Phoenix

—

y/n works as a masseuse in the happy ending spa, a place known because customers leave there satisfied. hearing this minhyuk decided to visit it, it was a busy time with promotions, photoshoots and other things to promote his new song so he deserved some time of rest.

"good morning sir, how can i help you?" asked y/n, one of the employees. "i came here because i heard this was a very good place with excellent services and i want to be relaxed for some time".

"oh i get it, so what type of massage do you want?" said y/n handing something like a menu in where all the types of massages and prices are.

minhyuk reading it started to suspect that there was some sexual acts involved in it, well after all the name of the spa is the happy ending… he haven't fuck in weeks either so it would be a good way to relax and release all that load tension. "this one" his finger pointing at the last one, a surprised reaction forming on y/n's face "woah. not everyone asks for this" mentioned the employee "over here please" he signals a room going there with minhyuk following him. "take of all your clothes please and here's a towel" y/n left the room for a while looking for the massage oil while minhyuk undressed.

"ok mr. minhyuk just relax" y/n started to do his work, applying the oil and massaging every muscle on minhyuk's god-like body, fuck he's so sexy, the bulging veins on his strong big arms, the perfect back muscles or that round plump ass that everyone want to smack. y/n was so eager to finally get to the that part of the massage. "please turn around" said y/n tapping minhyuk's shoulder and he did as he was asked, y/n's eyes widened at the majestic sight in front of him of big squishy but firm chest with suckable nipples, lickable abs and a huge bulge that even though his cock was still flaccid it looked big making y/n even more eager to have it all inside him.

slowly y/n stimulated minhyuk's nipples pinching and caressing them until they're hard, drawing some moans from the man's mouth, then y/n attacked one nipple with his mouth while touching the growing bulge under the towel. going down slowly leaving a trail of kisses on minhyuk's body finally reaching minhyuk's bulge and smelling it. the towel was no longer there and y/n was finally able to see minhyuk's beautiful body, he took the shaft in his hands and began to give it small kisses from the tip to the balls, licking the pre-cum that came out of there and then take it to his mouth gagging on it while minhyuk just moans from the immense pleasure he is feeling at that moment. he opens his eyes put his hands on top of y/n's head and push him down his cock making him deepthroat him, minhyuk was loving the gagging sounds "fuck! how much i missed this feeling" he groaned mouth-fucking the masseuse in the process.

"sir you're so big" said a teary y/n "i don't think i can take you all at once in my mouth" he said catching his breath, "don't worry. i know another hole you can use to take me" minhyuk does a turning sign with his finger and y/n do as he was told. he introduces his cock little by little making sure to not hurt y/n. minutes later the older man started moving, stretching y/n's tight hole drawing beautiful moans and whimpers out of y/n's mouth. minhyuk locked one his arms on y/n's neck and started to fuck him rough "gonna use you as a way to milk my heavy balls ok?" y/n just nodded unable to pronounce a word.

the sloppy sounds caused by the oil and y/n's wet hole can be heard from outside the massaging room but it's muffled by the moans coming from other rooms. "fucking hell… you're railing me into oblivion" squirmed y/n feeling that familiar sensation on his stomach "i'm gonna cum" he says… minhyuk was using y/n and throwing him around like he was a rag doll, a toy only for him to enjoy and feel the pleasure he hasn't feeling a long time ago, y/n's hole gapping and clenching on minhyuk's thick cock, he has been edging himself pulling out of y/n's hole everytime he feels he's gonna cum "get ready for my huge load boy" and after that he emptied his balls inside the boy's abused hole, jets of hot and thick sperm flooding y/n's insides and just when the masseuse thought he was finished, more and more sperm kept coming out, he indeed was having blue balls "sir… you came buckets inside me. i think you might impregnated me" spoke y/n with a notorious tired tone "then let's impregnate you more" minhyuk responded starting to move again inside y/n, churning all the cum inside of him with his thick meat.

The first thing you noticed that morning was that the studio smelled like fresh paper and black coffee, which usually meant someone had arrived early and decided productivity was a personality trait. The second thing you noticed was that your shirt collar was sitting wrong against your neck, not because you cared about the collar, but because your body had learned a stupid little ritual: if you were going to see Mingyu today, you adjusted things. You stood a fraction straighter. You checked your reflection in the elevator doors. You made sure you looked like the kind of man who belonged in a room full of creative people pretending they never tried.

You did try.

You walked in with your laptop bag slung over one shoulder, a to-go cup in your hand, and the calm expression you’d perfected over years of meetings, deadlines, and clients who thought “just one more change” was a reasonable request at last minute. You were competent, grounded, and you knew how to move through a space like you owned your role in it. That was the version of you everyone at work saw. The version that made people assume you were untouchable, unbothered, and probably immune to the kind of crush that made your stomach tighten at the sound of a person’s laugh.

You weren’t immune. You were a man with a very inconvenient problem.

The office was already awake. Designers hunched over screens, assistants darted past with mood boards, someone argued gently about typography near the printer, and the meeting room’s glass walls were smeared with marker sketches from yesterday. You nodded to a coworker, offered a quick “Morning,” and got a few greetings back. Someone called, “Hey, man,” as you passed, and you lifted two fingers in acknowledgment without breaking stride.

You had your own rhythm here. You were good at what you did. You were also good at being in this environment without softening yourself to fit other people’s expectations. You spoke plainly, you held your ground, and you never let anyone talk over you in a room just because your voice didn’t need to be loud to be sharp. You were comfortable in your body and comfortable in your identity, and the fact that you wanted another man did not change the way you took up space. If anything, it made you more honest with yourself, even when you refused to be obvious about it.

The problem was that you thought you were obvious.

Not loud obvious. Not dramatic. You weren’t shouting that you have a crush from rooftops and you weren’t doing anything reckless. You just did small things around Mingyu that you didn’t do around anyone else. You stood closer. You lingered in conversations. You laughed a little more easily. You listened like his words like they were the most important things in your life. You had made eye contact one second too long more times than you could count. You had watched his hands while he adjusted the lens on his camera, watched his forearms flex when he lifted equipment, watched the way he focused with his whole face, brows slightly furrowed, mouth parted just a little. You had thought, for months now, that he knew.

How could he not know?

Mingyu, for his part, was the kind of man everyone noticed the moment he entered a room. Tall, broad-shouldered, physically imposing in a way that made doorways look smaller, and somehow still gentle. Not soft. Gentle, sweet and goofy. He moved carefully around people as if he was always aware of how much space he took up. He offered help the way other people offered small talk. Instinctively. Automatically. Like it was built into his bones. He touched without meaning to. A hand at your elbow to guide you through a crowd. Fingers brushing your wrist when he passed you something. A palm briefly at the small of your back when he stepped behind you to reach for a shelf. It never looked intentional. It always felt intentional anyway.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. You told yourself he knew you liked him and was choosing to do nothing about it, maybe because you worked together, maybe because he didn’t want to complicate things, maybe because he was being polite. You told yourself you were being mature about it. Your heart did not care about maturity. You were setting your coffee down at your desk when you heard his voice from the hallway.

“Good morning,” Mingyu said, warm and easy, and the way he said it to whoever he was talking to made it sound like he meant it.

You didn’t look up immediately. You refused. You clicked your laptop open, pretended you were reading an email, pretended you weren’t listening for the exact second his footsteps would reach your area. Then he appeared beside your desk like he belonged there.

He always stood too close. Not close in a threatening way. Close in a way that made your brain go quiet for a beat. You could smell his cologne, clean and subtle, and the faint scent of detergent on his shirt. He had a camera strap looped over one shoulder, and he looked like he’d already been working, hair slightly tousled, sleeves pushed up. His eyes flicked to your coffee cup, then to your face.

“You’re here early,” he said.

You glanced up, met his eyes, then forced yourself to look away casually, like it didn’t take effort. “Not early. On time.”

Mingyu smiled, small and sincere. “You’re usually on time. I just thought… never mind.”

You frowned slightly, because there it was again. The almost-confession tone. The thing he did where he sounded like he was about to say something personal and then swallowed it. You assumed he was swallowing your attraction, swallowing his own awareness of it, swallowing whatever boundary he thought he needed to keep.

“What?” you asked, keeping your voice steady.

He shifted his weight. His gaze darted down for half a second, then back up. “I thought you were going to be tired,” he said, and the simplicity of it almost made you laugh. “You stayed late yesterday.”

You stared at him. “You noticed that?”

Mingyu blinked as if surprised by your surprise. “Yeah. Of course.”

Of course. Like it was obvious. Like paying attention to you was a normal, uncomplicated thing. Your chest tightened, stupidly. “I’m fine,” you said, and you tried to make it sound like nothing. “I’ve had worse weeks.”

He nodded, and his attention did that thing where it softened, like he wanted to say more. Like he wanted to ask if you were actually fine. Like he cared in a way he didn’t quite know how to show without crossing into something else. Then he reached past you, and his hand brushed your shoulder as he grabbed a folder from the edge of your desk. The touch was light. Incidental. You felt it anyway.

“Meeting in fifteen,” Mingyu said, holding the folder out to you. “You’re leading the client part, right?”

You took it, fingers grazing his by accident. Your pulse jumped like it was brand new to your body. “Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “I’m doing the pitch. You’re showing the visual direction.”

His mouth quirked. “If I don’t mess it up.”

You stared at him. “You never mess it up.”

He looked genuinely puzzled by your certainty. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” you insisted, and you heard it in your own voice, the way it warmed, the way it sounded like belief instead of compliment. You tried to fix it by adding, “You’re literally the most consistent person here.”

Mingyu’s ears went faintly pink. It was subtle, but you saw it. He glanced away, a reflex he couldn’t hide.

“That’s not…” he started, then stopped. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

You watched him, because you couldn’t help it. “You’re welcome.”

For a second, the air held something that wasn’t work. Something that didn’t fit in an office. You thought, if you just said it, if you just made one brave move, the whole misunderstanding would end. You thought, he’s aware, he’s just choosing not to act, so maybe you need to be the one to push it. Then Mingyu shifted back into professional mode like he was stepping behind glass again.

“See you in the meeting room,” he said, and he smiled once more, gentle. “Don’t let them intimidate you.”

You scoffed. “I’m the one intimidating them.”

Mingyu’s smile widened. “Yeah. You are.”

He walked away, long strides quiet, and you watched him go, because you were apparently incapable of acting like a normal coworker. You didn’t notice your coworker approaching until she leaned on your desk and said, “So.”

You blinked. “So what.”

She grinned. “When are you two idiots doing anything about this tension?”

You rolled your eyes, but your face betrayed you, warmth climbing into your cheeks. “Shut up.”

“Oh my god,” she said, delighted. “Please we literally have an office bet going.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You are betting on my love life?”

“I’m betting on something alright,” she said. “Just kiss already, I feel like I’m in a BL wathing two emotionally constipated idiots dance around the fact they both like each other.”

You pointed at her. “He’s my coworker for god’s sake, I’m a professional.”

She laughed and walked away before you could defend yourself further, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the folder Mingyu had handed you, the paper still warm from his fingers.

When you entered the meeting room it was cold in that way offices liked. Too much air conditioning, too much glass, too much forced brightness. You took your seat at the table, opened your laptop, and watched the team file in. Mingyu came last, as usual, carrying his tablet and a stack of prints. He paused at the doorway for half a second, eyes scanning the room, then landed on you. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a stare. It was a look that said, there you are like he was looking for you all along. The first person he always looked for. He took the chair beside you, close enough that your knees almost brushed under the table. You adjusted your posture, pretending it was about comfort and not about your body reacting to proximity like a traitor.

The meeting began. You spoke first, steady and confident, guiding the client through the concept. You watched the room the way you always did, reading reactions, controlling the pace, making sure your words landed. You were good at this. You knew you were good at this. That competence was part of who you were, part of the masculinity you carried naturally, not as performance but as certainty. Mingyu watched you like he was listening to music.

Every time you answered a difficult question, he glanced at you as if impressed beyond measure. Every time you made someone laugh, his mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh too. When it was his turn, he stood and presented the visual direction with calm precision, showing designs and photographs that felt like they had mood and story woven into them. He spoke modestly about his own work, as if it had happened by accident rather than skill. When someone praised his eye, he ducked his head and said, “Thank you,” like he wasn’t used to being admired. You wanted to shake him sometimes. Not because he was humble. Because he didn’t seem to understand what he did to a room, what he did to you.

At one point, the client asked a question about a specific visual, and Mingyu leaned in, pointing at the screen. His arm brushed yours. His shoulder pressed lightly against yours. It was nothing. Your body responded like it was everything. You forced your attention onto the meeting, onto the words, onto your professionalism. You didn’t let your eyes drop. You didn’t let your mind drift. You did not let yourself want.

When the meeting ended, the client left satisfied, and the team exhaled collectively, chairs scraping back, people standing and stretching. You started packing up your laptop when Mingyu leaned down toward you, voice lowered.

“You were really good,” he said.

You looked up at him. “We were good.”

He shook his head slightly. “You were.”

You held his gaze for a beat too long. You didn’t even mean to. It just happened. His eyes were warm and dark and steady, and his expression held something like admiration, something like tenderness, something like a question he wasn’t brave enough to ask. You cleared your throat. “Thanks.”

He hesitated. “Do you want… I mean, are you hungry?”

There it was again. Another almost-confession. Another thing that could be interpreted as nothing or everything.

You lifted an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to eat?”

Mingyu’s face went subtly panicked, like you’d just called him out in front of everyone. “Only if you want,” he said quickly. “If you’re busy, forget it. I just thought you might not have eaten because you were working and I saw you only had coffee and I…”

He stopped. His mouth closed. His ears flushed again. You stared at him, heart beating too hard. “Mingyu.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You almost said, You know I like you, right? You almost said, If you’re ignoring it on purpose, just tell me. You almost said, Stop standing so close if you don’t mean anything by it.

Instead, you said, “Food sounds good.”

His relief was immediate and obvious, like he’d been holding his breath. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. Great. There’s a place nearby.”

You stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and as you did, Mingyu stepped aside to let you pass. His hand touched your back, barely there, guiding you around the chair. It was automatic. Thoughtless. You felt it anyway, heat spreading under your skin. You walked out together, side by side, and you told yourself, for the hundredth time, that he knew. You told yourself this was him being careful. You told yourself you were reading it right.

Behind you, Mingyu watched you with the same quiet awe he always tried to hide, thinking the exact opposite. He was convinced you were out of his league, and that you were only agreeing to lunch because you were kind.

Lunch with Mingyu was the kind of thing that should have felt normal. Two coworkers leaving the office after a successful meeting, grabbing something nearby before the next round of emails and calls swallowed the day. You told yourself that as you walked beside him down the sidewalk, the late afternoon sun throwing pale light across the street, the city humming around you. You told yourself it was normal even though your body kept noticing him in ways that had nothing to do with professional appreciation.

He walked slightly slower than you, not because he couldn’t keep up, but because he had a habit of matching people without thinking. His stride adjusted to yours the way his hands adjusted the focus ring on his camera, intuitive and careful. He kept glancing around like he was mapping the street for threats that didn’t exist, and when a group of people passed too close, his hand hovered near your back for a second, an unconscious protective reflex he never seemed to realize he did. You felt the air shift with it anyway, felt the almost-touch like a spark waiting for something to catch.

The place Mingyu took you to was close enough that it felt like a secret he’d been keeping in his back pocket, the kind of spot you only found if you worked nearby long enough to get tired of the obvious options. It wasn’t fancy in a way that tried to impress anyone. It was just good. Warm lighting, worn wooden tables, a corner near the window that caught the afternoon sun, and a steady low hum of people who looked like they had escaped offices of their own. Mingyu walked slightly ahead to hold the door open, instinctive as always, and you stepped inside with that half-second awareness of being observed by strangers, then the automatic ease of letting it go. He didn’t look like someone who enjoyed attention, despite how impossible it was for him not to draw it. People noticed him anyway. You saw it in the way a server’s eyes flicked toward him and then away quickly, the way two girls at a nearby table whispered and smiled. Mingyu seemed oblivious. Or practiced at ignoring it. You couldn’t tell which.

He chose a table tucked away from the center near window, not hidden but quieter, where the noise didn’t climb up your spine. You took off your jacket and draped it over the back of your chair, rolling your shoulders once as if you could roll the tension out with the motion. Mingyu watched you do it, eyes flicking to your hands, then to your throat, then away. It was subtle enough that you might’ve missed it on anyone else. You didn’t miss it on him.

The chair legs scraped lightly as you sat, and you caught him watching your hands as you pulled your phone out and set it face down, the subtle cue of someone who was present. The kind of in-between place that made conversation feel private even in public. Mingyu sat across from you, then hesitated as if he wanted to sit beside you instead, like his instincts hadn’t learned distance properly. He chose across, but his knees still angled forward under the table, taking up space like he couldn’t help it. He looked away the moment you met his eyes, like he hadn’t been looking at all, like he wasn’t constantly doing that. His sleeves still pushed up, camera strap now tucked away in his bag, but something about him in a restaurant softened the professional edge. He looked less like a creative director presenting a pitch and more like a man who didn’t know what to do with his own nervous energy when the subject wasn’t work.

You told yourself it was just lunch. A late lunch, technically. It was normal for coworkers to eat together. You’d done it a hundred times. But you didn’t usually feel like you needed to watch your expression so you didn’t look too interested, or too pleased, or too anything. You didn’t usually notice the way someone’s knee shifted under the table, or how their voice changed when they weren’t speaking to clients. A server came by with menus and water. Mingyu thanked her, voice warm, and waited until she left before he looked at you again. His gaze was steady, almost too steady, like he was trying to lock himself into the present.

“So,” he said, as if he needed a starting point. “You’re… okay?”

You blinked. “About the meeting?”

He shook his head quickly. “No. I mean, yes, the meeting was good. But you. You said you’ve had worse weeks.”

You hadn’t expected him to remember that. Your expression gave you away for a fraction of a second before you smoothed it back into calm. “I’m fine,” you said, then added, because he deserved honesty, “Busy. But fine.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, like he accepted the answer but didn’t fully believe it. “Okay.”

The word sat between you. He glanced down at the menu, then back up at you, then down again. You watched his fingers tap lightly on the edge of the paper, an anxious habit that didn’t match the calm he pretended to have. It made you want to lean forward and ask what he was actually thinking. Instead, you flipped your own menu open and pretended you weren’t paying attention.

Mingyu glanced at the menu, then at you. “Is there anything you don’t eat?”

You shook your head. “I’m not picky.”

He nodded once, then hesitated as if he was about to ask a second question. “Spicy?”

“I can handle spicy,” you said.

His mouth quirked like he was relieved by that for reasons he didn’t explain. “Good.”

The server came by, friendly, quick, and Mingyu ordered with that polite confidence he always had, not bossy, not apologetic. When it was your turn, you ordered too, then sat back and tried to ignore the fact that Mingyu had been watching your mouth while you spoke. Not in a gross way. In a focused way. Like he was memorizing how you formed words.

When the server left, a small quiet settled between you, full of things that could have been said and weren’t. Mingyu cleared his throat, then asked, “How long have you been in this industry?”

You blinked. “Here we go.”

His eyes widened slightly. “What?”

“You’re doing your subtle interview thing,” you said, teasing, but not mean. “Like you’re collecting data.”

Mingyu smiled, flustered in a way he tried to mask by leaning forward. “I’m just curious.”

You shrugged, letting yourself relax. “A while. Long enough to stop being surprised by deadlines and start being surprised by how often people still don’t know what they want.”

He laughed softly, nodding like you’d spoken directly to his daily life. “That’s true.”

Conversation came easier after that. You talked about work, not the meeting itself, but the general rhythm of the job. The parts you liked, the parts that irritated you. Mingyu listened with his whole face, attentive and quiet, interrupting only when he had something worth adding. He wasn’t the type to fill silence just to hear his own voice. That was part of what made him dangerous. He made you speak more than you planned to, because he made it feel safe. Small jokes about the client’s obsession with a specific shade of blue, about how the meeting room always felt like a refrigerator. Mingyu made you laugh with a dry comment about how he wanted to photograph the client’s face when you said the budget was fixed. You laughed harder than you intended, and Mingyu’s eyes warmed immediately, like your laughter did something to him.

That was the thing. You kept catching those moments where he seemed softer with you than he was with anyone else. He looked at you like you were familiar. Like you were safe. Like you were a quiet place he wanted to keep returning to. Not staring. Not obviously. Just quick glances that landed and then disappeared, like he was checking something. Like he was trying to confirm you were still there.

You assumed he was doing this on purpose. Being warm, being close, being attentive, but never crossing the line. Just enough to keep things comfortable. Just enough to never let you forget how much you wanted him. Mingyu, meanwhile, was staring at you like you were sunlight he didn’t deserve.

So you did the same thing without meaning to. You watched his hands when he reached for his water glass. You watched the way his fingers tapped lightly against the table when he was thinking. You watched the way he smiled, small and private, when you made a dry joke. You looked away fast enough that it didn’t turn into a moment, except it already was one.

Then again every time you looked down, he let his gaze drift. Not in a disrespectful way, not in the way some men looked at others like they were consuming them. It was softer than that. Curious. Hungry, maybe, but careful. His eyes would catch on your mouth when you spoke, then flick away quickly as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. When you lifted your glass to drink water, his gaze followed the movement, then jumped to the table as if he had to punish himself for it.

You caught him once.

He looked up at the exact moment you looked up, and for a second his eyes were fixed on your mouth instead of your eyes. The pause was brief, but the heat of it hit you anyway. Mingyu blinked, then quickly looked away, throat bobbing when he swallowed.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He looked back, too fast, too innocent. “Nothing.”

You didn’t push. Not yet. You let the silence sit, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty but wasn’t safe either. It had edges. It made you aware of your own body, your own breath, your own pulse.

When the food arrived, the smell of it eased tension you hadn’t realized you were holding. Mingyu thanked the server, then pushed a small dish toward you without asking, like he’d already decided you would like it. You did. That only made you more suspicious.

“You come here a lot?” you said, taking a bite.

Mingyu shook his head quickly. “Not that much.”

“Mm,” you replied, unconvinced. “Then how do you know exactly what to order.”

He paused, then admitted, “I’ve brought people here.”

The phrasing made your heart do something irritating. People. Not friends. Not coworkers. Just people, vague enough to mean nothing and enough to mean everything. You told yourself to chill.

“Your team?” you asked, casual.

Mingyu’s gaze flicked up fast. “Sometimes.”

You waited. He didn’t add anything else. Of course he didn’t. You took another bite, pretending it didn’t matter. “It’s good,” you said instead.

His shoulders eased, like praise always did that to him. “Yeah. I thought you’d like it.”

The way he said it, I thought, as if he’d been thinking about you outside of work, made your chest tighten again. You swallowed, forced yourself to focus on the plate in front of you. A few minutes later, Mingyu asked, “Do you have plans this weekend?”

It was the kind of question that could mean anything. Normal. Friendly. Polite. You glanced up. “Why?”

He blinked, then looked down at his chopsticks like they suddenly needed his full attention. “Just wondering.”

“You’re wondering a lot today,” you said lightly.

He laughed once, a quiet exhale. “Am I being obvious?”

You hesitated. The honest answer was yes, but not in the way he probably meant. “A little.”

His ears turned faintly pink again, and he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you said, because the last thing you wanted was for him to retreat. “It’s fine.”

He nodded, then seemed to gather courage from that. He asked a few more questions, all of them slightly angled, like he was walking around something rather than stepping on it directly. Where you usually went after work. Whether you still lived alone. How often you saw your friends. Each question was easy enough to answer, but together they formed a shape, and you could feel him tracing the outline of your life like he wanted to find where he fit. Then he asked it. Mingyu wasn’t usually blunt. He was careful.

“Are you seeing anyone?” he said, as if it was just another detail, as if his voice didn’t drop slightly, as if his eyes didn’t flick to your face and hold there a beat too long. You froze, fork hovering halfway to your mouth. For a second, your brain refused to process the question as real. It felt too personal for a colleague. Too intimate for a casual lunch. Too charged for the way he was trying to pretend it wasn’t.

You stared at him. Your brain ran through possibilities. Was he asking because he wanted to set you up with someone? Because he was curious in a friendly way? Because he was trying to confirm what he already knew, which was that you liked him and he wanted to make sure you weren’t waiting on him? The confusion hit you hard enough that you almost laughed. However you recovered fast, because you were good at recovery. You’d built an entire adult life out of it.

“Uh,” you said, then forced a small laugh. “Why?”

Mingyu’s shoulders stiffened immediately, regret flashing across his face like he’d stepped too close to the edge and realized it was real. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly. “I mean, you’re… you’re busy. And you’re… well.” He trailed off, gaze dropping, as if he couldn’t say whatever he was about to say without exposing himself.

You stared at him, confusion sharpening. He sounded like he was trying to compliment you and failing. Like he was trying to ask something and backing out.

“You’re doing it again,” you said softly.

He looked up. “Doing what.”

“Sounding like you’re about to say something and then not saying it,” you replied.

Mingyu swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I just… I assumed.”

You leaned back slightly, studying him. “You assumed what?”

His eyes flicked over your face like he was deciding whether honesty would kill him. “That you have someone,” he admitted finally, voice quiet. “Because you could.”

The words landed strangely. Not flattering exactly. More like a confession of distance. Like he was placing you on a shelf labeled unreachable and telling himself it was safer to admire you from below. You stared at him, genuinely thrown off. “Why would you assume that.”

Mingyu blinked, as if the question itself was absurd. “Because you’re you.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You had spent months believing he knew you liked him. Believing he was politely ignoring it. Believing he’d decided to keep things professional. But this? This sounded like he didn’t even think you were an option. Like the idea of you wanting him back hadn’t even occurred to him. You felt a laugh bubble up, not because it was funny, but because it was ridiculous. Because you had been so sure of your own read on him.

“You think I’m seeing someone,” you repeated slowly.

Mingyu’s ears reddened again, and he nodded, embarrassed. “It was a stupid question.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” you said, still trying to make sense of him. “It was just… unexpected.”

His gaze stayed on your hands for a second, then lifted carefully. “So… are you?”

There it was again. That quiet bravery. The way he’d circle back, even after flinching. You held his gaze, and it took effort not to soften too much. “No,” you said simply. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

Mingyu’s expression shifted so subtly most people would have missed it. Relief, quick and bright, like sunlight behind clouds. Then he immediately tried to hide it, looking down at his plate, picking up his chopsticks like he needed to re-anchor himself.

“Oh,” he said, voice too casual. “Okay.”

You watched him, heart thumping with new, inconvenient information. He was relieved. That meant something. It had to.

“Why,” you asked, tone steady, “do you care?”

Mingyu froze. The restaurant noise seemed to fade slightly, or maybe it was just your own blood rushing in your ears. Mingyu’s shoulders went rigid, and for a second he looked like he didn’t know where to put his hands.

“I don’t,” he said too fast, then immediately regretted it. His eyes flicked up to yours, caught, then dropped again. “I mean. I do. As a friend.”

You almost laughed. You almost rolled your eyes. Friend. Colleague. The two safest words men used when they were terrified of wanting more. You let the silence stretch just long enough to make him uncomfortable.

Then you said, calmly, “Right… friends.”

Mingyu’s mouth tightened like he could hear your disbelief. He looked up again, and for a second, his gaze held something raw. Something like longing that scared him.

Then the server returned, breaking the moment, asking if everything was okay, and Mingyu nodded too quickly, smile polite, mask sliding back into place. You answered too, voice normal, because you were both professionals at pretending. But under the table, when Mingyu shifted in his seat, his knee brushed yours by accident. He jerked back immediately, apologetic, eyes wide. You didn’t move away.

You held his gaze for one beat, then another, letting him see that you weren’t bothered. Letting him see that you were still there. Letting him wonder why your heart was suddenly pounding like you’d just learned the rules of a game neither of you had realized you were playing wrong. Mingyu looked down again, cheeks warm, and you watched him fumble his way back into small talk with the carefulness of a man trying not to hope. Meanwhile, you sat there with your appetite half-forgotten, thinking the same thing over and over, stunned by how badly you’d both misread each other.

When you finally stepped outside, the air felt cleaner than the restaurant, cooler against your skin like it was trying to reset your nervous system. The street was bright with midday traffic and pedestrians, the kind of city noise that made everything feel normal even when your head was anything but. Mingyu walked beside you at an easy pace, hands in his pockets for a few steps, then out again, then back in, like his body couldn’t decide what to do with itself now that the table was gone and there was nothing between you but air. He kept glancing at you in quick, careful looks that were supposed to be subtle. They weren’t. Not to you.

You should have felt calmer leaving the restaurant, but the opposite happened. The moment you stepped onto the sidewalk, the tension that had been trapped in polite conversation started to climb again, curling under your ribs like a living thing. It wasn’t just the question he’d asked. It was what followed, the way he’d admitted he assumed you had someone, the way relief had flashed across his face and then vanished like he’d caught himself wanting too loudly. It made your brain spin in circles because none of it fit the story you’d been telling yourself. You had spent months thinking he knew you liked him and was choosing not to act. You had built a whole internal narrative around his kindness being careful boundaries. But if he genuinely thought you were out of his league, then all those touches, all those close moments, all those almost-questions weren’t him ignoring you. They were him struggling to hold himself back from something he didn’t think he deserved.

That idea should have been flattering. It was, in a way. It also made you want to grab him by the collar and shake him until the humility fell out.

Mingyu pointed out a small design detail on a storefront they passed, commenting absently on the color palette like his brain needed a safe topic. You nodded, humored him, but you were only half listening. Your attention kept snagging on how close he walked. How his shoulder occasionally brushed yours when someone passed too near. How he didn’t flinch away this time, just adjusted his stride so you stayed together. You could feel the heat of him even through clothing, a quiet, steady presence that made you want to step closer and made you angry that you had to keep pretending you weren’t thinking about his mouth.

“You were quiet in there,” Mingyu said suddenly, voice soft.

You glanced at him. “Was I?”

He nodded. “A little. I thought maybe I said something wrong.”

You exhaled through your nose, a sound that was almost a laugh and almost a curse. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

He looked at you like he didn’t believe that. “Then what.”

You could have dodged it. You were also good at dodging, good at everything besides outright admiting your feelings apparently. You could have made it a joke, tossed it into the pile of other half-truths you carried. You could have said you were tired, you were thinking about work, you were distracted. You could have acted like this was just lunch and you were just coworkers walking back to the office.

But your patience was worn thin in a place you didn’t like acknowledging.

Maybe it was the way he’d sounded when he said, You’re you. Like you were some distant thing. Maybe it was the way he’d backtracked and called you a friend when you’d asked why he cared. Maybe it was all the months of him standing too close and then stepping back, of almost and not quite, of your own hints thrown into the void. You were not shy. You were not passive. You were a grown man with a spine, and you were done playing a guessing game with another grown man who looked like he could lift a car but acted like he couldn’t handle a straightforward conversation.

Mingyu kept walking, eyes on the path ahead, like he was afraid to look at you too long. He spoke again, carefully, like he was trying to return the world to normal. “We should go over the client notes when we get back. I think we can refine the layout and maybe adjust the-”

“Do you like me?” you blurted.

Mingyu stopped so fast it was almost comical.

You stopped too, turning fully toward him on the sidewalk. People moved around you, a couple stepping aside with mild annoyance, but you didn’t care. Your heart was hammering now, blood hot in your ears, and it felt like if you didn’t say it, you were going to explode. Mingyu stared at you, frozen. His mouth opened slightly, then closed. His eyes flicked over your face like he was trying to read whether this was real or a trap.

“What,” he managed, voice barely above the city noise.

“You heard me,” you said, too sharp to be playful, too steady to be bluffing. “Do you like me or not?”

Mingyu’s throat bobbed. He looked like he’d forgotten what to do with his hands. He lifted one slightly, then dropped it again, like his own body was betraying him.

“You don’t…” he started, then stopped, eyes widening, as if he realized how stupid the next words were going to sound.

You laughed once, humorless. “Don’t what. Don’t like you back? Don’t see you that way?”

Mingyu flinched, genuinely pained by the idea. “No,” he said quickly. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean,” you demanded, voice lower now but no less intense. “Because I’m tired, Mingyu. I’m actually tired. You stand too close, you touch me like you forget you’re doing it, you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention, and then you ask me if I’m seeing someone like you’re trying to swallow your own jealousy. You act like I’m some unreachable fantasy and then you offer me lunch like it’s nothing. I’ve been giving you hints for months.”

Mingyu blinked, stunned. “Hints.”

“Yes, hints,” you snapped, then immediately regretted the edge because his expression crumpled in confusion. You dragged a hand through your hair, trying to rein yourself in. “The subtle ones. I’m not exactly delicate about it. I thought you knew. I thought you were choosing not to do anything.”

Mingyu looked like the ground had shifted under his feet. “I thought,” he whispered, and the words sounded broken.

You took a step closer, unable to help yourself. Your voice dropped, rawer now. “Tell me the truth. Do you like me or not?”

Mingyu’s eyes were wide, dark with something that looked like fear and want tangled together. He didn’t answer fast enough. Your patience snapped clean.

“Okay,” you said, bitter and breathless. “Great. Fine. I got it. I’m being ridiculous. Forget I said anything.”

You turned to walk away. He caught your wrist. His hand wrapped around you with a firmness that made your whole body go still. Not painful. Just decisive. Like he couldn’t let you go even if it terrified him.

“Don’t,” Mingyu said.

You spun back toward him, anger flaring again because of course he would stop you now, of course he would do this now when you were already exposed. “Don’t what. Don’t leave? Don’t ask questions? Don’t make it awkward?”

Mingyu’s grip tightened for half a second, then loosened like he remembered you were not something he owned. He swallowed hard. “Don’t walk away,” he said, voice low. “Please.”

There was a beat where the world held its breath. Then Mingyu kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tentative. It was urgent, messy with relief, like he’d been holding himself back for so long that the restraint finally shattered. His mouth met yours with heat and desperation, and the first thing you felt was shock, then a sharp rush of satisfaction, then the wild, immediate realization that he meant it. He meant all of it. His hand slid from your wrist to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as if he couldn’t believe your face was real, as if he needed to anchor you there.

Your anger evaporated into something hungrier. You kissed him back without hesitation, because you weren’t going to pretend you didn’t want this. Because you had wanted this. Because he tasted like lunch and coffee and something sweet underneath, and his breath hitched when you pulled him closer by the front of his shirt.

When he finally broke the kiss, he didn’t move far. He stayed close, forehead almost touching yours, breathing hard like he’d just run up stairs.

“I like you,” he said, voice rough. “I like you so much it’s embarrassing.”

You stared at him, chest heaving, lips still tingling. “Then why have you been acting like a helpless idiot.”

Mingyu let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and a groan combined. His cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with panic and devotion. “Because I thought you were out of my league,” he admitted. “I thought you were just… being nice. I thought you were like that with everyone.”

You blinked, genuinely offended on your own behalf. “I’m not nice like that with everyone. I barely tolerate people.”

He looked at you like that statement alone was dizzying. “I didn’t know,” he said, almost helpless. “You’re confident. You walk into rooms like you belong there. You look like you already know you’re desirable. I assumed you’d never… I assumed you wouldn’t want me.”

The stupidity of it hit you so hard you almost laughed.

“You thought I wouldn’t want you,” you repeated, incredulous.

Mingyu’s eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up quickly, ashamed. “Yes.”

You exhaled slowly, then leaned in and kissed him again, a quick, sharp kiss that made him make a small sound like he’d been punched in the chest. You pulled back just enough to speak.

“You’re so goddamn stupid,” you said.

Mingyu nodded immediately, like he’d accept any insult you offered if it came with your hands on him. “I know.”

“Actually impressive,” you added, eyes narrowing. “Do you know how many times I thought you were friendzoning me?”

Mingyu’s brows knitted, hurt flashing across his face. “Friendzoning you?”

“You,” you said, pointing at him, “have been acting like you want me and then backing away like I’m going to bite.”

Mingyu swallowed. “I thought you’d pull away if I got too close.”

You laughed once, low. “You literally stand too close without realizing it.”

His ears went pink again, as if his body never got used to being called out. “I do realize it,” he admitted, almost inaudible. “I just… I don’t stop.”

That confession landed somewhere in your gut, heavy and thrilling.

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself, then said, more quietly, “You could have just asked me.”

Mingyu’s gaze softened. “You could have too.”

You scoffed. “I did. Just now. Like a sane person who is definitely not spiraling.”

Mingyu’s mouth twitched. “You looked very sane.”

“Shut up,” you said, but there was no heat in it now. You kissed him again, slower this time, letting it deepen, letting it turn into something that made the sidewalk and the passersby disappear. Mingyu’s hand slid to your waist, fingers spreading there like he was learning the shape of you, like he’d been imagining it for months and couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you for real. When you broke apart again, your breathing was uneven and your face felt warm.

Mingyu looked at you like he was trying not to fall apart. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I made you doubt yourself. I’m sorry I made you wait.”

You stared at him, then sighed, the anger finally draining out into something exhausted and fond. “You’re still an idiot,” you said, softer.

“I know,” he repeated.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing with a challenge you couldn’t resist. “Do you like me.”

Mingyu swallowed, gaze steady now. “Yes.”

“Do you want me.”

The question made his breath catch. His eyes darkened, and the way he looked at you then was not friendly, not colleague, not safe. It was want, clear and unhidden.

“Yes,” he said, voice low.

Your pulse kicked. You leaned in, kissed him once more, then pulled back with a small smirk. “Good.”

Mingyu’s hand tightened at your waist, almost possessive, then loosened again like he remembered you weren’t fragile. “We can’t go back to the office like this,” he murmured, glancing down at your mouth as if he could still feel it.

You looked at him, amused. “Why. Afraid someone will see you kissing another guy and realize you’re not as composed as you pretend.”

Mingyu let out a breathy laugh, then his expression turned serious, eyes searching yours. “Come with me,” he said.

Your stomach flipped. “Where.”

Mingyu hesitated, and for a second he looked shy, which was absurd considering he was built like he could carry you. “My place,” he admitted. “If-if you want of course! We can… talk. Or not talk. I just want you somewhere quieter. Somewhere I can…” He stopped, jaw flexing, then forced himself to finish. “Somewhere I can stop holding back.”

The words sent heat rushing through you, sharp and immediate. You swallowed, gaze dropping briefly to his mouth again, then back to his eyes. You didn’t answer right away, because you wanted him to sit in the tension for a second, wanted him to understand that you were choosing this too.

Then you stepped closer, crowded his space on purpose, and said, voice low and confident, “You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood.”

Mingyu’s eyes widened slightly, hopeful and hungry all at once. “Does that mean yes.”

You kissed him again instead of answering, letting it be the answer hoping he surely must have got the hint by now. When you pulled back, your lips brushed his as you spoke.

“Walk me to your place,” you said.

Images flicked by as you tossed through the pages of recent issues of Cosmopolitan magazine. You could tell the photos were taken by professionals but lacked that glow that you enjoyed in your pictures. It just wasn't the same without it. You'd been commissioned by the magazine's owner to take photos for their next cover, apparently, their model asked for you specifically but withheld their identity from you.

Irritated, you walked into the studio, looking around for who your mystery client was. They have some nerve to call for you and not even give you a name. How the hell were you supposed to start and pre-work without knowing your client or studying other photos of them?

Your manager approached you, seeing your expression. "Y/n, I know you're not in the best of moods but let's not do anything to get us fired."

"Fired?" You raised your eyebrow. "Whoever this means so much to the company, I could get fired!?"

"No–" You ignored your manager's horrible attempt at recovery as you marched over to the dressing room door. He stepped in the way, blocking you from entering. "Just promise there won't be any blood to clean!"

"I'll make sure the bleeding will be internal. If you don't move, it'll be you internally bleeding."

They sheepishly moved aside, granting you access. You threw open the door to see a man with bronze skin, broad shoulders, and a military cut. He turned to you with a big smile. "Hello! You must be my photographer. I'm Mingyu, from Seventeen."

"Hi, Mingyu." You slowly entered the room, only the sound of your shoes clicking on the floor. "Why did you hide your name from me in the beginning?"

"I thought you might say no if you knew who I was... I've heard you're very picky with clients." Mingyu's head lowered like a puppy. "I hope that's not too much to ask."

You rolled your eyes. For someone so big, he was so docile... "Don't do that again. It's impolite." He nodded diligently. You sized him up; He was much taller than you, with a bicep the size of your head, and his chest bulged in the button-up he was wearing–the button held on for life. "Let's try and start again. I'm Y/n, and I'll be your photographer."

"I'm Mingyu, from Seventeen. It's nice to meet you." Mingyu stretched out a massive hand to shake yours, which made you feel small as he enclosed it in the handshake.

"Now we're acquaintances. Do you have any questions about my process?" You crossed your arms, trying to appear larger but it was useless against the mountain before you. Mingyu shifted his weight, looking around at the other staff in the dressing room. You scoffed, "Can we have the room please?" The makeup and clothing staff rushed out, relieved to get away from you. "Your questions. Speak."

Mingyu shifted awkwardly again before opening his mouth, "I-I didn't expect you to be so forward about things. I just want to look as good as possible, and you're very talented. So, I'd like to ask for whatever treatment is necessary."

It sounded like he practiced this speech a few times before speaking it. You smirked at the thought of him nervously practicing for you. "Sure. Do you know what you want?"

"W-What I want?"

"Yes. You've got to have something, right?"

"What can I ask for?"

"Nothing too physically damaging, I still need to work. But I want what you want, so tell me what you like about me."

Mingyu's eyes scanned you, as he'd been doing since you'd walked in. He honed in on your waist. "I wanna hold you."

"Okay, that's simple." You kicked off your shoes and waited for his embrace. When Mingyu lifted you off the ground by your waist, you gripped his arms for balance.

"Is this okay?"

"Fine. Just wasn't expecting to come off the ground..." You were level with his face now, about to admire his features much closer. His attached earlobes made his whole ear look larger cutely rounding out his face. But his sharp cheekbones and facial lines made him look more like a man–as well as his impressive figure.

"You're so... small." You'd never been called small before. The way Mingyu experimentally squeezed your sides forced a moan from you. "And you're voice is so... cute." Mingyu pulled you into him, holding you to his chest, you could feel his heartbeat racing.

"You're so excited already?"

"Maybe... I've got a thing for small things." He smirked at you, looking down at you. "When do we... do more?"

"Whenever you're ready. I've already prepared myself, but you may break me anyway..."

"I'm not a kid. I try not to break my toys," Mingyu's low voice rumbled in his chest as he lifted you to his lips easily. His lips engulfed yours as he shifted his arms to your legs, making you wrap around him. Even his tongue was thick when it forced past your lips. You twitched wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him close. Mingyu walked you to a chair, sitting down while setting you in his lap. "Come on, Mr. Photographer. Show me more." The smugness in his voice was completely different from the shy man you were talking to moments ago. You tried to lift your shirt over your head but Mingyu stopped you. "I want to fuck you in your clothes..."

"Fine. That's easier for me, but try not to mess your clothes up."

"I'll have to cum in you to not make a mess."

"Is that you trying to ask or are you telling me?"

"Depends on which one lets me cream you."

"Both do." You giggled as you slid your pants down enough for your ass to hang out.

Mingyu lifted you onto your knees, balancing you on his lap, to smack your ass a few times. One hand focused on kneading your ass while the other unbuttoned Mingyu's pants. Your hands on his massive shoulders, looking so small, Mingyu loved every second of watching you shake over him. When he managed to unleash his cock, he smiled up at you, "You wanna look first?"

You took a glance over your shoulder. It was at least ten inches. Probably–Definitely more. "That's going in me? You'll kill someone with that one day."

"No one's died yet."

"How do you want me?"

"You're gonna ride it."

You scoffed, "Are you serious? How could I lower myself onto that?"

"I'll help you. Don't worry, Daddy's got you." He winked.

"Fuck you." Your tongue poked your cheek as you reached down to line yourself with his cock. Mingyu's hands gripped your waist, their warms making your skin tingle. He held you tightly, ready to control how much cock you'd get at any time. "Just don't slam me down. I'd like to be able to walk for the rest of today."

"I thought I was supposed to get what I like."

"And I said no physical harm."

He nodded. "Of course. You're the boss."

"Sure, Daddy," You said as you slid onto his tip. It was so thick that your hole was already stretching more than you prepared yourself for. "Jesus," You whispered, trying to keep yourself stable on his shoulders.

"Leave on me as much as you need. Take your time, it's no rush."

"Don't piss me off," You grunted through gritted teeth. You were taking your time, but it just kept going. Every time you sank an inch, you used your hand to feel how much was left to go–and it always felt like you hadn't made any progress. "You fat cock, fucker."

"Are you cursing at me?" Mingyu raised an eyebrow.

"No, I was just–Holy fuck!" Mingyu pushed you down onto him, more than you were ready for. "What the fuck!?"

"Don't curse at me. I told you to take all the time you needed, and you're not listening. That's not my fault." You took deep breaths through your nose to keep yourself from crying. The pain raked through your whole body as your hole was still so tight it could barely stretch for Mingyu.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to curse."

"That's better. Now, let me help you." Mingyu lifted you, making your eyes roll as your guts moved back into place. Then he lowered you back down, making your nails dig into his shoulders. "That's it, squeeze as hard as you like. I've got you." Mingyu's words were soft-spoken and light as he moved you like a weight at the gym. At every down, he made you take more of him. He continued this pattern until you sat completely on his lap, his entire cock somehow buried inside you. Your mouth hung open but no sound could describe the full feeling you were experiencing. You'd had so many types of cocks, but one like this was different. He was a monster and he was balls deep inside you. "I don't think you can move, so I'll do it for you then." Mingyu used you, like a fleshlight, holding you tighter as he lifted his hips into you.

Your mouth overflowed with drool, dripping down onto your chest. Mingyu leaned forward and licked it up. "Such a mess slut, aren't you? You just use your job to get free cock from idols. Is the 'glow' thing even real, or do you just like getting stuffed?"

As much as you wanted to argue, your brain was full of static. You couldn't work your mouth right, only shallow gasps and soft moans spilled out.

"Let's end this now, we've still got work to do," Mingyu grunted as he stood, carrying you with him. He loosened his grip on you to let you slide until you were perpendicular to his torso. Your legs on his shoulders, his hands supporting your back and waist, and his cock pointing straight inside you. "Try not to scream. And don't bother holding your orgasm back. It's better to watch you cum all over yourself." Mingyu thrust once, forcing a loud moan out of you as your eyes rolled.

You had to focus on not letting your head dangle or you'd choke on your own tongue. But it was pretty difficult with the way you were pushed by each thrust and pulled back in with the momentum of your body. Mingyu moved at a moderate pace, but the strength behind each thrust made it feel like he was drilling you. You were being forced over the edge at 100 MPH.

"Please, cum... fast," You begged.

"For you cutie, I'll do just that. But, it'll be tough, so try not to bite your tongue off." Mingyu smiled as he cocked his hips back further and hit you with the same speed and power, but making more of his dick move. It was enough to instantly force you to cum, making a mess as ropes of cum shot all over your shirt. Your tightening hole made it harder for Mingyu to keep himself together as he went to town on you. His thrust had a moan behind it as his sweat dripped onto your body. "I'm gonna cum–come 'ere," Mingyu pulled you up as he hugged you tightly, fucking you through his high. The way his cock bulged with each wave of cum that passed through his cock was devilish. His whole body was made for fucking and it took you so long to realize it.

When you gained enough sanity to register the rest of the room around you, Mingyu was sitting back in the chair holding you as you laid on top of him–his cock still inside you.

"We've gotta work," You groaned as you tried to climb off. But Mingyu's grip on your body was so tight that you couldn't move.

"Five more minutes. Then work."

Mingyu held you hostage for almost fifteen minutes before you convinced him to let you go. You had to have an intern wheel you around in a chair to get your photos, but you still got them... All while Mingyu had that dumb smirk on his face, as he stared at you through the lens.

—

during the whole award show some kind of a strong sexual tension could be felt between yn and mingyu, stares between them. the groups they belong to, sitting just a few seats apart. when mingyu performed yn was stupefied seeing his huge, muscular arms and how his chest bounced every time he jumped ‘he's so tall and big.. fuck’ thought yn biting his lips to prevent a moan to come out of them.

then it was time for yn's group to perform and it didn't go unnoticed by mingyu, every time yn looked directly at the camera, mingyu got excited, seeing the sweat drops falling down his face and his little frame… so perfect to snake his arms around him and fuck him dumb, thought mingyu.

“hey.. you're performance was awesome” mingyu complimented the smaller one, “oh thank you thank you” a flustered yn responded “yours was perfect too, mingyu extended his hand “nice to meet you mingyu”, yn also extended his hand to shake mingyu's, the latter realizing that his was much bigger than yn's further increasing his desire to take him right there and wreck his ass in front of everyone, “nice to meet you too i'm yn”, making eye contact after saying that.

all of a sudden they were in the bathroom, with mingyu's fat cock drilling into yn's ass, his eyes rolling feeling the stretch caused by it while mingyu covered his mouth with his hand so no one can hear him moan “so fucking tight” murmured mingyu, “shit i can't with this.. you're so big” cried yn, tears falling down his cheeks. “already begging me to stop but i'm not even halfway in, c'mon you can handle it all” with a last thrust all his cock was now buried inside the other, balls deep “you looked so hot on stage and so sexy that my cock got hard for it… now take responsibility” mingyu groaned starting to thrust like a beast not stopping until that hole is gaping and full of his seed.

mingyu stopped his thrust when the door opened, someone had entered the bathroom so they couldn't make noise, however, yn felt the other's cock growing even more inside him. a tiny muffled moan escaped the bottom's mouth but it seems than the other person didn't hear it and left the bathroom right away. “you were gripping my dick so hard i almost came. something tells me you like the idea of being caught, right?”. yn shook his head in a no motion, but mingyu grabbed him by the legs and left the bathroom, carrying him still with his cock inside the other's ass. "what the hell are you doing, they're going to see us here?" a worried yn cried and tried to free himself from the other's grip. "that's the idea” laughed the tallest.

the next half hour mingyu fucked yn in a full nelson alterning between his cock and his fingers to insert in the already gaped hole “it's too much” moaned the small one.

“pretty little sluts like you can take this and more so stop being annoying”, growls and degrading words escape mingyu's mouth due to the pleasure that yn's hole gave him. mingyu then puts down yn on the counter and fold him to appreciate the messy masterpiece he made, yn's gaping hole clenching on nothing “look is asking for more cock” mingyu mocks spitting on it “but i'm gonna give it more than that”. yn found himself moaning feeling the intruding tongue exploring his insides and covering them with saliva. “oh my god… this is so fucking good” screamed yn, at this point he doesn't care if anyone caught them he just wants mingyu to ruin him even more.

in the next minutes mingyu's tongue and cock were abusing yn's hole, eating him out during some seconds and then resuming the fucking “the mix of your juices and my cock's taste so delicious ynnie, i can't stop sucking this perfect ass” he says slapping it right after.

“fuck i'm gonna cum where do you want it?” mentions mingyu, his thrusts getting sloppier. “inside please put it sll inside meee” begged yn “i promise i'm not gonna waste any drop” his words going straight to mingyu's meat. “woah are you that desperate for my cum?” he laughs “then take it cumwhore” with one last powerful thrust he filled yn up with his load.

yn felt so full with the big piece of meat inside him throbbing while spurting the thick cum, “yeah there you go” growled mingyu letting himself fall on top if yn trying to regain forces “that was hot.. you're so hot” the taller sighed then laughing along with yn who replied “you're hotter”...

Damian blinked slowly, then scowled. “Disgusting,” he said flatly. “I didn’t need to see Todd reduced to a cuddle pillow.”

“Say that again, demon spawn. I dare you.”

Damian smirked, clearly pushing buttons. “Cuddle. Pillow.”

Jason started to push himself up, muscles coiling like a spring. But your palm slid down from his shoulder to his waist, fingers curling just enough to anchor him. You leaned down, your lips close to his ear, and whispered something low enough for only him to hear:

“Don’t waste your breath. They’re just jealous.”

Jason’s scowl faltered, his jaw flexing once before softening. For a heartbeat, the entire room went still as the Red Hood—the guy who fought tooth and nail to never look weak—melted under your touch. He exhaled, let his weight settle back onto you, and buried his face against your chest.

Tim nearly dropped his phone. “Did you just tame him?!"

Jason groaned into your chest. “You people are insufferable.”

“Insufferable?” Tim echoed, half laughing, half horrified. “You’re the one purring like a cat—”

Jason’s head snapped up. “Replacement—”

“Shhh,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the back of his neck. “Don’t give them the satisfaction.” Jason muttered something profane under his breath but stayed put, chest rising and falling against yours.

Dick leaned on the doorframe, eyes wide. “I think I just watched Jason Todd obey a command. Like, actual obedience. From a person who’s not Bruce.”

Jason flipped him off without lifting his head. “Keep talking, Golden Boy. See what happens.”

Bruce’s voice floated in from the kitchen, sounding suspiciously amused. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

You gave Jason’s hip a squeeze. “C’mon. Let’s go eat before it really does.” Jason sighed like a man being asked to scale Everest, but when you shifted, he followed—still pressed to your side, still shooting glares at his brothers.

Tim shook his head slowly. “I’m telling you, we need to get photographic evidence of this.”

It seemed like every day, another Omega was being abused by an Alpha who never understood the meaning of ‘no’ because they were raised in a society where everything was supposed to be ‘yes’ for them. Taken against their will and made to live in truly cage-like homes with partners who could only be called that when it came to legal documents.

In reality, they weren’t partners. They were masters, abductors, and delusional sociopaths who relied on biology and society to abuse and take the things they wanted rather than earn them.

They never saw the Omegas they were stripping of free will and autonomy as partners, or friends, or even humans for that matter. They saw them as possessions, things to own and show off to their friends and family as a symbol of how great they were and how well they were doing in life.

And Gotham was the breeding ground for these types of men and women.

Some would call it for what it was; ownership and power. They had no shame or morals about the acts they would commit. Others dared to call it romance, claiming that true love drove them to these vile acts and oppressive rules.

If this is what they called love, it’d be interesting to see what they’d do if they hated you.

Yet, progressing times meant more progressive and outspoken minds. Many, including some Alphas and Betas who held somewhat decent morals and values, were calling for change. They were protesting to their local, regional, and national governments for Omega liberation.

Of course, no revolution has ever started, let alone succeeded without someone getting their hands dirty.

Enter our hero, Y/N, and his story which some would argue was the ultimate catalyst that led to the fight for Omega Rights and Protections pushing toward victory.

Y/N lived a relatively quiet life in Gotham. Born and raised in the city, his parents taught him from a young age not only how to navigate this world in a way where he protected himself, but also equipped him with the means to do so if need be.

He was trained in the art of self-defense from the moment he had his first incident in school, when the signs of biological dynamics were becoming more and more clear, and some bigger kids decided to pick on him for it. 

His mother, an Omega herself, saw this and immediately went to her husband, Y/N’s father, and demanded they get him in lessons. He agreed and they began scouting classes the very next day. 

Y/N was blessed enough to see what a truly happy and healthy relationship between an Alpha and Omega was like from his parents. His father, bless his soul, never subscribed to the ideology that Alphas were the superior dynamic and held power over those below them, especially Omegas.

No, he fell in love with his Omega, genuinely in love we should say and not that obsessive and creepy kind where they excuse their horrible actions because of said ‘love’. No, he courted and adored her as nature intended, and their story eventually brought Y/N into existence whom they also loved and cherished as if he was the most valuable treasure on Earth.

Fast forward to the present, Y/N was a strong and stead-fast individual who didn’t let his biological dynamic hold him back from what he was meant to achieve. Seeing how different the world was from how his parents raised him, he made it his ultimate purpose to see to the change and betterment of society that included protections and rights for Omegas in Gotham and beyond.

In school, he studied business and politics, which landed him a position at Wayne Enterprises post-graduation, where he surprisingly had the backing of Bruce Wayne, CEO and heir to the very company he was employed by. He voiced his support and even dedicated teams to his mission which initiated the spread to other companies and beyond.

If a powerhouse like Wayne Enterprises was supporting ideas and notions of Omega Liberation and rights, many companies would soon follow. And as many know in this world, money talks. Politicians want to keep their investors and backers happy, so they’ll more than likely support whatever it is they’re claiming to support.

Though, appearances can be deceiving. Just because these companies would take up the mantle that they were for Omega rights, didn’t mean their actions would show that. And if there was one thing Y/N prided himself on, was being able to see bullshit for what it was; bullshit.

It didn’t deter him, though. It inspired him.

When Y/N sat and thought about it, he realized the thing that started and fueled most rebellions and movements was a symbol. An icon or an example that truly represented the meaning and impact behind said movement. And his meaning or idea was justice.

Justice for all Omegas who had been or had yet to be wronged by a system designed to hold them down in chains for others to use and abuse. He also sought liberation not only for those living today but future generations where they didn’t have to live in a world where they weren’t seen as people or equals.

What could be that symbol?

Conveniently, as Y/N sat in the living room of his moderately luxurious apartment, he looked out the window to see a symbol being cast in the sky. A symbol many residents of Gotham were all too familiar with.

The Bat Symbol.

And that’s when it hit him…

True, Gotham was a city known for its less-than-friendly streets and crime-filled alleys, but if the stories his parents told him were to be believed, Gotham was much worse before Batman began protecting its civilians, along with his numerous sidekicks and partners.

Seriously, why does it seem like Batman, or Gotham in general gets a new hero or vigilante every year? Kind of weird when you think about it.

Yet, they were about to get another one as Y/N had made up his mind. He knew the symbol his movement needed, the inspiration that was lacking for so many Omegas in Gotham and outside of it.

They needed to believe that they could stand up for change. That they could fight back and be victorious against their abusers. There was no such thing as biology not being on their side as much as it was their own belief not being on their side.

Omegas needed something, someone they could look up to, someone they could see fighting back and say “If they can do it, so can I.”

Y/N was going to be that symbol.

Thus, Shadow was born.

A bit cringe when you think about it, but the desired effect was still there.

Using his self-defense skills that never went without practice with his growing up and living in Gotham, as well as a couple of connections with some engineering friends from college, Y/N or Shadow was set to be Gotham’s newest vigilante and protector.

With their help, he created his own style of weapons and utility tools to help him out on the battlefield. Most notable were a pair of twin-style blades that when tossed or thrown, expanded out into throwing discs. They were magnetized to each other as well which threw out the need for grappling hooks when he could just toss one forward and use the other to pull himself forward.

He dubbed them Shadowblades.

Yes, still cringe, but aesthetics are everything when it comes to this kind of work.

It helped to have rich friends, especially when it came to his outfit. While, of course, Y/N couldn’t have everyone he knew getting involved in this project, he only reached out to those he knew he could truly trust as they would have just as much to lose if Y/N was to ever be caught and unmasked.

As mentioned before, aesthetics were everything when it came to these ordeals, so his outfit had to match his name. The color scheme consisted of a shadowy black and purple along with a domino mask that had gold covers in the slits to keep his eyes hidden as well.

Skintight (as usual), but flexible and functional. It was also light enough to accentuate Y/N’s smaller and leaner body frame. However, it did nothing to hide the dump truck from behind.

“Nightwing would be put to shame,” A comment from one of his friends who took it upon themselves to jokingly cop a feel. Y/N ‘jokingly’ tossed one of his blades at them as a warning, which they clearly received seeing how close the spinning blades came to their face before zipping back and folding close in his hand.

That did it. Shadow was a force to be reckoned with.

The moment Y/N hit the scene with his new outfit and weapons, ripples were being made in the city. It didn’t take long for Shadow to become a recognizable name and face in Gotham, some dubbing him the Omega Savior with all of his notable rescues and actions.

Within the first few months of Shadow being a presence in Gotham, he’d not only thrown a few dirty Alpha dogs behind bars for attempted rape and abduction but also stopped a major Omega trafficking ring happening right in the city, as well as liberated a few captives from their abusive homes and partners.

Unsurprisingly, with the trafficking ring, Y/N discovered many links and connections from that operation to people who were big-name executives and even CEOs at major companies. Even more shocking (not), some of those companies were the same ones that took up the mantle of supporting Omega rights and freedoms.

Discreet as ever, Y/N wasted no time in ‘suggesting’ that Wayne Enterprises cut all deals and partnerships with these companies, which helped earn him a promotion when the scandals were eventually revealed to the public. This ended up putting him more on Bruce Wayne’s radar who delivered his promotion news personally himself.

In every story, there’s a turning point. Many know the structure that many books, movies, and even shows will follow with the inciting incident that leads to the rising action until you reach the climax, where things typically turn for the worse.

For Y/N, that moment was when Bruce conveniently decided to introduce him to his first adopted son at the same time he was delivering his promotion news, Richard Grayson, or Dick for short. Little did he know how much Dick was about to invade his life.

But, everyone deserves a little teaser, right?

Shortly after Bruce introduced them, he had to leave for a meeting, leaving the two alone in Y/N’s new office. It wasn’t awkward, but it also wasn’t comfortable, at least for the Omega who was wary of being left in a room alone with an unfamiliar Alpha, despite how famous he was.

Yet, Dick seemed to keep a respectable front, only coming as close as he deemed allowed while making small talk, and congratulating Y/N on his new promotion. The Omega gave his thanks while setting his things up on his new desk and shelves.

Now, despite earlier thoughts and possible assumptions, Y/N was no prude. Just because he fought against Alpha abuse and their entitlement didn’t mean he didn’t have his fair share of interest and attractions.

And Dick Grayson did spark his interest. The man was undeniably handsome and had a body many either desired to touch or have. But, Y/N knew self-restraint, and sad as it may be, in this world, he knew to practice caution with whom he showed his attraction.

Dick, however, did not follow the same line of thinking. Of course, why would he if the world was made for him to not have to?

He noticed one of Y/N’s gazes towards him and took that as all the sign he needed to make his move. When Bruce said he was going to deliver the good news initially to the Omega, Dick all but demanded he bring him along. The former acrobat had his eyes on Y/N ever since he first started, and was waiting for the perfect chance to swoop in and make his claim.

Dick did have the right idea that Y/N was not the easy type, and would probably try to resist his charming suaveness. He hadn’t met anyone before who had such luck, so he wasn’t worried. In fact, the idea of a potential challenge made him all the more bold.

And he showed that boldness by closing the distance between him and the Omega while his back was turned, pressing himself against his backside. Dick was not shy about letting Y/N feel what he had packing down there while he in return got a feel of what he had decided was now going to be his.

Y/N immediately jumped at the touch and turned to move himself away but was held in place by the adopted Wayne who leaned forward, pressing his hard chest against the Omega’s while leaning his lips down their his ear. 

“Feel like breaking in the new desk?” Dick whispered hotly into his ear, pressing his very noticeable throbbing appendage against Y/N’s backside, the layer of clothes between them doing nothing to help mitigate the sensation.

Y/N could feel his instincts urging him to submit and present himself to the Alpha. He was no stranger to rumors and gossip and heard the many tales of Dick Grayson’s, well… dick, from many of his co-workers. Despite Bruce’s very relaxed rule about employees having relations with his family.

Though the temptation was there to see if the rumors were true, he was not about to let himself become another number or name in Dick’s or anyone's black book. He had to remain a symbol.

“Sorry, but I prefer to keep things a bit professional. And, frankly, you don’t meet my criteria.” Y/N sarcastically remarked.

“Oh, come on,” Dick smirked against the side of Y/N’s face, slowly grinding himself against him a little harder while rubbing one of his hands up his side, feeling the hot skin of the Omega under his silk-white button-up. “Don’t tell me you have a rule against workplace sex. Or are you worried because I’m the boss’s son? If you don’t tell, I won’t.”

Dick began pressing soft kisses against Y/N’s skin, now using both of his hands to rub up Y/N’s front, slowly beginning to undo the buttons. The Omega had to admit that he was good with his hands and lips, and he could definitely see some truth in his co-worker's words about the man’s hip control. But, logic wasn’t out of his mind yet.

Y/N began to use his arms to push back against the desk, creating a little room while the Alpha was distracted with trying to reach inside his shirt. He pushed off the desk, creating enough momentum to throw Dick off balance and allow him the chance to step out of his grasp, immediately moving to the other side of the room putting distance between the two.

“Boo, you’re no fun,” Dick mocked.

“Not for you. One of my criteria is not being a self-entitled brat who only thinks with his dick, and that’s just to get a text back.” Y/N rudely articulated. He quickly fixed the buttons on his shirt while the Alpha ogled his body up and down with no shame.

“If you come back over here, I’ll show you why everyone calls me Dick.”

He scoffed before exiting out of the room, marching himself to Bruce’s office. His assistant, Wyndall, was sitting at his desk, looking at the storm that was an angry Y/N who demanded to know if Bruce was in a meeting.

Wyndall was one of the only other few Omegas alongside Y/N who worked (relatively) this high in the company, so they both found friendship in one another and would often meet up for lunch to hang out and talk. So, when he saw his friend storming in the way he did, he knew something had to be wrong and immediately paged Mr. Wayne.

Given the okay, Y/N went into the office and, to keep a long story short, had a very heated discussion with Mr. Wayne that definitely did not end in him threatening to castrate his son if he came near him again. And, hypothetically if it did, Bruce respected it.

Y/N understandably made demands that if Dick was going to be present on company property at any time, he be notified in advance and not left alone with him at any point. He also made sure it was clear on the Alpha’s part that he was to have no contact or even attempt any with him and to keep his distance at all times, should they ever be in the same room together.

Bruce agreed to everything without a second thought and apologized on his son’s behalf, which, in truth, didn’t surprise Y/N as his boss always had been understanding and accommodating since he started at Wayne Enterprises. Y/N had to admit that the billionaire was one of the few Alphas that gave him hope in his vision for the future.

That was only the beginning of his troubles though. Not only did Y/N have to deal with pesky Alphas in his civilian life, but he had to deal with it in his vigilante one as well.

As more time went by with Shadow cleaning up the streets and helping more Omegas by the day, he eventually caught the attention of the city’s other ‘defenders’. This is when Y/N learned how ‘possessive’ Batman was of Gotham and didn’t appreciate some newbie moving on his turf without checking with him first.

He didn’t give Y/N the grace of making an appearance himself, but he did send his lackeys, or ‘team’ after him. Thankfully, none of them could keep up with him in the field, given his natural speed and agility. A credit to his Omega nature.

Only one could keep up with him though, and that’s where his Alpha troubles began as Shadow. Nightwing, Gotham’s second most famous vigilante, seemed to make it his personal mission to catch Y/N, and unlike the others, gave the Omega a run for his money the way he managed to keep up with his elusive ways.

The first night they met, which also happened to be the first night he made contact with someone from Batman’s team, he wasn’t surprised to discover he was being tailed and watched. He was expecting them at some point to try and make contact with him.

Though, in hindsight, he expected more of a welcoming, collaborative approach and less of a threatening, hostile trying to capture him one. 

Shadow had just finished dealing with a couple of Alpha thugs who were trying to force themselves on an innocent Omega when Batman’s first sidekick made his appearance. Just after he finished tying up the mammoths, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing, hearing the sound of footsteps approaching him from behind.

Immediately grabbing his blades from his sides, he turned to find Nightwing standing just a few short feet away from him, blocking the way out of the alley. Y/N had to admit, Nightwing was definitely a lot more attractive in person. Not that he wasn’t from far away, but you could appreciate the view more up close.

“So, you’re the new kid on the block that has Batman all worked up? Have to say, I wasn’t expecting this when he asked me to check you out, but I’m not disappointed,” The taller man spoke, the shadows around his face barely hiding the suggestive glance he was giving the Omega.

“I get the feeling you’re doing a lot more than just checking out.”

“Guilty.” Nightwing chuckled.

Shadow’s facemask hid his annoyed eye roll, suddenly wishing it was Red Hood or Robin he was dealing with instead. From what he heard, they tended to get to their point a lot faster.

“Well, I’d say I’m flattered, but I did promise my mother I’d never lie. Anyway, I’m assuming you’re here on behalf of the Bat himself.” Y/N inquired, wanting to just get to the point so he could get back to doing his work.

“Yeah, Dark Knight would like a word with you. Not really pleased with you moving in on his turf. Can’t say I agree with him, though. I’m sure many have appreciated your touch around here.”

Cue another annoyed eye roll from Shadow. Between him and Dick, he didn’t know who had it worse when deciding to try and flirt at the most inopportune times. And it looked like it was going to be a draw.

“Now, my instructions were to give you the chance to come on your own and, if not, use whatever external measures as needed. But, I’m willing to forgo this little meeting in my memory if you’ll give me something worth forgetting.”

“And what exactly would that be?” As if Y/N didn’t already know what the smug Alpha was getting towards.

“I know you help and save Omegas, but what about poor Alphas in need?”

“Assuming you’re the Alpha in question, what exactly would you need?”

“The touch and comfort of a sweet and savory Omega like yourself.”

It was cheesy and overused. A cliché at best and totally cringe at worst. But, Y/N couldn’t deny (try as he might) the attraction he felt stirring in his body. He didn’t know what it was, but there was something in him itching to give in to the Alpha’s request.

It was like the feeling when you hear a sound or lyrics to a song and it reminds you of something, but you just can’t put your finger on it. And there was something oddly familiar about the vigilante that had Y/N’s curiosity piqued.

Yes, Y/N had standards and criteria for who he would decide to give his time to, but he couldn’t deny that Dick, and now Nightwing, both held something that made the idea of throwing both of those things out the window. But, again, his goal of being someone to look up to for him and all Omegas alike remained strong in his mind, so he went against his body’s sexual desires and instincts.

Was Nightwing attractive up close and afar? Arguably, yes. Did he appear to have a very nice and chiseled body under his skin tight suit? Also, arguably, yes. Yet, was he just as infuriating and annoying as every other persistent Alpha who couldn’t spell ‘Hint’ even with a dictionary in front of them?

Absolutely.

It was this thinking that helped Y/N come back to his state of mind before he faked a sultry smile on his face, walking forward to rub his hand down Nightwing’s chest (which, Jesus Christ, that motherfucker is FIRM). The Alpha smirked down at the Omega going to place his hands against his waist before getting the uno reverse of his life.

In some complicated flip and turn, Shadow managed to not only catch Nightwing off his guard but put him in a submission hold with his head and neck being squeezed between the Omega’s flexing thighs. What was that saying about saving lives? Because this seemed to be the opposite.

“Is this the comfort you were seeking,” Shadow maliciously teased the Alpha, while flexing his legs more, effectively choking out the Alpha. When he decided to release him, Nightwing fell to the ground coughing, trying to catch his breath while the Omega threw one of his blades to zip off.

“Next time, tell Batman to send Red Hood or Robin. They’re a bit more persuasive and less desperate.”

After that, Y/N made sure to be extra careful on his patrols, figuring Nightwing would not be as forgiving lest they meet again in another dark alley or atop a rooftop. His Alpha troubles were nowhere near over yet, especially in his civilian life.

Some time had passed after the incident between him and Dick at his job, and after having the janitorial and cleaning staff do a deep clean of his entire office which he tipped them graciously for (tip your service workers people), Bruce adhered to his conditions perfectly.

Whenever Dick was in the office, Y/N was immediately notified and he would have his schedule altered for the day to avoid any run-ins with the billionaire’s son. If there was an occasion where he couldn’t get out of it and the former acrobat was present, he kept his distance from him and was happy to see the other doing the same even if it looked like he didn’t want to.

You’d think with his tight schedules at work and his busy nightlife, the young Omega would barely have any time for fun and social things like parties and dating.

You’d be right. Y/N did not party at all, but he did find time to mix and mingle occasionally and had come up lucky in recent months. On a previous outing with some co-workers, after a successful deal had gone through, Y/N had met a nice and attractive Alpha who happened to be a friend of Wyndall’s.

His name was Leo and he was not only a fitness trainer, but also a teacher in self-defense arts and fighting. Guess what their first date was considering the mutual interest.

Dinner and a movie. Dirty minds think alike, huh?

But, Y/N truly felt like he was growing strong feelings for Leo. He was a respectable Alpha who treated him with nothing but kindness, respect, and love. Attentive, romantic, and very easy on the eyes, the more time he spent with the Alpha, the more he could imagine spending the rest of his life with him.

Of course, he was no fool, and though they were still relatively new to this relationship, he wasn’t going to let up yet, knowing the first year is usually when the prospective partner is always on their best behavior. Really it was six months, but he was being gracious since he liked him.

Y/N even brought him as his date to Bruce’s gala that was being held in his honor. A major deal had been made at Wayne Enterprises where they partnered with some of the biggest charities in the region to begin plans for creating homes and centers for Omegas who were victims of abusive homes and relationships as well as those who were saved from human trafficking.

At first, he was tempted to not go, but since he was being honored at the event for being the major showrunner for the entire project, it’d be rude for him not to show. Of course, Leo decided to make it a whole show and went out to rent a new tux as well as a limousine to take them to Wayne Manor where the event was being held.

To say Y/N felt like a prince being swept off his feet the entire night would have been an understatement. Not only was he impressed with Leo’s manners and dedication, but he also duly noted the Alpha’s restraint and control considering they hadn’t done the do yet, despite being almost half a year into their relationship.

And there were moments when they came close and the temptation was all too real. Contrary to the earlier joke, the Alpha and Omega did have more physical type dates, where they met in Leo’s gym and would practice different moves and fighting styles following both of their training.

As you can imagine when you bump and grind hot sweaty bodies against each other, at some point, things can get carried away at intervals, but Leo always pulled back, saying he wanted to respect Y/N’s decision and wait until they were both fully ready. Damn, having morals and respect for yourself can really take the fun out of things sometimes.

Anyway, the night went on without a hitch. Y/N mingled and greeted the guests as well as shook hands with a few important people Bruce wanted to introduce him to. He gave a speech and had a few more inside jokes with Leo about the stuffy and posh atmosphere these galas radiate.

Right when they were planning to make their exit, things of course had to get interesting.

“Evening, Y/N. Long time, no see. It’s good to see you.”

Y/N counted to five in his head, reminding himself where he was and that couldn’t introduce the back of his fist to Dick Grayson’s cheek, no matter how bad he wanted to. Their running into each other was inevitable, the Omega recognized that. Whether it was him who accidentally did it, or the billionaire’s son who intentionally did it, they were bound to run into each other again.

He remained civilized though. His mother always taught him how being an Omega in this world, people were going to try and push him more than any others just because they saw him as an easy target. She always said the moment you reacted, you proved them right, and he wasn’t going to let that happen. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be petty though…

“Dick, what a surprise. I’d say likewise, but you know how our Lord & Savior feels about lying,’ Y/N responded with a smile on his face but the sarcasm clearer than ever.

Leo chuckled to the side of him, and for a moment, a quick fleeing second, Dick’s cool and suave charade dropped, and Y/N saw how his attitude and lack of respect triggered the Alpha. The adopted Wayne managed to retain his instincts though, keeping a cool smile on his face.

“Ah, you’re funny. A lot funnier than I remember when we were in your office,” It was then Dick seemed to acknowledge the other presence standing before him, “And just who might this be? Your next conquest?” He inquired in a ‘joking’ manner.

That wasn’t appreciated, given the nasty grimace that wiped over Y/N’s face as he was about to respond with an equal if not more than childish insult. At least, until Leo decided to interject in.

“Actually, I’m his date. Though, I wouldn’t mind being a conquest if it came to that. It's better than showing up alone to an event like this with no one by my side. Speaking of, where’s your date?” Leo asked, an egotistical smile on his face as he stared down the other Alpha, already knowing the answer.

Dick looked more than aggravated, and despite his surprise at Leo’s snarkiness, it did not stop Y/N from laughing out loud, despite his failed attempts at concealing them. While the Omega would have loved to stand there a bit longer and see how interesting that encounter could have gotten, he knew better and decided that was a perfect time to make a strategic exit.

“Well, Dick, as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I wouldn’t. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Dick.” Y/N said, quickly grabbing Leo’s arm and tugging him towards the main entrance.

When they reached the main hall, Leo went to give their valet card to the attendant standing by the door, while Y/N informed him he was going to use the bathroom quickly before they left. Both of them were oblivious to the shadow following behind the Omega.

Y/N found the bathroom and quickly did his business, however, he did take a small moment while using the toilet to admire the decor and pristine state of the bathroom.

“Oh, to be filthy rich and pee in luxury.”

After flushing and washing his hands, he was drying them off and was about to head for the door when it suddenly swung open and a familiar face entered.

“Dick! What the hell you fucking perv! Have you ever heard of knocking, or did Bruce forget that in etiquette training?”

“Funny,” Dick replied, his usual lighthearted tone gone, replaced by something dark and vexing. Y/N didn’t understand why he felt a small flutter in his abdomen at the tone of voice, but he chose to ignore that in favor of getting past the creepy Alpha.

“Yeah, I’m hilarious. Open the door, Dick. I’m not playing these games with you,” Y/N ordered.

“Who said anything about playing,” Dick asked, but he apparently wasn’t looking for an answer if the way he grabbed the Omega by his suit jacket and threw him against the sink was anything to go by.

“What the fuck! Get off of me!” Y/N shouted, pushing against the Alpha’s chest, but his smaller state compared to the acrobat put him at a slight disadvantage. If the hard and prominent muscles he felt under the jacket were anything to go by, he’d say Dick spent a fair amount of time in the gym. Made sense though, given his former circus background.

“Oh, come on. You can quit the act now.” Dick huffed while rubbing his hands down the Omega’s body, stopping right at his waist.

“What act? Were you dropped on your head as a baby?” Y/N retorted, still pushing (groping) at the Alpha’s chest. He could feel Dick’s fingers prodding around his body, taking extra time to squeeze his ass before making their way further down his legs, lifting them and forcing them around the acrobat’s waist.

Dick’s smug look grew even more when he could see the Omega’s submissive instincts kicking in, feeling how less and less he was putting up a fight against his actions.

“This act. Look at you, slowly giving in and letting me take control of your body. I’ve dealt with plenty of bratty little Omegas like you. Playing the honorable and conservative role, only to give it up the second you get the attention you’ve been begging for. You almost had me fooled for a quick second. But, after seeing that sad excuse you brought here as a date, I realized your game immediately. I’ll admit it though, you managed to get what you wanted. I’ve never been as jealous before as I was watching you with him all night.”

While saying all this to Y/N, Dick had wrapped one of his arms around the Omega’s waist forcing his body forward on the marble sink and pushing his own against it. His hard and throbbing member was positioned at an angle in the Alpha’s trousers where the smaller male could almost make out the entire length and size of the throbbing tool, the way it was being ground against his pelvis.

That combined with the adopted Wayne’s ever-talented lips sucking and kissing at the Omega’s neck while sniffing the boy’s pheromones and cologne left a fog in Y/N’s mind that was hard to see past. No longer was he fighting back against Dick, but instead he was mindlessly rubbing and digging his fingers into the hard muscles of his chest and abs covered by his white dress shirt, something the Alpha held a smug satisfaction in.

“Oh, would you look at that? What happened to your high and mighty attitude? I thought you weren’t attracted to demanding and ‘barbaric’ Alphas like me? For the amount of crap you’ve talked, I figured you’d have more restraint than that.” Dick’s mocking words were a bit in cruel taste, but it was a taste Y/N couldn’t decide if he liked or not.

His smug attitude and confidence were attractive to the Omega, given the pleasurable tingles he could feel inside his underwear which were slowly getting wetter by the second. But, that was the very thing that confused him.

Y/N couldn’t count how many times he heard this similar or exact sentiment from another overly confident Alpha who felt entitled to his attention and body. So, why was he having different thoughts and reactions now? Was there something in the air? Did he recently start taking some new vitamin or pill that had psychosis-like side effects? Did someone cast a spell on him?

Or was Y/N genuinely attracted and turned on by Dick Grayson and was just too stubborn to realize every word the Alpha was saying was true. He’d rather not think about that.

Small moans and grunts began to slip out of Y/N’s mouth while feeling the increased kisses and marks being left across his neck and jaw. With his legs spread and Dick in between, there was nothing left to the imagination of what he felt grinding against his pelvis.

When his noises were beginning to reach a volume level that could bring unwanted attention to the Alpha, he had no choice but to remove one of his hands from the delectable body he was ravishing to cover the Omega’s mouth. It was okay for now, he’d have him screaming in no time.

“Oh, Y/N. You’re so perfect. Why do you have to act so stuck up though? Just look at you right now,” Dick muttered against the Omega’s skin before looking up. 

It was a sight to behold, seeing the same man responsible for fighting against the system that held Omegas down in the first place being subjected to the same treatment he claimed to hate, and enjoying it at that.

“And to think, we could've been doing this very same thing in your office if you weren’t acting so stuck up.”

Dick’s feverish kisses and bites increased as his hand forced open Y/N’s shirt, exposing his shiny, leaking nipples to the Alpha. He smirked at the Omega’s whimper from feeling the cool air in the bathroom rush against his wet nipples before moving his lips down and attaching them to one of the nubs.

The yelp Y/N let out under Dick’s hand was enough to have the Alpha pausing in his ministrations, making sure no one came knocking on the door before continuing his feeding on the Omega’s nectar. His other hand that wasn’t muffling the moans and cries of the Omega was working its way down the front of the smaller man’s past, just getting past the elastic band of his underwear.

Y/N’s eyes went wide when he felt Dick's cool fingers prodding around at the top of his arousal, just tugging at his cocklette which he knew was probably leaking slick along with this cunt. He did his best to resist the sensations, but even he had to admit the man was skilled.

His eyes began scanning around the room, trying his best not to get distracted by the hot sight of Dick’s dark head of hair lapping and sucking at his chest like a newborn while he felt his pleasure nub and cocklette being fondled under his underwear. That’s when he spotted something of interest.

Sitting right beside his body was a candle, and more importantly, the heavy looking golden holder it was sitting in. It was a bit hard at first with the distractions he was dealing with, but he managed to get the candle out and holder into his grip, using it to bash the side of Dick’s head.

He shouted out in pain, leaning back just enough for Y/N to shove his body forward before swinging his leg right into Dick’s exposed crotch. The dark-haired man groaned in pain, falling over on his knees while clutching his bruised genitals, looking up to the Omega who scooted himself off the counter, taking a moment to collect himself before cleaning himself up and fixing his clothes.

“Still playing hard to get, I see,” Dick uttered.

Y/N turned around, throwing a dirty look toward the Alpha on the floor before turning his nose up at him in a sneer, “You wish I was playing with you at all.”

“True, but it’s okay for now. I’ll have you begging for me soon enough,” Dick chuckled, before groaning again from another painful throb.

Y/N tried to ignore the flutter he felt in his pants and the surge of feelings he felt in his chest. He gave Dick one last glare, before exiting the bathroom, promptly finding Leo and leaving the party. On his way out though, he ran into Bruce who looked concerned at the Omega’s disheveled and angry state.

“Ask your son,” He retorted, grabbing his valet ticket out of his jacket before looking up at the CEO, a storm of emotion and thoughts behind his eyes, “Mr. Wayne, it’s been a pleasure working for W.E., and I’m very happy to see the progress we’ve been able to make in my time at the company. But, after tonight, I think it’s best if I move on to other opportunities. I’ll be sending someone to collect my things from my office.”

With that, Y/N grabbed Leo’s hand and exited the party and Wayne Manor, hopefully for the last time.

That night, the Omega was extra brutal on his patrol, taking out his anger and confusion on every bloody criminal and thug Alpha who even looked like they were up to no good. By the end of the night, Y/N was going to have to ask his contacts for some new gloves with how dirty and covered in blood they were.

As the weeks rolled by, Y/N received numerous emails and calls from Bruce Wayne asking him to come back to the company and if they could work something out. Even Wyndall had reached out to see what was going on with him.

The only person he Y/N talked to about all of this was Leo. He did tell him what went down in the bathroom, and that he just needed some time to sort out his head. The Alpha respected his wishes and still checked in on him every other day just to make sure he was okay.

The thing was, Y/N didn’t really know if he was okay. He felt like he was going crazy.

On one hand, he was very angry and upset still about the bathroom incident and just the situation overall. He couldn’t believe the nerve of Dick, thinking he could just bust his way into the room and into his life and just have his way with him. It was unbelievably arrogant and barbaric.

On the OTHER hand, it was the barbarism of the situation that had Y/N so confused. More specifically, why he was so attracted to it. The truth was, Dick pointed out some significant stuff in that bathroom that had the Omega overthinking everything.

Why was he attracted to it, and why didn’t he fight Dick off harder. He could’ve taken him and avoided that whole situation, but he didn’t. Why?

That was the question that kept pounding in his head over and over for weeks on end. One part of him wanted nothing to do with Dick Grayson, but the other part wanted everything to do with him. Wanted to give in and submit to the Alpha.

But, he had to be a symbol. And he couldn’t do that if he gave in to the very thing he was fighting against.

Though, little did he know that soon, he wouldn’t have much of a choice.

Even if his Alpha troubles had gone quiet in his civilian life, his vigilante one was another story. Shadow was plagued by countless run-ins with Nightwing who was persistent in his endeavors of trying to corner him. That or he wanted another chance to throw some cheesy one-liners at him, probably both. Thankfully, Y/N managed to stay a step ahead every single time and always managed to avoid his capture.

At least that’s what he thought.

Things would take a major turn when Shadow decided to answer a distress call coming from Wayne Towers. An Omega claimed they were being harassed and stalked by an Alpha who locked them in the building. 

Since it was his old stomping grounds, and he knew plenty of ways in and out of the building, he figured it’d be a quick mission. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary on the outside, but for some reason, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing, but he still decided to go in.

The first thing he noticed when he got inside was how quiet the building was, almost too quiet. He’d worked plenty of late shifts in this building before and the silence was never this loud. Where were the nighttime guards? Or the other executives who inevitably stayed late to work?

Something weird was going on. Y/N made his way to the top of the building, closer to Bruce’s office where he heard the Omega say he was hiding over the police line he tapped into. As he approached closer to the hiding spot, he couldn’t help how tense he grew, feeling the ever-growing sensation of being watched take over him.

When Y/N finally made it to Bruce’s office, he was more or less shocked at who he found waiting for him.

“Wyndall?”

The Omega looked up, confused at first but then suddenly shouting out only to be muffled by the gag around his mouth. His hands and feet were bound by rope and he was tucked into the corner. Y/N was about to make his way over until he realized Wyndall was looking at something behind him and not at him.

He turned just in time to see a flash of blue and black lunge at him before ducking out of the way in time, “Nightwing,” The Omega growled under his breath.

“Good to finally see you again, Shadow. Well, at least all of you since I’m only used to seeing the far-distant view of your back as you run away from me. Though, it’s definitely not a sight I’m complaining about.” Nightwing said, his usual playful smirk on his face as he once again eyed the Omega vigilante up and down like their first meeting.

“Attacking innocent Omegas just to get to me, why am I not surprised? Is Batman that mad at me?”

“Who said anything about Batman? Maybe I just wanted the chance to finish our conversation from before. And you say attacking, I say leveraging advantages.”

The Omega looked from Nightwing to Wyndall who was watching the exchange while still struggling to get out of his binds. “Well, hate to burst your bubble, but I’m not in much of a talking mood,” Shadow said before grabbing one of his blades and throwing it at the other vigilante.

Nightwing managed to duck but was unprepared for the attacks he received. Using the surprise to his advantage, Shadow landed quick blows along the other vigilante’s chest and legs before sweeping under him and knocking him to the ground.

When Nightwing didn’t immediately get up, the Omega rushed over to Wyndall, using his blades to cut the ropes and gag, “Thank you,” Wyndall began to say, before both of them turned to see the other vigilante not where Shadow left him.

“No time for that, just grab your stuff and let’s go,” Shadow ordered, getting the Omega off the ground and both of them making a break for the stairs.

Just as Wyndall made it to the exit and Shadow right behind him, neither of them saw Nightwing dart out of the shadows, surprising the Omega vigilante before being tackled to the ground.

“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not finished talking,” The Alpha growled in the smaller man’s face, doing his best to keep the Omega pinned.

Thankfully for the Alpha, the Omega was distracted by Wyndall coming back to try and help him, “No, Wyndall! Just go. Get out of here!”

“But-”

“I said GO!”

He stood there for a few moments contemplating, before turning around and heading down the stairs. Nightwing smirked down at the Omega, using his strength to overpower him and pin his arms down.

“Alone at last,” Nightwing smiled before leaning down and claiming Shadow’s lips in a soft, but demanding kiss. The Omega could feel a familiar sensation sparking in his pants and certain feelings swirling in his gut.

Though, it didn’t mean he was giving up, doing his best to wiggle his leg putting as much momentum as he could into his knee as he shoved into the Alpha’s crotch. His eyes went wide as he let out a muffled grunt before breaking the kiss and letting his face fall into the side of the Omega’s neck.

But his grip didn’t loosen at all nor did his strength waver over the Omega as he tried to push back to free himself, and that’s when he heard the chuckle beside his ear.

“Sorry, but I’ve learned from your tricks before.”

Nightwing leaned off the Omega, but not enough for him to escape. Only enough to where he could flip him around on the floor, bringing his arms and hands behind his back before grabbing some more binding rope off his utility belt.

He tied both arms and legs together, grabbing his shadowblades off his waist and attaching them to his belt. When he had him secured, he turned the Omega back over and lifted him off the ground, holding him steady while taking a moment to admire his captured prize.

“All that running and fighting, and look at you know, finally caught in my grasp.”

“So what, you’re gonna take me to Batman now?”

Nightwing chuckled again, “Hmm, still haven’t figured it out yet. I told you, this isn’t about Batman. This is about you and me. It’s about finally taking what rightfully belongs to me.”

The Alpha leaned down to grab the Omega around his thighs before throwing him up in a fire-man carry and making his way down the hall. Y/N watched from his place atop the Alpha’s shoulder as they traveled through the dark and quiet halls. Eyeing the various security cameras positioned throughout the hall and noting that they were all missing the usual red light that indicated they were on and watching.

‘Did Nightwing manage to cut the cameras?’ Y/N thought to himself as they made their way down another hall, a familiar one at that as he realized they were getting close to his old office.

It was then that Y/N started thinking about various things. How Nightwing seemed to predict his move of kneeing him in the crotch as a last resort since he was apparently wearing some protective garment that kept his genitals safe. Then again, why wouldn’t he being a vigilante?

But, the comment he made seemed as if he expected it. Then, there was the fact that out of all the people Nightwing chose to attack in Wayne Towers, he chose Wyndall, one of Y/N's few friends at the company from this time working here.

And while he’d rather not think about it, that kiss they shared was just as pleasurable as it was familiar. Things were starting to slowly come together for the Omega. It was becoming somewhat clear that Nightwing knew he was, especially given the fact that he was right about his earlier hunch.

They were heading for his old office.

Y/N recognized the hall the moment they turned down the corner, before they made their way through the familiar glass door, Nightwing pausing in the middle of the room while looking at the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Hmm, feels just like the first time, only the view I have is much better than yours,” The Alpha gloated before using his other hand that wasn’t holding the Omega’s thighs together to land a harsh spank on the plump ass next to his face.

“Ouch, you fucking asshole,” Shadow yelled, before yelping out again in pain as he was subjected to even more brutal and harsher slaps.

Imagine how he felt in the moment, the Omega Vigilante tasked with saving his kind from brutish behavior, getting spanked over the shoulder of the Alpha who’d relentlessly pursued him for months. Only now, he knew that this Alpha was not different from the one that had been pursuing him in his civilian life as well.

“Alright, Dick! That’s enough.” He shouted, still flailing over the Alpha’s shoulder from the sting in his ass as he tried to hold back the tears that were brewing in his eyes.

The Omega suddenly found himself back on the ground, standing on his two feet but being held by the Alpha at the waist. He did his best to not scoff at the arrogant smirk on the vigilante’s face as he looked down at him with a knowing look.

“Oh, finally put the pieces together, have you?” Dick asked.

“You didn’t make it hard with your not-so-clever hints and cliché remarks.”

“Careful,” Dick warned, squeezing the tender behind while laying a hand over his growing arousal, “Before when I gave you the chance to submit to me willingly, you refused and defied me every single time, always with that smart and condescending attitude of yours. I was forgiving then, but not so much now. And I don’t have to be.”

Y/N didn’t know why, but that same feeling he had before in the bathroom, that ever-growing curiosity, had him wanting to bite back. To test the Alpha and see how far he would go. He didn’t understand why he was actively fighting to get out of the situation he was in.

Frankly, he didn’t care about any of that. Right now, at this moment, he couldn’t remember or think of why he cared about being a symbol so much.

All he cared about was wanting to get fucked.

“Hmm, well, maybe if you had been someone worthy of submitting to, I actually would have listened and given in. Even now, I still don’t see someone deserving of my attention, let alone my body.” Y/N remarked, his own smirk pulling at his lips.

The look in Dick’s eyes was something menacing. It was as if the curtains that were obscuring who the Alpha really was were suddenly going up in flames, and now, the real show was about to begin.

“Oh, you want someone worthy, huh? I’ll give you someone worthy.” Dick uttered, a darkness to his words before he forced Y/N onto his knees.

He undid the clasps of his utility belt before undoing the secret zippers at his crotch, reaching inside and pulling out a sizable tool. Definitely not small, but not too big that would have Y/N clenching. But, appearances could be deceiving. After all, Dick was just as much known as a playboy as his adoptive father.

“How about we fill that mouth with something more worthy, huh?”

He barely gave the Omega any time to comply, using his hand to grip the smaller male’s jaw and force his mouth open, using his other hand to shove his hard appendage inside and down his throat. Y/N choked and gagged over the organ, saliva already drooling out around his lips and tears building in his eyes as the Alpha let out a guttural groan, gripping his hair now and holding him against his pubes. 

“That worthy enough for ya?” Dick growled out, jerking himself forward causing another round of chokes and gags and reveling in the sound of them, “Finally, after all that time, waiting around and watching you ignore me and toss me aside, look where you are now. Crying over my dick.”

Y/N couldn’t even use his hands to try and push back at Dick’s hips, seeing as they were still bound behind his back.

Eventually, the Alpha pulled himself out, chuckling at the sounds of the Omega gasping for air and coughing. “Enjoy this little break, it’s gonna be one of the few you get all night,” Dick taunted, yanking on Y/N’s hair again before shoving himself back down his throat.

He kept the Omega like that for another minute, seeing how long he could go before giving him a slight breather for air. When he had enough of that, he slowly began to move in and out of his throat, watching with sinful pleasure at the teary-eyed look the Omega was looking up at him with as his veiny appendage slid in and out of his mouth, a glistening shine come off it from his salvia and the light of the moon through the window.

Eventually, Dick was ruthlessly shoving himself in and out of Y/N’s lips, barely giving him any breaks or breathers as he claimed the Omega’s throat for himself. This was only the first of his many victories that he would achieve tonight. His patience and planning would finally reward him, especially with the insurance he set up for himself, as he eyed the hidden camera tucked away on a shelf in the corner of the room.

Y/N had no choice but to learn how to breathe through his nose to get the much-needed air he required as Dick had his way with his throat. His mouth was covered in spit and drool while his eyes and cheeks were soaked with his tears. When Dick pulled himself out for the last time, he took a sharp breath in, falling forward slightly as he also released the grip on his hair.

“n-nh ... ah … fuck,” The Omega breathed before feeling himself be yanked back up to his feet and pulled towards the desk.

“I’m not done with you yet, slut.”

With one sweeping motion, he knocked everything to the ground before forcing the Omega against the desk and bending him over it. He made quick work of the utility belt before unbuckling and unzipping wherever he had to, pulling down his pants and revealing his wet cunt to him.

“Oh, look at that, even prettier than I imagined,” Dick looked over the panting Omega, taking pride in the fact that this was all his doing before taking a finger and rubbing it over the wet fold and leaking head of his cocklette, “What do you think, Y/N? Should I go slow? Give you time to adjust and widen up for me? Or should I just take you like this? Since I’m apparently not worthy enough?” He asked with a leering sneer.

“please ...a-ah, fuck ... !” Y/N moaned, feeling Dick’s fingers slip inside his heat while his thumb rubbed rough circles over his cocklette and nub.

“Aw, look at that. Told you I’d have you begging for me soon enough,” He said, forcing his fingers inside him a little more before taking them back out, “That’s enough of that. Time’s up, slut. Now, I finally claim what’s rightfully mine.”

Dick turned Y/N over, removing the rope at his ankles before pushing the smaller male further up on the desk, slotting himself between the open legs. He took a moment to admire the sight before him while slapping his dick against the Omega’s dripping entrance.

“After all that time, all that fighting back and acting like you didn’t want me. Look at you here now, helpless, about to have your body claimed by your rightful Alpha. And to think, we could’ve been doing this so long ago. You and me, Nightwing & Shadow, patrolling the streets of Gotham together, but you decided to be a little bitch about everything and resist me at every turn. Well, now, you’ve got nowhere to go. You’re all mine, and I won’t be letting you go anytime soon. Not now, not tonight or tomorrow, and especially, not after this…”

Dick gripped his appendage while holding Y/N at the center of his stomach, sinking himself inside the wet heat with a deep and vocal groan. The Omega shouted out at the brute and forceful intrusion before feeling a hand slap over his mouth.

“Quiet, slut. I may have knocked the guards out, but we still want you alerting anyone else now, do we?”

Dick held his hand firm against the Omega’s mouth while savoring the feeling of the tight flesh wrapped all around his cock. He had sex with many people before, Omegas and Betas alike, but none of them compared to the feeling he had right at that moment.

A few moments went by, Y/N’s vocal but muffled cries slowly quieting as Dick does his best to calm himself down as well before taking his first move inside the soft and tight cunt. Another whine pops up from the Omega, feeling the drag and pull of the hard cock in his insides.

“Quiet baby, I’m trying to focus on not cumming here, and your little sweet sounds aren’t helping,” Dick ordered, taking his time to slowly move himself in and out while fighting down his growing climax. He knew they would have multiple rounds, but there was nothing like the euphoric feeling of claiming your prize. Conquering the very thing that fought so hard against you.

And, now, his reward lay helpless beneath him. Subject to whatever treatment and punishment the Alpha saw fit. Dick knew it, and he could see Y/N was realizing the way he squirmed around on the desk trying to adjust themselves to being owned and taken by someone worthy.

When Dick made his first full thrust inside, the tears sprang to Y/N’s eyes again as he tried to scoot himself up on the desk away from the intrusive weapon spearing his guts.

“Uh uh, baby,” Dick said, holding him by one of his legs as he forced the Omega still on his cock, “there’s no running from this. You’ve got no choice. You’re tied up and helpless, and you’re going to take my cock whether you like it or not.”

And take it, he did.

Once Dick got himself under control and didn’t feel like he would cum too soon, he mercilessly fucked the Omega with no tone of softness or tenderness in his movements. His cries under the Alpha’s palms never ceased, seemingly only increasing in volume as neared closer and closer to his own orgasm.

Above him, Dick groaned and grunted like an animal while plowing his insides, his other palm was busy squeezing roughly at the whiny little cocklette and rubbing furiously over his little pinch of nerves. The evidence of their filthy fun was becoming increasingly more potent as the slick around his cock combined with the soaking and squelching walls of the cunt he was defiling dripped and splashed onto the floor and around the edges of the desk.

“This is all your fault, you know,” Dick spat, the sweat evident on his body as his hair stuck to his face and the top parts of his mask, “if you had just listened to me and been obedient, our first time could have been gentler and more romantic. But, you wanted to be a stubborn little brat who defied his Alpha, and now you’re paying the price.”

Dick delivered powerful and harsher thrusts to Y/N’s core, pulling even louder sounds from his throat as his arms tingled with sleep from being pressed between his body and the shaking wooden desk.

“Oh fuck, you’re squeezing me even tighter than you were before. Are you trying to make me cum, slut?” Dick asked, eyeing his Omega with lust and focus as he drilled even harder into his insides. “Still think I’m not worthy, huh? Still think someone else is more deserving of your body, Y/N? I bet you no one else can have you wet and screaming like this. I can feel the vibrations from all your moaning and whines under my palm. No one can make you feel like I can. No one can fuck you like I can! No one can own you like I can.”

Somehow, Dick began to go even faster, tears now flowing at a fast rate out of Y/N’s eyes as he met his explosive end over the Alpha’s cock. The vigilante leaned over the Omega’s body as his knot slowly approached.

“Get ready for it, slut. And feel lucky you’re not in heat yet, but soon, you will be. And soon, you’ll be carrying my kids.” Nightwing said as he pushed himself deeper and deeper inside before meeting his end.

He leaned down and bit into your neck with a vocal growl as he buried himself all the way inside, knotting his Omega for the first time. His body convulsed with shudders and shakes as he felt himself shooting his seed deep inside, Y/N feeling the streaks paint his insides.

Both their breaths slowly returned to normal as they waited for his knot to do down, and when Dick felt like he had enough strength, he held himself up, taking his hand away from the Omega’s mouth before looking at him in his post-orgasmic state.

“You were amazing, baby. I’m sorry I had to be so rough with you, but you gave me no choice. But, don’t worry, it won’t be the last time. We should get you home so I can show you how an Alpha properly treats his Omega.”

Y/N could barely form a thought, let alone a sentence, and he didn’t have any time to try and think of one as Dick pulled himself off and out of him. He reclothed both of them before tying the Omega’s legs back together and tossing him back over his shoulder.

“You’re all mine now, baby. Nightwing & Shadow forever,” Dick said to himself while grabbing the camera off the shelf, stopping the recording before exiting the office and heading down towards the parking garage where he planned to take you both home.

To be continued…

☀️ | Dick Grayson/Nightwing | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

🌙 | Part Two | 🌙

Here is a playlist based on this fic!

Here is a playlist on the Batfam’s POV!

Wayne Manor was cold. Not in the way of temperature—though it was always drafty despite Alfred’s efforts—but in the kind of silence that clung to old walls and older secrets.

When {Name} was first brought into the manor at age eleven, they thought they were saved. They remembered the precise moment: Bruce Wayne, looming like a statue carved from stone and shadows, stood before them at the orphanage. His voice was deep, his face unreadable, and he offered them a home. Just like that.

No more bruises. No more broken bottles flying through the air. No more yelling, no more sobbing into a stained mattress while their mother staggered through another high. They had been left behind without a word—no hug, no goodbye—just an abandoned child with a half-empty trash bag of clothes and a name nobody had bothered to say correctly.

At the time, it felt like a miracle. A billionaire adopting them. Saving them.

They were wrong.

At first, it was bearable. The mansion was massive, a maze of rooms and expensive things, and Alfred had a kindness in his eyes that they weren’t used to. But everything else was... quiet. Detached.

Bruce was rarely home. When he was, he never spoke much. He didn’t ask how they were adjusting. He didn’t help with homework. He didn’t tuck them in at night. He never said he was proud of them when they brought home a good grade.

Instead, there were phone calls. Emergencies. Late meetings. Gotham needed him more than {Name} did.

Dick tried, at first. He smiled a lot. Took them to the arcade once. Gave them advice on how to navigate the mansion without getting lost. But then he left for Blüdhaven. Slowly, the texts stopped. The check-ins became sporadic. When {Name} did get the occasional visit, Dick spent more time catching up with Bruce or Tim than looking at them.

Tim was... busy. Always busy. With computers. With missions. With school. With being the “smart one.” {Name} had once asked if he could help them with their science project, and he had nodded absently—then forgot. They did it alone, like always.

Damian... hated them. Said as much daily. “You’re not even a real Wayne,” he spat once when {Name} accidentally knocked over one of his training dummies in the Batcave. “Father only brought you here because he feels guilty.”

That one stuck. Hard.

Because deep down, {Name} had started to wonder the same.

Were they ever wanted? Or just a charity case in the wake of Jason’s death?

Jason. The boy who had a room no one touched. The boy who died and took all the warmth with him. The boy whose photo sat on the mantle with a thin layer of dust around the frame, untouched but sacred. A ghost more loved in death than {Name} was in life.

And then, just when they had learned how to make peace with being invisible, Jason came back.

At fifteen, {Name} watched from the top of the stairs as Bruce and Jason argued in the foyer. Jason’s voice was louder than they’d ever heard anyone speak in this house—full of fire and bitterness and something else, something that made {Name}'s chest twist: hurt.

Jason was angry, yes. But he was seen. Bruce looked at him with pain, with regret, with everything {Name} had been craving for five years.

Nobody yelled over {Name}. Nobody cried over them.

No one noticed them.

And now that Jason was back—remade, reformed, and barely stitched together—they watched the family orbit around him again like he had never left. Bruce would pause his work to speak with him. Dick started visiting more. Tim listened when Jason talked. Even Damian stayed quieter, glaring but saying less.

But not one person looked at {Name}.

Not one person asked how they were doing.

Their sixteenth birthday came and went in a whisper. A single gift on their desk—generic, wrapped in plain paper with no card. Alfred baked a cake. No candles. No singing. No one home.

They didn’t eat it.

They used to cry. Loudly. In their room with the door locked, pillow clutched to their chest like it could replace affection. Now, they just sat in the dark. They’d learned how to keep the tears inside, where they rotted like forgotten things.

Sometimes they wondered what would happen if they disappeared.

Would anyone notice?

Would Bruce check the security feeds? Would Tim pause his coding? Would Dick come back from Blüdhaven? Would Jason—new, resurrected, full of red rage and black leather—would he even remember their name?

Would Damian smirk and say “good riddance”?

Their chest ached with the thought.

They weren’t jealous of Jason. They envied him. He had been dead and still meant more. He had died and come back to a family that loved him so deeply they had carved space around the pain.

{Name} had never been carved into anything.

They were a side note. A forgotten file in the Batcomputer. A smudge on the portrait of the Wayne legacy.

A shadow.

They tried to be useful. Tried to train, to fight, to patrol. But Bruce never let them. Too dangerous. “You’re not ready,” he said once, without looking up from his case files.

They had felt their throat close, nails digging into their palm.

“I’ll never be ready, will I?” they whispered.

Bruce didn’t respond.

It was the closest they had come to running away.

That night, they packed a bag. Only the essentials: a few clothes, their old sketchbook, the tiny locket they wore under their shirt with a photo of their mother—before the addiction, before the screaming, back when she still looked like someone who could love.

But they didn’t leave.

Because even if this place didn’t love them, it was still more than the nothing that waited outside.

So they stayed.

Forgotten. Quiet. Watching from the edges as the Batfamily continued to spin without them. They moved like dancers in a show where {Name} wasn’t cast.

They became good at slipping between the cracks. Learning how to listen without being seen. Watching the pain in Jason’s eyes when he thought no one was looking. Seeing Bruce stare at old photos late at night. Noticing the twitch in Tim’s jaw when his coffee wore off. Watching Dick’s smile falter the second he turned away.

They knew all their weaknesses. All their tells. All their patterns.

They were invisible. And invisibility is a powerful thing—especially in a house full of masks.

But invisibility doesn’t mean forgiveness. And love doesn’t bloom in neglect.

Not forever.

{Name} wasn’t angry. Not yet.

But something colder was growing inside them.

A root. A shadow. A space waiting to be filled.

And they wondered—maybe they were never meant to be noticed at all.

Taglist:

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

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

jason, meanwhile.

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

how it never quite changed, even until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

you were wrong, you always were.

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

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

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

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

— and remember the even more painful present.

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

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

oh, my momma.

how you miss her and her angelic presence already.

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

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

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

rather than...

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

this unfamiliar room...

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

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

have you been out for an entire day?

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

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

but worse yet, the most dreaded of them all—

a room with your brother in it.

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

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

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

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

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

dark and heavy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he sounded so...

broken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

no.

your breath hitches—

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

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

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

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

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

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

since when did he care?

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

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

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

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

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

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

one word: fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

jason.

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

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

your life is so fucked.

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

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

just like now: anywhere but him.

you can't expend anymore hope—

"why, angel?"

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

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

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

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

"for-for wh— what?"

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

it's just so incomprehensible for you.

his worry is just too foreign.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

were you... crying?

"just answer me, please."

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

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

what changed?

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

"i don't know..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're lying."

"h—huh?"

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

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

"wh—"

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

until all you could focus on were his questions.

why?

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

"when's my birthday, jason?"

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

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

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

"what...?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

eighteen is a quintessential part of someone's life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you did, didn't you?

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

"—i have to go, jason..."

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

god, fuck—!

it hurts, it fucking hurts so much.

your heart, your head, your entire body.

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

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

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

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

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

the tears still won't stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it hurts, doesn't he know that?

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

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

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

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

not when you never mattered to him, right?

and it feels like a part of you broke tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the lonely, scared child you still are?

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

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

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

until it bleeds, until it all bleeds.

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

'this isn't the jason i knew.'

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

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

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

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

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

"— what?"

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

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

"JUST FUCKING ANSWER MY QUESTION, GODDAMNIT!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

so why, why does he care so much now?

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

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

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

why do you still cry after all these years?

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

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

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

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

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

'jason, why do you still try?'

"angel, calm down you're—"

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

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

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

"just calm down, please—!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what...?

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

just that?

just a burden?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it's just silent understanding, a painful acceptance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that painful reminder just makes past emotions stir within you.

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

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

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

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

he truly never knew you well at all, huh?

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

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

"jason... please listen to me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i just..."

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

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

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

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

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

how hard was it to understand that sentiment?

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

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

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

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

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

that hurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and you nearly worked yourself to death because of it.

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

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

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

it was you that's unlovable.

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

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

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

"is it so hard to love me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"please, jay!"

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

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

"—not there..."

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

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

"... not with you, please."

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

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

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

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

"i am your brother!"

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

it just hurts...

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

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

why, just why, is he calming down now?

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

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

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

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

"i'm— i'm so sorry, angel."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

made carefully, cleaned neatly for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and both of you were- were good...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and yet...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

imperfect, sullen and easily broken, like you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and now?

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

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

you still had nothing to offer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"all for you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you crack at the seams.

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

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

yet you continue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'how dare you, jason...'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'be the bigger person, (name).'

'because you are not a wayne anymore—

you are your mother's child.'

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

but ultimately, you came from her.

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

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

"look, okay... promise me this—"

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

he nods, urging you to continue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"can you do that for me, jason?"

"..."

"— alright..."

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

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

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

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

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

but him.

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

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

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

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

let the past be a dream.

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

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

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

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

a mere device for tactical missions.

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

its usefulness was only for practicality.

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

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

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

all that it is, all it ever was.

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

the same old, rickety intercoms.

just like old times.

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

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

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

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

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

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

but with nobody to mourn you.

"we need to talk about (name)."

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

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

"tell me what happened."

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

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

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

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

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

no.

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

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

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

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

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

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

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

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

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first meeting ---

It was one of those chaotic HYBE picnics—food everywhere, staff yelling for idols to not spill soda on the sound equipment, TXT fighting over the last slice of pizza.

🪐 was balancing a paper plate of food and his water when Mingyu suddenly appeared at his side, tall enough to cast a shadow over him. “Sit with me,” he said, already tugging at 🪐's wrist like it wasn’t even a question.

🪐 blinked. “Uh, my members—”

“They’ll survive,” Mingyu cut in, plopping down on the grass and patting the spot next to him. He grinned, too boyish for someone who’d just stolen 🪐 away from his entire group.

🪐 sat, trying not to notice the way a few staff glanced at the two. Mingyu noticed though. He always noticed, and leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “Let them look. They’ll never figure it out.”

And then he pulled something out of his pocket. A tiny keychain, shaped like a fox. He hooked it onto 🪐's water bottle without asking, proud of himself.

“Why a fox?” 🪐 asked, cheeks warming.

“Because it looks like you.” He said it so casually, like buying little couple trinkets for 🪐 was the most normal thing in the world.

Somewhere across the lawn, Yeonjun was making exaggerated kissy faces at 🪐, and the staff were definitely murmuring. But Mingyu just leaned back on his hands, satisfied. “One day,” he murmured, “they’ll get it.”

🪐 rolled his eyes, but didn’t take the keychain off.

Present time ---

The press room was buzzing so loud it felt like the air itself was shaking. Camera flashes went off in bursts, reporters shouting over each other for the first comment.

Mingyu’s hand brushed against 🪐's under the table—steady, warm, grounding. 🪐 didn’t look at him, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, tugging upward.

“We’d like to thank everyone for coming,” Mingyu started, voice calm in a way that only made the room lean in closer. “There’s been a lot of speculation about us over the years…” He laughed softly, glancing at 🪐 like he always did when he needed courage. “And… most of it was right.”

A ripple went through the crowd. 🪐 felt his chest tighten but in the good way, like breathing after holding it too long.

“We’ve been together for years,” he said simply, as if it wasn’t the biggest bombshell in HYBE history. Then he laced 🪐's fingers with his, right there on the table for every camera to see. “And now, we’re getting married.”

The room exploded. Reporters yelling, fans outside screaming loud enough to shake the windows. But Mingyu only looked at 🪐, eyes crinkling the way they always did when it was just them in the practice room or in his car at 2 a.m.

“Finally,” 🪐 whispered, barely audible over the noise.