT WAS THAT?

But there’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. There is only Jason where the eyes were.

From the mirror’s reflection, Jason turns his head — he hadn’t been looking at Dick, he hadn’t been looking at Dick — and stares up at him. There is confusion written on his face as he glances up at Dick, and then at the mirror. He meets his eyes - Jason’s blue, blue, not green, eyes — and Dick forces himself to look away from the mirror and down at Jay.

“What was that for?” Jay asks him, perfectly normal and perfectly confused.

Dick feels like he just ran a marathon. He’s panting, he doesn’t know why, and he forces himself to sound like he wasn’t as he wets his lips and furrows his brows. “I thought I saw something.” He says, frowning.

He didn’t think. He did. He did.

What did he see?

It was standing where Jay was. Those eyes. Those green-green eyes. It was where Jay was. He forces himself to shake his head, his frown deepening, unsettled. Jason peers around him as if to see what he had, and Dick puts a hand on his chest, stopping him. “It was nothing, let's go.”

He turns Jay around, and ignores his bewildered look. That lighthearted mood he had earlier has plummeted, replaced with an eerie paranoia as he takes the door from Jason’s hand and flicks the lights back off.

When he looks over his shoulder at the mirror, there’s nothing there.

—------------

Danny has another nightmare. It’s the same one. It’s dark again. That high pitched laughter fills his ears. The ticking is louder, louder, louder. It’s counting down, but to what - he can’t see — he can’t see what it’s counting down to.

There is still so much pain. His head hurts, his body hurts. He has a body now, he can remember he has a body. He’s in so much pain. He looks down at his hands and pooling around his knees is a bloody yellow cape, it’s torn and bloody and his hands are bloody and torn and he’s wearing green gloves.

He wakes up just before the ticking stops. He doesn’t know how he knows that the ticking stops.

Danny rolls over and hangs himself sideways off the bed, gasping for air that doesn’t come. He wants to scream again, to shriek with such terror that it sends everyone in the manor running into his room. He doesn’t, he can’t, he has no mouth and he must scream.

Danny gasps for air instead, and then dry heaves until he throws up onto the floor. His head is spinning with the fadings of a dream-made concussion, again. His chest hurts deeper, more, it’s no longer shallow and as if someone was sitting on his chest, like someone had beat him in the stomach and chest and head.

He feels like he’s choking. He is, he’s choking on what bile he can’t get out of his throat, and he forces himself to swallow it back down. He’s crying, he realizes, and dragging in air down into his lungs to the point it hurts.

What is going on? He thinks through the haze in his mind. With what lucidity he has he brings a hand to his head to make sure he’s not bleeding. His palm swipes against sticky skin, and all that comes back is sweat. He’s not bleeding. He feels like he is.

Make it stop. His inner mind wails as he finally, finally, starts to calm down again. He’s still crying. The tears burn down his cheeks, and he absently sticks out his tongue and licks the ones that gather at his lips away. He wipes at his face again, and when he looks at his hands, all he sees is skin.

He’s not wearing gloves.

His hands reach for his back, and grasp his sweat-soaked shirt instead. He’s not wearing a cape. It soothes him, just a little bit. But not enough to keep him feeling safe.

Danny peers over the side of the bed, and through his dark-adjusted eyes he sees the sitting puddle of throw-up on the floor. He cringes, sniffling. He can’t keep that there. He needs to — he needs to clean that up.

Alfred must be sleeping by now — what time is it? He doesn’t know. He can’t wake him up. Where does Alfred keep the cleaning supplies?

Danny throws his legs over the side — they’re not broken, he thinks dazedly — why would he think they’re broken? — and he stumbles to the door. He avoids, somehow, the sick.

(He passes by a mirrored vanity on his way to the door. He doesn’t see his reflection staring at him with green-green eyes. He doesn’t see those eyes following him.)

He runs into Bruce in the hallway. He should have guessed it so. Danny freezes in his tracks, fear shooting up into his throat as Bruce turns towards him, already a smile pulling on the older man’s face.

It drops immediately when he sees him. It twists down, and his face burrows into concern. “What’s wrong?” He asks, and Bruce is kneeling before him before Danny can blink. He looks worried. Danny must look awful then.

(He does. He looks pale as a ghost, and his face is splotchy red and shiny with tears.)

Danny blinks at him numbly, trying to get his thoughts in order. Bruce’s hands are on his shoulders, Danny throws his hands over them, squeezing the knuckles and blinking widely. “I had-” he licks his lips, “a- uh, nightmare. And then I threw up.”

Fuck, he feels like a toddler. His eyes burn with embarrassed tears. He’s fucking thirteen. He’s not a baby. But he feels like a little kid going to their parent’s room. Bruce isn’t even his dad. He shouldn’t feel this way.

But Bruce doesn’t make fun of him, or scold him, and Danny didn’t really expect him to, but the concern that melts over his face as his eyes soften makes him feel all warm and fuzzy anyways. “Okay,” Bruce says, expression softened but no less worried, and stands up. “Okay, we can go find Alfred then.”

Danny’s lips press together, uneven and wobbling. “Please don’t.” He says before he can stop himself, and his voice cracks. He feels like such a baby. “I can clean it myself. We don’t have to wake him up.”

“Do you even know where the cleaning supplies are, chum?” Bruce asks, and in the dark hallway he can see him raise an eyebrow. Danny’s lips press tighter together. He doesn’t. But he can find it.

They wake up Alfred. Dany feels like shit the entire time.

“I’m sorry.” He croaks as he follows Alfred and Bruce down the hallway with a mop and a bucket. He’s so embarrassed. He’s going to cry again, and he hates it. “I can do it, Mister Pennyworth. Please.”

“You sound,” Mister Pennyworth starts, his voice soft, “just like young Master Jason when he started living here.” He turns to throw Danny an endeared smile, and Danny thinks it’s supposed to make him feel better. It does, a little bit, and it also makes him feel worse.

“I am Jason.” He says, and tears spill down his face again. He is Jason. That’s his name. It’s not Danny, it never has been. The time he’s been here has slowly been pointing that out to him. He may be Fenton, but he’s not Danny.

Alfred gets it all cleaned up, and Bruce sticks with him after he leaves. Danny’s grateful and resentful of it — hasn’t he embarrassed himself enough tonight?

Bruce leads him to the library, a funny parallel to the first time. “We can ask Mister Wayne —” Bruce’s face scrunches up slightly, and Danny laughs under his breath. At least he’s not the only one still weirded out by it. “— about getting you a new room tomorrow.”

Danny sniffs dryly, “How’d you know?” He didn’t think it was obvious that he didn’t want to go to sleep in his room. Bruce smiles knowingly at him, sadly, and they both sit down in the lounge chair next to the fireplace. It sits across from Danny’s armchair.

“I know a thing or two about nightmares.” He says softly.

Oh.

Yeah.

That’s right. His parents.

He probably had nightmares about that.

Danny looks away from him, his eyes drop to his hands. His bare, non-bloody hands. He leans into Bruce’s side. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” He mumbles. He doesn’t want to talk about dying. Or what he thought was dying.

“And you don’t have to.” Bruce says, slinging one arm around him and slumping against the curve of the chair. Danny reluctantly follows his falling, and finds himself trapped between the back of the chair and Bruce’s side. His ear is pressed to Bruce’s heartbeat. “We can just sit here, and talk about something else.”

Danny blinks at the empty fireplace. “Okay. Tell me about films again.”

Bruce’s fingers dig gently into his hair, and scratch slowly against his scalp. “Okay, Danny.”

Danny frowns. “And don’t call me Danny. It’s Jason.”

He doesn’t look up to see Bruce’s smile, but he can hear it as the man thumbs over the shell of his ear. “Okay, Jason.”

(Danny falls asleep halfway through Bruce’s telling of the history of the Grey Ghost. Bruce knows by the way his breathing slows into a steady rhythm and his eyes don’t open.)

(He smiles for mite a moment, before it drops and his eyes turn to the bookshelf in the corner. Standing there is a small black figure, with two burning green eyes.)

(They stare at each other for a long, long minute, Bruce’s heart rising slowly. The figure tilts its head, and disappears. Bruce doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.)

—-------

Danny stares down Bruce. Bruce stares him down back. It’s morning. It’s breakfast. Everyone is at the table eating, and he and Bruce are having a silent staring contest. Danny has to ask Mister Wayne about moving to a new room, he thought he would be able to do so after breakfast.

(Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to ask at all - why bother Mister Wayne about something he can get over?)

(Bruce, apparently, wasn’t having it. With that stupid knowing look on his face.)

But Bruce wants it to be now. Danny narrows his eyes at him, and Bruce raises an eyebrow back. Dick Grayson, his world, was going to notice soon. He was sitting next to Bruce this morning. That traitor.

If you don’t do it, I will. Bruce’s face says. Bastard. Danny was going to take away his Jason rights.

Danny’s the first to relent, pressing his lips together into an annoyed, thin line, before he lets out a silent sigh and turns to Mister Wayne. “Mister Wayne?” He says, cringing slightly when Mister Wayne looks up at him - as with most of the room.

“Yes, Danny?”

He spares one last look at Bruce, who nods curtly at him, and Danny throws him one last annoyed look before turning back to Mister Wayne. “Would it, uh, be fine if I changed rooms?” He asks.

Mister Wayne tilts his head, slightly, to the side with a look of interest. “You can, but what brought this up? Is everything okay?”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Danny was expecting that question. He glares at Bruce from the corner of his eye. And then smiles shakily at Mister Wayne. “Um, uh, yeah. Everything’s fine— it’s just, it’s stupid. Some, some stupid nightmares keeping me up.”

Mister Wayne’s brows furrow, and Dick looks concerned from Danny’s peripherals. “It’s not stupid, you can change your room. I’m sorry you’ve been having nightmares.”

He doesn’t even ask what they’re about. Bruce didn’t either — he thinks he would’ve, maybe — but fuck, jeez. Danny laughs uncomfortably, scratching his jaw. “Yeah- um, thanks. It sucks.” He just barely stops himself from blurting out that he was dreaming that he was dying.

That was not a can he wanted to open. They would have questions, he knows they would, and he doesn’t want to think about it. The image of his bloody, torn hands are already seared into his mind.

Everyone goes back to eating.

(Dick keeps looking up at him with a shadow of a frown on his face, like he’s keeping an eye on him. Quick enough that Danny doesn’t notice it. Bruce does, and watches his son from the corner of his eye.)

(Danny doesn’t see it, but his reflection turns its head. And peers around the back of its chair. Its eye burns green and it stares at Dick. The next time Dick looks up, it catches his eye.)

(He doesn’t straighten up, he forces himself not to react. He just keeps staring at it, his breath locked in his lungs, his limbs filling with a low, buzzing static. He doesn’t know what it is. It’s terrifying him.)

(The reflection doesn’t react to him, but its eyes seem to… glitch. And an eye appears next to it, and another one appears in a line. The pupils slowly turn to look… at Danny.)

(The window begins to crack.)

“JaSON!” Dick suddenly yells, standing up so abruptly that his chair falls back and slams against the ground with an echoing bang. Danny jerks back in surprise, and stares at Dick, who looks at him with equally wide eyes.

Dick looks like he’s seen a ghost, his face pale as a sheet. He looks ill. He’s panting, there’s a sheen going over his forehead, like he’s just run a mile. But he’s gripping the table like he may just vault over it.

And everyone is looking at them both once again. Bruce looks incredibly concerned.

“I— what?” Danny says, pushing his back into the chair as far as he could go.

Dick blinks, and heaves a breath. Like whatever trance he was in was just… snapped out of. His brows furrow, and he moves, suddenly, peering over Danny like he’s trying to look around him. Left, right, and over, and then back again.

“You—” he pauses, breathing in, “you looked like you were about to disappear.”

Danny stares at him in disbelief. And he looks behind him, laughing nervously. There’s nothing there but his own reflection in the smooth glass window. “What- what kind of fucking—” he turns back around to look at Dick. “Why would you say that?”

“There was something in the window.” Dick says immediately, and Danny is immediately rising to his feet and rushing around the table. Nope - nope, nope, fuck that. He’s by him and Bruce in an instant, as the other Waynes stand up and turn to the window as well.

Dick’s arms are around him the moment he’s within reach, tugging him into his side as one hand presses down against his chest, keeping him close. Dick hasn’t taken his eyes off the window, brows furrowed and serious.

Everyone looks so serious. It’s freaking him out a little bit.

“What was your nightmare about, Jay?” Dick asks when he finally tears his eyes away from the window and looks down at him. He’s got a protective hold on him, something so similar to Jazz whenever their parents set something on fire upstairs.

Danny swallows dryly — does he have to say it? Saying it might bring him back to it, and he doesn’t want to go back to it. Twice was enough for him. “I was dying.” He admits anyways, and regrets it immediately when half a dozen heads all snap to look at him.

In a panic, his mouth runs. “I was- I don’t remember anything- I just, it was dark and I was in pain and-” He presses his lips together, “I— I was in so much pain. There was this laughter—” Laughter. Familiar laughter now that he thinks about it. From the news. Danny’s lips curl downwards, and he whispers to himself, “Joker?”

“Joker?” Dick repeats, his voice hard. When Danny looks up, his face is unrecognizably stern. “You had a dream that the Joker was killing you?”

“I— no— yes?” Frustration bleeds into his chest, fear pooling up his throat as the nightmare pulls on the edge of his memory. “I don’t fucking know. I didn’t see anything, all I heard was ticking and that stupid laughter. And I was bleeding, and I was wearing this yellow fucking cape, and- and I was dying.”

He pulls himself away from Dick, his breathing picking up. “I just- I was— there was this ticking sound and I woke up before it stopped, and I- I don’t know why I knew it was about to stop — but I know that when the ticking stops something bad was going to happen— and it was just a nightmare.”

Danny grits his teeth, and looks back up at Dick, forcing himself to calm down before he works himself into a panic. “It was just a fucking nightmare, Dick.” He says forcibly, and then he marches out of the room to the library.

His appetite’s been ruined.

—---------

Danny’s — Jason’s — asleep next to him. Bruce would think it was sweet if it weren’t for the fact that Jason’s been having nightmares about dying of all things. Nightmares that weren’t, he suspects, completely unfounded.

His other self looked ill in the face as Jason marched out of the room that morning after Dick’s outburst. Outburst. That’s all he can think to call it even if it sounds juvenile. Like it was unfounded as Jason’s nightmare.

His other self has been hiding something from him. Something about Jason Todd of this world, who he hasn’t seen at all since they arrived, but Danny — Jason — has. He would’ve thought the other Todd was a ghost if his other world’s… children… hadn’t confirmed seeing and knowing him recently.

(That was something he still hasn’t fully comprehended. Children, plural? He adopts more after Dick? He has a biological son?)

He’d be interrogating his other self on this if Jason wasn’t asleep next to him. It would be remarkably easy, as they were all sitting in the living room for the afternoon. All his other children were vigilantes, he wouldn’t need to keep pretenses.

But Jason is asleep next to him, and he doesn’t know. So he resolves to staring holes into his other self’s head, who was going through documents. A case, he bets. His other self doesn’t pay him any mind, but Bruce knows he knows that he’s staring at him.

(“What have you been keeping from me?” He growls the moment Jason is out of the dining room, rising to his feet. The look on his other self meant that he knew something about those nightmares that Bruce didn’t.

His other self looks at him, “Nothing that concerns your world.” He says, all of the kids looked tense as well, but now they were staring between the both of them like a fight would break out.

“Bullshit.” Dick snaps before Bruce can speak, he walks around him and points an accusing finger at his other self. “You looked like you saw a ghost when Jaybird said he was dreaming of the Joker killing him. You know something.”

He did not tell them anything.)

Whatever it was that his other self was hiding, Bruce would find out before they went back to their world. This concerned him, and it concerned Jason’s safety. If he wasn’t safe and his other self knew something about it, Bruce would be furious.

Jason’s ragged gasp cut through the air like a knife, and Bruce’s gaze snapped down to his face as the boy’s eyes flew open and he jerked sharply. Jason’s hands were latched onto his shirt before Bruce could react, his nails dragging into his skin like he was trying to claw himself up.

It was another nightmare. Jason was clawing at him, trying to sit himself up while jagged, awful sounding gasps filled the air. He wasn’t looking at Bruce, he wasn’t looking at anything, his eyes glazed over like he was still trapped in the nightmare.

Bruce wrapped his arms around the small boy and pulled them both down onto the ground, ignoring his other children standing up and looking at them until he had Jay in a cradle.

The boy was still gasping for air, hyperventilating. His hands drop from Bruce’s shirt and scratch at his throat, his arms forming an ‘x’ while he tilts his head back and desperately tries to draw in oxygen. Bruce tilts his head back up with his hand, and leans him against his shoulder.

“Breathe.” He murmurs, pushing damp black curls out of Jay’s face. It was a poor command - Jason’s eyes were squeezed shut and his face scrunched in pain, Bruce doesn’t think he can even hear him. “You’re safe.”

“Bruce.” Dick hisses into his ear, and Bruce doesn’t look at him. He grunts to let his son know he heard him. “The mirror.”

Bruce’s eyes fly up.

There was a floor length mirror sitting in front of the couch. A mirror that Bruce was conveniently, coincidentally, sitting in front of. A mirror that should have been working as all mirrors do.

A mirror that, instead of showing Bruce his reflection back as he was, showed him in his Batman suit. Jason was in his arms, but in a torn, bloody uniform. A uniform that looked like a Robin suit. Jason - his Jason - wasn’t a Robin. But here he was, dressed as one, his black-yellow cape pooling beneath him and covered in blood.

The Jason in the mirror, the Robin, wasn’t breathing. His head lolled over Bruce’s arm lifelessly.

Bruce’s heart skids to a stop, and he looks back down. Jason was still breathing, his hyperventilating was beginning to slow, but he was breathing. The pained crease of his face was softening, even as his brows were still furrowed.

When Bruce looks back up at the mirror, the reflection has changed. It wasn’t back to normal, Jason was just in a different suit. He was wearing a white hazmat suit now, and he was burned, horribly. The suit was melted to his skin in patches around his body in black, charred splotches, what wasn’t burned was torn, and the skin he could see was cauterized. The only part of him that was bleeding was his head, and it soaked his black hair red. What of his face he could see, there were bright green lightning figures going up his neck, burning the skin around where it glows.

The mirror cracks down the middle, severing Jason from Bruce.

He forces himself to look down, terrified to see the reflection a reality right in front of him. But Jason was alive, uninjured, and breathing quietly. Bruce presses two fingers to his throat, and feels a steady pulsepoint thumping against the pads of his fingers.

Jason’s eyes open and blue stares up at him.

When Bruce looks up at the mirror, the reflection is back to normal.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc au #dp x dc au #dpxdc au #dpdc #dpdc crossover #Danny is Jason Todd au #i didn't think of anything beyond the ending point howEVER #this post is totally open for additions if anyone is interested #i love seeing add-ons to posts #anyways EVIL LAUGHTER #THIS IS THE PART I WANTED TO GET TO. PYSCHOLOGICAL HORROR #ANGST #if this was a fic i would have ramped up the horror more #alas tis a ficlet #starry terrorizes the waynes with the fact that jason is going to die in his world and there's nothing they can do about it.#he doesnt know he's going to die. but they do :)#fun fact jazz was going to be here and she was going to be the one to see the ghost #if this was a fic that ending scene would've occurred after more build up of dick and bruce and co seeing the figure following danny around #in the original variant au the waynes dont meet danny until he's already died and is a ghost #and i was gonna have one more jason appearance but couldnt fit one in #merry belated christmas folks #have some angst after two consecutive clone^2 posts of fluff #i tried to picture what danny's body would have looked like before being ghosted and #extremely burned was the first thing that came to mind. his suit is also almost entirely melted. something to kinda resemble his ghost half #but also i couldn't stomach making him completely unrecognizable because he WOULD have been #genuinely think danny's body would have been like. half melted at least

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tervaneula · 8 months

Text

Leonardo sighs into the white fur his snout is blissfully buried in.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbles and burrows even further into the warmth in his lap, pulling Yuichi’s back flush against his plastron.

“We’ve established that about thirty times in the last thirty minutes,” the rabbit chuckles and keeps letting himself be treated like the world’s largest teddy bear. “I should get going though. Your brother is giving me the stink eye.”

Huh. Leonardo hadn’t even noticed anyone coming into the room from the midst of his trip to Fuzzy Land.

“...which one?”

“Little Mikey.”

Leonardo snorts, inadvertently giving Yuichi a light raspberry and he snickers at the tickle of it.

“Don’t call him that where he can hear you, lest you evoke the fury of Dr. Delicate Touch.”

“I think he heard me…”

That gets Leonardo to lift his face up from the fluffy heaven he would’ve been content to spend the rest of eternity in and sure enough, Mikey is downright glaring at them at this point from his seat across the room, arms crossed, a refurbished and heavily modified N-Gage (provided by Genius Built™, of course) he’d apparently been playing games on now laying forgotten in his lap.

It’s baffling until Leonardo remembers with a jolt that he had promised to go with him to Run of the Mill today. A cursory glance at the clock on the wall tells him that they’re well past the agreed time to leave.

He audibly swallows.

“Heyyyy, big man–” he starts but Mikey levels him with an icy glare that doesn’t let him continue and he shrinks, squeezing Yuichi’s middle as if the rabbit could hide him from the quiet fury of his little brother. Yuichi stays silent, no doubt amused by the much bigger man cowering behind him. He’s only heard about both Michelangelos’ different personas and he’s curious to see if any of the infamous doctors will make an appearance this time. Obviously, he’s partly to blame for whatever’s about to occur but while curiosity might kill the cat, satisfaction always brings it back.

“You know what. It’s okay. It’s perfectly fine to forgo your promise and let your baby brother starve in favour of some cuddles you can get like, iunno, every dang day,” the box turtle says, ice dripping from his voice as he gets up from the armchair and saunters right up to the personal space of the two swordsmen.

“And the stink eye was for Leo,” he adds and forcefully jabs Leonardo in the forehead with his finger.

“I’m sorry!” Leonardo squeaks, his head retracting into his shell on instinct. Despite his foul mood, Mikey grins.

Yuichi looks behind his shoulder… and freezes.

The smugness radiating from Mikey changes into confusion as the rabbit just keeps staring at the space where Leonardo’s head used to be.

“Wait, have you never seen him do that before?” he asks, and Yuichi slowly turns his head to look at him. Finally finding his tongue, he almost screeches,

“That’s normal?!”

Mikey bursts into laughter.

“We’re turtles! Obviously! Look!”

Yuichi’s eyes sting with how they’re nearly bulging out of their sockets as Mikey demonstrates his ability to retract all of his limbs with ease and his shell falls to the floor with a clang.

“Ta-dah!” he exclaims from within and pushes his arms out enough to make jazz hands at Yuichi.

“Oh my stars,” the rabbit mumbles and suddenly lightheaded, he leans against Leonardo’s body. The slider finally gets his nerves in check and pops his head back out with a grunt – it’s a tight fit, has been for years, and he’s inherently glad that only a few things are scary enough (Mikey being one of them doesn’t exactly make his life easier but that’s not here nor there) to make him retract any of his body parts.

He nestles his chin in the crook of Yuichi’s neck and can’t keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Did I actually spook you?”

Yuichi draws a deep breath and slumps bonelessly into the slider’s hold.

“You bet,” he mutters, “that’s so weird. You’re so weird.”

Leonardo barks out a laugh. “Excuse me! You’re not exactly a model example of normal either, mister universe-hopping, not-a-yokai-nor-a-mutant bunny rabbit.”

Mikey decides to pop out of his shell at that moment, groaning.

“Uuuugh nooo, don’t start with the banter! You’re lucky your boyfriend is un excellent comic relief. I’m so hungry, Leo! Let’s go already!”

Feeling bad for forgetting his promise, Leonardo relinquishes his hold on his heaven-on-earth with a quick peck on his cheek.

“I’ll portal you home. See you tomorrow?”

Yuichi sighs but can’t help the smile that tugs the corners of his mouth upwards. “See you tomorrow,” he replies and gets up from Leonardo’s lap. Mikey moves out of his way, having fished his phone out of a pocket on his belt.

“I’m gonna text our order to Hueso,” he grumbles but the earlier fit of laughter seems to have drained all the venom out of his voice and he only sounds a little vexed. Yuichi almost reaches out to pat his head but thinks better of it and hides his hands in the sleeves of his yukata.

“I’m sorry for keeping your brother,” he apologises with a small bow, “had I known he had a promise to keep, I would’ve excused myself earlier.”

Mikey huffs, his thumbs still flying across the screen of his phone. No doubt Leonardo is going to pay for his transgressions in the form of a massive dinner order. “It’s not your responsibility, but I appreciate that!”

Leonardo shakes his head fondly. He’s infinitely glad that his family has accepted Yuichi so quickly and therefore the rabbit could afford to lose some of that politeness, but he has to admit that it’s also pretty adorable. He gets up to retrieve a katana (formerly a butter knife – one of the more banged-up ones the Mikeys wouldn’t miss) from the conveniently placed wall mount and rotates his wrist to open a portal right to the middle of Yuichi’s living room.

“I’m still not used to you doing that,” the rabbit says, staring at the swirling mystic energy with more than a little awe. “It’s so convenient! I don’t think there’s a single person in Neo Edo who can do magic like this.”

“Well duh, only a Hamato can have ninpo like ours!” Mikey puts his phone away and demonstrates his abilities by manifesting a golden chain which he uses to yank the sword out of Leonardo’s grasp.

“Hey!”

“My turn!” Mikey giggles and swings the katana through the air, leaving it spinning near the ceiling. Leonardo sighs and hurries to walk Yuichi to the portal before his concentration fades and he has to make it again. The rabbit steps into it obediently but before Leonardo can bid him farewell, he turns around to lean back over the threshold and pulls Leonardo down to squish their snouts together. It’s not really a kiss, per se, but it has the desired effect anyway as the slider’s eyes widen comically and his cheeks flush crimson. Yuichi lets go and steps back with a huge grin, his eyes glinting with mirth.

“Have fun at dinner! Give my regards to Señor Hueso!”

Leonardo can only stare after him, the heat on his face practically rivalling the sun, and Mikey has to elbow him in the ribs to get him back in the present.

“Y-yeah! Bye!” he says, a goofy smile plastered on his embarrassingly red face and Yuichi waves him goodbye as the portal closes.

Now that there’s no more lovey-dovey nonsense in the way of their dinner, Mikey doesn’t waste a moment to manoeuvre the katana into his hand to grab the hilt in order to slice through the air to make a portal to the pizzeria. The crackling blue ring of magic that appears is small and it wavers before fizzling out and, lucky for the slider, Leonardo manages to suppress his snort in time.

“Aw man, I thought I had it this time!”

“No can do, big guy,” Leonardo salutes him and motions for the box turtle to give the sword back to him. Mikey sighs and acquiesces. The portal into the graffitied alleyway appears effortlessly and Mikey immediately jumps in, yelling at the slider to follow.

Leonardo does, but not before brushing his fingers over his beak, still feeling the tingle Yuichi’s much softer nose left behind.

He realises he’s irrevocably smitten, and frankly, despite the trouble it landed him in today, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

LMAOOO OKAY i've never written anything this long this fast so there's probably a bunch of stuff that needs to be fixed but I needed these cuddles and I needed them now. Thank you @spacemimz for requesting them I love you SO MUCH

As you can see though, this turned into something more than just cuddles and I'm kinda. Really happy about it hahjhjhashsdg

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velvetmud · 10 months

Note

ok that pic u reblogged of the polaroid in the wallet -- reader slips a naughty pic into dbf!joel's wallet and he doesn't find it till he's buying a round of beers for you and your dad and nearly chokes. your dad is somewhere between teasing and admonishing "have you got a secret girlfriend?" and "maybe keep that a little more hidden, I know my kid's an adult but she does not need to know about my friend's sex life" all the while you're smirking and Joel's getting redder and redder

yes yes yes !!!based off this nsfw favorite 😵‍💫🥵

warning(s): 18+ themes, age difference, alcohol, spanking(mention), bj(mention), dbf joel (a personal fave)

Joel is laughing at some joke he knows he wouldn’t be laughing at if he were sober. Has to wipe the leftover foam on the corners of his lips from how eagerly he gulped down the last sip of beer waiting at the bottom of his glass.

It goes down his belly nicely—floods Joel with a subtle new sense of confidence from the buzz. Even though it still feels like there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world that’ll loosen him up enough to stare across their booth directly at the girl he’s been fucking every weekend for the past three months along with her own goddamn father, also known as his very own goddamn best friend.

Joel can one hundred percent comprehend how dirty, how sick it is to pursue her in the first place, and to let it get as far as it has. But at some point, he decides there’s no sense sinning only halfway.

If his best friend’s own baby girl, his pride and joy wants to spend her weekends bouncing in his bed and on his cock, then fuck yeah. So be it.

Whenever she gets down on her knees, she’ll suck him dry until he fucking weeps. Yeah. Grown ass man, getting his dick sucked for possibly the five hundredth time in the entirety of his life, but yet still finds himself acting this unstable, this erratic whenever she wets those lips he could kiss all night long, then mumbles something under her breath about how much she craves another taste. Making his libido uncharacteristically wild witnessing her frequent sex drives unravel. The depravity in every touch, every movement.

Like she wouldn’t breathe again unless her lips were wrapped around and sealed like a vacuum around his clothed growing bulge, clawing at his stubborn belt.

It’s gone as far as collecting a neat little album of Polaroids he himself has snapped of her. Whether she poses for him or is too blissfully lost in the moment, he’ll tease her with a taunt of ’say cheese’ before she’s hearing that click and blinks from the quick flash. Bites down her lower lip while he ripped the photograph out right when it printed. She’ll turn her head back and smile towards him with a wicked, devious grin that might as well say I know exactly what this does to you. What I’ve done to you.

His photo collection has grown since they started this arrangement. Half the photos consisted of him showing off the lewd aftermath while his cum oozed between her legs, or the stinging red handprints he’s left on the globes of her ass. Might even be one or two risky ones with their faces captured clear as day, kissing with passion after another round devouring her in his sheets.

Their album of dirty secrets always stays buried under his bed, locked up and secluded from the world. Only coming out from hiding whenever Joel felt like doing a little reminiscing of the times they’ve shared together late in bed at night. Ending him with sticky fingers, a guilty conscience, and his twitchy cock finally giving him a fucking break. It does things to him that no blue pill ever could.

There’s enough spank bank material and physical evidence of all his sins to grant him a one way ticket straight to hell, and Joel has accepted that.

No one else but her knew where the pictures were stored, nor of their mere existence. Each photograph was stashed together in some old vintage tin that looked like it could belong at a grandma’s home to store more innocent contents. Preferably not dirty Polaroid shots of every one of Joel’s fantasies he’s lived out inside his best friend’s daughter.

She was poison, disguised like a pretty piece of candy just dangling right in front of him. Pulls him in like he’s a golden retriever begging its owner on a goddamn leash.

Fuck, it’s time he really stop thinking about that.

He’d been doing a somewhat decent job these past few months so far. Keeping her out of his periphery whenever he spent some time quality guy time with her father in their home. All the while, images of her naked frame above him (on the nights he’d beg her to get on top) feel like they’ve been tattooed to part of his brain, and he nearly has to beg his dick to forget she even exists in the vicinity.

But after getting roped up in their family plans for this Saturday night (against his will), he won’t get to feel those nails drag down his back while she wails underneath him tonight. No—instead of that, he gets to guzzle down as much beer as his gut could handle in his forties to make it through the evening, sandwiched next to both of them at the same fucking time. Fuck.

“Next round’s on me,” Joel announced to the table, hoping the leftover self pity and humiliation will wither away with the more he drank. He gets up from their booth and idly pats the butt pocket of his jeans to feel for his wallet, oblivious as to why her face seems to light up all the sudden in the corner of his eye in some sort of amusement. Like she’s in on some joke that he sure as hell isn’t. Story of his life.

Her eyes dance across his figure, checking him out head to toe the way she does when they’re alone shedding each of their clothes off. How much it makes him long to punish her for doing all of this to him, making him strip down his pre-existing morals of being a good man and a decent friend just to pin her down and make her cum and take the bait.

She slides her empty glass over and simply says, “I’ll take another Cosmo.”

Her dad chimes in, hardly ungluing his eyes from the game glaring on the TV. “Get a side of some fries for us too, Miller. Don’t you know anything about wining and dining?”

Joel sighed and rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore the ridiculous level of irony hidden between the lines in his friend’s jab. Yeah actually, I do. It’s working out great on your daughter. She’ll probably invite herself back to my place tonight, if you aren’t too careful.

“Just come up and order yourselves, for Christ sake.”

The snickering from her dad doesn’t let up as they follow Joel up to the counter. On the way, she pokes him with her fingers in the middle of his back. Knowing there’s likely some scarring still engraved in his skin from her nails last weekend. He shivers just feeling her make even the smallest, shortest contact in public like this. Next to her father like this.

Joel knows his ass is on the line if God forbid they get caught. She had every ounce of power and freedom to turn him to mush at the drop of a goddamn hat, whether she was doing something as innocent and carefree as smiling or bending over.

“One Cosmo, two whiskey’s, neat, and a side of fries.”

He grabs his wallet and flips it open, sliding his ID out of the front pocket (even if he’s to the point of graying) and flashed it towards the bartender. He gives him his total, and before Joel can pay, the other shoe drops.

“Whoa whoa whoa, dude. Who’s the unlucky lady?” her dad laughs, all the sudden pointing downwards at Joel’s wallet in his hands.

His eyes travel down to whatever her dad was so flabbergasted by. It barely takes a split second long of a glance for him realize that he is so very fucked.

And as if he thinks Joel didn’t hear him the first time, didn’t just unknowingly traumatize himself by pointing at a photo of his own daughter’s back while she’s lying in Joel’s bed, and he goes and pesters him some more. “She some secret girlfriend, or what?”

The frog in his throat betrays him, choking on nothing but air while he’s riddled with utter humiliation as he stubbornly yanks his card out to hurry up and pay. Fumbles when he finally gets his receipt and quickly stashed it back. If only his pockets went deep enough.

He looks over at her, baffled by her mischeviously guilty silence, finding how much she’s amused by this, by the risk of being found out.

Joel goes for what he knows.

Deny, deny, deny.

Trying to scoff and laugh at the same time to make it more convincing, he stuffs his receipt in his pockets. “What? No. No, there’s no secret anything, Jesus….”

“What’s wrong, Joel? You feeling okay?“

Right when he thinks he has a sliver of control in the situation, the culprit looks at him with her shit eating grin, knowing he’s suffered at the hands of one of her master plans to get him fucked. Other than lifting her skirt up a little too high at family dinners once in a while, this has to be the most dangerous prank by far.

“Good. Great, actually. Looking forward to that drink.”

“I bet you are.”

Once they’ve been seated and served there’s a noticeably pregnant silence that Joel will overthink about and regret allowing it to have happen for his remaining lifetime.

Her dad attempts to fill the silence that he didn’t understand, luckily blind to any context of what the Polaroid actually was. And God forbid didn’t recognize the panties she owned and wore, or her distinguishable hair splayed out down her naked back.

He thinks he’s being quiet enough to block it out from his daughter’s ears when he whispers, “Look, man, you’re embarrassed. It’s private, I get it. For s’long as I’ve known you you’ve barely ever talked about women. S’just weird to see a naked chick in your wallet outta the blue, you know?”

He downs his whiskey right as it reaches their table, doesn’t let it sit untouched for even a second—as it warms his chest and tingles in his belly, he sees that not-so-innocent face smiling behind her glass.

“Uh-huh. Must be pretty weird.”

And for the cherry on top of all the mortification he’d experienced tonight, right when he thinks it’s come to an end, that he gets a goddamn break from the close calls—her dad opens his mouth to haunt him yet again.

“Maybe keep your little trophies a little more hidden next time. I know my kid’s an adult and all, but she does not need to know about my buddy’s sex life.”

thank you for the love and kindness and support:)it means more than you know

masterlist + buy me a ko-fi

#joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel x reader #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller #tlou fanfic #the last of us smut #dbf joel miller #joel miller/reader #ask #anon

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vienssunshine · 8 months

Text

Comfortable?

pairing: Maki Zenin x Reader nsfw word count: 1k content warning: suggestive physical touch/speech, alcohol/drunkenness author’s note: Rewatching season one to prepare for the pain of season two. At least there's Maki!

A layer of haze separates you from the lively party that's taken over Panda’s dorm room. You sway along with the music, basking in the delightful, buzzing warmth that fills your chest.

However, when the glass bottle centered in the circle of your sorcerer friends spins and stills pointed in your direction, you sober up.

Nobara squeals, clapping her hands together. “Yes! It hasn’t been their turn in forever!”

“I don’t think they’ve gone once,” Megumi comments, taking a sip from his drink.

"So what will it be?" Nobara asks you, "Truth? Or dare?”

The first-years are great, but it’s hard to have high expectations for the truths or the dares they’ll ask of you, especially when this is their first party ever. You finish what's left of your seltzer. “Easy, dare.”

“Salmon.” Toge gives an approving nod.

“What’re you gonna dare ‘em to do?” Itadori exclaims, leaning over Megumi to face Nobara, his eyes wide.

“I don’t know! What do you think?” she responds with an enthusiastic grin.

“Calm down, you’re gonna spill my drink,” Megumi groans, pushing a too-eager Itadori out of his personal space.

“This dare better not be as lame as the last ones,” Maki says, sitting back on her hands.

“You might be asking too much,” you say, and she returns the grin you give her, sending a flash of heat through your body.

“Fine,” Nobara scowls, “We’ll come up with a good one.”

Itadori and Nobara crawl behind Megumi and begin to furiously whisper to each other. So much talking and they’ll probably just ask you to prank call Gojo or chug the rest of your drink. You’d be fine with anything, as long as it doesn't involve her.

Your eyes run over Maki, she’s leaning back on her palms with a beer by her side. There’s a pink flush spread across her elegant features, no doubt from the impressive amount of alcohol she’s consumed tonight. She looks more entertained than usual as she watches Nobara and Itadori wrap up their debate. You realize you’ve been staring when her golden eyes catch yours, so you divert your gaze, instead looking over to the scheming first-years. When you do, the evil smiles spread across their faces make you question your selection of 'dare'.

The warning glare you give Nobara does nothing to stop her from gleefully announcing the product of their discussion: “Your dare is to sit in Maki’s lap for the rest of the game!”

To anyone else, the dare is mild, only a little more scandalous than the ones they’ve given so far, and yet, it sends a panicked thrum of your heart splintering through your body. You quickly strangle the sensation; you’re in front of everyone—in front of Maki—so you have to play it cool. With a roll of your eyes, you respond, “C’mon, that was the best you could come up with?” like the request was as boring as heading to the kitchen and grabbing someone another drink.

“Yep. It’s the dare we chose,” Nobara responds, too smug for your liking.

Pushing down a retort—it would only raise suspicion—you cross the circle of your jeering peers over to Maki. She's sitting on the floor with her legs spread wide and watching you move closer, her gaze piercing. You stop right in front of her; you’re not sure how to go about this.

The smirk that’s been present since the dare was revealed hasn’t wavered. “Go on, you can sit down,” she says.

“You got it!” Panda cheers.

“Shouldn’t be hard, right?” Nobara chimes in.

“Not hard at all,” you respond. You press your lips together, turn, and lower yourself to the ground between Maki’s thighs, sitting cross-legged. Satisfied, the onlookers turn their attention to the next victim of the bottle, Panda.

Unlike them, you can’t just move on from the dare, you’re required to sit in Maki’s lap for the rest of the game which, though you worked hard to not betray it, is a lot for you.

Already you’re having so much trouble. You’re in shorts, so you can feel the fabric of Maki’s cargo pants on your knee. And through that fabric, you can feel the thick muscle of Maki’s thighs. Worse, if you move back any further you’d-

Maki takes the weight off her hands and sits up, pressing her chest to your back. Your eyes widen as her hands thread underneath your arms so they’re resting in your lap, fingertips just barely grazing the exposed skin of your thighs.

“Comfortable?” Maki whispers the words centimeters from your ear. You tighten up, overwhelmed by her sudden closeness. It feels like her body is surrounding yours.

Thankfully, after a second, you remember how to breathe, and then how to talk. “Yeah, I’m fine. Uh, is this okay for you?”

“More than okay,” she responds.

Your mind is spinning, but, at the same time, there’s a tingly, giddy sensation filling your stomach, a reminder of how you’ve wanted this, wanted her.

“Then, is it okay”—you cover her hand with yours, committing it to your thigh and guiding it closer to the space between your legs—“if I do this?”

With her mouth so close to your ear, you can hear her breath hitch at your daring.

“You’re teasing me, pretty girl,” she purrs.

“Like you haven’t done the same to me?” you retort, looking over your shoulder with a smirk. You note that the flush on Maki’s face has deepened despite her not having drank anything more.

“Alright, then let’s settle this,” she challenges.

“Fine, let’s,” you agree before turning back to the group, saying, “I’ll be right back."

"You're not copping out on the dare, are you?" Nobara frowns.

"Nope, just going to the bathroom.”

You untangle yourself from Maki’s arms, get up from the floor, and head down the hall. When you glance behind you, heat twists in your stomach as you see that Maki has excused herself from the party as well and is following you to the bathroom, her cat-like eyes hungry for more.

#maki zenin x reader #zenin maki #maki x you #maki x reader #maki zenin #maki zenin smut #maki zenin x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you

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bipp-bopp-time-to-stop · 3 months

Text

Far More Than Just A Mask

I'd like to thank @cloudninetonine for giving me the confidence to come out of the shadows and start posting the fics I write. I haven't really posted anything before, so I'm still figuring out how to use the Tumblr posting format. I'd also like to shout out @yanderelinkeduniverse @neverchecking @gliphyartfan @luimagines @yourlocaltreesimp and @wayfayrr as I was also inspired by their writings and content in general. To whoever stumbles across my fic and enjoys it, please go give these amazing people some love! With that being said, I'd also like to express my gratitude towards @linkeduniverse for their amazing work as their comics are what this fic is based off of. I hope everyone enjoys!

TW: Yandere themes, blood, possession, creeps be creepy

Your entrance into this journey filled with world hopping and a band of men all dubbed strange and woefully bad nicknames was… interesting. Thankfully enough, it wasn’t a truck send off level of isekai but it wasn’t the go to sleep and then wake up somewhere else type either. No, it was deciding to venture out at night for a rather dumb reason, immediately get lost, stumble across a strange portal, proceed to be chased into said portal by a pure black shadow with red eyes, and then stumble around in a forest you very much didn’t recognize. And then, of course, you stumbled across them.

They had dubbed their group The Chain since they were all Link (based on the expressions made when you were informed of this, it was clear who did and didn’t like the idea). After the initial shock based, you were suddenly bombarded with questions about… everything, really. The sheer amount of attention, combined with knowing a lot more than you should (in their eyes but they didn’t need to know that to the full extent), caused you to freeze. Well, internally freeze. As cooly as you could, you tried to answer the many questions thrown your way as truthfully as you deemed necessary.

“What’s your Hyrule like?”

“I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have one? What does that mean? Are you before Hyrule exists or did your Link… fail?” “I just don’t have one. It… never existed. A lot of what exists for you doesn’t for me- not outside of fairy tales, that is. Magic, fairies, multiple civilizations of different species, and more.”

“Why are your ears clipped? Is it a sort of fashion statement or a punishment?”

“Neither. I’m not Hylian, I’m human. Humans are similar to Hylians but we don’t have pointed ears and are usually a little taller than the average Hylian.”

“Why are your clothes so… weird…”

“They’re not weird to me. You guys certainly are, though.”

And the questions continued. After days of asking questions, which quickly broke past barriers and dug deeper than you were comfortable with, The Chain relented a little. It was clear as day that they didn’t trust you, not a bit, but they still “added” you to their little entourage. Dark Link, or Dink as they called him, had still pushed you through that portal like it did for the rest of them. Meaning, somehow, that you were fated to be a part of the Chain even though you were very far from being a Link. In truth, you knew probably half of them believed you might be colluding with the entity and were simply keeping tabs on you. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, as they say.

Thankfully, you weren’t a complete dead weight. You didn’t mind doing chores since you surely couldn’t battle. Despite some of your “exotic” looks (largely your ears, they’re still getting over that), merchants and townsfolk seemed to open up a bit easier to you. Plus, a lot of creatures from the mundane to mystical quite liked you for whatever reason. Were you not in the Champion’s Hyrule, that may not have stuck out as much as it did. On top of that, you knew first-aid better than most of them did. You were no genius in medicine, but you knew enough about the human body (thank you Forensic Files). You also had the “remedies” your Nana often chose over medicine- a lot less helpful in your world, but far more useful in nearly any Hyrule given the more mystical nature of, well, everything.

It took nearly two weeks for the mock friendliness to turn genuine and nearly a month and a half for everyone (including Legend, though he’ll deny it even if he were six feet under) to have a bit of trust in you. It wasn’t like the bonds they had with each other nor the ones you had with your friends back home, but it was something and that something showed. That fact certainly helped you sleep a bit easier during the night.

So now, here you sit around a campfire with the Chain after yet another day of traveling. Despite sitting in a circle, everyone was still a little grouped up and remained chatting in that group. Hyrule, Wild, and Wind were all conversing with each other in semi-hushed tones which made you believe some level of tomfoolery was sure to happen in the coming days. Sky, Four, and Wars were simply chatting about random things. Legend and Twilight were off on patrolling duty at the moment which was a bit of a balm for you given just how… prickly the Vet was in regards towards you at times (you knew it was mostly show, but that didn’t stop it from being aggravating). All of this left Time and you sitting beside each other in silence as one surveyed the camp and its occupants with a well-trained eye and the other lightly zoned out.

Although semi-zoned out, you weren’t entirely oblivious to the world. Your eyes drifted around and loosely observed the scenery although it was regarded as little more than static to your brain. By chance, your eyes drifted downwards and caught eye of a trinket that often sat on the hip of Time- a mask. Not just any mask, though. You hadn’t played Majora’s Mask before but you saw snippets of it and knew what the Fierce Deity mask was. You noticed from day one that Time- rather foreign in your eyes given the design you were used to- partly had the mask’s markings on his face. You had many guesses as to why that was, but you didn’t ask any.

“No- you can’t try it on,” Time speaks up as he quickly notices your stare at the mask. It jolts you a little as you didn’t realize just how long you had been staring at the aforementioned trinket.

“Oh? I wasn’t going to ask to but… well, now I’m curious as to why you don’t want me to. Is it special to you? I’ve never seen anyone else touch it before,” you ask as you stare at the mask in partly feigned curiosity, avoiding Time’s stare. Faking ignorance had grown to be second nature by now.

“Because everyone else knows that it’s good to stay away from it lest you risk tragedy. It’s a magical mask but the power it holds is… potent. Rather, who it holds,” Time cryptically answers with a small grin. It brings a little grin to your face as well that the mask wasn’t too sore a subject for the Old Man, but it was best to tread the waters lightly.

“Who it holds? There’s… a person in there?” You ask.

“Not just a person- a god. It’s called the Fierce Deity Mask as it holds a god of war within it. Put on the mask, and you become something of a vessel for him to use. Naturally, doing so is dangerous- extremely so- so don’t expect to be seeing it in use any time soon,” Time answers with a lit of strictness at the end.

“Can I… at least touch it? Or hold it?” You push, curious about many things in relation to the mask. What did a magical mask feel like in your hands? Could you feel the power of Fierce Deity wanting to be released? Could you maybe even hear him? Would your heart begin to pump loudly, as if trying to sync with a war drum? Time can practically hear your unasked questions, it seems, as he detaches the mask from his belt and hands it to you.

It’s weighty in your hands. Not heavy, but weighty. Its texture is smooth and makes it feel a little bit more like fine pottery than wood. Despite that, you knew you wouldn’t be able to break it by accidentally or purposefully dropping it (could it ever be broken? What would happen if it was?). Despite the chill in the air, the mask was warm. Something that could easily be attributed to being nearly sandwiched between your’s and Time’s body, but you felt like that wasn’t the case. Aside from that, the mask was almost… underwhelming. “What? Expecting something grand to happen?” Time lets out a short and breathy chuckle at the puzzled expression that must be on your face at the moment. “Yeah… I guess so,” You mumble, still holding the mask and looking at it in the eyes- or rather eye sockets. Randomly, you hold the mask up and away from you as if it were someone face to face with you.

“Hello, Fierce Deity, I’m (Name). A… pleasure to meet you? At least, somewhat…”

A beat of silence. And then another. And then another. And th-

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! D-Did you seriously just introduce yourself to a mask?!”

Your face burned crimson at Wind’s howling laughter and remark. Many others shared his laughter, including Time himself. Naturally, you looked straight down at your lap and didn’t even resist having Time take the mask back. So caught up in your embarrassing action, you and everyone missed the slight vibration the mask gave off. The second Time put the mask back on his hip was the moment you decided you’d turn in for the night.

Of course, your luck was little and fickle so some of the boys decided to poke at you further come the next day. While you settled beside a stream to wash clothes, it didn’t take long before Hyrule hopped over with a little grin as he propped up the Fierce Deity mask beside you. He made a little comment about how you appeared lonely before practically running off. Unsure of whether to snap at Hyrule or almost pity the god within the mask, you simply chose to go about your chores. You had a gut feeling that a few of the Links were likely lingering close by, so you did your best to stay tight lipped beside the mask. Which was hard since chore time (especially when it allocated some space between you and the boys) was also welcomed alone time. More often than not did you talk to yourself. Safe to say that having such time and space intruded upon left you a little… pent up for the rest of the day.

When the next laundry day came by, the same stunt was pulled (by Wild this time) but you couldn’t keep your silence. Camp was located a little further from the stream than it was at the previous site, so you felt a little more secure.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled out as you began to wash the pile of clothes beside you. By now, you’ve long grown used to the awful smell of them and you were thankful that, despite having a sculpted nose, the mask didn’t have nostrils. After a few moments of silence, you continued. “I, uhm… I’m sorry for the way that they’re treating you. Perhaps seeing the way I interacted with you that night caused them to grow a little too comfortable around you. I just ask that you forgive or at least tolerate the behavior- it’s an outlet for a handful of them. I know you’ve been with Time for awhile, so I know that you know full well the stress and trauma these boys have. It may seem like little to you given your rank as a deity, but I’m sure you’ve grown to understand mortals a bit better after hanging off the hip of one for years.”

After that, it felt like a dam had broken. Anytime you were off doing your chores, the Fierce Deity mask was there beside you. To the Chain it was a recurring joke that turned into a slight routine (something Legend hated since having something so powerful be near you was always something he despised). To you, it was finally a chance to talk- to vent without being judged. Well, you’re sure that Fierce Deity was judging you but you couldn’t hear him. Honestly, there were parts of your life that you likely sooner shared with the mask than you did with anyone else. It’s not like he can spill your secrets, anyway.

You wondered what he must have thought of you. An annoyance? A break? An interesting or perhaps strange mortal? Or did he just not care at all? Was he curious about your ramblings that described your passions, your home, your world or was it merely buzzing in his ears? You didn’t know and likely never would. At least, so you thought.

And it all started with a simple, and seemingly logical, decision from Time.

“I’m sorry- what? You’re wanting the Outsider to have the mask with them? Time, what the fuck?! We’re your sword brothers and we’ve hardly been allowed to touch the damn thing but now it gets to hang off of that witch’s hip?! What happens if we need to use it? Or what happens if they use it? We’re all screwed!” Legend practically screams as Time tells the Chain of his decision. You want to stand tall and face Legend, but you knew that his comment wasn’t entirely based off of his prickly personality (despite what may come out of his mouth). No, all of the boys were likely fretting over you having the mask given what it did to its wearer. If it could take down even a Hero of Courage, then what could it do to you?

“Enough!” Time snorted as he stared down the pink haired man. “The mask is not some secret weapon, let alone a toy (Wild, Wind, and Hyrule flinch), to be used at your leisure. That’s something this ‘outsider’ realizes better than seemingly all of you. As such, I’m entrusting it into their care to make sure it’s not abused. It is only for the worst case scenarios, do I make myself clear?”

“But the past few monster hordes have gotten stronger! I understand that (Name) acts as a field medic to the best of their ability but they stay away from battle when they can. It’ll be inconvenient and risky to let it be away from us for multiple reasons. What if a battle goes south fast and we can’t get to it in time? What if something tries to steal it from them? What if they have no choice but to use it and potentially lets Fierce Deity go on a rampage? I can guarantee that it’d hurt them,” Wars argues with a much more put together and logical rebuttal than Legend. That still doesn’t save you from the ever present glare the Vet has aimed at you and the mask.

“I’ve thought of all of this but I still believe this for the best. Besides, the hordes feel stronger because we’ve been dealing with smaller and weaker hordes for over a month now. Dink has been trying to soften us up a little and I can see that it’s worked based on our combined performance in the last battle,” Time huffs and deepens his scowl. He gives the Chain a thorough stare down before speaking again. “Anyone else want to pipe up?”

The only thing that spoke for about the next ten seconds was the breeze. After that short but tense “talk” was over with, the Chain was back on the move. Safe to say you were distracted as you and the boys traveled, though not by the gazes you felt on your person and on the mask. Rather… it was due to the mask itself. During the argument, it had been on your waist the entire time. With everyone focusing on whoever was taking their turn arguing with Time, they were all blind to the way the mask was reacting. Due to your close proximity to the mask for some time now, you knew full well that Fierce Deity could hear and see what happened around him from his wooden prison. He couldn’t speak, but he could make the mask buzz. He did it seldom, but seldom was not the word you would use for moments ago. Given how a lot of the boys still regarded him as an object, it must have pissed him off. Or, maybe, he was also a little pissed at how his new carrier was being treated. It was likely the former but you at least hope you’ve rubbed off on Fierce just a little bit by now.

…

‘On… put the mask on…’

Okay, maybe you’ve rubbed off on him a little… too much.

The freaky occurrences began to happen nearly a week after you were appointed as Fierce Deity’s new carrier. You didn’t notice the whispers at first as they were quiet and usually spoken while the boys were speaking. You also didn’t notice how the mask would move just a little bit whenever you set it down. Naturally, you couldn’t ignore it for forever- not as the mask only grew more active in regards to your ignorance.

The calls from the mask were getting closer by the day. It’s whisper- his whisper, grew louder for every night that passed. His voice was low and rumbling like a distant thunder, like an approaching storm. You’d put the mask on the other side of your tent (much to the displeasure of whoever you were sharing the tent with at the time) but it’d still end up only a foot or two away from you when morning came. Your once rather passive regard for the mask and the deity trapped within it was becoming… strained as the days went by. The boys noticed it, to the point you wondered if Time planned to take back the mask, but they (aside from a seething Legend) never commented on it. It should have come to the surprise of no one that the rising tension would eventually snap.

“You did pretty good out there today, Wind. I didn’t expect you to take out those three lizafols so quickly,” Wild complimented the young lad as he joined the group around the campfire.

“Ha, naturally! With my rate of improvement, I may even surpass the Old Man one day!” Wind puffed up his chest and grinned. The sight of his youthful happiness and high esteem caused the other men to either chuckle or feel a touch of nostalgia.

“Careful- we’ve seen what praise like that does to one of us,” Legend tsks as he side eyes Wars. The knight rolls his eyes but doesn’t clap back for once.

“It’s well deserved praise, Legend. Wind is truly improving- there’s no harm in letting him know,” Hyrule claims. The man opens his mouth to add more but is stopped when Twilight springs up from his spot and stands stiff as a board. The aura surrounding the rancher is tense as he eyes the tent farthest from the campfire.

“Uh, Twilight? What’s wr-”

“(Name)?” Twilight called out as he took a few steps towards the tent you were currently sleeping in. Due to his heightened senses, he could hear muffled grunts and whines of pain. Could you be having a nightmare? No, if it was a nightmare why did he feel so… worried? Scared, even? Based on the tense men around the campfire, they were starting to feel that as well.

Twilight walks, almost stalks, towards the tent. The wolf within was howling and snarling in the back of his mind, that something bad was happening. An almost shaky hand grabbed the fabric of the tent and… he stalled. Why? Why was he stalling? Why did it feel like he shouldn’t open the tent when he knew that he should? That he has to? That his friend- their friend- was in trouble? Why-

“Leave, Hero of Twilight. This is a private moment and you are not welcome.”

Twilight nearly flung the tent into the field.

A thrashing body was pulled from the tent and pinned down to the ground. Wild reached for the mask stuck to your face and tried to pry it away from you but it wouldn’t budge. While you weren’t transforming into the Fierce Deity, that didn’t mean you weren't under his influence at the moment. His voice had come out of your mouth, after all.

“Dammit! (Name)!” Time bellowed, kneeling beside the scene with an equal mix of anger and worry. Worry because he knows- Hylia does he know what that mask can do and angry at himself. He should have taken the mask back the second it started to show signs of attachment. He should have never let you have it- never let you even touch it.

Suddenly, you went limp. Grunts stopped on the tip of your tongue as you let out a drawn out breath. As if it wasn’t just stuck to your face like glue, Wild yanked off the mask with ease. Aside from some redness and even blood on the outline of your face due to the struggle, your face was largely unharmed. In fact, it looked eerily… peaceful.

Your arms slowly closed in and you hugged yourself. In gentle motions that appeared strange to the Chain- as if it wasn’t really you moving your appendages- you rubbed your arms. Your face settles into a more so neutral expression as you eyes flutter open for just a moment to reveal almost entirely white eyes.

“Shhh… you’re alright now, I told you that it would only hurt for a moment. Shhh…,” Fierce Deity gently spoke out of your mouth before your eyes returned to normal. With a tiny groan, your head lolled to the side as you blacked out.

Safe to say that it was absolute chaos when you woke back up.

Strained voices were arguing somewhere nearby and it didn’t help soothe your forming headache. With wobbly arms, you tried to push yourself up but failed as strength seemingly refused to return to you.

“(Name)? Thank the goddesses you’re awake!” Four pipped up in what sounded like absolute relief. Such relief was short lived as you watched Four get up and run off. You tried to sit up again in your sleeping bag but the weakness in your body persisted. Why? Why were you so weak? You went to bed early, dammit!

A baritone chuckle rings in your ears.

“I apologize for that, dear one. Your lack of strength is due to my actions last night.”

The voice was a shock to your system. You frantically looked around for its origin but couldn’t find it. Your confused actions caused the voice to nearly coo.

“Be not afraid, dear one. I am here, with you. That is why you can hear me.”

Light flooded the tent as what seemed to be a multitude of Links trying to force their way in. Time, thanks to his bulk and armor, was the one who managed to force himself to your side. His grip on your face was almost harsh as he looked over your face with a scrutinizing eye. His hardened scowl made your heart drop into your stomach. Buried fears of the Chain turning on you started to surface as nearly everyone gave you heated glares.

“What did he do? What did Fierce Deity do?” Time questioned as he still held your face, not letting go.

Fierce Deity- of course, how could you forget? Your panic that night as you rolled over and into an awaiting mask. The fear as he grabbed onto your mind despite his gentle tone.

“The mask… I… I rolled over and then it was on my face,” You answer meekly, unsure of what words to use because Time looked like he was about to blow a fuse. Anxious and a little frightened by the Old Man, you rambled on. “I swear that I put it on the other side of the tent! I promise I would never put on the mask like that! I-I… I… I’m going to ask you to unhand their face, Hero of Time. Scaring them will not grant you answers.”

Time let go of your face like it would burn him. A few of the boys behind him instinctively reached for their swords but paused. Even with the blank, white eyes staring back at them, this was still their friend’s face.

“What have you done? Why have you possessed (Name)? How?!” Wars interrogated Fierce Deity as he stared back at him.

“I have not truly possessed them. I merely created a bridge between our minds. It will not let me control them like this for much longer. I can only do so because it is still… fresh,” Fierce Deity explains, a ghost of a smile present in his voice.

“Really now? I don’t believe that for a second! Why else would you create this mental bridge if not to have them as a vessel?” Wild piped up as he tried to get close to his friend’s body. He failed to do so as Time practically shielded you from him.

“Personal reasons. I needn’t explain them to you, but I will assure you that I will not harm them. No, I would never force these innocent hands to slaughter. Not unless they were without choice,” Fierce Deity claims. As he speaks, he rubs your hands together as if enthralled with how gentle they felt compared to the calloused and aching hands he was used to guiding.

“And what, in your mind, is ‘without choice’?” Time pressed, grabbing your hands with a scowl.

“Conflict follows this group like a pack of starving wolves. There have been many times where death nearly sunk its teeth into their neck. Times I wish they would have donned the mask so that I could protect them and get them to safety. Unfortunately, they still believed in the half-truths you all told them were the full truth,” Fierce Deity rumbles as he stares down at Times grip with a less than pleased expression.

“I am not comfortable with what you’ve done to our friend. I don’t know if any of us may grow used to or comfortable with this, but… we also have no way to remove you from them. That does not mean we will not look or try. Don’t grow comfortable with this… this bond. It. Will. Not. Last,” Time threatens as he doesn’t bother to hide his disgust or displeasure. With a motion, he orders everyone else to leave. The Chain leaves the tent one by one, but not before speaking their mind. Once alone together again, Fierce Deity lets his hold slip. One or more of the heroes would come back, with more questions, and they would do so soon. So he would enjoy this little break while he had it.

“They are gone for now, dear one. No doubt they will return shortly, so let us enjoy this piece of quiet while we can.”

You lay on your side, feeling dizzy from Fierce Deity suddenly grabbing the reigns of your mind. Although he backed off once the Chain left the tent, his presence within was close. It was almost as if he was laying behind you, wanting to wrap his arms around you. Wanting to hold you close and only stopped by his lack of physical form.

“I am glad you do not have a heightened sense of smell. Their worry, rage, and envy- oh their envy- would have burned your nose. Ah, but… let us dwell on that no longer.”

Your hand was puppeteered to reach down to your side. Your were made to unclasp the mask from your belt and bring it up close to your face. Rather than putting it on, Fierce Deity touched his “face” against yours. Forehead to forehead, nose to nose, and almost mouth to mouth.

“Mmm… so soft, as always. If I had need for sleep as you do, then I would not rest unless this is the sight that’s before me. And even then, I may be too enchanted to close my eyes.”

Phantom hands rubbed at your arms, your back, and then your cheek. They weren’t real, but with Fierce’s control of your imagination, they were. And you prayed that is was his influence, and not your own heart, that found it comforting and warm. You wanted to push back and take control but, due to the “fresh” nature of your bond, you would likely be at the mercy of the god for days.

“Rest, dear one. Rest your mind and body, you must still recover from our bonding last night.”

Those phantom hands circled around you and you feel as though you’re caged in an embrace.

“I will deal with the heroes should they come to disturb you. Know that I will not let them part us- not unless they’re looking to stir my rage.”

A kiss. It wasn’t real- it wasn’t, but the rough lips upon your forehead tempted your heart to will that they were.

“And I promise that one day, we will not have to rely on this spiritual bond. No, I will make up for these ethereal affections tenfold when I find out how to return to the material plane. No matter how long it takes. Not that we must worry about that, after all. Our time together… will be eternal.”

---

The next few days were perhaps the most tense you’ve ever experienced. Fierce Deity was a constant presence in your head, even as the bond between the two of you settled. He wasn’t chatty, but just rather curious and inquisitive. When he wasn’t asking questions about you, he was observing. He seemed to derive an almost twisted form of happiness whenever he saw how on edge everyone was around you now . He assured it was out of jealousy of him, not fear or hatred towards you. Were it actually out of new found ill-will… no, you weren’t going to imagine what the god would have in store for them.

True to his word, his hold over your mind lessened the more the bond settled in. No longer would you feel phantom hands wrapping around your own or resting on your shoulder. No longer would it feel like a large body was laying behind your own every night you fell asleep. No longer would it be his voice on your tongue to shoo away the boys should they do wrong in the war god’s eyes. No longer did it feel like he was breathing down your neck every waking moment.

In an attempt to hinder the god’s mysterious motives, you were quickly relieved of the mask he was bound to. It was once again on Time’s hip- now covered and tied up in cloth. Honestly, you were surprised it wasn’t buried into the storage of Wild’s Sheika Slate to create even more distance. Even with what happened, it seemed that Time didn’t have it in him to simply discard the mask. Perhaps he hoped to keep the deity in check, like he had done before you accidentally stirred the entity into action.

And it would seem that that is exactly what Fierce planned on him doing.

It was supposed to be a quiet night. The area was secure, dinner was cooking in the pot, and everyone but Time was idling around the fire. Wind chatted with you about every and anything that came to mind which pushed your focus onto the young man. With your distance from the mask and not thinking about Fierce, you felt nothing from the bond. You felt calm for the first time in awhile and everyone seemed to feel the same.

“Any idea when the Old Man is gonna be back?” Wars asks aloud, looking for nearly anyone to answer him.

“Soon. Dinner’s almost done and he’s not one to miss it. At least when I’m cooking,” Wild hums. It was a simple answer to a simple question, so no one said anything else. Still, it unnerved you. Time sought to set an example, so potentially being late to dinner was unlike him. Curious, you probed on the bond connecting you to Fierce. Even if he’d huff at you checking up on another man before him, you knew you’d get an answer. You always got an answer.

…

“I’ll look for him,” You state as you get up and walk off in the direction of where you last saw Time. Your sudden decision startled the boys and your nervous, almost haunted, expression did nothing to soothe them.

“Then I’m going with you. I don’t want you to getting close to him,” Twilight announces as he catches up to you. His tone left you with no room for an argument but you weren’t going to.

Not when Fierce was being eerily quiet.

You and Twilight took careful steps through the forest as he tried to retrace Time’s path. You both would stop and listen to the ambient sounds of the forest whenever something sounded off. The constant stopping and going only ramped up your nerves further as it kept punctuating Fierce’s refusal to communicate.

“I’m sure we’ll get an explanation when we find him. If you ask me, he might just be getting some alone time. He always does seem to have a lot on his mind,” Twilight piped up as he led you through the woods. The man offered a small smile but the strain on his face wasn’t lost on you. “Any word from him?”

“No. Nothing. It’s like… like there’s no bond at all,” You reply. “Ever since the incident, it’s never been like that. If anything, Fierce always made an effort to feel ‘present’.”

“Maybe… he’s also taking a break?” Twilight suggested, trying to be the optimistic. You shoot him a look and that optimism is quick to falter. Twilight doesn’t give up and faces you with an uneasy smile. He gently places his hands on your shoulders and rubs them a little. You feel that it comforts him more than you. “C’mon, think about it. You’ve said that he’s not as violent as we believe him to be, so m-”

“Remove your hands from them, Hero of Twilight.”

The air is squeezed from your lungs as Twilight suddenly pulls you into a shielding embrace. His fur pelt partly blocks your vision, but you can make out an imposing silhouette between the trees. How did the both of you not notice him?

Fierce Deity was striking. He has to at least be seven feet tall and he was clad in armor similar to Time’s but it was a steely silver, not gold. The armor was lined with white fur with an abundance of it on his collar. Long, flowing locks of white swayed in the night time breeze. Fierce’s silver-gray eyes were framed by strong and downturned brows. His stare was… intense, to say the least. But your eyes weren’t on his. No, you were focused on finding out why there were splatters of blood on him.

“What did you do?!” Twilight growled. “Where’s Time? What did you do to him?!”

“I won’t ask again, Hero of Twilight. Release them,” Fierce commanded as he began to walk towards the both of you. Twilight only seemed to tighten his hold in response. This was going to end up being ugly unless you did something.

“Stop!” You exclaim as you try and fail to wrestle yourself out of Twilight’s hold. Both men head your order but the tense atmosphere doesn’t dissipate. You shoot Twilight a glare but the hero returns it as he shakes his head. True to his word from earlier, he wasn’t about to let you get close to the god of war.

A strangle cough breaks the silence as someone stumbles through the brush. Thanks to the golden armor, you knew exactly who it was.

“Oh god, Time!” You exclaim as the older man leans against a tree for support. His face is banged up and actively dripping blood. His armor was smeared with the red liquid as if he had been trying to wipe off the blood over and over again. Blood bubbled up from Time’s lips as he tried to gurgle out words. The pathetic sight was enough to shock Twilight into action as he let go of you and zipped towards the injured man.

“Ancestor! What happened?! What did he do to you?” Twilight questions as he supports the bloodied man. More gurgles and grunts leave the man’s mouth as he tries to answer the younger man’s questions. It’s clear to all present that Time is in no shape to answer questions despite the desperate need for it.

“Take him back to camp and have him healed up,” You order. The order earns you a stern shake of the head from both Twilight and Time, but you refused to budge. “Now, Twilight! I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Go take care of him,” Fierce chimes in as he looks back to the two men. “No harm shall befall them. You have my word.”

With a tough choice to make, you can see the exact moment when a hero’s instinct takes over Twilight. He lifts up Time and barrels through the forest back to the camp. In the blink of any eye, you’re suddenly left alone with the very person who had to have harmed Time. You’re so out of your league in the current situation that you probably couldn’t even see the playing field on the horizon, but you weren’t about to back down.

“My dear-”

��What did you do to him?” You confront as you stand up as tall as you can. It’s nothing compared to the towering deity, but you weren’t about to let that stop you. Fierce seems amused by your actions. He leisurely walks towards you with his hands by his sides and a small smile on his face.

“Nothing too rash, my dear. Just a broken nose and some scraps to the face. Head wounds tend to bleed quite a lot, as you know,” Fierce answers vaguely.

“Why did you hurt him?” You continue to question as you start to back up. You wanted to keep distance between the both of you in case you had to turn heel and run. Not that’d you’d get very far, but you could only hope.

“I didn’t mean to hit him hard. He came at me and I punched him, simple as that,” Fierce assured as he continued his approach. “Surely, my dear, you believe me? You know I would not hurt another without reason.”

“The mask- how did you escape the mask?” You press as you do your best to keep your distance.

“That wooden prison was old and ready to crack. I never saught to free myself from its binds as there was little in this world that tempted me forward. Well, little until you came around. Ah, I still recall how gently you held me in your hands that night…�� Fierce hummed as he closed in. It didn’t take long for him to corner you against a tree. Frozen against the trunk, you could no longer keep space between the two of you. Fierce leaned down and grabbed your hands with his own. He pressed them against his face and he stares straight into your eyes.

“Hello, (Name), I’m the one they call the Fierce Deity. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Words evaded you, as did action. You didn’t pull away nor did you do anything else than having allowed Fierce guide your actions. The god chuckles at your frozen deer response as he moves his hands under your arms and lifts you up. You cringe as he holds you close and blood seeps into your clothes and the smell of iron assaults your nose. Fierce nuzzles against your cheek and buries his strong nose into your shoulder. In your shock, you can’t tell if he kisses your shoulder or if it’s just your imagination.

“YOU BASTARD!”

A growl reverberates through you as Fierce grits his teeth. His embrace tightens as he turns to face a small group of men. A near foaming at the mouth Legend leads the party of enraged me. Upon seeing you in the grasp of the deity, the rabid man refrains from attacking but it’s clear he’s waiting for his opening. A similarly enraged Sky, Four, and Wars follow behind him and a snarling Wolfie is quick to catch up with the group.

“Quell your tongue, Veteran. They’re already stressed enough,” Fierce huffs as he rubs a hand up and down your back.

“Then let them go! Can’t you see that you’re scaring them even further?” Sky argues as he adjusts his grip on the Master Sword. Unlike Legend, he’s not still on his feet as he begins to move in an attempt to flank Fierce. Wars and Wolfie catch onto his plan while Four stays steady beside Legend.

“They are shocked, Hero of the Sky. Their senses are overwhelmed at the moment from tonights events,” Fierce dismisses the claim. He takes his eyes of the men and looks at you. His voice his low and gentle when he addresses you. “Correct, my dear? You know I’d never want to harm or scare you.”

You shrink away from Fierce and refuse to look him in the eye. The actions draw out a sigh from the god but he doesn’t force a response out of you. Instead, you feel yourself sway with his body as he begins to move. There are shouts and orders from the other men to stay still but Fierce acts as if they were little more than the surrounding scenery.

“Let’s get you back to camp. You must be hungry after all of this excitement. Can you hold a spoon? I’ll feed you if you can’t,” Fierce murmurs to you as he walks. You nod in response and the god sighs again. “Come now, my dear, what has happened to that beautiful voice of yours? Do not tell me you’re so mad at me that you’d cut me off from such sweet melodies?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

Fierce slows to a stop. You can practically feel the puzzled expression radiating off of his face.

“My dear? What are you talking about?”

“Why are you calling me ‘my dear’?” You repeat as you pull away from Fierce’s shoulder. You can see his face scrunch up at your remark. You also see the men who confronted him following close behind.

“Because you are dear to me, (Name). You treated me fairly and sweetly, like I was a man- not a mask. You’ve told me more than what you’ve told anyone else. You always seemed happy to be near me for the longest time. Even after my brash actions that night, you still didn’t entirely recess into fear,” Fierce answers with a strong tone. “You may not realize it, but that is very important to me. You are very important to me and by the Golden Three do I intend on making that clear.”

Fierce resumes his large gait back to the camp. When he arrives, the reception is chilly. No one moves for their weapons but nor does anyone stay far away from them. Finally, Fierce sets you down onto the ground. You slump down to the soil below you as you take in deep breaths, unaware of how shallow your breathing had been before.

“Get a bowl of food ready- and don’t be skimpy,” Fierce orders as he stares down Wild. Wild grumbles something you can’t make out but he portions out a bowl for you. Fierce takes the portion from the cook before he can even leave the pot to give it to you. He settles himself by your side before shifting you into his lap. A spoon is brought up to your lips before you can argue. At the very least, Wild’s cooking never disappoints.

“Getting comfortable?” A rough voice breaks through the ambience of the night. A now healed but still beaten up Time stares down Fierce without a shred of fear. You immediately notice that he has both eyes open, and they’re both normal. Not to mention the fact that his face was now free from markings.

“Very,” Fierce curtly replies. He doesn’t bother to face Time as he’s focused on feeding you. The deity coos at you as your mouth is stuffed with food and your cheeks puff up as a result. The actions from the towering entity is… strange and off-putting to all present. The boys are stuck between glaring at the deity or cringing at his out of character actions. Fierce couldn't care less.

The evening passed by without much more incident. Everyone was jumpy and gave you and Fierce space despite the expressed distaste towards the new addition. There would be no knight in shining armor for you tonight, so you only hoped that Fierce would keep his word on treating you kindly.

Based on how he clung to you when it was time to go to bed, he seemed only further convinced he needed to assure you of that promise. He had shed his armor so you didn’t have to have metal pressing into you. He had also wrapped you up into a blanket burrito (something he made clear he learned from you and your ramblings) to limit the amount of skin on skin contact between you. He wasn’t blind to his intensity, so he was doing his best to restrain himself. You could only hope he’d keep up the will to do- for everyone’s sake.

“Sleep tight and sweet dreams, my dear,” Fierce whispered as he fiddled with the blanket covering you and stray strands of your hair. “I will be by your side the entire night, should you need me.”

“Okay…” You mumbled out as you wanted to do nothing more than hide away into your blanket. You closed your eyes but no amount of counting sheep would make falling asleep easy. Not with arms caging you to a man ever hungry for even your attention. Ever hungry for even a sliver of affection. By Hylia, what have you gotten yourself into.

“I love you, my dear,” Fierce mumbles as he believes you’re on the brink of falling asleep. “And remember… my love for your is eternal.”

And by the Goddesses, how do you get yourself out?

A wide and fanged smile cracks against the skin of your neck. A dark and hopefully playful chuckle leaves the god of war’s lips.

“You don’t.”

#yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #lu fierce deity #yandere lu fierce deity #linked universe x reader #yandere lu #Yandere lu x reader

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doobea · 3 months

Text

BORN TO MAKE HISTORY ─ RIN ITOSHI

synopsis: After his brother takes a nasty fall and calls out before the new season starts, Rin has to step up as your new figure skating partner.

✰ ✰ ✰જ⁀➴ PLAYLIST. | MASTERLIST

contents: an ice skating au fic (very much yuri on ice inspired), fem!reader, ice skating terms and irl figures thrown around, inaccurate depictions of figure skating, sfw, rin being awkward, sae is a decent brother in here, characters are in their early-mid 20s, talks about ISU grand prix, mentions of mental health (depression, anxiety, burn out, imposter syndrome), heavy narration, rin centric word count: 5.1K a/n: life has been super busy and hectic recently :( kisses to @popponn for beta reading my works as always <3 im forever grateful for you :) more notes towards the end of the fic <3

PREV. RINK | NEXT RINK

“What should we wear?” You’re pacing across the living room, hand tucked under your chin and brows furrowed.

Sae’s leaning to the side on the couch, trying to get a decent view of yesterday’s playback practice run on the rink every time you cross his line of vision. Rin’s also trying to pay attention to the jumps and step sequences too but, whenever his parts are about to come up, you seem to pause in front of the TV.

“I dunno, ask Rin,” Sae shrugs and turns up the volume, hoping that you would catch the hint.

It doesn’t matter though, because you’re shuffling in place and now your attention is honed on your phone, scrolling rapidly through what Rin can only assume are images of various costume designs. He’s seen a few of your professional photos from the previous years during his recent down time, a lot of the designs highlighted your feminine side with bright colors and pastels. It suits you, no surprise there, considering your outgoing personality. Rin, on the other hand, likes to keep it moody and, as his fans would like to call it, “Dark Paradise” core — whatever that means.

Well, it wouldn’t really matter if you did happen to ask for his opinion because, recently, Rin didn’t give two shits about what he wears. If anyone were to peek into his closet, which they would definitely need to fight through him first, they would discover an array of all different shades of black and blue in their deepest forms. Oh, and all he owns is athleisure attire, too. Rin doesn’t bother with all things fancy and tailored ever since going on break, though he has a creeping feeling that he might have to go back to it soon.

“As long as it’s not flashy, I’m fine with whatever.” Rin answers finally, and closes his eyes as he says it, realizing that he’ll either look incredibly out of place with whatever costume idea you’ll have in mind. He can’t quite place why he feels so stressed about it.

“Whatever?” You chirp back with a slight tilt. Rin can almost see the gears turning desperately in your head as your foot taps away in deep thought. “Have we even decided on a theme yet?”

“Considering we literally just started practicing? No.” Rin huffs out. He tips his head, letting his cheek settle comfortably against his palm.

Safe to say, his thighs and feet hurt like hell, laced with heavy exhaustion from yesterday’s session. He probably needs more sleep in more but, with both you and Sae knocking on his bedroom door this morning, he firmly decided in his mind to sneak away after today’s practice to catch up on some hours.

“Your jumps are sloppy,” Sae points out casually.

Rin rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Anytime,” his brother shoots back before replaying the same damn sequence where Rin nearly loses his footing. The video is now playing in slow motion and zoomed in, painfully reminding Rin that he needs to upgrade his skincare routine. Somehow, he’s glad that you’re still covering half of the TV screen, unaware of the near wipe out scene from behind.

A few seconds later and Sae speaks again. “You look stiff here, bend your knees and loosen your arms.”

Rin sighs. “ ‘Kay…”

“We’re still going for ‘love’, right? Or are we not doing that?” Your arms are crossed, fingers drumming away, still deep in thought and tuned out from their own conversation. “What songs do you wanna skate to?”

Before Rin could even provide a half-assed answer to that, Sae interrupts his thoughts with, “Please try and at least look like you’re having fun.”

“…noted,” Rin decides with a sigh. “I’m going back to bed when this is over.” Screw napping after practice, he barely got a full eight hours last night and being berated so bright and early in the morning killed any sort of energy he had prior.

“Nope,” Sae pauses halfway through the video, turning to face him with a stern look. “You’re not going back to bed, because then you won’t wake up in time for practice. Sleeping in will only ruin your current sleep schedule, too.”

Rin wants to retort that he’s not a fucking child anymore, that he doesn’t need Sae to be looking after him. However, there’s the fact that his brother is sorta his manager now and in charge of quite literally everything of Rin's career. Also, it’s kinda hard to come up with a solid comeback when they’re reviewing his rusty movements, lackluster jumps, and every thirty seconds he’s taking a small break to catch his damn breath.

You eventually plop down in the middle of the couch, between both brothers, when you realize that your question isn’t going to be answered simply. After Sae finally gets the chance to thoroughly watch a good chunk of yesterday’s practice sequence, you switch topics. “Just so you know, Rin, have you seen your comment section lately?”

Sae shuffles in his seat and suddenly Rin feels the air in the room thickening. Rin fiddles with his phone in hand, knowing full well that he did post a ‘comeback’ announcement only to then quickly turn his app notifications off, because… of his feelings of self cautiousness? Would that be the right term he’s looking for?

“What did he do?” Sae’s asking you because he knows damn well Rin wouldn’t give him the full details and you’re just so damn open about everything so Rin can’t possibly hide from this one.

But, instead of answering Sae, you cough, loud and awkward, before shooting Rin an apologetic look. “Um, nothing…?”

Alright, well Rin takes it that you’re a god awful liar.

Sae’s now staring directly in Rin’s direction and he’s trying so hard to avoid eye contact right now by pretending that their family portrait wall is the most interesting thing in the room. Of course, that doesn’t work because he can hear Sae tapping away freely on his phone and—

“Did you fucking block me on Instagram?”

Okay, yeah, Rin totally forgot about that, too. To be fair, when someone is going through a depressive episode for over a year, the last thing anyone would want to see on their feed is the success of their older sibling.

“No?”

And, turns out, he’s also an awful liar.

Sae is not happy. He is very, very unhappy.

He’s not usually the emotionally expressive type to most people, so that usually leaves Rin the luxury of experiencing the back end when his brother does decide to let his walls down. And, well, in the past, when he did get pissed off, Sae would normally vent about his coaches and stalkerish fans with a bit of sass to it, but today?

He’s currently grumbling and groaning and Rin’s pretty sure his shirt is on backwards, and bless your soul, but also fuck you, for dragging him into this mess.

After a very short Google Search of what Rin has done, followed by an equally as short lecture on how to be professional on the internet, Rin is grimley reminded by the large number of likes and retweets on Twitter that his announcement might’ve not been the best thing he’s ever posted. He really can’t understand why though, because Rin was deadset sure he was going to lose his career nearly three years ago when he got into a fight with another skater, so why is he getting canceled for announcing something… tamed? Well, he also hasn’t exactly opened his social media apps since then. A strange gnawing feeling comes up whenever he fights off the urge to check.

“You should’ve held off or at least came to me before posting something like this.”

It’s a miracle that there’s nobody else but you three at the local rink right now. It’s been nearly an hour since arrival and Rin has gotten nothing but an earful from Sae. If any family were to walk in, they’d probably immediately walk out by the sheer amount of heavy tension steaming off on the ice.

You’re stuck in your own little corner doing all sorts of warm up jumps and stretching, glancing over every now and then at Rin as your way of saying ‘sorry’ and ‘are you doing, okay’. To which, Rin would glance back with a very stiff shrug.

“What difference would it make?” Rin’s cheeks are a little flushed and there’s a slight hitch to his breath, he had just completed a couple of routine jumps Sae instructed him to do.

“Plenty,” then Sae flashes Rin a quick glimpse of his phone screen.

An array of outrageous news articles and forums come through, many of them pointing out the strange timing and the internal turmoil of sibling rivalry. There’s a couple of them mentioning drugs, two threads from some third-party news site throwing your name to the mud, and then a short Buzzfeed article listing a slideshow of other skaters congratulating Rin for rejoining the sport again.

“People are speculating that you’re only stepping in because I’m down for this season. If you would’ve just waited until everything was put together then everything would’ve been different.”

Rin blinks a little, surprised by the flush coloring his brother's cheeks that’s most certainly not from the cold rink.

Although, in a way it did make sense. If there’s one thing that famous athletes do know about the media is the fact that news outlets love fabricating drama out of nothing. Sae’s a well known gold medalist, no matter what division that medal came from, so his name came out of people’s mouth as frequently as compared to Yuzuru Hanyu or even Yuuri Katsuki, whenever figure skating was mentioned. It made sense for others to grow suspicious when Rin randomly posted that he’s coming off of hiatus without further explanation. Sae most likely hasn’t told anyone that he’s being subbed in.

Rin hesitantly nods, his snarky response dies in his throat and he feels like he’s swallowing needles when faced with the awkward reality. He’s now reluctant to speak, unsure if anything he’d say would make a difference — for better or worse. Knowing himself, probably the latter.

After a few seconds of silence, followed by a few jumps performed by you in the background, Sae runs a hand through his hair, in what Rin believes is a rare nervous gesture, looking away briefly.

“Revival,” his brother finally blurts out. “That’s the theme. You guys fine with that?” Sae’s asking, but there’s a finality to his tone. Rin and you will have to be fine with it. The season starts in a few months, soon Sae would need to prepare choreography for two programs, consult a designer for custom fittings, and take over all things that a coach and manager would do. Somehow, despite being out for this year, Rin thinks Sae might have the hardest job here.

“No objections here.”

Two months and many hours of exhausting training later, you and Rin are standing in the locker room for the first competition as an official pair. It’s the first day of the Japan Figure Skating Championships and, somehow, you look more put together than he is.

“Think this looks good?” You do a 360 spin in front of the wall mirror in your short program outfit. It’s a simple short black, gray dress with mesh sleeves and small rhinestones running down the middle. According to the designer, it’s supposed to represent the night sky.

Rin stands behind you and adjusts his black vest. Gold and white thread accents throughout his patterned shirt compared with plain black trousers. He’s supposed to adjust his cuffs, but his fingers keep fumbling with the last button because his eyes are awkwardly getting lost in your outfit. Luckily, you’re too focused on yourself to take notice.

You eventually lean closer, repeating the question when he takes too long to answer, and he feels your breath against his shoulder. “Everything alright? Are you nervous for today?” Your voice is a little hesitant, full of concern that makes Rin’s stomach slightly jump to his throat.

“Everything’s fine,” Rin sighs as he manages to shove the last button through. It’s not like he’s going to lose this competition, he might be somewhat rusty but he didn’t qualify for the Grand Prix Final just based on his name alone. “It’s just… a little bit weird that we’re the oldest ones here,” he confesses.

“You’re still hung up about that?”

It’s stupid and maybe a bit irrational, he knows that much.

You’ve also already tried to convince Rin otherwise multiple times today, but he couldn’t shake off the humiliating feeling of entering a competition where your competitors are almost half your age. Okay, maybe Rin’s being dramatic, but at least five years younger. From what he can recall, it was usually the other way around whenever he competed in men’s singles tournaments. Having to see and now experience that is something he never really mentally prepared himself for.

From the moment he stepped into the locker room, Rin was basically towering over the rest of the athletes. It’s fine, kinda, all he really needs to focus on right now is landing all of his jumps and catching you. Sae’s a strict teacher, but he doesn’t force weird techniques on others if he knows they can’t handle it.

“Isn’t he, like, totally washed up right now?”

“Shh, don’t say it so loud, Makoto! He’s right there.”

“Oh, shit, let’s go before he…” Rin didn’t get a chance to hear the rest of the sentence, not with you scooting right beside him on the bench and shoving your right ear bud into his ear.

He’s learned quickly from the following days that you are not the playlist type of person like most people. Unlike normal and sane folks, you have all of your liked songs in one playlist and you like spending your time shuffling away through the vast hundreds of genres and artists until finding the right one. In your own words, if you were to make a playlist then it would easily be over a few dozen — why do that when all of your favorite songs are in one spot?

That being said, you’re currently blasting a Frank Ocean song before shifting through a couple more songs with the intent of finding both the short program and free skate song. Oh, and for some reason you don’t use the search function at all through your liked playlist. Apparently, it “ruins” the fun.

“This would’ve been a nice song to skate to,” the tune switches to something more upbeat and indie, Rin recognizes the band to be Florence and the Machine from the vocals alone. “Sae complained about the song being too long and I called him a lazy loser shortly after.” You say with a smile but Rin’s eyes drift down only to see your leg bobbing up and down rapidly.

Rin tries to pay no mind as he continues to put on his skates. “A six minute long performance would be too much,” he agrees with Sae’s previous answer.

“Hey, tickets to these sorts of things are expensive nowadays with scalpers everywhere!” You try to reason. “If someone’s spending two hundred dollars on a seat then they can sit through a six minute long skating sequence.”

Rin rolls his eyes as he fiddles with a tangled lace. “I didn’t mean the people in the audience, I meant the skaters.”

“Well, maybe we should learn a thing or two from people who do Disney on Ice?”

“I do not want that to be my fall back career, thank you.” A shiver creeps down his spine at the thought of being forced to skate while wearing a Mickey Mouse costume of all things. Seriously, do people clean those suits?

“Hey, are you…” both of your ears perk at the sound from behind. Rin turns around first, he’s immediately greeted by one of the younger male competitors. The boy looks like he’s still growing into his body, probably not any older than seventeen.

“Yeah, I am,” Rin finishes the obvious question. Maybe the kid’s a fan by how bright his face lights up soon after. “Is there something you need?” Sae’s been drilling him to be a little bit more receptive to fellow competitors and fans alike, in order to fix some of his reputation.

“I’ve been looking at your past performances, lately,” the kid starts with a smile. “Last year, during the Grand Prix Final, you did good!”

“Thanks—”

“Your theme was the same as the previous years, but I guess that’s just something you’re comfortable with, right? The falls that you took, it was because your balance was off. You need to work better on finding your center during jumps if you seriously plan on competing in the senior division again.”

Rin only notices the pain digging in his fists when you reach over, palm encasing over his closed ones. You don’t bother looking his way, but you do say something to the kid. It sounds muffled though, or maybe Rin’s somehow zoning out? He’s not sure.

The loss from the Grand Prix is apparently still at the forefront of his mind, no matter how much he tells himself otherwise. People love to pick out that particular part in his performance, acting as if they could pull it off any better. And, for a brief moment, all his past of anger and frustration at the sport suddenly comes rushing back at an overwhelming rate. Rin’s wondering who else wants to criticize him when they meet him again.

“Don’t they teach kids manners these days?” You try to shoot a glare back but, from Rin’s perspective, it just looks like you’re mildly constipated.

It kinda ends up working, because the kid backs off, scurrying away and off to his manager for last minute pep talk. Sae’s currently running late as usual, but it’s not like you two would need any words of encouragement. Rin’s competitive nerves have fizzled out by this point, at least for this event, but he’s now seething with discomfort. He’s certainly positive that you’re feeling the same way.

“I take it back, some of these kids need to be humbled and maybe even bullied.”

Okay, while Rin would agree, he feels like he has to somewhat step up in Sae’s place to make sure you don’t accidentally get kicked out of this competition for sucker punching a kid.

“It’s fine, don’t get too worked up over it. I more or less expected comments like that.”

Rin never expected anything to come easy. Climbing for his spot again in the competitive world can be absolutely ruthless and meeting skaters who are arrogant, condescending, and taunting are just part of the reality. He suspects that everyone else sees him as a washed up skater, never as a real competitor, or a real challenger for the gold medal.

“Still,” you pout, unsatisfied by his logical response, but drop the conversation as Rin tightens his laces. Then, you finally manage to find the song for the short program section after the relentless shuffling.

“It’s fine,” he reassures, and really, it’s kinda-sorta fine. It’s something that he’ll eventually get used to, even if he’s well aware of the heinous rumors floating around. Everything will die down after a week or two since most people can barely hold their attention span nowadays.

“If you’re positive,” you go back to your phone, but not before poking Rin’s sides and redirecting his attention towards the TV screen in the locker room. “Hey, the first pair is competing.”

Pair skating is a lot different from competing in singles. Aside from the obvious involvement of another party, there are more requirements in the short and free skate performances. In the Adult Singles programs, the skater focuses more on their jumps, having a higher emphasis on how many quads they can shove in — or at least that’s how Rin used to work. Quads granted him the majority of the points, it’s something that he can take some pride in compared to his other juniors and seniors.

For pairs, instead of focusing on jumps in the sequences, it’s lifts. There’s two types of lifts, overhead and twists, both are required in the programs. In general, overhead lifts rely on the movement of the person in the air, the control and execution of their rotations around the person carrying them. For twists, the most “exciting” part of the performance by judges’ words, requires an insane amount of coordination and strength since Rin has to propel you into the air by the waist.

Sae had the lovely idea to throw in three overhead lifts, just because he thinks Rin can handle it. Those evening practices at the rink, followed by early morning lifting sessions absolutely killed him, both physically and spiritually. Though, safe to say that he’s just about near his physical peak last year from all the training.

You and Rin both waited patiently in the locker rooms for the first three pair performances, only leaving and heading by the outer rink when you guys queued next. Sae leans against the railing, the brace on his foot now gone and, instead of chunky sneakers, he’s opted back to his expensive loafers. Maybe that’s why he ran late, just in case paparazzi took snapshots of his entire outfit. Go figure.

“I think you guys will have no issue securing gold.” Sae’s voice comes through the haze of Rin’s thoughts, sounding distinctly unimpressed by the current line up. “Even if you guys fumble your lifts, I think the amount of it will carry enough points.”

Erupted cheers soon fill the air and all eyes turn to the rink as the pair’s performance ends. You soon recognize one of the skaters being the teenager from earlier and throw Rin a look.

“We’re going to make sure that he doesn’t get a chance at winning until next year.” You announce, tone casual but eyes flickering something darker than what Rin’s used to.

Sae scoffs and leans against the railing, holding Rin’s Winnie the Pooh tissue box in his arms. “I’m assuming the locker room talk wasn’t all too friendly?”

“Maybe not your usual idea of friendly,” and Rin surges forward, taking your hands into his, when the pair in question struts by and casts both of you a nasty glare. Your grip around his bicep tightens and, while he didn’t care too much about beating a bunch of lukewarm competitors earlier, Rin’s fully certain that he wants nothing more than that gold medal and to clear both of your names from accusations right now.

Piano sounds ring throughout the arena from the speakers, starting with a single word that you’ve both heard countless times during practice. The soft piano notes quickly turn into a somber melody, growing louder with every passing second. The music is beautiful. Haunting, even. Capturing the audience in a trance while Rin prepares you for your first lift.

It’s strange, he thinks. While he’s gotten used to handling you, this is different from every other time. During practices, you’re always carefree and cheerful but, out here, surrounded by cameras and opinions of others that don’t weigh a thing, you’re focused and extremely precise in your form.

Rin thought he knew your routine. Clearly, he’s mistaken.

You skate with conviction, confidence, and accuracy. He can understand why you were originally Sae’s skating partner.

Once you’ve landed back on the ice, keeping up with Rin’s speed, the two of you follow the song’s beat with a smooth series of spins and jumps, each one rotating faster and faster until it feels like the mere audience is just a blurry backdrop in the foreground.

The final lift jump transitions easily into a simple step sequence before finally ending in a death spiral. Rin has a firm grip on your hand as you begin flattening your body low enough, face barely grazing the ice below, as he pivots you around in lull circles.

Judging from the sounds from the audience, Rin didn’t need to stay around to know the results of the performance. The roars, chants, and the standing ovation from them is enough to make out the outcome but, for your sake, he’ll stick it through.

You both glide through the last few seconds of the short program, focusing on nothing but the music and remaining movements. Finally, the music notes fade out and the two of you come to a rest in the middle of the rink, the final position has Rin tipping your body backwards with your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, as if you both were reaching for something just out of your grasp.

Thunderous roars ring in his flushed ears and you’re shooting him a look, eyes glassy and lips parting, possibly saying some sort of praise, but Rin can’t seem to focus. He’s too lost in thought, too distracted by the tenderness of the performance, the flashing lights, the way your chest is heaving in rapid waves, and didn’t realize he had been holding in his breath until you pulled him into a tight embrace.

Everything is just about perfect. Every jump, lift, and spin. He can already imagine the gold medal around his neck, and the thought of winning gold at the Grand Prix only makes the rest of his blood course through his veins faster.

Being a professional athlete again is… exhausting.

Rin spends the following day in back to back conferences and being introduced to people. Most of them end up being unremarkable and forgettable. A couple of them are rude and eccentric, with one guy in particular honing down Rin in a corner and bombarding him with questions both surrounding his performance last year and his personal life. You and Sae had to step in to diffuse the situation before Rin blew a hole in his career again.

By the end of the night, Rin debates whether he should switch careers because this shit is absolutely not for him. It’s no surprise to anyone that Rin hates being around people and this night he’s probably escaped to the restroom maybe about five times to catch a breather. And, while Rin is not the type to exactly care about his image, he absolutely does a full body inspection in the full body mirror every time before he steps back out. Each time he revisits a new wrinkle line forms.

And his brother hasn’t told him when it’ll be over.

Rin’s hands twitch after another self-proclaimed journalist finishes up a half-ass interview about his latest goals for this year. He pulls out his phone when they suggest giving out their contact information and Rin just zones out, tapping away gibberish in his notes app and nodding until they finally went away.

He feels like he’s going to vomit and pass out if this goes on any longer.

“You look like you’re about to freak out,” and of course, you have the decency to point that out as he’s made the fruit salad section his little hideaway spot. Turns out people really dislike any sort of fruit dishes at these fancy events.

“I’m not,” Rin muffles back, mouth stuffed with various chunks of honeydew and grapes. Even if it is true, he’ll never admit it, but it also does suck that he's stupidly easy to read. “The food just sucks here, that’s all.” The fruit isn’t that bad. Maybe just the strawberries.

“Whatever you say, partner,” you roll your eyes playfully, almost giggling at the nickname before taking a sip from the glass of champagne in your hands. “If you want, we can sneak out of here and explore the city.” It’s a suggestion but, from the way you’re smiling, Rin picks up that he can’t wiggle his way out of it.

But he tries anyway.

“Do you even know your way around?” He sounds vaguely concerned.

Sure, it’s been approximately two months since you’ve crashed and turned his life a complete 180, but you’re still new to the area and very much new to the country. Rin’s heard you picked up basic phrases from his brother to get around but it’s still nearly not enough to go and explore, especially late at night. And, rightfully so, he doesn’t plan on babysitting while you waltz around half tipsy off your mind after winning first place.

You fake a wound over your chest and gasp, hiccuping soon after. “I have maps on my phone! I already pinned and favorited a bunch of cute stores we can check out.”

Rin doesn’t know why you even bother throwing him into the equation considering it’ll clearly be stores you’ll like.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going?” Sae’s sauntering over, a half empty glass of wine in hand, and his movement is a little sluggish, but he’s probably the only few sobered up person in the room aside from Rin.

“Out,” you reply with a casual shrug, as if Sae’s supposed to be satisfied with the answer.

“Out...” Sae echos before flickering his sudden sharp gaze over to Rin. He feels himself straightening up before he realizes. “You guys still have to make your statements to the press, you know that, right?”

“Can’t we do it after we get back?” You quickly dismiss Sae’s annoyed scrunch with a quick waft of a hand.

Rin really doesn’t want to stand in front of a bunch of drunken and overly zealous journalists right now if he doesn’t have to. The idea of visiting a few late night street vendors might just be his highlight for today.

“Hey,” Sae’s agitated voice snaps him out of his daze. “Are you seriously going out?”

Instead of providing his brother a proper answer, Rin takes a hold of your hands and throws his jacket over your bare shoulders. You were complaining earlier about losing yours, and the last thing he wants is a drunk and cold skating partner in the middle of the streets of Nagano.

2024 — NAGANO: JAPAN FIGURE SKATING CHAMPIONSHIPS

Posted 16 hours ago 278,293 views

Comments 543

[niCOnii] - 10 hours ago All these rin haters from earlier can eat my socks because i knew he would comeback!!! his partner ain’t half bad either tbh View 30 replies [klnen2003] - 9 hours ago GO TO THE VIDEO AT 4:45 and see how Rin looks at Y/N!!! There’s definitely something there, right??? View 12 replies [YOICHISAGI OFFICIAL] - 9 hours ago Can’t wait to see Rin Itoshi and Y/N L/N compete at the Grand Prix this year!! Let’s catch up sometime! View 154 replies [jiroMark8734] - 8 hours ago I dunno… isn’t it weird how they swept everyone else tho? Can’t tell me that they’re both not taking anything lmao [my_skates_my_life] - 7 hours ago Congrats to everyone for winning!! And thank you so much for posting this. LOVE FROM ARGENTINA!! [merhaba234] - 7 hours ago Rin’s always doing the same level type program both in technique and artistic. It’s refreshing to see something new!

TAGLIST - OPEN

@anurst @blissblossom @genneii @wooasecret @chaosinanutshell @kaiserkisser @rroxii @takotakigum @jaynawayna @peachesncats @sseishiross @izumi-astra-123 @sereniteav @pokkomi

a/n: im crawling on the ground,,, if anyone knows me: i love making rin suffer but please know its in a loving way. is his brother hotter? yeah. but does his brother have a sad backstory? yeah probably. either way, i love working w men with sibling complexes and his whole design basically oozes with melodrama. rin!!! you are gonna be in it for a surprise next chapter!! also apologies for the late update everyone hehe i dont have a set schedule for everything ;-; and my mind runs either at 500 miles an hour or 0 miles. as of late, life has gotten in the way of things and maybe i do need to stick with some sort of plan to make myself ... less stressed when creating content :> anyways, i love you guys!!

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin #rin itoshi #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x female reader #cw: depression #cw: mental health

207 notes · View notes

bunny-rambles · 1 year

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characters; Scaramouche, gn reader

summary; Your new cat boy takes care of you when you’re sick

cw/tw; Cat boy Scara !!! Scara has cat ears and a tail !! Oh yeah also sick reader, worrying, hinted that Scara thinks you might die, Scaramouche being Scaramouche (I did try to make him a bit softer here)

word count; 2.1k

notes; uh so remember that untitled cyno sick fic I did? This is basically that but longer and it’s scara (but with cat ears). This is also going to be the start of a series with genshin boys as cat boys !! This is all very self indulgent because all I want to do is pet scara’s ears and I will be writing a drabble about that dw. I reread this and edited it a bunch of times but I’m still not exactly happy with this, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. And a special thank you to my dearest friend juju for proof reading this at least 5 times. Enjoy <3

Please reblog if you like this!!

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He was beautiful.

Vibrant, violet hues shone like precious gems against his porcelain skin, his face framed by dark locks, his soft appearance ethereal. Perfectly pointed ears sat atop of his head, twitching in annoyance when your gaze lingered on them for too long. His tail was long, swaying swiftly from side to side, his silky fur shimmering in the light of the morning sunlight. How could anyone abandon such a gorgeous creature?

Scaramouche was the newest addition to your little family of one - and he was not very fond of you. This didn’t come as that much of a surprise, since the shelter you adopted him from told you that he wouldn’t let anyone come near him, unless they wanted to have their arm mauled. From his pristine condition, you could only assume that perhaps he had been thrown out by his previous owners. Poor thing.

But he had told you rather bluntly that he didn’t want sympathy, and that he was only staying with you because it was better than being at the shelter with all the ‘mangy strays’.

At least, that’s what he told you.

In reality, he was extremely thankful that you had chosen him, even with his harsh exterior - therefore, you were now important to him. He never told you this, or even hinted with his words that’s what he truly thought - but it showed in the little things.

The way he’d sit near you whenever you were around, or bumped his head against yours when he was certain you were asleep, he even cooked for you from time to time! Still, there was very little that left his mouth that was positive, often insulting you if you tried to break past the walls he had put up around himself, or sneering at you while telling you that you had made the biggest mistake of your life by adopting him. It didn’t bother you, if anything you found it rather endearing. It was adorable that he called himself your worst nightmare, but did very little to terrorise you except the typical cat behaviour of being a minor nuisance. You were wise enough not to ever say that to him, though.

The bond between you was unspoken, but strong. And after today, you could only assume that it was unbreakable, too.

The sound of the spoon hitting against your coffee mug as you stirred your beverage made you cringe, the light contact echoing in your head. Your hands trembled as you brought the cup up to your lips, letting out a soft sigh of content when the warm liquid soothed your aching throat.

Your feline companion was staring at you from across the room, his tail swishing behind him as he watched you. You were acting strange. Usually you would try to strike up a conversation with him - not that he would ever talk back, but he had grown used to your ramblings about the dream you had or the things you were planning to do later. But it was quiet on your end this morning. Too quiet… In fact, almost everything about you was off today now that he was really looking at you. Did your hands always shake when you were holding something? No, your legs were trembling too… Were you cold?

You raised your head from staring at the liquid in your mug, shrinking back when you saw Scaramouche glaring at you intensely. He huffed quietly, breaking his gaze to stare out of the window, crossing his arms over his chest. It wasn’t his problem. You weren’t his problem. You were just a roommate as far as he was concerned, nothing more. Why should he care about you not acting like yourself? Good riddance, your constant chatter was annoying anyway.

His ear twitched when he heard you grab a second mug, knowing what was coming. You carefully stirred the honey in with the warm milk, taking a little longer than usual before shuffling over towards him.

“Here,” You offered with a fragile smile. “Sorry it took so long.” Any other day, he would’ve refused your gesture and drunk the contents when you weren’t looking, but today… Even he didn’t have the heart to turn you away.

“You look awful.” He told you bluntly, holding the drink close to his chest. His ear twitched yet again when all you did was continue to smile at him. Ugh, you were no fun, barely giving a reaction to his insults anymore. Still, this time he was simply speaking his mind. You did look awful, the dark shadows under your eyes only looking more prominent now that he could see your face up close.

“Do I? Well… I haven’t had a shower yet.” You shrugged, taking another small sip of your own drink.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with that.” He mumbled, nursing from his own mug. You sighed heavily, not in the mood for his usual round of teasing. All you wanted to do was go back to bed. He raised an eyebrow at you, but said nothing, getting the hint that maybe today he should leave you alone. After a few moments, you placed your empty cup on the table, making a mental note to clear it away later before making your way to the bathroom. Maybe after your shower, you’d feel better.

Your steps were slow but you were barely moving, the door you were desperately trying to get to feeling more like a static image than a destination. When you leaned against the wall for support, Scaramouche’s head perked up again. He called your name hesitantly, rising from where he was seated on the couch. You didn’t respond.

“Hey…” He started, but he’d never finish. His body moved before he even realised what he was doing, catching your falling figure when your hand slipped. He called your name again but it was no use.

You were hot- no, you were burning up, your skin feeling clammy underneath his fingertips. He’d never seen someone in such a state before. It worried him. Beneath your heavy panting, you could hear a soft voice mumbling something you couldn’t understand before the blurry image of your companion's worried face above you faded into darkness. Your name was the last thing you heard.

Something firm was pressing against the side of your head when you started to stir. A hand was on top of your own limp one by your side, gripping it tightly, desperately like a lifeline. When your eyes opened, the first thing you noticed was that surprisingly, you weren’t left on the floor or even on the couch in the living room. Instead, you were back in your room, swaddled in blankets with a damp cloth on your forehead. With the burnt orange and soft pink hues shining through your window and illuminating the room, you could only assume you had been out for quite a while.

“Please…” A small voice whispered quietly against your temple, hand tightening around yours. You must’ve really been out of it if you didn’t wake up from this almost bruising grip.

“Not them, too…”

Of course you recognised that voice, but never had you heard such tenderness from it. Perhaps you were still dreaming? He’d never been this soft with you, even in his rare moments of vulnerability. You let out a pained groan as your hand strained to squeeze his, forcing your heavy eyes to finally open. The head pressed against yours immediately sprung up, his breath stilling in anticipation.

“Scara…?” You croaked out, raising your head slightly. The two of you looked at each for a moment, and although your vision was hazy, you were sure you saw the feline’s eyes glassy with unshed tears. His gaze then turned sharp, as well as his ears. With his sharp fangs bared and his claws barely contained, you screwed your eyes shut to brace yourself.

But the attack you expected never came. Trembling arms embraced you tightly, pulling you against a warm chest. A hand rested against the back of your head, only pulling you further into the comforting hold. Your own arms stayed limp at your side, too in shock to properly register what was going on. His ears were flattened down against his head, tail curling around you to make sure you wouldn’t pull away. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He hissed against your neck, but there was barely any bite in his voice. It sounded more like a pained whimper than the intimidating growl he was going for.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you had been holding, carefully returning the hug. “Sorry…” His hold on you tightened. Neither of you mention the wetness on your neck.

“Don’t do that again.” You had never heard his voice sound so quiet before. You nodded slowly, letting your heavy head rest against his shoulder. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you faintly registered this was the first time the two of you have ever hugged. It felt… Nice. Like here, in his embrace, nothing could get you. With him, you were safe. A tightness restricted your throat, causing you to cough quietly in your hand, your whole body trembling in pain.

“Here, lay down.” Gently, he lowered your body that was in his arms back against the mattress, making sure your head was comfortable against your pillow. You groaned quietly once again, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and heavy eyes. His face had completely changed, eyebrows furrowed and flat ears still pressed firmly against his head.

“Are you okay?” You managed to choke out, causing him to scoff quietly.

“Really? You’re asking me that, when you’re the one who can barely move?”

You shrugged your shoulders, earning a heavy sigh from him. “What happened back there anyway?”

Again, you shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t realise how bad my sickness was…”

“Sick? So you’re not…” His voice trailed off. Confused, you tilted your head to look at him. His gaze seemed to fixate on the floor, and a visible wave of relief washed over his features. “Of course you’re sick.” He chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head at himself. In his previous home, his master was almost never at home, therefore he’d never seen anyone get as weak as this just from something as common as a cold. Still, he wasn’t entirely clueless, he did know at least a few actions you were supposed to take when someone was sick.

You hummed quietly, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Wait.” He called out quietly, placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder, shaking you lightly. “You need to eat something. Just… Just stay awake until you eat, got it?” Once again, you hummed softly, nodding your head slowly. He seemed satisfied with that, sliding off the bed carefully.

“Scara?”

“What?”

You smiled slightly, pulling the covers over your body tighter. “Thank you…”

He stilled, his eyes widening slightly, one of his ears twitching lightly in response. Shaking his head, he turned away quickly, hoping you didn’t notice how easily his cheeks became the colour of cherry blossom petals. “…Whatever.”

And so you waited patiently, fighting off slumber until your companion came back. After he fed you - the image of him pouting as he held up the spoon to your mouth to feed you some soup is still fresh in your mind, you were free to finally sleep (once he made sure you were going to wake up anyway). As he was making his way out of your room however, you very gently grabbed onto the end of his tail. He whipped around, about to scold you for touching him like that, until he saw the look on your face.

“Stay with me?” How could he refuse when you looked so fragile? He let out a soft huff before getting under the covers with you, wrapping his arms around you carefully. The both of you smiled slightly, snuggling into each other. A foreign noise started to emanate from deep within his chest, powerful vibrations warming your body to the core. Purring. Scaramouche was purring.

“Goodnight, Scara.” You whispered, boldly pressing a sweet kiss to his chest. His tail curls around you once again, vibrant eyes finally slipping closed after torturous ordeal that had been today. The thought of almost losing you made his arms tighten, caging you within his protective hold.

“Yeah. Night.” He doubted he’d be able to sleep very much after this. How troublesome you were, making him worry like that. Weak human. But he supposed after all of this- his thoughts pause for a moment so he could press his lips against the crown of your head.

You were his human now.

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