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cassiefromhell · 6 months

Text

Lollipops

Post-War: Levi Ackerman x Reader

wc: 4.3k

warnings: SPOILERS. im so serious guys. SPOILERS. if you havent watched/read to the FINALE, do not progress. you've been warned. also theres a little tiny bit of gore.

a/n: this is self-defense writing to protect my sanity after the last ep. im so not okay with it being over. also requests are open, i'll write anything! also, this is written in flashbacks. but never fear, the flashbacks are separated from the present by dividers, so you'll know when it switches.

“You two are like a fairytale couple,” a young girl giggles, hugging a pink-covered book to her chest. “Like a damsel and her prince.”

You smile, pulling a lollipop out of your box — and then another, handing them to her. “Take two for sweet-talking me. But remember that true love isn’t perfect by any means.”

She grins, nods, and takes her candy, sprinting off into an old woman’s arms. You sigh softly, looking up to see that the line of children coming to receive candy from Paridian heroes is momentarily empty.

“Not perfect, huh?” Levi asks from beside you, shifting in his chair.

You roll your eyes, gently flicking the side of his head. You crouch down to be on his level. “You’re saying that we had a fairytale romance? That you swept me off my feet and carried me away from danger?”

“Yes. I would. Now get your ass up, I don’t need you to get down for me,” he scowls, his eyes flicking over your kneeling form.

“I would get down on my knees for you anyti—”

“Up.”

You grin, but listen to him and stand up, picking up your box once more. “Fairytale, huh? So what are you, the savior?”

“I’d say it’s even. Although, I remember saving your ass much more often than you saved mine.”

You scoff, putting your hands on your hips. “Name a time!”

“Get your ass up, scout!”

You groan, shoving yourself up onto your elbows. “Just a sec,” you manage between heavy breaths, coughing and coughing.

Hoofbeats approach and you whimper, knowing that if that’s the captain you think it is, you’re about to get the beating of a lifetime.

“Why, exactly, are you laying in the dust?” Captain Levi Ackerman asks, tone cold and voice sharp as a knife. “You’re a transfer, not a cadet. From the MP’s, even. I expected better.”

“I’m recovering from an injury, Captain,” you wheeze out, pressing a hand to your side and shoving yourself up onto your knees. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“You’d better be. Now, up. On your feet, or be left behind.”

You pull one foot under you, then the other, and nearly collapse. His arm shoots out to grab your bicep, effectively keeping you up as your side screams in protest, ribs aching and tears springing to your eyes.

“What kind of an injury?” he asks, his grip tightening. “Why on earth would you switch to the Survey Corps while injured?”

“Ribs,” you hiss, gripping your side. The doctors have said that nearly all your ribs on your right side are either bruised, fractured, or completely broken. “And I had no choice. I had to leave.”

He narrows his eyes, but slowly releases you, making sure you’re not going to fall over the second he lets go. “You’re in no condition to be training, and I don’t need you getting worse. I have no interest in crippled soldiers. Go inside and get yourself assigned to kitchen duty for the next two weeks, on Ackerman’s orders.”

Your eyes slowly shift up from the ground to him, and you get your first good look at him.

And holy shit, the rumors of Humanity’s Strongest did not mention how mouth-wateringly attractive he is.

You give the dumbest nod you’ve ever given and turn on your heel. You hobble your way inside, and then immediately lean against a cold, stone wall, repeating to yourself in your head over and over again:

We are not falling for a captain.

You open and close your mouth, then shrug. “Okay, but of course you were going to save my ass a lot while I was training. I’m sure it got better once I was a captain.”

“Did it, though?”

You elbow him, scowling. A smirk dances on his lips.

A woman grinning ear-to-ear starts your way, and you narrow your eyes. “She’s too old for candy.”

“Reporter,” Levi grumbles, looking down into his box, as if not making eye contact will stop her from approaching.

“Hi!” She shouts, giving a big wave. “I was hoping to ask you two a quick few questions, while you’re not too busy.”

“We’re quite busy,” Levi drones.

“Ah! I had heard about that grumpy attitude!” The reporter laughs, then looks at you. “And you must be his sunshine!”

You scratch the back of your neck, shrugging. “Something like that.”

The reporter whips out a pen and paper. “Now, all sources say that tog two have been married for quite some time, but nothing ever tells me when you two met, or how! Do tell.”

“We met in the service,” you start, rubbing your chin. “I had just transferred to the military police, so I was starting fresh in the Survey Corps.”

She quirks a brow. “Why did you transfer?”

The air simply won’t come to your lungs. You can’t breathe. The night sky doesn’t help, the fresh cool air is only suffocating you more.

You drop to the grass in the courtyard, one hand on your healing side and the other around your throat. Tears pour down your face, and you cough, and cough, and cough, and gasp.

It was just a nightmare, you tell yourself, but it doesn’t help. You can still remember what really happened, his hand around your neck, boot in your side, the bruises along each ridge of your spine from being tossed into a wall.

Your ribs may have been almost fully healed now, after two months being a Scout, but you still can feel each kick he gave you just for telling him no.

“Breathe.”

You sputter, looking up to see Captain Levi kneeling in front of you. He grips your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Breathe, come on. Take a deep breath.”

You try, you really do, but you only end up sobbing harder. Your hands clench the grass.

He sighs heavily, scooting over to your side and awkwardly patting your back. “Breathe.”

You manage to slow your breathing, and take a few good deep breaths. Then you immediately stumble to your feet. “…Sorry. I’ll head back now.”

His hand is around your wrist before you can even register that he’s gotten up. “Why are you out here so late, crying in the damn courtyard?”

“It’s nothing. Just a bad dream, you murmur, tugging your hand away from him and heading back inside.

You feel assessing eyes on your back as you walk, and you can’t help but look down at your hand, that hand that you wore a ring on for a year and a half.

You’ve fallen silent, chewing your lip and looking off to the side. The reporter tilts her head, raising a brow.

“She just needed a fresh start,” Levi answers for you, placing a hand on your hip for reassurance. “And that’s what she got.”

She accepts that answer, writing down the words. “Now, how did you two end up together? Was it live at first sight?”

Levi scoffs. “Far from it.”

You glare at him. “Well, I liked you.”

“No, you hated me. You just wanted to fuck.”

“Thank you, Hange,” you grin, folding up the card again and tucking it back into the envelope, which reads ‘Congrats, new Captain!’. “I really appreciate it.”

A year in the Survey Corps flew by fast, and you had shown immense skill in the craft, therefore earning the title of Captain of your very own squad.

But your skills weren’t the only thing that had developed. You and Levi tolerated each other now, even if he thought you were loud and chaotic and you thought he was grumpy and sad, like a lonely old man.

And yet, you were drawn to him. He was handsome, and every once in a while you’d say something that would make his mouth tilt up, and… that mouth. It would be the death of you.

Hange heads out, leaving you alone in your room for the first time in hours. Everybody had been in and out, offering congratulations and words of advice.

You sink back onto your bed, yawning. It’s been a long day, and now you just want to sleep—

But a knocking comes on your door, and in walks Levi.

“I could have been naked,” you grin as he strides over, dumping a pile of paperwork on your desk.

“Captains have more paperwork than everybody else. I’ve been assigned to show you how to fill it out.”

“I bet you were hoping I was naked” you tease, but get up anyway, running a hand down your face as you stand next to him.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re boring.”

“Boring? Really?”

“Yeah.”

There is a short silence, with Levi sorting through the papers. And suddenly, you are very aware of the fact that you are in your bedroom, alone, with Levi Ackerman.

And apparently he’s aware of it too, because he gives you a look.

And then you jump on him.

The reporter laughs and scratches a few things down on her pad of paper, her eyes crinkling around the edges. “And what year was this?”

“We met in 846, and then started seeing each other romantically in 847,” you explain. You open a lollipop and stick it in your mouth.

The reporter only stares at you, a brow lifted and eyes narrowed.

“Eleven years ago,” Levi says, and then she nods and writes it down.

“What—”

“Different years,” Levi murmurs, shaking his head. “They’re in the damn 1900’s, remember.”

You flush, blood rushing to your ears and cheeks. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been with the rest of the world, you always forget that years are different and you can take a plane somewhere and getting a papercut doesn’t mean you might die of sepsis.

For you, it’s still 858.

“Did you two personally know Eren Jaeger?”

You crouch by the bars, tilting your head as you examine him. Just a child. Skinny. He couldn’t hurt a fly.

“This is the titan child?” You ask, squinting. “He’s, what, fifteen?”

“Yes. Please step back,” Levi says. “You don’t need to be that close.”

“He’s like a fleck of dirt in a crop field. I need to be this close to see him. Are you sure he really—“

The chains on his arms rattle, and you skitter back, slamming into the wall beside Levi.

“Careful,” he scowls, brushing dirt off of your shoulder.

“What… happened?” The boy asks, rubbing his eyes.

Erwin launches into a full explanation, and by the time he’s done the boy looks completely lost.

“You’re… the commander of the Survey Corps,” he looks at Erwin, “…And Captain Levi, and Captain {Y/N}… where am I?”

“A dungeon—”

Erwin keeps speaking, but a thump near the staircase catches your attention. You stride off, past the MP guards, and peek around the corner.

There, struggling against a guard, is the young girl that you’ve been told is Mikasa.

You scowl, shutting the door behind yourself and storming up to her.

“Calm down,” you whisper, taking both her wrists in one hand and pushing her up against a wall. “Do you realize what you’re risking here?”

“You don’t understand, I need to see him—”

“Shut up. You’re risking his freedom by coming this close. Go back upstairs.”

She glares at you, damn near baring her teeth. But you hold firm, and she slowly nods.

“Good, now go.”

You release her, and with one final glance over her shoulder, she trudges up the stairs.

You run a hand through your hair, thinking to yourself: these new scouts are going to be an issue, aren’t they?

“Yes,” you say, nodding. “We knew all of the kids.”

“All of them?” she asks, furiously scratching down your words.

“We were both captains when Eren’s year entered the corps — we trained them. Of course we knew them all.”

“On my squad,” you read off of your paper, speaking to the large crowd in front of you — all the scouts that will be on the next expedition. “…I am pulling in an extra scout. Mikasa Ackerman will join me in the center ranks.”

Whispers run through the crowd, and you step off of the stage, taking your spot next to Levi in the captains line. Erwin picks up a speech, talking about the squad formations.

A tap on your shoulder makes you turn, and your eyes widen as you’re met with your favorite chaos trio: Jean, Sasha, and Connie.

“Get into your formation,” you hiss.

“But, here’s the thing,” Jean whispers. “I’ve been really great during training. What do I have to do to get on your squad?”

“Jean!” you narrow your eyes. “You are not getting on my squad.”

“I would bring you food every day,” Sasha pleads, putting her hands out in a prayer position. “Please! We’d be the best squad ever.”

You actually pause to consider that for the food, but Levi stomps on your foot. “Ow— Uhm, no. Now return to formation or I’ll bump you down a squad.”

They skitter off, moving through the crowd. You just hope that they’ll go to the right place this time.

You sigh, facing forward again. You’ve already heard everything that Erwin has to say, so this is all repeat to you.

You brush your hand against Levi’s, and his pinky touches yours. You lock them together, resisting the urge to just lean into his warmth.

Pinkies locked, you wait out the rest of the assembly.

“Would you say you were close with any of them?”

Levi shrugs. “They respected me. They loved her.”

“Oh, they loved you too,” you grin, patting his shoulder. “Loved you enough for Historia to smack you the second she was legally allowed to.”

“Have there been any hardships?” The reporter cuts in.

You pause. Levi pauses.

“Of course,” he murmurs, voice softer now. He brushes his fingertips against your thigh.

As soon as you make it in through the gate, Levi is at your side, pulling his horse up next to yours.

“Let me look,” he murmurs, beckoning with his hand.

You shake your head, cradling your messily bandaged hand to your chest. “No.”

“{Y/N}. Let me look,” his voice is more stern now.

You know the damage. You found a cloaked figure up high in the trees, you went for the attack, and they were faster than you. It was a clean cut. Your index and middle fingers are gone, as well as a chunk of your thumb.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I can’t take it off ‘till I reach the medics,” you whisper back, turning away from him. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

But he doesn’t leave. He stays by your side, silently. He rides with you all the way to the scout headquarters, silently. He walks with you to the medics, without a single word.

The medics take one look at you, and, having heard that you were coming in, usher you into a private room.

There are three medics with you, which means they consider your injury a serious one.

The lead medic closes the door, and then turns to you with a pitiful smile. “Let’s take a look, alright captain?”

You cradle your hand closer to your chest. You feel like a child, not wanting to accept what’s happened. But it’s… your hand… this is forever.

Levi gently touches your arm. “You don’t have to look.”

You can’t remember the last time Levi was so soft with you. You’ve been with him for years by now, but he’s just not a soft person.

Nevertheless, he pulls your face against his shoulder, stroking your hair. He carefully pulls your wrapped hand away from you, holding it out for the medics.

You feel it immediately when they start pulling the bandages off, and you bury your face into Levi’s shirt, whimpering.

“You’re alright. They’ve almost got it off,” he murmurs, holding your face against his chest.

The wrapping falls away, and there’s a soft gasp from one of the medics, followed by Levi stiffening.

“Is it bad?” you moan, crying out as someone prods something painful.

“Do you want me to lie?”

“No.”

“It’s not good. But it’s a clean cut, so they’re going to clean it and stitch it up for you. You’ll be fine.”

You fist his shirt. “…Please don’t go.”

He pulls you a little closer. “I won’t. I won’t leave your side.”

The next thing you know, they’ve stuck your hand in alcohol, and you’re screaming.

You tuck your half-hand into your pocket, out of the reporter’s watchful gaze.

“But you two are married, correct?”

Levi nods. “Yes.”

“When were you married?”

You look to Levi, smiling softly. “Well, twice. Once in Paradis, and they don’t acknowledge Paridian marriage licenses here, so we did it all over again a couple years ago.”

“When was the first time?”

Your hand has become a focus for you.

Just as you lay in bed now, holding your two and a half fingers above your head. The stitches have been taken out, leaving you with pinky and ring fingers, two little nubs cut below the first knuckle, and half of a thumb. It’s still healing, but this is pretty much what your hand will look like. Forever. Till the day you finally croak.

The door swings open, and you immediately feel Levi’s cold, calculating gaze. “Are you picking at it again?”

“No,” you roll your eyes. “Just looking. Y’know, at least I still have a ring finger.”

“Why does that matter?” He asks. He takes off his jacket and hangs it up, then sits on the bed beside you and starts on his boots.

“So one day I could wear a wedding ring.”

He pauses. You pause, realizing what just came out of your mouth.

He turns to face you, leaving one boot on and the other half off. “You’re interested in marriage.”

Suddenly your face feels hot. “…Yeah.”

“To me?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s really what you want?”

You nod, chewing your lip.

“Then marry me.” His face stays completely blank.

You sit up slowly, eyes wide. “You— you wanna marry me?”

“You already know that I love you. If you want marriage, it’s only logical that—”

You cut him off by tackling him, sending the both of you tumbling off the bed. Levi twists so that he’ll hit the ground and you’re just land on him, but you have no time to ask if he’s okay between all the kisses you’re showering across his face.

He scoffs. “Enough, woman.”

“You wanna be stuck with me!? Really?!” You grin, sitting up to be straddling his waist.

“I guess so.”

You throw your arms over your head, starting to sing to yourself. “You looooove me, you wanna maaaarry me, I’m gettin’ maaaarried,” you snap to your own little beat, dancing on his waist.

You look down at him, beaming, just to find him watching you with soft gray eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers.

The reporter smiles and nods, then looks over her notes. “Well, I just have one more question, and then I’ll leave you two be.”

Levi looks quite ready to be done, so you speak up. “Just make it quick.”

She nods, looking up at you one last time. “Did everyone else know you two were together?”

You sigh, reaching behind you and pulling your hair out of its ponytail. It’s been a long day, and all you want is to refill your ODM fuel for tomorrow and go to bed.

You approach the supply closet, but pause when you hear voices. You peer in, eyes widening at the sight.

Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Reiner, and Bertholdt all crowd around a table, coins in piles. But there are no cards. No game.

“Listen,” Connie says, throwing up his hands. “It’s just gotta be someone in the Survey Corps. There’s no way it’s not!”

“But wouldn’t we know if it was?” Jean adds, rubbing his chin. “There aren’t too many options.”

“Miche?” Mikasa proposes, spinning a coin in her fingers.

“What? No,” Eren scoffs. “Absolutely not. Armin, what do you think?”

Armin lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “I already lost my money on the bet that Captain {Y/N} would stay single. I thought she was the type to not want or need a man.”

Ah. So they’re betting… on my love life!?

“Well, she’s wearing a ring, that’s for sure…” Sasha rubs her chin. “What if it’s Levi?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Everyone in the room erupts into laughter.

“Ha! Her and Levi? When pigs fly!” Eren laughs, banging his fist on the table.

“You’re such an idiot,” Connie grins, shoving Sasha. “I’d say she’s a lesbian before that!”

You smirk and roll your eyes, walking away from the room. You just know that they’re gonna be knocked off their feet when they find out.

“No, no, it took them quite a while to find out,” you laugh, shaking your head. “They couldn’t have guessed it if they’d put all their little brains together — and believe me, they did.”

“So, how did they find out?”

“Alrighty, Armin,” you sigh, running a hand over your head. “Let’s get this transformation done. The area is cleared for miles, so just give me a few minutes to get out of dodge, and you’ll get the smoke signal to go ahead.”

He nods, chewing his lip.

“Hey,” you pat his shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

With that done, you turn, shooting your grappling hooks into a tree and soaring off into the forest.

After a few minutes, you’re damn near in the safe zone.

Near.

And then the sky lights up like a Christmas tree.

As expected, a massive explosion sounds behind you, and your ears immediately start to ring. More concerning, however, is the shrapnel made of trees and dirt and rocks flying your way.

You shriek, turning forward once more and zipping your way through the trees. Except, you have to hold your left sword in a weird way because of your hand, and then a gush of wind hits you and—

The branch you’re swinging from snaps, and you’re sent tumbling to the ground, unable to right yourself.

The grass gets nearer and nearer, and you fumble with your swords. But you won’t make it. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, and accept your fate—

Until you collide with Levi’s chest, and his arms are around you, and you’re zipping towards the safe zone.

“Holy shit,” you wheeze, coughing on stirred up dust. You grip his shoulders, shaking from all of the adrenaline rushing through you.

You’re back in the group with the others in no time, and Levi immediately puts you on the ground. But you don’t get a hug and a ‘thank god you’re alive.’ No, Levi puts his hands on your shoulders and shakes you.

“Are you crazy?” He hisses, gripping your jaw with one hand. “I’ve told you to hold your swords upside down like I do, so this wouldn’t happen. You almost died, and all because of your idiocy—”

“Levi—”

“No, I don’t want to hear it. You cannot go dying on me, you hear me? I will not lose you.”

You bite your lip, putting a hand on his chest. “Levi…”

“You are such a fucking idiot. I cannot believe I married someone who would risk her own life like that. You need to value yourself, damn it! You cannot leave me here alone—”

You shut him up with a kiss, rooting your hand in his hair. He kisses you back without hesitation, his hands flying to your waist.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you murmur, pulling away. “You saved me. You caught me. And I’m confident that you always will.”

His jaw clenches, a muscle feathering, and he opens his mouth, but a voice from the right interrupts whatever he had planned to say.

“Did I, uh… miss a chapter?” Jean asks.

You look over to find almost all of Eren’s friend group standing there, dumbfounded. Hange sits up in a tree, grinning ear to ear, but they’ve known about you two for years.

You grin, shaking your head. “The money goes to Sasha.”

“AND YOU ALL CALLED ME STUPID!” Sasha shrieks, throwing her hands up in the air.

“That’s all I need,” the reporter nods, and closes her notebook, tucking away her pen. “Nice meeting you two, heroes.”

She leaves with a wink, and just in time, because a little refugee boy has approached, hands behind his back.

You give him a soft smile, kneeling to be on his level. “Would you like a lollipop?”

The boy nods, giving a shy smile.

Levi reaches into his box, holding out a blue lollipop. He gives the child his softest smile, and in that smile you see it all.

You see the man that saved your ass more times than you can count. The man who presses a kiss to your temple when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. The man who blushes when you run your hands down his chest. The man who doesn’t give anyone that soft smile of his, except for on very rare occasions.

Your man.

The center of your universe.

The boy takes his lollipop, bows at the waist, and then skitters off with a mumbled ‘thank you.’

You watch him go, and then you turn back, met with Levi, holding out a lollipop to you.

You press a kiss to his scarred knuckles and take it, giving him your own soft smile. “I love you.”

“Yeah, you too, brat,” he chuckles, turning back to the box of candy.

And you remember the nights you spent eating sweets he brought back for you from town.

You remember every night with him.

Because Levi is your world. Your one and only.

And he always will be, from now until the end of time.

@jeannineee be proud of me bitch <3

#fanfiction #aot #levi aot #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfic #attack on titan fanfiction #levi ackerman #captain levi #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #second person #2nd person pov #post war aot #cassiefromhell

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bhaalble · 5 months

Text

Back on my Wyll script doctor because I was talking about it with a friend. Specifically imagining a version of Wyll's big Character Choice that felt like it had some actual teeth.

Imagine a world where instead of a cartoon evil hot lady Mizora and Wyll's relationship actually had some complexity to it and like. some genuine push and pull which gives him temptation to stay. I just keep thinking about this 17 year old who his whole life wanted more than anything to be a hero, who got his chance to do something heroic and selfless and save the city from certain doom, and his reward is getting kicked out because he did it the "wrong way".

Imagine if instead of forcing his silence, Mizora instead comforted him. How unbelievably cruel of your father! Well...since you've nowhere else to go, why not stick with me? We make a pretty good team, as it turns out, and I can get you a whole list of monsters who need killing. Plenty of devils and demons loose in your world targetting all sorts of innocents. Our interests can keep aligning, and you get a place to sleep when you need it.

Wyll makes his peace with it, because he has nothing and no one. And Mizora's not GOOD maybe, not by Ulder Ravengard's definition. But she's fun. She delights in his growth. And she does certainly keep direct him at greater evils, devils who really do need killing. And if she spies on his every waking moment, well, she worries. If she sends him after the occasional innocent, well, she had people who she has to answer to as well. She's a devil, how much can he fault her for her nature? She's always seemed like she knew where the line was...

Karlach (and the player) express their doubts, of course, but for act one at least he's defensive. Yes, she punished him and he hates it and its miserable but....he was in breach of contract! She's NEVER gone outside its bounds, she's always stuck very closely to their agreement. Wyll, who wants so badly to trust others and believe everyone has the chance for good, can't find it in him to believe the worst even of a devil.

And Mizora is FOND of Wyll, loves him even in her way. As a cherished pet, as a trusted tool, as a best-laid plan. Never enough to choose his own well-being over her own agenda, never enough to see him as his own person. He's her little project, the long shot noble brat she gambled on when Tiamat decided to get too big for her britches. And it paid off! Wyll always pays off, currying her all the favor from Zariel she so desperately craves. And who are you, or anyone, to come between them? She's treated him well. As she's quick to remind him, she wanted him when no one else did, aided him while the rest of his city slept snug in their beds. And if Ulder Ravengard didn't want a son with a whiff of infernal, then do you REALLY think he'd want you with lovely horns and Avernus in your blood?

You discover his father's been taken. Beyond igniting a lot of old feelings, it brings up a question of succession. Of course, Florrick isnt giving up on him, but if not...there aren't currently any likely candidates to take over the Flaming Fists. Not trustworthy ones. Florrick will take the position, but everyone knows in the back of his mind Ulder never really stopped planning for it to be Wyll. With the city in chaos and a cult army on the rise, they may need an answer sooner rather than later. Wyll feels the call of the Gate, but knows just as well that Mizora wouldn't want him to return in such an official capacity.

For the first time ever the leash starts to chafe in a way he can't keep pushing through.

Act 2 rolls around. Mizora sends up the Warlock signal. After potentially some encouragement from the player, Wyll (NOT THE PLAYER. I DONT KNOW WHY ITS THE PLAYER IN THE GAME ITS WEIRD) hesitantly proposes that maybe, if he does this....they can do a renegotiation of his contract. Not break it, he assures her quickly! Just....reopen the terms, take a looks at the agreement. Maybe discuss an exit ramp? After all....I mean, neither of us truly thought I'd be doing this forever, did we?

Based on Mizora's reaction. Yeah she did.

But fine. She agrees. And Wyll's not mad that it turns out you're rescuing her, not a nameless "operative" for Zariel. He would've done that on his own had she asked. Its the fact that she apparently didn't feel like being honest, that she let him fret and worry about potentially handing Zariel back some runaway for basically no reason. Its the fact that she came here to check in on the cult that abducted his FATHER just to see if Zariel could make any use of them. And its the fact that she seems surprised and annoyed that ANY of this bothers him.

All this builds, of course, to the final confrontation. The basic elements are the same. Mizora outside the coronation (this time needling at Wyll, "I'll be at camp if you're not too high and mighty to consort with the likes of me anymore"), Ulder tadpoled and fighting it. Mizora makes her offer. I can end the contract now, and you're free to go running after daddy (who won't want you btw! not like I do!). You'll lose all your powers, all my aid, all those juicy quests to chase down the greatest monsters in the hells. Take on your father's job and settle in for a life of misery and compromise and only doing as much good as the nobles will let you. Or: pledge yourself to me, eternally. I'll give you a boatload of new powers and eternal life to boot, so long as you serve as my sword and shield.

From there I think three endings branch out, and with it three classes for Wyll. If he stays with Mizora, accepts a relationship where he will never be an equal or a free agent in exchange for the affirmation he wants so badly from his father, he remains a Warlock, with some juiced stats and extra spell slots, along with shiny new gear. If he pledges to follow in his father's footsteps, he instead becomes an Oath of Devotion paladin, pledging himself in service to Tyr, if with a sense of doomed finality. The Blade of Frontiers is officially retired, and along with it any identity he has outside of being his father's son. Or the third path, break the contract without taking his father's role. He will look for his father, yes, but whether or not you find him he's going back to his roots, travelling around to do some good in the world (as the Blade of Frontiers) or kicking ass in the Hells with Karlach (as the Blade of Avernus). In this timeline he becomes a fighter, with a default preference for Eldritch Knight.

What's important: if he breaks his contract then Mizora is NOT hanging around camp. She will leave in a fury, accidentally bound by her own word to withdraw her influence completely if he breaks his contract. She may still approach the player some night to sleep with the player, framed for high approval/romanced players and her trying to take something back from Wyll. But Wyll will have to learn how to define himself without her breathing down his neck, without keeping her happy dominating his every thought. Its nervewracking, and even lonesome at times...but its freedom. And, perhaps, that's worth a little bit of lonesomeness.

#long post #again i want to be clear because i think wyll fans are a little understandably defensive of him #this is not about wanting wyll to be a bad person #its about wanting him to have an arc that parallels the rest of the companions #and be more firmly centered on HIS feelings and choices #ive done my best to preserve wylls canon temperament here #just give the circumstances more teeeth #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #wyll ravengard #mizora #ulder ravengard

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imbored1201 · 4 months

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Hi, can you please do a mapi x ingrid x reader where ingrid and reader are taking care of Mapi after her injury and surgery

Her Favorite Artist

A/N: Knowing Mapi is going to be out the whole season breaks my heart

Mapi x Ingrid x Reader

Word Count: 1,122

The day of Mapi's surgery was the day of the Champions League game. You two wanted to stay, but Mapi forced you guys to go. The team was already full of injuries, so you guys were really needed.

It made you feel better at the fact that Alexia and Mapi's parents would be there waiting for her to get out of surgery, and Alexia would be taking her home.

You called her after the game, but she was still a bit loopy, and Alexia told you guys what the doctor had told her about Mapi probably missing the whole season.

You felt terrible for her; one moment the two of you were giggling and warming up, and the next she was on the floor in pain during a defensive drill.

She was taken away, and you were stressing out the whole training about it. When you were finally able to see her again, it wasn’t a pretty sight.

You had never seen Mapi so broken; it was something you wished you would never see again.

You spent the whole day trying to cheer her up and just being there to listen and help her with what she was feeling.

—————

You were antsy to see Mapi, bouncing up and down in your seat. You had so much energy, considering you didn’t have your other energetic buddy to help you release it, and the blow-out win did not help one bit, only making you way more energetic.

You usually blabbered on the whole bus ride about random topics, and Mapi was the one that listened since Ingrid was never able to keep up. Now Ingrid had to force herself to keep up with your ranting.

But when you noticed she wasn’t keeping up, you just went silent and listened to music.

————

Now you were with your usual questions being a passenger princess. Ingrid answering them all, knowing if she didn’t it would put you in a bad mood.

“Is Mapi sleeping?” "No" You tapped on the window. “Can I sign her cast?" “No”

“Can I push her around in a wheelchair?” “She won’t let you." You thought about that. “Maybe, would you?” Ingrid put the car in park. “No”

You quickly got out of the car and ran to the door. Ingrid sighed and got to work, having to carry all the bags.

————

Right when Alexia opened the door, you ran inside to find Mapi. "Hello to you too," Alexia said sarcastically. She grinned as she noticed Ingrid struggling to carry all the bags by herself and quickly took some. Ingrid smiled, hugging her, and they got into a conversation.

Mapi smiled at you and patted the seat beside her. She was on the long part of the couch, the part where you loved to take your midday naps. "Guess you could have that part for now," you told her. "Wow, thank you for being so considerate," she said sarcastically.

You gave her a tight hug, and she kissed your head. "How are you feeling?" Ingrid asked her, now joining you two in the living room, "Tired." Ingrid nodded as she hugged Mapi and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"How does it feel?" You questioned her, knocking on her cast. Ingrid quickly smacked your arm away.

"It doesn't feel good, that's for sure," you hummed as you continued to look at it. "Can I sign it?" "No," Ingrid said sternly.

"Why don't you go check on the soup that Ale was making" she told you as she got a pillow to lift Mapi's leg. You nodded and went to check on it.

You stirred it a bit before turning off the stove. "I think it's ready," you called out, and Ingrid came back in to make sure your judgment was right.

She gave you a kiss on the head, and you went back to Mapi. "Did Alexia give you the drawing I made you for after your surgery?" She smiled. "It's hung up on the fridge Carino."

"Did you like it?" She nodded. "You know I like everything that's made by my favorite artist." You smiled at that. You loved drawing pictures for everyone; it was just something you did when you got bored.

Mapi patted her non-injured leg, signaling for you to lay your head there. "I don't want to hurt you," she shook her head. "You won't; come on, it's been a while since I've played with your hair."

You sighed and listened. Mapi playing with your hair brought a huge comfort to the both of you. Ingrid walked in with two bowls of soup and smiled at the sight in front of her. She gave one to Mapi and set yours on the coffee table before going to get hers.

"What a sight," she said as she squeezed in next to Mapi. "Ale said you two played amazing yesterday." You jumped up again, scaring them a bit. "I made you another drawing," you told her as you rushed to find it in your backpack.

"She was working on it during the plane ride," Ingrid told Mapi. Again, it was a regular occurrence, and they had them everywhere in the house. Some hung up on the fridge, some hung up on the walls; Ingrid even had a whole folder filled with them.

You gave the drawing to Mapi, and she admired it. It was a drawing of her in the blue kit. "Aitana did the coloring," she smiled. "I'll put this one in the folder." She kissed your head and tapped her thigh so you could lay back in her lap.

“Are you going to be our wag now?” You asked her again, and Ingrid nodded; she wanted it too. “Yes amor, I’ll be your guys wag."

Mapi smirked. “Only if you agree to tell Lucy that I’m a way better defender than her,” you groaned. “I can’t! She’ll kill me, and don’t you dare say you’ll protect me because we both know you won’t be able to."

“Then I’m not going to be a wag,” you looked at Ingrid for help. “Don’t bring me into this."

She secretly loved it; it was boring not having to break up a childish argument between you and Mapi during the plane ride.

“Fine, whatever, now why don’t you be a dear and get the crippled lady a water” you scowled, but listened.

You knew Mapi was going to be bossing you around a lot now, but you were happy to do it. Anything to help her recover.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso #ingrid engen #mapi leon #mapi leon x reader #ingrid engen x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni

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dannyphantom-zero · 3 months

Text

Doctor Danny chapter 4

Ice cold water splashed on Danny's face, soaking his hair. Danny woke up blearily wondering when his roof had started leaking.

He opened his eyes hand almost gagged . He was met with the exact person he wanted to chew apart.

Jason was running across building at top speed. Danny's apartment was a wreck and he was nowhere to be found. Jason had only looked away for a few hours, who knew Danny would be targeted already.

Well there was the News that had displayed him the previous day.

"Wakey wakey hero"

Danny squinted as his vision became clear.

"A clown?"

"I saw your little show and decided to break out of Arkam sooner just for you. It's my turn to put on a show now"

Danny wanted to strangle him right then but there were people around. Well they were just henchmen, if he knocked them out then they would see anything.

More importantly he had a few ideas on how to handle the joker.

"Put on a show, how about I do to you what you have done to countless of my patients" Danny threatened glaring murderously.

"Patience, I'll kill you after I tune in out friends"

Danny rolled his eyes. Back in the cave Batman had received an alert that Joker had broken out of Arkham.

Apparently he had kidnapped a prestigious doctor too.

"Incoming video call" the bat computer alerted.

The screen went black for a second before a smiling joker appeared in front of the camera.

"Hello batsy"

"Joker" batman growled.

"My friend here-"

"Shut the duck up! We are not friends GOD!"

Batman was taken aback.

"I'm going to beat the everloving hell out of you!" Danny shouted.

"He's cranky, I'm going to kill him slowly, break his resolve-"

"NOT BEFORE I BREAK YOUR FACE!"

Joker looked seriously annoyed.

"Let's get started shall we"

Joker picked up a crowbar.

"Remember this batsy, this should be so much fun. I just love reunion's"

Joker smiled before turning away from the camera.

"Joker!" Batman shouted from the other end of the screen.

Joker raised the crowbar and brought it down crushingly hard into Danny leg.

Batman waited for the screaming, but it was silence.

"Oh my bad, ~ow that hurts so bad~" Danny mocked.

He had phased out of his bindings and was now standing off to the left of joker.

"What- how did you get over there?!"

Danny gave Joker a sadistic grin.

"I'm a doctor Joker, I don't kill, but I did promise someone that I would tear off your arms if given the chance" Danny said as he rolled up his sleeves.

Batman was frantically trying to find them before the good doctor did something he regretted.

"Get him!"

Danny smiled and took on the henchmen, knocking them out quickly.

"How in the hell?! Just how weak are those stupid-"

A punch to the face caught off Jokers words.

"Hey joker, buddy. It's time I break you, permanently"

"Wha-" screams of utter agony filled the room.

Jason had found the building joker was holding Danny. He hadn't started to worry until he heard screaming.

Jason ran as fast as he could. The sight he was met with was not what he was expecting. Joker was laying on the ground with his arms bent in ways they were not meant to bend.

"No,no wait, Im sorry for kidnapping you AAAAHHH"

There was a satisfying crunch sound followed by a pop. Danny turned his head sensing another presence.

"Oh hey!"

"Hey?"

Danny had his foot on Jokers back.

"I was just teaching him a lesson" Danny said with a shrug.

"But his arms are still attacked to his body, I thought you said you were gonna rip them off"

"Well I mean, I broke most of his fingers, hell probably need crutches to walk right after this anyway"

"MY LEGS ARE FINE" Joker shouted from the floor.

Danny shoved the crowbar through his leg.

More screams followed.

"Like I was saying, he's gonna need help walking, hey Hood?"

Jason tilted his head, "hm?"

"I'm not going to jail for this right, it's definitely self defense right"

"You'll be fine, I mean, you might wanna get out of here though. The bat daddy is on his way"

Danny nodded glumly.

"I want to make something clear" he said crouching down to the half conscious Joker.

"I'm not proud of what I did today, but I can't stand by and watch you kill or injury any more people. You, will never touch another person again or I will come back for you"

His tone was more menacing than he realized and the Joker was terrified.

"That's the dude that killed me"

Danny whipped his head around.

"What?! He's the one who beat you death with a crowbar?!"

Jason flinched.

"Sorry, I know that not a comfortable subject I shouldn't have brought it up"

Jason shook his head.

"It's not you who should feel sorry right now"

Danny grabbed the crowbar and Jason had to take it from him.

"Your not killing anybody today Doctor. You still have patients waiting on you"

Danny sighed.

"Alright, let's tie him up and get out of here then"

"What?" Jason asked. He wasn't sure why Danny was thinking about him.

"Well I'm not gonna leave you here to face off with Batman"

"Too late, both of you better start talking. Now" an intimidating voice ordered.

Danny half near jumped out of his skin.

"Um hey bat-babe. See, my friend here and I were just passing through and we'll be on our way now. Bye"

Jason grabbed Danny and shit his grapple hook at the nearest window.

Danny was pulled into the air, gliding as Jason swung. They landed on the nearby road and didn't stop running.

They crashed at Jason's place instead of Danny's.

Danny was out of breath by the time they reached Jason's apartment door. Once he was inside he fell the the ground laughing.

"Hahahah, I can't believe you did that!" Danny cried out as he tried to breathe.

Jason took off his helmet.

"Really? Well best believe it because Batman is a hard nut for sure. Your gonna be on his wanted list now"

Danny's laughter was cut short. Jason turned and saw tears.

"Danny? What's wrong?"

"I can't go to jail Jason! I'm too young, I have my career and I'll be targeted for my good looks!" Danny sobbed.

"Your not going to jail" Jason said sitting down in front of his couch next to Danny.

"And if the bat come for you I'll wrestle him alright"

"Mhm"

Jason stared in front of him.

"I don't think Joker will be able to hurt anyone for a long time, you did something amazing Danny. Your amazing you know that"

Silence...

"Danny?" Jason peeked around Danny's shoulder to see Danny's head slumped down.

He smiled to himself, today had been a hectic day especially for a civilian.

Danny twitched in his sleep. Jason picked Danny up carefully and laid him on his bed before turning him in.

Danny woke up the next morning on the floor not sure where he was.

Flashbacks of yesterday popped into his head without permission. Joker, Batman and...Jason!

Danny sat up and saw the mess he had made of Jason's bed. Everything was pulled off the bed, nothing survived Danny's late night wrath. Danny worked quickly remaking the bed with help from his skills earned during his intern days.

He only considered it finished once there were no wrinkles too be found.

"Hah, I need some water" he muttered before making his way around the unfamiliar space. On his way to the kitchen he spotted Jason on the couch. His arm was thrown above his head and the couch looked entirely too small for the man.

"Pfft"

Jason opened one eye.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Noo, I just noticed how manly you look today"

Jason sat up.

"Yea alright wise guy"

Danny was about to make a wise crack when his eye caught sight of the clock.

"OH MY GOD!" he shouted horrified.

"I don't report to work yesterday!"

Jason grabbed the panicking man.

"It's ok, I called the hospital and explained that you were in danger. They took a little to convince but I managed to get you the day off"

Danny almost fainted.

"I can't take a day off! What about the patients??"

Jason sat Dany down and kneeled before him.

"Do you not have faith in your fellow doctors?"

"I-I do"

Jason nodded.

"Danny, all you've been doing is looking out for your patients. In order to care for them you also need to be healthy"

"I'm healthy, look at me, I have muscles" Danny said jabbing his arm as if to prove it.

"I see that" Jason said unimpressed.

"But I'm talking about mental health. Take a day and just let someone else take care of you"

Danny scoffed.

"Yea right, like who?"

Jason smirked.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #batman #danny fenton #redhood #jason todd #joker #dc universe #fanfiction #lol

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

Note

AITA for making a "Hate Club" for my sister? My sister (13) and I (16) have never been close. She is very loud and energetic whereas I am not. She always has been a bit of a jerk sometimes, but recently she has been unbearable to be around. She has been outright mean to our parents, calling them names, screaming at them, throwing things, and doing so every morning when she gets up for school, and every evening when she has to go to sleep. Because of her "screaming schedule", my already bad sleep schedule has been ruined, and I need multiple naps to make it through my day properly because she wakes us up so early. I talked about this to some of my friends who know her, and we decided to make a group chat called "(Sister's name) Hate Club" where we could vent about how she has affected us personally. Sometimes our vents would devolve into mean comments or theorizing about why she's like this, but we never said any of this to her in person, or to anyone outside of our group of 8. However, one night when my mom (63) and I were coming home from a play we had gone to see, she saw a notification for (Sister's name) Hate Club. I had my phone connected to the car's display to play music, so she saw the notification, clear as day. I lied to her at the time, and told her that it was a group chat for stuff in our scout troop, as I didn't feel like explaining what it was on the way home. I thought that she would be mad at me. After I told her, she didn't talk much for the rest of the night. The next day, she confronted me as I was leaving for a doctor's appointment. She said "I don't know if you can tell, but I'm pretty angry at you right now." When I asked her why, she told me the group chat. She started saying how I was a bully, and how I was acting just like my sister does when she's mad. She wouldn't let me get a word in, so I rolled my eyes and left in the middle of her sentence (which I understand was not a good move, but I was already running late and I was angry now too). When I was done at the doctor's appointment, I decided to text her that it was actually a vent group about my sister to try and explain why the group wasn't actually a hate group. When I got home and into my room, she confronted me and we had a big argument. She kept on saying how I was bullying my sister, and apparently she talked to 2 of my friend's moms, saying "If your child made a hate group about someone, would you be mad?". They both responded with some form of "I'd be livid". One of those people got in trouble with their mom and had to write an apology letter to mine once their mom found out what my mom was talking about. In the argument, I told her that "I need a space to vent" and she said "The venting is not the problem, the name is". When I told her "It's just a joke name, because I obviously don't legitimately hate her", she said I was still bullying her. After that I got very defensive and started swearing (not directly at her, but for word emphasis), and she started saying I was disrespecting her now too. At that point I said I would change the name, because I know she's a hard-head and would rather die than admit that she's wrong in any given situation. I've changed the group chat name twice, and now were acting like nothing ever happened. I've talked to my friends that were in the group, and they've said that I'm NTA, but I'm still not sure if they are right or just biased because I'm their friend and they were hearing everything from my perspective. So AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 5 months

Text

Do it for Him | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: You and your husband can't conceive but you will do everything in your power to make it possible to pacify his father's wishes. Little did you know your father in law is a little too willing to help. Pairing: fem!reader x Father in Law Jungkook Word Count: 2.8k Warnings: Yändere, and manipulation into cheating and explicit language. a/n: This is my first time writing something like this so I'm not really sure how I did. There's gonna be a part two for sure so this is more like the introduction part of the Yandere aspect and setting up the plot. And a special thanks to @coralmusicblaze for the request <3

"Wait please, let's talk about this" I say running down the stairs after my husband. "You heard the doctor yourself, we can't have children" he rushes to say but decides to stop in his tracks, his back to me still. "They didn't say we can't, they just said it would be more difficult. There are still options available to us" I say hoping to reassure him.

"First I'm a shit son for wanting to marry someone I love instead of marrying for money" he says bitterly looking towards me. "A now I'm an even worse son because I can't 'continue the family line' so his corporate empire can continue or whatever the fuck he talks about" he says as he continues to beat himself up about something that isn't even his fault.

"We'll work through this. We can keep trying and we will continue going to the doctor to see if they can help as well okay?" I say rubbing his arm. "It'll all be okay as long as we stick together" I say holding the side of his face softly encouraging him to look at me. "Okay?" I question, waiting for his agreement.

He looks in my eyes, seeing my dedication to him and he nods his head, whispering a quick okay before placing a soft kiss on my lips. "Everything will work out, I promise" I say wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him close to me and he returns it right away, holding me in a firm embrace until the car pulls around, the driver opening the door for us.

"Where are we going?" I ask, seeing that we've missed the turn to go home. "We have to go tell my parents" he says with a clenched jaw. "What? Now? We only just found out, shouldn't we at least take some time to think about this?" I ask concerned with what might happen if we tell them while he's still in a vulnerable state of mind. "I would rather just get it over with so they won't pester us about it anymore. Let's just tell them that we're having trouble conceiving and we're going to go to a doctor to see if they can help. That way the blame can't be put on either of us" he reasons and I nod my head in agreement.

"Hey" he says grabbing my hand making me look up at him. "You know I love you right?" he says and runs his thumb along my knuckles. I nod my head and give him a tight lipped smile, putting up a strong front for him. Truth is, this is just as upsetting for him as it is for me, if not more. No one wants to admit that they need help with something that is supposed to happen naturally, between a man and woman that love each other. A child made with love...

"So basically your dick doesn't work" Mr. Jeon says, not pulling any punches. "Honey please" Mrs. Jeon says, trying to reign him back in which helps a bit. "My dick works just fine" my husband says ultimately taking on a defensive stance against his father. "First you beg me to give you my blessing to marry her, and now after all of that you're not able to do the one thing that I am asking you to do for our family. We need an heir to inherit the company and I want to see that happen now" his father says standing up and walking out of his office that we all had gathered in. "Let me talk to him" my mother in law says with a pained expression, "No, it's fine I'll go" I say standing up and giving her a kiss on the cheek telling her not to worry.

"I'm not interested in a lecture about the children" my father in law says with his back turned to me, clearly thinking it was his wife who has come to reason with him. "I'm not interested in doing that either" I say walking closer to him where he is standing on his balcony, over looking the city. He turns to face me and takes in my form for a little longer than I had hoped he would, his eyes dragging up my figure, lingering on my chest before turning back around. "I'm sorry you had to see that" he says not bothering to spare me a second glance.

I decide to walk up to the railing next to him and take in the view as well, breathing in the fresh air and trying to regain some sense of peace before I try speaking again. "It's his fault isn't it?" he questions, still looking out at the scene in front of him. "It isn't anyone's fault" I say mirroring his posture. "It has to be someone's fault" he says, upset that no one wants to tell him the truth. "It's funny, you both put up such a fight to be together and it turns out you aren't as compatible as you thought you were" he laughs bitterly, pushing himself off the railing and turning to walk back inside.

"That's not fair, it's not our fault" I call after him. "Life's not fair sweetheart. Get used to it" he says and closes the door behind him. I let out a sigh and turn back toward the city and look up at the sky, trying to clear my thoughts and hold back the tears that I can feel are moments away from falling. "Hey" my husband says, placing his hand on the small of my back making me jump not realizing that he had already come to find me.

"How did it go?" he questions softly and when I go to open my mouth in response only a soft whimper comes out, now finally feeling my heart start to crack while tears stream down my face. "Come here" he says wrapping his arms around me, pulling me in as close as he can while I start sobbing into his chest, not being able to hold it in anymore. "It's okay baby, it's okay" he says softly coaxing the tears out of me. "We'll figure it out just like you said" he whispers and I nod showing him that I haven't lost hope. I guess at the end of the day, I'm not as strong as I thought I was.

"How long are you going to be gone?" I question him as he finishes packing up a suitcase for his business trip. "Only a few weeks" he says as if it's nothing. "Weeks? What about the doctor? What about me? What about-" I ramble but am cut off by his lips on mine. "It's already all taken care of" he whispers against my lips and rubs his nose against mine before pulling back to continuing packing.

"You talked to the doctor already?" I question and he nods his head. "Yep he says things are looking good and he's hopeful that we'll be able to conceive soon. We could even conceive now if you want to try" he says turning back around, drinking me in before pulling my body flush against his and giving a few light kisses on my neck already making me breathless from his touch on my sensitive skin. "How much longer until you're done?" I say trying to keep my mind straight. "Give me five minutes" he says and comes back up to give me a urgent kiss before running back and getting a few more things.

"Text me when you land" I say walking up to the car while the driver places his bags in the trunk. "Of course" he says giving me one more kiss full of longing, making me not want to let him go. He pulls back a few moments later and nudges his nose against mine again before pulling away. "I love you" he says softly and rubs his thumb over the dark purple hickey he gave me on my neck, one to 'remember him by' as he had said proudly while I tried to scold him.

"Don't take a test until I come back okay?" he says turning towards me one more time before getting in. "I won't" I laugh and shake my head at him while he gets in the car. "Bye" he says rolling down the window to give me one last goodbye before the driver pulls out of the driveway. I wave and watch as the car goes down the street until it turns the corner. "Be safe" I whisper under my breath and go back inside.

After closing the door I head back into our bedroom and look down at my phone seeing a missed call from my father in law but he didn't bother leaving a message. He never calls me and since our last interaction wasn't the best I have no idea why he would even bother getting in touch with me now.

"Y/n" he says simply when he picks up my call. "Yes?" I say waiting for him to get on with what was so important that it required a personal call from him. "Has my son left for the airport yet?" he questions and I'm curious as to why he would be asking me that instead of him. "Uh yeah he just left a few minutes ago" I say deciding to forward the information anyways. "Great, I need to speak to you about something, in person" he says which confuses me even more. "Why can't you just tell me now?" I question.

"This is a personal matter and I would prefer it if we could just talk about it privately and have a civil conversation" he says and now that I take note of the background noise I can tell that he's probably in the car. "Okay that's fine" I concede without much of a fight and he tells he'll be there soon and hangs up without another word. I would prefer to avoid all conflicts with him since he's already not too fond of me to begin with but I might as well not give him another reason to be upset with me.

"Hello" I say opening the front door for him and he walks in like I am simply 'the help' letting him into his own home and makes his way over to my husband's office. 'Sure make yourself at home' I think to myself and roll my eyes at him while closing the front door. "And to what do I owe the pleasure?" I question walking in with my arms crossed in front of my chest and leaning against the doorframe. "Y/n please sit down. I promise, I mean no harm" he says in the softest tone I've ever heard come out of his mouth which leaves me furrowing my brown and doing as he says, being caught off guard by his demeanor.

"I wanted to discuss something with you" he says sitting on my husbands chair behind his desk. "So you said" I say lifting a brow at him. He's not usually one to mince words or beat around the bush, an example being the last interaction we had in person. "Why is it that you can't conceive?" he ask, coming back to his normal self somewhat but keeping that softer tone still. "I don't think I'm obligated to tell you that" I say simply, keeping my walls up despite his sudden change of character.

"I just wanted to know if this is a situation that I can somehow...remedy" he says putting a strange emphasis on the end. "Meaning?" I question, not fully understanding what he could possibly mean by that. Or more like, I hope his thought process isn't just as twisted as mine is. "Well if the burden is on my family, mainly on my son then wouldn't it make sense that we would be the ones to help solve this problem?" he says standing up and walking around the desk to lean on it in front of me, still at somewhat of an appropriate distance.

"Right" I say waiting for him to get to the point. "And seeing as I'm the one who is desperately awaiting an heir, shouldn't I be the one who is putting in the most effort find a solution?" he says never breaking eye contact. "Mr. Jeon what are you trying to say?" I say sitting upright in the chair, my body language showing clear discomfort. "Don't call me that" he says lowering his voice an octave catching me off guard and almost sending a current running up my spine.

"What should I call you?" I say crossing one leg over the other, shifting around, suddenly feeling warm under his gaze. "By my name, or would you prefer something else?" he says with an eyebrow raised. "I would prefer to call you Mr. Jeon" I say in defiance, continuing to keep my walls up. "I guess that's fine, as long as you remember that it's me you're referring to" he says bending at the waist to meet me at eye level.

"Referring to while what?" I ask feeling my heart rate pick up with this new proximity. "While I do what my son should've been able to do in the first place" he says looking down at my lips for a moment before straightening back up, providing me room to breathe again. "Mr. Jeon I think you should leave" I say after clearing my through and getting up to walk out of the room but before I'm able to get far he holds me back by my wrist, pulling me towards him.

"There's no need to run sweetheart, we're just talking" he says and brushes my hair out of my face that had been moved out of place by his sudden movements. "I'm not running" I say through clenched teeth trying to stand firm though I feel my defenses crumble with every honey coated word that drips from his lips, leaving me conflicted. "Good, then why don't you sit back down for me." he says and gently guides me back by my waist to do as he suggested.

"Let's just say this, I have a proposition for you" he says leaning back on the desk again. "There's nothing to propose, your son is my husband" I say trying to show him how crazy this all is. "I am aware" he says plainly waiting for my further reasons to decline his offer. "Shouldn't that be reason enough?" I question, not understanding how he doesn't see how sick and twisted this arrangement is that he is proposing.

"You duty to your husband is to always want the best for him correct? To do anything to make him happy? Don't you think that he would be happy coming home from his long trip away to find you pregnant with his child?" he says circling around the chair I'm in, dragging his finger along the back of it and stopping to rest his hand on my shoulder. "But it wouldn't be his child" I say looking up at him which was a huge mistake as his gaze has got me feeling breathless from the intensity. Pupils dilated and eyes forever trained on my entire existence, tracing every curve with his eyes, desperate to see what is hidden underneath everything I'm wearing.

"He doesn't have to know that. He would share his DNA, and that's good enough for me" he says brushing it off. "Well then why don't you and your wife have another child?" I question, "Then he can take over when my husband retires. They would be the same age anyway if I were to have a child now" I say quickly offering a solution. "Haven't you always wanted to be a mother? Have a child to call your own?" he questions now holding my jaw in place, maintaining eye contact.

"Yes" I say now nervous from the intimate contact. "And my son has always wanted to be a father no? He knows it would take a lot of pressure off everyone once you do have a child right? I would pull back and we would have our heir. Don't you want that?" he questions. "Not like this" I whisper barely holding on, the last of my defenses finally diminished. "Do it for him. No one has to know I promise." he says, rubbing his thumb against my bottom lip.

"But I love him" I say, my eyes welling up with tears, knowing that I don't have the fight in me to stop this anymore. "And you're doing this because you love him" he says closing our proximity and bringing his lips close enough to touch but holds back for a second. "It's your call" he says and waits for me to take the next move 'I'm so sorry' I think to myself, begging for my husband's forgiveness and close my eye while also closing the distance between us.

Part two Do it for Us | Jeon Jungkook

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#jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #kpop fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #kpop #jungkook smut #yandere #jungkook and reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook yandere

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vaguely-concerned · 1 month

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Ever since watching The Wire for the first time, my brain has doggedly kept working away at the Especially the lies of it all, and specifically at how much the structure beneath the different stories Garak tells contributes to the overall meaning of what he’s trying to say. While the contradicting narratives of course expertly obscure the factual circumstances of his getting exiled, using them also allows him to tell aspects and facets of the emotional truth I don’t think he ever could have, if he’d simply told the actual story of what happened. (It’s very Varric-core of him honestly.)

The first story — the ‘oh, you think you know me?’ story — says I have done things that would sicken you if you knew any detail of it. It’s clearly meant to scare Bashir away so he’ll leave him to die shamefully in peace already lol. But it’s also one of his (probably much-needed lbr) little lessons to Julian that are so frequent in the beginning, given while Garak still has some hold on himself — “Don’t be so quick to forgive me if you don’t even know what I’ve done; what would you do if this really were the sum total of what I am?” (And Julian seems to surprise him by going ‘Well, exactly the same thing, because no matter who you are I am a doctor. But I sort of take your point.’)

The second story — the letting the orphans go story — says I have failed to smother my soul in its cradle when it was required of me, and I regret that more than anything I’ve done. To my ears this is the one most shot through with active self-loathing too, which is interesting. He’s officially lost the control he’s been clinging to and it’s about to get ugly. His TL;DR is ‘Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all’, even all the way back here. (Which is the one lesson Julian steadfastly refuses to learn, which I think in turn does some serious rearrangement of Garak’s soul over the course of the show haha. Get uno reversed into the process of loving and being loved without shame asshole.) This is also where he builds up to admitting to having any sort of need for companionship or closeness at all and — so much worse — that Julian’s role in his life actually has fulfilled some of that need, and he’s DRIPPING with defensive venom over it b/c well I get it Garak vulnerability is scary it can take a person like that.

(I also feel there’s something honest and forbidden in ‘Suddenly the whole exercise seemed utterly meaningless’. I suspect ‘actually… why the fuck are we even doing this???’ is not a welcome sentiment in an Obsidian Order water cooler environment, no matter what you’re saying it about lmao. The very first seeds of him deconstructing the things he’s been taught about Cardassia and his work might be hinted at here, though they of course take a looong time to come to any real fruition.)

The third story — the ‘Elim was my best friend’ story — says hey, remember that thing you said once, about how sometimes, you have to be loyal to yourself before you can be loyal to anything else? Well. guess what. I couldn’t even be that lmao. It also furthers that thread of being divided from yourself, split, that having ‘Elim’ as a separate person around in all versions of the story brings in. He’s in control of himself again, but he essentially hands his life and soul over to Julian to decide what should be done with them.

I’ve done horrible things and it finally caught up with me, I’m getting what I deserve → I let sentiment master me and the fact that I’m too weak to do what’s needed of me shames me more than the evil I’ve done → I fucked up. I betrayed myself and everything I held to, all for nothing, and I have no one to blame for it but myself. But it’s very nice that you’re here anyway, Doctor. (Wow. I didn’t realize quite how isolated and lonely that last one was before right now. The way Tain has shaped him really has just… locked him completely into himself, huh.) We can also see a movement through from a completely professional context in the first story, to an intensely interpersonal and internal context in the last one — even his fake stories spiral in towards intimacy, which I think is what he longs for here even if he can’t quite like. Touch that without the stories as a buffer yet, it’s clearly like touching a hot stove for him to interact with it too directly.

And you know what I find incredibly interesting the whole way through? Even on his deathbed, where he’s dying from the thing Tain had put in his head, he’s protecting Tain. He puts all the blame for where he is on himself (‘My future was limitless, until I threw it away’), even if he has to employ a strange twisty logic where he’s split himself into two to do it. Don’t get me wrong, Garak has done horrific things all on his own haha, but it’s notable that he almost isolates Tain from that. ‘Tain was the Obsidian Order. Not even the Central Command dared challenge him. And I was his right hand.’ Tain in Garak’s stories is this infallible implacable weirdly distant figure, even now. Indeed, as will make a lot of sense with the revelations further down the line, more than anything it seems the gaze of an abused child desperate for recognition looking up at an idealized (if not in any way nurturing) parent.‘He was retired at that point; he couldn't protect me’, Garak says, as if what he’d need protection from in the first place isn’t Tain himself lmao, as if Tain had no active part in any of this. He never lets blame touch Tain at all. At this stage he would rather consider himself a broken flawed tool than accept that the hands that have wrought and wielded him have ever had any fault in them. AND in the middle of it all, with plausible deniability, on death’s door and knocking meekly to be let in before he must finish the mortifying ordeal of being known and test the even more daunting possibility of being loved, Garak at the same time manages to drop the breadcrumb trail of clues to make it possible for Julian to find Tain if he so chooses and gets in the ‘sons of Tain’ thing too for future dramatic irony purposes. Truly he is the Michelangelo of lying. Every falsehood a multifaceted masterpiece. Elim ‘achieving a state of intertextuality in real life is possible if you work hard and believe in yourself’ Garak. I love him so much.

I think all of this is why “I forgive you. For whatever it is you did,” works so well, because it too works on a structural level. It’s such a deceptively multilayered response — it has the syntax of a joke, in a way, and it is kind of funny even under the circumstances, but delivered with such earnest warmth and fondness. It’s both recognition and acceptance (forgiveness!). It’s saying ‘I finally understand enough of what you’re trying to tell me beneath and through all that, in whatever way you’re capable of, I see you’ and ‘my answer hasn’t changed (bitch)’. The forgiveness Julian offers here is complete — on principle, and out of personal feeling and empathy (only one of which Garak deigns to respond to during the second story, where he calls it ‘smug Federation sympathy’, placing it more completely on the principle side than it probably is. ‘Dude you’re my friend please don’t just lie down and die in a completely avoidable way on me, who else is going to not only tolerate but actually gleefully enjoy me being annoying as fuck over lunch’ seems to be the subtext that’s a lot harder to acknowledge and invite in for both of them. And yet Tain seems perfectly clear on the fact that Julian is Garak’s friend, which, y’know. Must be fun living with the knowledge that Tain has eyes everywhere looming over you every day haha guess you’d just have to tune that out.)

Most of all — ’Don’t give up on me now, Doctor’... and he didn’t! He didn’t. Augh. Ow.

#garashir #elim garak #julian bashir #star trek ds9 #ds9 #star trek #ds9 meta #S2EP22 The Wire #alternate title: baby's first brush with unconditional love through unreliable narration lol #I'm not sure I got to say everything I want to in this/found the exact right words in places or hit all the nuances #but god help me I so desperately need this out of my brain to free up some disc space so go forth little meta haha be free #I'm sure I'll come back to you in time #meta #enabran tain #(derogatory)

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

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It's Me, I'm The April fool

Funny Story Universe

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Mitchell!Reader, Platonic!Bradley Bradshaw x female!reader

TW:mentions of pregnancy, brief mention of breeding kink I think thats it

Summary: Bradley really needs to learn to mind his own business.

Word Count:2.1k

"Well, fuck."

You and Jake stare down at the two pink lines in disbelief, thoughts coming and going at warp speed. Jake is borderline buzzing with happiness and excitement but waits to see your reaction before showing it.

He looks at the side of your face, trying to get a read on what you're feeling. Truth be told, you aren't sure. There's a mixture of glee and excitement, you know that much. You love Jake more than anything, and the idea of having a mini Seresin running around causes your heart to swell with love.

Overpowering all of that though, at the very forefront of your mind flashing in giant neon letters, is fear. Not fear of becoming a mother or of Jake running for the hills never to be seen again, but fear of your dad.

He specifically told you to be careful, yet here you are, staring parenthood in the face. It almost makes you laugh because you know exactly when you got pregnant. It happened the same night Mav found out and nearly had a heart attack just at the prospect of you dating Jake.

In your defense, you usually were careful. It's not your fault that your dad didn't learn his lesson about tempting you and Jake. It also doesn't help that Jake fucking Seresin has one massive breeding kink. You weren't exactly complaining at the time.

"Talk to me, baby. What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

You're broken from your trance and turn to face your boyfriend.

"Dad is going to kill us."

Jake has the nerve to laugh, and you smack his arm with a scowl.

"It's not funny, Seresin!"

He manages to get his laughter under control, stifling tiny giggles as he tries to put on a serious face.

"He's not going to kill you. You're his only child and carrying his only grandchild. Me, on the other hand? Let's hope the only thing he finds worse than a grandchild out of wedlock is a bastard grandchild."

Jake can see you trying not to laugh at his antics, and his stomach flips when he manages to get a smile out of you.

"There's my pretty girl. We'll figure out Mav later, okay?"

You scoff and roll your eyes, settling back on the counter with your arms crossed.

"Yeah, because that worked out so well last time."

He pokes your sides and you almost hate how he manages to cheer you up even in the tensest situations. Almost.

"Well, now we know. I'll make sure to climb to a higher surface so he can't reach me." His face is completely deadpan, and you snort.

"You're fucking ridiculous."

Two weeks later, you've both fallen in love with the little bean, and you've had to physically drag Jake out of the baby section in every store you've set foot in.

You're just leaving the doctor's office, a small black and white sonogram tucked into Jake's back pocket. You're twelve weeks along, and Jake is riding a high only comparable to racing through the skies.

The two of you chat in the car on the way to the Hard Deck; you're supposed to meet the team for drinks. You are still figuring out how to get around that, seeing as no one knows about your little surprise.

"Do you think they'll have my eyes?" Jake asks, and love explodes in your chest.

"I hope so. Honestly, I think they'll be a carbon copy of you."

The thought makes his head swim, and he's consumed by images of a little blonde-haired boy or girl running around with his self-assured attitude. He knows they're going to be a handful, between his arrogance and your ability to charm anyone that looks your way. He can't wait.

You stroll into the bar, immediately sitting by the pool tables to watch a heated game between Rooster and Coyote. The next couple of hours is spent laughing and making bets on who will win.

It's not until Rooster orders a round of shots that you start to panic, and Jake can see the way your pupils widen as you try to think of an excuse. The tequila is set down in front of you, and you just stare at it.

Jake slams his back, and when he's sure no one is looking, he takes yours too. You give him a grateful smile and pray that this isn't a night of heavy drinking. If Jake is doing double, he's going to end up getting his stomach pumped.

Unbeknownst to you, Bradley does see the interaction and frowns but decides not to say anything. Maybe you're just not feeling well. He doesn't give it much more thought.

But then, when everyone is leaving and he's walking with you to Jake's truck, something happens. Jake drops something, and when he bends down to pick it up, he sees a little white square sticking out of his pocket.

He doesn't think twice as he plucks it out and looks at it, always too nosy for his own good.

You freeze when you see it in his hands, and Bradley's face is as white as a ghost. His eyes rake over the image for a solid minute as you and Jake watch, waiting for the impending explosion.

"What the fuck am I looking at?" Bradley whispers, and you gulp.

He peers down at you and takes in the way you're wringing your hands and shifting back and forth.

"Y/N, what the fuck am I looking at?"

His voice is almost too calm, and you think you broke him for a second. Jake glances between the two of you but remains silent. He's almost certain that if he dares to utter a single word right now, Bradley will be on him, and unlike Mav, he could do severe damage.

"Surprise?"

Bradley looks like he's about to faint and vaguely registers bile rising in his throat.

"No, nope. This is a prank, right? I know you're not dumb enough to get pregnant when Mav expressly told you not to. Maybe Hangman, but not my baby sister."

You chew on your lip, and Bradley has to fully walk away for a second before rounding back and halting in front of you.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Do you get off on pissing off Mav or something? You're going to be a single mom!"

He's practically yelling at this point, and you shush him harshly before yanking him closer to the truck, away from prying ears.

"No, I'm not, Bradley. Jake isn't going anywhere."

He gives you a bewildered look and throws his hands up in the air, doing a complete spin to try and process the new information.

"Maybe not by choice, but Mav is going to kill him! I don't mean get angry and yell. I mean full military service, casket in the ground kill him. He just told you three months ago not to get her pregnant out of wedlock."

He's facing Jake now, and you have to credit the blonde pilot for never wavering in the face of adversity.

"Well, I actually have a solution to that problem." He shrugs.

You and Bradley both look at him expectantly. If he has any ideas, you have yet to hear them.

"We could just elope."

Bradley barks out a disbelieving laugh, but you don't find the matter funny at all. Marry Jake? Usually, the thought of marrying a man you've been with for less than a year would send you sprinting in the opposite direction, but this isn't any man.

It's Jake, the man that makes you laugh when you're crying and always eats your mushrooms because you can't stand the texture. The man who was so over the moon at becoming a father that once he knew you were okay, fell to his knees and hasn't stopped talking to your non-existent belly since.

You're already attached to him for life, and the thought has crossed your mind. You don't hate it.

"Jake, don't marry me just because I got knocked up." You sigh, and he shakes his head.

"No, I've been thinking about this since that first night. Just seemed too crazy. It makes perfect sense, though, and Y/N Seresin has a nice ring to it.

You smile brightly at the sentiment and slowly nod your head.

"Okay, let's do it. Let's elope."

Bradley lets out a sound akin to a wounded animal, and you're suddenly reminded that he's there.

"This is the worst idea I've ever heard. Mav will think you're doing it out of obligation and try to stop it. You can't be serious."

You ponder for a few seconds, and Bradley can almost read your thoughts. He doesn't like the look on your face, the one you get right before you drag him into one of your harebrained schemes.

"So we won't tell him until after."

You say it as if it's the most simple thing in the world, and Bradley's knees almost give out. This is the worst deja vu he's ever had; how the fuck does he keep getting wrapped up in this shit?

"No, absolutely not. Last time you said that I aged ten years in six months. You're pregnant. You can't just hide this for months. How far along are you?"

You release an agitated sigh and lean up against Jake's hood.

"Twelve weeks."

Bradley's eyes widen, and you would almost feel bad if it didn't look so funny.

"Twelve wee- what did you get pregnant the night he told you not to?"

You know it's a rhetorical question but answer anyway.

"Yeah, actually. It's kind of funny when you think about it."

Bradley actually sits on the gravel this time, staring ahead into the abyss.

"It's actually not funny, and I wish I could think about literally anything else. Why am I always the one that has to keep a secret? I hate keeping secrets."

He's whining, and you stifle a laugh.

"Because you're always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. You do this to yourself."

He shoots you a mean glare, and you nudge him with your knee.

"Cheer up. This means you get to be the witness."

His head snaps to look up at you, and his mouth falls open.

"Objection!"

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you choke on a laugh.

"You can't scream objection in a private conversation, Roos."

He leaps to his feet, and you adjust the angle of your head to stare up at him.

"Well, I just did. It's one thing to ask me to hide something like this. But you want me to witness your elopement and not tell anyone?"

Jake finally steps in and subtly nudges Bradley back a few inches; he's gotten a little too close for his liking.

"Well, you're the only one who knows. Besides, it should be someone important to us. We'll have the big wedding after all this is said and done."

Bradley stares him down for a second and ponders the idea.

"You think I'm important?"

Jake scoffs and throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him.

"That's what you took away from that?"

Bradley nods, and Jake closes his eyes, already regretting his next words.

"If I say yes, then will you do it?"

You look on with amusement and give Bradley your best puppy dog eyes.

"Guess you'll have to find out."

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose and tilts his head back to look at the sky.

"Fine. Yes, you are important to both of us, and we would love it if you were the one to be there."

The words are almost like acid on his tongue, and he'll never forgive the grinning pilot for making him say it.

"Okay, I'll do it. But you have to tell Mav soon!" He points his finger at you, and you recoil.

"Don't point that thing at me, Bradshaw."

He lowers his hand, and you clap, giddy at the impending nuptials.

"Okay, we'll put it together and let you know. Right now, I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep. This kid is sucking the life out of me."

Bradley snorts and tilts his head to the side.

"Yeah, I would imagine a Seresin will do that to you." He mutters, and you kick him in his knee.

"Ow!" He yelps, reaching down to grab the area while hopping on the opposite leg.

"Watch it. They're half Mitchell too, you know."

Bradley scowls when Jake coughs to cover a laugh, and you turn to hop in the truck. Jake opens the door before giving his friend a nod and driving you home. This should be very interesting.

#jake seresin #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #top gun imagine #hangman top gun #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin top gun #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin

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devilfic · 2 months

Text

❝right place, right time❞

VII. twenty-one questions.

parts: previously plot: everything comes to a head. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, reader's a little stupid, descriptions of surgical stitching, blood, surgical needles, knives, violence, mentions of drugs and underage substance abuse (alcohol), minor character death(s). words: 11.4k.

a/n: it has been yet another hot minute and this chapter has given me a lot of grief in terms of all the ideas I had for it and what it ended up being. as you can tell by the word count, I could Not shut up

Alfred calls you bright and early to watch Bruce spar.

The billionaire had mentioned it before, and while you didn't doubt you would meet an untimely fate were you to challenge Mr. Pennyworth one-on-one, it was a whole other thing seeing them both on the mat.

Alfred is slow but thoughtful; when Bruce attacks, he goes for several hits at once. Alfred anticipates each one. He's more defense than offense, but when he strikes Bruce in the chest even you can feel it.

Bruce is lean, quick. He ducks and rolls and uses every part of his body, not just his fists. He looks a little sloppy when he wraps his legs around Alfred's—out of practice, maybe?—but it doesn't keep him from succeeding. Alfred fights like a soldier. Bruce fights like a martial artist.

Bruce makes a noise when Alfred falls to the mat and you spring up with attention, "Everything okay?"

You hear "his leg" and "I'm fine" overlap one another.

The real reason Alfred had called you was because he wanted you to watch Bruce hurt himself. The vestiges of a sprain, he guessed, that Bruce was too stubborn to rest. When he couldn't convince Bruce to pass on sparring, he resorted to you: "an objective spectator." Alfred had sounded pleased. Bruce had looked about ready to suplex him.

You head over anyway, ignoring the protests of the injured so you could kneel and survey the damage. "Can you walk?"

Bruce doesn't meet your eyes. He forces his body to stand, but you can easily tell he's favoring a side. You reach a hand up and pinch his injured calf, hearing him hiss through his teeth. "Of course it's going to hurt when you do that." He sounds childishly annoyed. Alfred is fighting a smile from his spot next to you.

"I don't understand. You're head of the company, you can afford to take a few days off. Even chair rest is still rest."

"Ah, but there lies the conundrum," Alfred pushes himself up to his feet, "he cannot sit still."

Bruce extends his hand to you, still avoiding eye contact. You hesitate but take it anyway, and the ease with which he hoists you to your feet is a bit disorienting.

Since your agreement with Batman, you were forced to be patient. After all, there were more pressing matters in Gotham besides your own ticking time bomb. He'd promised that he'd get back to you soon about Bruce and, until then, you would have to grin and bear it.

Alfred excuses himself to get busy with lunch the minute Dory enters with the groceries, leaving the two of you alone in the middle of the living room. "As your doctor," you begin, "I can't in good conscience let you keep pushing your body past its limit."

"It barely hurts anymore."

You bend as if you're about to grab at his leg again and he takes a step back, annoyed—if not offended, "You have no record of chronic pain. No record of serious past injuries at all. Yet you strain yourself doing... what, exactly? Sparring all day? You may be young, Bruce, but your body isn't indestructible."

You get the feeling he's heard this before, bristling like a scolded cat as you stare him down, "I'm fine," he brushes past you toward the table he and Alfred moved to the far end of the room, grabbing a sweating glass of water, "Alfred's just being... Alfred. He worries too much."

"I worry," Bruce raises a brow as he takes a swig and you clear your throat, "you said you need to be reminded to care of yourself. Well, that's my job now. Not that the hospital couldn't use more of your money but it's not worth the pain you'll be in." Bruce leans against the table, one leg crossed over the other. You approach, briefly taking note of the water that dribbles down his chin. "I'm starting to think you're just a masochist."

"Yeah? How do you figure?" His lip twitches up into a smile.

You open your mouth but the thought stops you cold. You were going to say, "Because I know someone just like you," but then you're transported back to that fateful morning where you first met. Bruce and all his... familiarity. The wild speculation of your exhausted mind. All of which, at the time, overlapped perfectly. Yet now that you knew them both better, they were worlds apart to you. Except for that one thing.

What was it that set them apart, again?

Your eyes drift up to Bruce's. "I get your type at General sometimes," you divert, "real pains in the ass."

Bruce steps closer to you with his glass abandoned on the table, "And your type can't seem to leave well enough alone."

You prickle. If it weren't for the fact that he was so clearly teasing you, you'd have lingered on the almost double meaning, "The fact you think this," you raise your foot and tap the side of Bruce's injured leg; his eyes narrow, "is well enough further proves my point. You need rest."

Bruce rolls his shoulders back; his compression tee clings to every muscle as he does, drawing your attention for a brief moment. "I'll think about it."

Your jaw drops. Bruce smiles. You feel a white hot flash of irritation that's wiped away when Alfred reenters the room, dishtowel thrown over his shoulder, eyes fixed on you, "Will you be staying for lunch?"

Before you can say no, Bruce interjects for you, "Yes. Thank you, Alfred." Then he turns to you, pats your arm like a friend, and pushes you in the direction of the kitchen, "I'm gonna shower. Make yourself at home."

You stumble over yourself, regaining balance just as Bruce's head disappears over the top floor banister. How quickly he could retreat when leaving you to the lions.

But Alfred is in a good mood today. Better than usual, actually. The hair on your neck stands on end as you follow him to the kitchen, preparing for the good mood to sour now that it wasjust the two of you, but it doesn't come. You watch him hum a little tune as he fixes up some vegetables to sauté.

You even find yourself getting comfortable at the island when he breaks the silence, "I appreciate what you're doing for Bruce... regardless of its efficacy. It's nice to know someone else has common sense in this house." Alfred sets down four empty plates at the breakfast table.

You take note of his tone, an improvement from his barely concealed dislike from weeks before. You take that as a small victory for today, "It's like arguing with a brick wall. How have you managed it all these years?"

"Like a soldier." Without asking, he fills a glass to the brim with water and hands it to you.

"Right. You're a veteran." Your observation gives him pause, the food he tends to at the stove crackling away. "I can tell. I've treated a lot of veterans so I can spot them from a mile away now."

Alfred snorts, straightening his shoulders. "I served as a young lad. Eventually retired and came here, took on the job as the Waynes' butler and bodyguard. I've been with them for quite some time. Since before Bruce was even born."

"You practically raised him."

"Rather... clumsily, might I add," Alfred glances at you and you're surprised to see him bashful, genuinely, "protecting him, I could handle. Raising him... well, that was another matter entirely."

"But you did a pretty good job. I mean, he's accomplished a lot. Especially with the mayor. I imagine that's why he's working so hard: really seems like he's dedicated to restoring his father's legacy."

You can't help the little hook you throw out.

Right before the Mayor was elected, when a bomb shook the penthouse of 1939 Kane St., Edward Nashton had taken to the airwaves to out Thomas Wayne as a cold-blooded killer. Not long after, the man who'd pulled the trigger was shot dead in the street before he could be brought to justice. That would bring anyone out of hiding.

Wayne Enterprises inevitably challenged the claims, Bruce Wayne had taken to his father's defense in an impassioned press conference that even you tuned into, and Gotham General made the decision to keep his father's statue in the courtyard.

It was never ruled out, though. After all, all of the Riddler's other exposés were true. But there was no paper trail. Nothing but he said, he said, and with everyone involved dead, it was Bruce Wayne's word over a zealot who'd flooded the city.

You take a sip from your glass to let Alfred ruminate on his reply. He doesn't raise his eyes to you again, "Precisely."

"I've been keeping a close eye on him in the news. His philanthropy this past year has been really remarkable." That was a bold-faced lie. You'd been keeping an eye on him for the past few weeks. Everything else you knew about Bruce Wayne's newfound appreciation for the poor and needy came from Em. "Some of the people at the party, however..."

"Councilman Roberts, was it? He was awfully spirited from what Master Bruce relayed to me."

The very mention of his name makes your blood pressure spike, "The guest list was very diverse."

Alfred transfers the cutting board to the sink, "Master Bruce has his reasons. He's become rather fixated on the state of political affairs. First behind the scenes, and now..."

"Now center stage." You finish for him, swirling your glass. "Think he'll run for office one day?"

Alfred looks somewhere between amused and horrified.

It would be natural. Thomas Wayne had almost done it. Why not Bruce? It'd be a comeback story for the ages if someone didn't try to kill him again.

"I'd rather he keep out of it. Being in a position like that has never been his true calling."

"Yeah? And what is?"

Alfred doesn't look like he wants to say. He scrubs at the surface of the wooden board, absentmindedly brushing the same spot clean over and over. His eyes catch yours for a split second, just as quick as the smile that he flashes when the answer finally spills out of him, "Altruism."

You and Alfred don't talk much more until Bruce comes down. Dory joins you all at the table soon after and, rather awkwardly, you find yourself having a quiet lunch with the Waynes. Hooks abandoned. Fish not caught.

You wait for what feels like hours, but eventually he arrives.

His car is an absolute monster. It growls as it pulls up beside you in the withering glow of street lights, and if it weren't for said lights, it would blend into the shadows almost completely. The raindrops that dot the hood help catch the light on the deep black paint job.

You look for the door handle but it opens for you. Inside, you see Batman with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. You swallow. This is new territory.

You throw your bag in first, then climb into the passenger seat, very aware of the pocket knife stuffed in the pocket of your scrubs. You go to close the door and it closes for you all on its own. Behind you is an intimidating engine that vibrates through your every bone and muscle, and when you look to the driver, he is staring straight ahead. A few beats pass as you try to keep your teeth from chattering, "Do the seat belts move on their own, too?"

Batman looks at you from his peripheral. Then—twisting in his seat—he reaches across you to retrieve the seat belt, dragging it across the front of your body until it clicks at your side, "'Fraid not."

Despite all the rumbling of the car engine, it's a smooth ride through the city. Even the littering of pot holes and uneven pavement doesn't ruin it. Still, it does nothing to quell your nerves.

You feel small, sinking into the passenger seat built for people wearing a lot more armor than you. You also note that there's nowhere for your legs to go underneath the seat. You bump the solid obstruction with the backs of your sneakers but can't make out what it is.

There are other weird things you notice when you start looking. Starting where your shoulders rest are six holes going down the seat, three on each side, all a foot apart from the last. You press your finger into one of the holes and feel hard metal on either side of the gap. Upon further inspection, Batman's seat has it too, "What are these for?" You ask.

Batman doesn't need to look at you to know what you're messing with, "Restraints."

You recoil, "I beg your pardon?"

"I could show you."

"I'm- sorry, what..." You bend at the waist to feel the metal plate beneath the seat and recognize that there are holes along the sides there too.

"In case I need to bring someone along who's less than willing. Metal bars are installed in the seats. Only I know how to activate them."

"Why your seat too?"

"In case someone tries to steal the car," he makes a turn into one of the boroughs and you realize you're getting close to your destination, "but I've considered putting a trunk in the back for... passengers."

"And where do you get the money for such... modest mods?"

At that, Batman does not answer you. You figured he wouldn't. There were a hundred answers he could give you that would surely, most definitely give his identity away. It doesn't stop your brain from beginning to wander.

It doesn't get very far before you're pulling up into the alley between two houses, shrouding the car in the shadow of Joey Russo's home.

It's not as nicely kept as the other houses on the street, and its age doesn't do it any favors. A lot of the off-white paint has been chipped off or discolored over the years. There's a piece-of-junk car in the driveway that looks like it works, but just barely. The lawn has outgrown the neighbors', kept at bay by patches of dead grass where you can tell someone had gone to town with weedkiller. There are old, faded garden decorations around the front porch. Some gnomes with their ceramic hats caved in, a wind chime missing most of its chimes.

You're wandering out of the alley and into the harsh, orange beam of the streetlight when you feel Batman's hand roughly drag you back into the dark. You're about to ask what the problem is when your eyes catch the side of the house.

There's a little window with its grey curtains shut, a dead flower limp on the sill. Next to the window is a backdoor cracked open.

You do not protest when Batman presses up against the side of the house and moves you behind him. There are dogs barking, cars driving by, faint sirens in the distance, but you can't hear anything from inside.

You watch as he presses his hand to the door and slowly pushes it open, peeking in from a safe distance into the dark. Most of the windows are blocked out by sheer curtains, and no light in the house is on from what you can tell.

Batman is a hulking thing, always, but every step is feather-light on the weathered floorboards as you both enter. There's no sign of Russo, even though the house feels warm. Like it'd been lived in recently. Your heart picks up as you swear you see a shadow move in the corner of your eye, but it's just the wind picking up one of the curtains.

You so desperately want to ask him what he's thinking but your voice is stuck in your throat, the thought crashing down upon you that you are here, that somewhere in this house is the man who had ensured you'd be here today (in nearly all the ways that that could apply), and that it was not so far behind you as you might've hoped.

And were you to get an answer—any answer—from Russo tonight, it would not change the fact that your name was still on Bruce Wayne's payroll.

You feel sick to your stomach all over again.

When the living room is clear, you're simultaneously relieved and terrified when Batman leaves you to scope out the adjoining dining room. The house is silent aside from your breathing.

It's a few moments alone that does it; you start to feel another wave of anxiety. It had been a few minutes, hadn't it? Maybe. A minute at least. You're not confident enough to go looking for Batman, and you fear calling out to him would just detrimentally unsettle the atmosphere. You listen for where he might be, any creaks in the floors boards, but there's nothing.

Just as you're about to step into the dining room yourself, something moves out of your peripheral again. Only this time, you realize too late that it's not the curtain.

You barely register the pain at first—the skin of your upper arm splitting in half—but then it's white-hot and you're choking on a cry before you can stop yourself. Something had rushed at you, a person. You shakily touch where they'd cut you.

Was it a knife? It had to be, with how cleanly it tore your skin. Your brain jumps to the next question: was it covered in anything? Would you get infected?

You stumble back and reach into your pocket for your own knife with a little more urgency. The person rushes at you again with something akin to a battle cry and you narrowly dodge their raised weapon, only the sound of it ripping through the curtains tells you it wasn't just another delayed reaction.

You slash at their back while they're still turned and manage to actually make a cut before jumping back. It's not enough, though. Your attacker spins and even though the light has now turned them into nothing but a silhouette, you can feel their crazed gaze on you.

It feels boiling. It feels personal.

Their breathing is ragged, panting from more than just the fight. It sounds like they're foaming at the mouth, rabid and wild, as they spit at you, "You should've died with your little bitch of a friend when you had the chance."

The anger in their voice stuns you before the words do.

They come at you again and you sidestep them once more but it's staggered, allowing the tip of their weapon to slice your cheek open. When you cry out this time, you yell for Batman.

You don't have any concept of time right now, but as you fall to the floor, you swing at your attacker's ankle, hoping to cut a vein, when you feel Batman rush past you and directly into your attacker.

They both crash into the coffee table, glass and wood shattering in a cacophony. You watch through burning eyes as the two wrestle each other, keeping your hand pressed to your arm to still the bleeding even as it slips against the skin. Batman has them pinned when your attacker starts wildly kicking, and one of his feet hits Batman hard in the leg. You don't expect it to be the leverage he needs, but it's enough to daze Batman—he looks suddenly awash with pain—and that's all the attacker needs to slip out from beneath him and head out the back door.

Your heart stutters. How hard did he have to hit him through the suit for it to cripple him so easily?

Batman tries to recover, tries to deploy the grapple gun in his gauntlet to trip him, but he slips into the alleyway just narrowly. Batman is after him in an instant.

You force yourself up from the floor to follow after him, when you realize that within all that commotion, no one else in the house made themselves known.

You stumble up the staircase, haphazardly swiping at the wall for light switches that might help clear the spots in your vision. "Russo!" You call out, and your voice is shaky. You realize you're trembling.

There are too many doors on the upper floor but there is one that is cracked open. You rush toward it first, shoving it open with your good shoulder.

And there, to confirm your worst suspicion, is proof.

You've had enough training in your field not to immediately vomit at the sight even as the smell overpowers you. He's lost weight and he looks smaller than he had been when you were just sixteen. Laying on the floor, drenched in his own blood, Detective Joey Russo isn't the crystal clear picture you'd preserved in your head these past 17 years.

You make it only a few steps before falling to your knees beside him. It's clear he'd passed from the stab wounds not long before you'd arrived and there's just so many. His chest, his stomach, his arms and legs and skull—his face had taken the worst of it. Whoever had done this had been furious.

You can barely bring yourself to stare into his eyes but when you do, you sob. You try to look anywhere else but your eyes just catch on pictures of him on the wall, happy, smiling, with a wife and a kid who leave no traces of themselves in this room.

It's just him. All alone here.

You sway a bit as you reach a hand up to shut his eyes but the blood on your fingers stops you. You realize that you've left a trail on the way up here, and as your eyes retrace back to the bedroom door, you see Batman standing there looking down at you.

He doesn't ask, just walks over to you and hoists you up to stand, forcing you to lean into him for support.

The time between him finding you and the walk downstairs passes in a muddy amount of time and you're stumbling into the hood of his car as your head swims.

You must be losing a bit of blood.

Batman presses a hand to your arm. His other hand goes to your cheek and you flinch away at the sting.

You watch him dizzily. He reaches down to the bottom of his cape and rips a strip off to tie around your bicep. "GCPD is on the way. We have to get you stitched up."

"If only there were a surgeon around." Batman doesn't find your joke funny. Neither do you, all things considered.

The doors open on their own again and he sits you in the passenger seat, leaning it back as far as it'll go before buckling you in. You think you feel his hand linger on yours before he abandons you for the driver's side. The thrum of the engine is the least of your concerns now.

You're halfway down the street when you mumble, "He said... I should've died."

"Stop talking." He doesn't say it with menace, or at least not the kind where you actually mean it. It's all bark and... worry, you think.

You hate the smell of your own blood, which is funny because it smells about the same as everyone else's and usually that's just fine for you. Or maybe you're still smelling Russo's.

You think of your attacker. About what they said. That you should've died with your "little bitch of a friend". It's too convenient to not be—one of the street lights you pass is far too bright and you have to shut your eyes to keep the thought going—be about her. And why her? Why Russo? Why now?

17 years of nothing. And now everything at once.

"Russo," your voice is weaker, "we gotta go back for him."

"Stop talking! I'm trying- shit." This is the most panic you've ever heard in Batman's voice before. The most fear. He hadn't been this worried when he was dying on your living room floor. "Please." He begs.

You're of sound mind enough to know what he's really asking. You should know, even as you sway in and out of consciousness.

You conserve what little energy you have left to focus on the side of his face. His jaw forever clenched. Eyelashes long enough to catch the city light on. And although it's not entirely clear from the angle you're laying at, you search out the blue of his eyes as his face turns to look at you. It's the last thing you see before you give in.

When you come to, you are laying in a hospital bed with a throbbing arm and an equally throbbing cheek. Your scrubs are still in tact, even with the bloodstains down the front and sides. The knees of your pants are stained too, and you are harshly reminded that this blood doesn't belong to you.

The next thing you notice is Em sitting in the chair beside your bed, head thrown back in a peaceful nap. She must've heard—or seen, you don't recall getting from the car to here—and came to keep you company. You'd reach over to tap her knee if it were your good arm's side. The next thing you notice after that is that there is someone else in the room with you two.

It takes a second, but you remember him: a kindly face even with the cloud of disturb that hangs over him. When he sees you're awake, he gets up from his position against the wall and approaches the other side of the bed, "Detective James Gordon," he introduces himself, nodding to you, "we met at the precinct before."

Your voice comes out scraggly, "I remember you."

He flashes you a quick smile, "Well, I'm happy to see you're alright. You lost a bit of blood, but your friend—" A pen materializes in his hand and he points it at Em, still dead to the world, "—said it was just a few stitches."

"Are you here to arrest me?"

He's trained well enough not to look shocked, but you see his expression shift, "Why would I arrest you?"

You swallow, looking down at your scrubs once more, "I assume you're not here to talk about our mutual friend."

James nods. "We examined Joey Russo's home. We found, among other things, your DNA on the scene. Blood in the living room and... upstairs bedroom."

You pinch your pants leg, trying to get at the skin so you could keep the churning of your stomach at bay. Anything to distract yourself from the very vivid image of Russo's lifeless eyes.

James clicks his pen and you focus back on him. He's got a small notepad in his other hand with a few words already written down. You wonder what he's written about, what he's thinking about you right now. "From what I understand, you dropped by the precinct recently asking for the whereabouts of Russo and were denied given his retirement. You mentioned that you were inquiring about an old case involving yourself, is that correct?" James continues after your nod, "You brought this up to the Batman too."

"Yes," your voice wobbles, "I asked if... he could help me."

"And?"

"He said no."

"But you were both there tonight. So, what happened? Why were you looking for Joey Russo?"

You lean up on your good arm, allowing your legs to swing from the bed so you could sit upright in front of James. One glance over your shoulder tells you Em is still asleep, "I told him it was urgent. I had reason to believe confidential information about the case had been leaked to someone. I wanted to confront him, find out if he... was the one that leaked it."

"The case being part of your sealed juvenile records, correct?" James casts a look over you, somewhere between pitying and skeptical, "given your involvement in this situation, I was given access to this record. Detective Russo worked your case 17 years ago, and was, in fact, the person to get your records sealed in the first place. Along with... three others, I believe. And you believed someone had unauthorized access to it?"

"I know- I know. I know they did."

"Can you tell me the name of this person?"

Detective Gordon seems trustworthy. Batman trusts him, you can tell that much. It's just the saying it out loud part that trips you up, "My, um... my employer. Not Rudy, but Bruce Wayne. I'm his personal doctor. I became aware he had this information and wanted to check with Russo myself before I said anything."

James doesn't bother hiding his intrigue this time. His eyebrows shoot up a bit when you say Bruce's name, "Right. And... do you have proof that he has this information? A picture or a recorded conversation, a witness even?"

Of course not. You'd been happy enough to get out of that penthouse without being caught. Your silence is answer enough. James writes something down on his notepad and nods at you, "Well, a single person—especially not a civilian employer—should be able to access something that's not public record. Even Russo couldn't, having been retired. I can't imagine Russo was the one to give him that information unless he just had a file lying around, and I doubt he did. He never revisited that case before he retired in any capacity."

"Is there any way Bruce could have accessed it?"

"There's plenty of ways if you have an in somewhere and the leverage to do so, but this is all speculation. I can look into it, though. See if anyone's accessed the file recently, sniff around. If you come across anything solid, let me know."

You doubted you would. After that night, those files had probably gone into a room with lock and key.

"There was something else that I wanted to talk about, though," James shifts closer to you, "Our mutual friend assured me that you've never been to Russo's house before tonight, and that he had been with you the entire time you were there. From what I understand, there was someone else in the house with the two of you. Do you have any idea who he might've been?"

"No, I... I didn't really get a good look at him."

"What about his voice? Could you describe it?"

"Uh, young. Sounded about my age." Your fingers grip the bedsheets tightly, "He said something. He said that... I should have died. Along with my friend."

James' eyes narrow on you, "Your friend?"

"Alex," you choke out, feeling a tear spill out of your eye, "I know he was talking about Alex."

"Hm. You think that's why he attacked you? He knows you?"

"But I don't know him."

James flips his notepad back a few pages, "There were eight people there the night Alex Villanueva was murdered, including herself and you: your three friends, none of whom have stepped foot in Gotham since 2019. The shooter, Natalie Young. Her younger brother, Dimitri Young. And a fellow member of their gang, Lucien Goulding. Natalie was killed in a shootout 17 years ago, Goulding is currently in prison, and Dimitri... he should be serving life in prison right now."

Your brows furrow, "Should?"

"He and several other inmates were reported missing from Arkham five days ago."

Your mouth goes dry. You squirm in bed with a sudden urge to take off running and never look back. Maybe you'd aim for your mom and dad's in New Jersey, or maybe the Atlantic.

You remember when Dimitri was a head shorter than you, had yet to sprout up so young. You remember what it was like looking at this kid not much younger than you, green eyes watering, curled up on the concrete as Alex kicked and punched and bled him until he could barely limp home.

And how he looked when Natalie came for you. Still a kid.

"Bat said he was about 5'11, 210 pounds, green eyes, shaved head and tattoos. A bit different from what he was when you last saw him. It makes sense you don't remember."

"He wanted to kill me." You whisper.

James—he's an angel, really—gives you a moment to let it sink in. "We want to put a security detail on you. We have strong reason to believe Dimitri was the one to kill Russo, and it's very possible you were next on his list, but I don't think he anticipated you being there tonight... which might've saved your life."

You shake your head, "Batman saved my life."

The detective smiles, "Twice in a row might make him your guardian angel." The both of you turn when you hear Em stir awake from behind, and James goes to dismiss himself, "Well, thank you for your time. You should probably be heading home to get some rest soon, but if you think of anything else, please don't hesitate to let me know." James hands you a business card, "And I'll look into Bruce Wayne for ya. Could be something there. Our mutual friend might know. Take it easy."

"Wait," you call, before he can get out the door, "Russo. He had a- a kid. A son. And a wife, I think. They weren't at the house. Are they okay?"

James looks a little pained as he answers you, "No... uh, his son was murdered a while back. His ex-wife's been living back home in Boston ever since. She's been notified."

There isn't much else to say after that, so he ducks his head as a final goodbye and exits the room, raincoat swaying behind him.

You're awoken by an incessant ringing about 24 hours later.

Popping one eye open, your brain takes in the shadowy lighting of your living room, blinds still halfway up from when you'd first returned home early that morning. Judith had caught you slumped outside of your apartment door and flanked by two officers—roused by the sound of you coming home late—and had helped you to your couch, poured you a glass of water, and stayed with you until the painkillers put you to sleep.

Frankly, you gave yourself permission to lie and rot today. But the ringing would not stop.

You grab your phone, uncaring of the caller, and accidentally press it to your cut cheek with a hiss, "Yes?"

You expect it to be Em, checking in to see if you were still alive. You also expect it to be your mother, checking in to make sure you still planned on staying in Gotham. You even expect it to be Rudy (who had been just about on the verge of tears when he saw you with a busted cheek).

It's none of them. "Can I see you?"

You place the voice instantly, actually going breathless. "I'm- what's... what's wrong?"

Sitting up hurts like a bitch and you realize that you're about two hours past your scheduled Tylenol. You inhale through your teeth and try to gather your bearings.

"I got... stabbed," Bruce sounds guarded, but it shockingly doesn't come across like that's because of the stabbing, "I need your help."

"Jesus! You need to call 911. Or- or get one of your ten million drivers to take you to the ER, or call a fucking helicopter to-"

"The tower, can you come? Now?"

You weren't supposed to be driving. The cops had brought you home, and you very much did not want to ask for that favor. You drop your forehead into your palm, massaging your temple with your thumb, "How deep is it? Did you stop the bleeding?"

"I've got something on it. I just need you to stitch me up."

You glance around the room, hazy, and reach for your water, "I'll need a ride. Can't drive right now."

"He's waiting outside." The line goes dead.

You don't believe him until you go to open your apartment door and see a suited man leaned against the opposite wall, nodding politely at you. You must look like you've sprung from the dead after last night, but no one makes a comment about it. The two officers on either side of the door nod to you, "Says he's a driver for Bruce Wayne and that you'd know what he was here for. His ID checks out, but we're gonna have to tail him if you go with him."

You shut the door and look through the peephole, but the driver looks comfortable waiting.

You'd wonder how Bruce knew you'd need a ride before you said as much, but it was clear by this point that he knew everything about you.

You probably shouldn't go. Not until Gordon looked into him, or Batman. Right?

You root around in your coat pocket for the phone Batman had given you and send a quick text to his number.

Going to Wayne's. Tell Gordon to hurry up with a warrant.

You pop two pills and pull on your coat.

When the elevator doors part, you drag yourself down the hallway, up the stairs, and into the main room. Alfred nor Dory is anywhere to be seen, but with it being past 10 at night, you can only imagine they're off to bed by now. There is just a single light coming from the kitchen, and when you turn to the breakfast table, there is Bruce. Waiting.

He doesn't look at you when you approach, however. One of his hands is holding stained gauze under the neck of his shirt, and the other is gripping the table with white knuckles. You wash your hands at the kitchen sink, then round up on his left side where he's pressing against the back of his shoulder, just out of reach for him to stitch himself. You fear he would've tried had you not answered the phone.

Or, God forbid, come to you.

He looks up when you're right in front of him, scanning you quickly, "Are you okay?" He doesn't sound all that surprised to see you like this. It raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

You pull the neck of his shirt down to survey the damage, for lack of a good explanation, "I'm certain I've got a better excuse than you." Bruce shifts when you move his hand away, exposing the bloody flesh that makes you wince. You set your things on the table and command him to lift his shirt. He hesitates. "What is your excuse?"

"Got caught off guard."

"Where?"

Slowly, Bruce slips his shirt off, allowing you to see the full expanse of his back. There was the angry red stab wound, but there were other things too: moles and beauty marks scattered across his skin that paled in comparison to the several jagged lines across his shoulders and lower back—pink raised skin where it looked like he'd been cut before. Cuts that had healed years ago. You hover your fingers above one and realize they're shaking. "You never told me you and Alfred fight with knives."

"We don't," he glances at you over his shoulder but looks away just as quickly, "some of those scars are from martial artists I trained with in Thailand."

"Some?" You see so many, and those are only the ones that leave visible scars.

"Others are from the Russians."

You begin to lightly clean around his wound and ready the anesthesia but, despite the fact that he cannot see it in your hand, he waves it off completely, "Are they... the people who gave you this?"

He goes silent again. You feel like you should stop asking questions at this point, but they itch at your throat.

He wouldn't call you here to fix this unless he had nowhere else to go.

When you make the first stitch and he doesn't flinch, your eyes flit to his other scars. Martial arts training, he said. The second stitch and still no response. On the third stitch, you press your thumb against the edge of the wound and push down. He actually swears at you as blood dribbles out of the wound, and the hand that had been gripping the table reaches back to grab your lower thigh, effectively bringing the operation to a halt.

You shove his hand off, "What the hell happened? Your hands, your leg—that was easy to explain. But this?"

He has the audacity to glare at you over his shoulder, "I don't pay you to ask questions."

"No, you don't. And yet you could've hired anyone but you hired me. Even though..." You trail off, eyes blazing, because you're not feeling that confident, "the least you can do is tell me what happened."

Bruce holds your gaze until you feel your knees begin to wobble in place. For once, he doesn't look like a wide-eyed, nervous animal in front of you. He looks angry.

Then it's gone. Bruce rolls his shoulders back and you watch the needle, still hanging by its thread, roll against his muscles. More blood seeps from the wound as your hands itch to get back to work. "One question," he starts, looking away from you, "the night of the party, upstairs. You told Alfred no one got on the elevator. But you did, didn't you?"

You swallow. "He said it was broken."

"Be honest with me and I'll be honest with you."

"About anything?"

From behind, you can see Bruce's jaw twitch just so, "Everything."

You step closer. Taking your needle, you resume the suture, "A question for a question, then. To keep it fair."

"Alright."

"Tell me what happened."

"I was looking for someone."

"Who were you looking for?"

"That's another question."

"Fine," you try not to take your frustration out on his skin, "I did. Who were you-"

"Dimitri Young." You still in your stitching. It feels like your heart is inside your head, thumping against your skull with every beat. "What did you see down there?"

You have to rake your petrified brain for context, having nearly forgotten everything that had come before... before... "I- I was... nothing." Bruce hisses through his teeth and you realize that you're just pressing the needlepoint into his skin mindlessly. "Files. A computer. A car underneath a sheet, some tools, a motorbike. A TV playing the news." You don't bother with hiding it now, "How do you know about Dimitri?"

"Because I know about you. Why did you go down there? Not knowing what you might find?"

It takes all that you have to keep the burning tears at bay, "Because I don't trust you. Because everything about this has felt off. I needed to know what you were hiding. What are you gonna do with what you know?"

Bruce takes a moment as if he's thinking about it, but when he answers you, you're for once certain of his honesty, "Nothing. I might set it on fire, if that's what you want."

"You could have another copy lying around. Or a way to access it again."

"I could. But I don't. And I wouldn't want to." He turns his head over his shoulder and you are frozen under his stare, "I'm being honest with you."

"How did you get it?"

"That's another question."

You complete the next few stitches with a little more force than needed, "Then ask me something."

"Why did you take the job if you didn't trust me?"

You laugh humorlessly, "Because I knew the pay would be fucking ridiculous. How did you get my file?"

"You wouldn't have turned me down the first time if that were true."

"Answer me."

"Be honest with me, I'll be honest with you. Why'd you take the job?"

"Because-" You choke, "you... sent me those ridiculous flowers and a handwritten note." Bruce's head tilts, you choke out more, "And when I asked you why you offered me the job, you said that it was because I noticed you were hurt when no one else did. And I said it felt like more than that. I think- I have been trying to get an answer."

Bruce studies you. He must believe you because he finally answers your question, "Russo had nothing to do with it."

"Who did you pay to get it for you, then?"

"That's-"

"Just ask me, God damn it." You finish off the suture and bite off the thread.

"Why did you turn your life around?"

You'd thought about that a lot after that night. The simplest answer was right there, but if you were being honest with yourself (and you were being more honest than you would've liked tonight), you really didn't want to die. "I wanted to live. That's what I'd always wanted. Even though I... really didn't act like it. I never wanted to live more until that moment." This time when you lock eyes with Bruce, you don't want him to look away. Maybe it's because he's defeated you, broken your pride, whatever. Right now, you want to see him.

You don't have to ask again. You watch him rise from the table, flexing his back again, and though you want to scold him for irritating his stitches mere seconds after you've finished them, you just... don't have it in you.

And then he's standing face-to-face with you.

You think the lights and painkillers are deceiving you at first, but this close, you are certain: he is littered with scars and wounds color-picked from late twilight skies. His back doesn't even look this bad. It's always been more than bruised knuckles and leg sprains.

And it's familiar. All of it. Bruises and cuts new and old, the shape of him, the color. The stab wound is new but all of this is months (years) in the making.

The closer you get, the more it knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes follow the length of his torso and then—your fingers press against his side, up against a healed gunshot wound. You brush your thumb against it. It makes you feel nauseous.

You look up and he's looking at you. Defeated. Relieved. You can feel the denial creeping in but it all clicks into place, doesn't it?

The bullet wound, the limp, the job offer, the sprained leg. You couldn't see it because, frankly, they couldn't be any more different from each other. And yet...

Bruce's hand covers yours and keeps it there.

That damned bullet brought you together. It had brought Batman to you, it had brought you to Bruce, and it had solidified in no small way that whatever had led you to this moment in time was years in the making. All because you wanted to live.

"Come with me." And Bruce leads you upstairs.

17 years ago.

"I think it could be good," Alex holds up the bottle to you, "if you're down."

You hate the taste of whatever she's giving you but it does make you tingly. You take a big swig and set it between you on the concrete, "You know I'll go wherever you go."

Alex grins, "That's the spirit!"

On Tuesdays, you and Alex like to watch the cars go by from the alley. It's between a Thai restaurant and a laundromat so it always smells good; if it's not the fabric softener, then it's the pho. It's where you always find her. After a few heart-to-hearts spent curled up on the ground with her here, it became "your" territory.

Claiming it didn't stop people from holing up inside and standing around a barrel fire, nor did it stop the laundromat owner nor the line cooks from coming out to smoke and take out the trash. But it did mean that you both liked it here. For lack of other places to go.

"You know that piece of shit from the Vipers won't take no for an answer?" Alex kicks at a rat that scuttles past, making sure it wouldn't take a bite out of her ankle.

"You're very popular, it's not a surprise."

"Shit, it's just cause they know my parents don't give a shit where I go. They're all like, 'Come join us! You could be one of our best! We'll pay you more in a day than you'd make stealing in a week!' but they don't talk about all the kids floating in the river when they try to do better for themselves."

"Like you'd let someone boss you around." You giggle, and Alex beams.

"No way in hell! I love my independence. See, I can take whatever I want whenever I want. Those sad fucks in the Vipers have to answer to some... some random guy they rarely ever see. Why would I want that?"

You'd seen the kids the Vipers recruited. There was no age limit, some as young as nine were happily making deliveries. It used to be a joke in your school that any kid with a front door would end up in the Vipers eventually.

You wondered if you would've ended up there too, had you not been with Alex.

Your makeshift gang of two which had grown by three in the last few months was less organized than the Vipers. It didn't pay unless you pulled your weight, and most of it was at Alex's discretion. For the most part, none of you moved without her. She was the head, the leader, and the only reason you could afford your new winter boots this month.

And you would truly follow her wherever she went.

You watch a few more cars pass. You press your head to the brick and let the sounds of the city light your nerves. That is until you feel a breeze where Alex had once been. You open an eye and find her inching further into the alley. "Hey," you call, but she turns and shushes you so your next words come out in a whisper, "where you going?"

She frantically waves you over.

You don't see what she's looking at until you get about halfway down the alley, but the voices are crystal clear at this point. There's a woman and a young boy standing off behind a dumpster, but when the woman catches sight of you and Alex, she shoves something into the boy's hands and dips around the corner. The boy, flustered, is just barely able to put it away before Alex is grabbing him by the arm and dragging him into the light.

It becomes clear that he's not a young boy. He's about your age, maybe off by a year or two, but so thin and lanky that his puffer jacket engulfs him completely. Alex yanks his sleeve down to reveal a poorly done tattoo of a snake going up his upper arm, jagged and unfinished like he'd run off in the middle of getting it done. It didn't seem too far-fetched an idea: the guy looked 92 pounds soaking wet.

"You're on the wrong turf, kid." Alex warns, but you know her tone of voice is too final to be a warning.

The guy yanks his arm back, "Fuck off."

You realize what he was fumbling with when the woman had run. A small bag of something white, and a wad of cash sticking out of his pocket. You snort, "Dealing for the Vipers a little far from home, aren't you? You must be new."

The guy tries to escape but Alex grabs the hood of his jacket and drags him back, "We'll overlook the trespassing if you give us a cut."

"Leave me alone. This place doesn't belong to anyone." But as soon as he says it, Alex takes a hold of his dirty blond hair and yanks his face up to look at her. You go to grab his money while he's distracted but you don't expect him to brandish a knife until he slashes at you. He misses, but it sets Alex off.

She uses his hair to throw him into the side of the dumpster and you can see the thoughts rattling around his head upon impact.

"Right, everything belongs to the Vipers. Is that why your boss is still Falcone's little bitch?"

The guy is indignant against the taunts. He tries to slash at her but Alex is faster, always has been, and she has his wrist in a death grip before he can even get close. You watch her twist it back until he lets out a cry of pain, the knife clattering to the floor at your feet. You take it and hold it up to his neck, watching his eyes go wild between you and Alex.

"Give us the money and we'll pretend this never happened-" you start, but jump back when you feel something wet hit your cheek. You almost don't believe it, but the guy has some spittle dribbling down his bottom lip and a satisfied smile when you lock eyes with him again.

Alex wasn't just fast. You remember her standing up to your childhood bullies between classes and giving them shiners that she still bragged up to this day. It took a few years before you both stopped ending up with twice as many injuries, and a few more years after that before you stopped having bullies at all.

And this guy— maybe he didn't know what he'd gotten himself into and that extended to more than just this moment in time—was half the size of the guys Alex had beaten to tears in the past.

It does not surprise you that he crumbles to the ground with the very first punch to his gut. Alex hits hard first to make the fights quick, and so when her next punch lands on his nose, you know that something has been broken. With each kick to his gut, the tears free flow as if surely, the next hit will kill him.

You watch silently. Alex is unforgiving.

After a minute or two goes by, he is so beaten down that he wheezes every time he breezes. You're certain Alex has gone overboard but something in your heart swells at the thought that it was for you.

When all is said and done, you snatch the money from his jacket and he doesn't bother to stop you, head leaning against the ground as tears and blood and snot trickle into a puddle. For good measure, Alex snatches the drugs too, "Don't show your face in this alley again or you won't leave alive."

And you know this is a lie. A trick to make her bigger and badder. A threat that she would never follow through on. Because Alex always made herself look bigger, badder, scarier, deadlier. It's what protected you both on the streets. It's what made you follow her, what made your friends follow her.

Alex was everything, and you would follow her anywhere.

You ride in silence together down to the terminus. You feel much the same as you did the first time. Bruce pulls back the gate and you spill out into the dark, but much like before, the lights and TV kick on. The News 7 jingle plays, Bruce pads over to mute it.

You watch him stand a few feet away from you, avoiding your eyes as they sweep the floor. There are those same tools scattered about, hubcaps stacked on top of tires, wires going from one side of the room to the other. It looks just like you'd last seen it, only the car that had once been covered by tarp is now on full display. It gleams in the overhead lights, as much of a monster in clear view as it was in shadow.

He really wasn't shitting you.

When you still don't say anything, Bruce walks over to his desk. Underneath it is a crate full of folders, and you realize he's getting yours when he turns and holds one out to you. You take it, inching closer. Without a word shared, Bruce pulls up something on his computer and you nearly flinch when your mugshot is reflected back at you on one of the screens.

"Your record isn't accessible unless I use a workaround which isn't... legal, but it's how I found your file without Russo. The GCPD doesn't know." You peer at him from the corner of your eye, urging him to explain, "I taught myself how to get in."

Your eyes are welling up with tears the longer you stare at the younger version of yourself. Bruce continues, "I know what the record says. That they traced back a few robberies to you and your friends over the years, and that you'd had a run in with a Viper the night you met Russo. You helped track them down, took out a portion of the gang's operation, and your record was sealed. That's all."

"They didn't trace all of them back to us," you start, not really wanting to talk, "just some. There were more."

Bruce seems to sense that as he closes the record, "It's your turn. To ask, I mean."

You look at Bruce in the face and hate the softness there. You can't be angry, or numb like you wish you could be. Your chest is all twisted up with emotion with no one feeling staying for long, even if it would flare up again every once in a while. "Did you know about me before or after you asked me to work for you?"

"Before. After that morning, I couldn't stop... thinking about you. Truth be told, me and Alfred have been doing this alone ever since I started. Before you, he was the one that would stitch me up, kept me out of doctor's offices where someone might talk. But he was also running the company for me, and taking care of me, and worrying about me. I knew if I was going to commit to this, I would need to try and stay alive, and I always meant to find someone but it wasn't an easy decision to make. Until I met you."

You know it's his turn now, but you can't help asking, "And you didn't think... maybe the kid with a record would be a bad idea?"

Bruce cracks a smile, "I mean, the stitches never got infected." You would've laughed at that if you were in a better mood. "I wasn't always so understanding. But I imagine someone who's dedicated the better part of their life to saving lives has more than made up for it."

Your head automatically shakes, "I can never make up for what I did."

"You don't have to tell me everything," he begins delicately, "but I need to know what Dimitri is after. I need to know what he's thinking. You're the only one who can help me."

You blink away a few tears and plop into a stool by his desk, dropping your head in your hands. The memories suffocate you, rushing at you like a flash flood. You don't know where to start, let alone what you want to tell him. An hour ago, you were certain he was caught up in a Gotham mob, planning to use your history as blackmail for... something.

You can't quite reconcile the feelings you have for Batman with the face of Bruce Wayne. Or who you thought was Bruce Wayne.

But he was right. You were the best chance at catching Dimitri. You were the only one who could make it up to Russo.

You swallow at the memory of Russo's mutilated body, but then... you remember him in that police station. When you were 16 and wishing you were dead. You suck in a sharp breath, "I met Alex when I was a baby. I mean, we've known each other for a long time- knew each other. She and I used to be attached at the hip. She protected me from bullies and I would sneak out at night to listen to her vent about her parents, about Gotham. She fucking hated it here. I did too.

"Alex and I learned that if you want to survive, you have to be powerful. So we became powerful. You might not think a pair of 14 year olds are all that powerful in the grand scheme of things but when it was just us against the world, it was addicting. When we wanted something, we just... took it. We started off pickpocket-ting on the streets, usually assholes who could afford to lose a hundred or two. And then we started robbing places, small-time stuff, you know. Run down houses, apartments, swiping out of registers when no one was looking. If anyone gave us shit, we just turned tail and ran. It was hard enough trying to make ends meet for our parents, and we liked the thrill of it. We rarely ever got caught.

"Eventually, some of our friends from school joined us and we become a little piece-of-shit gang. God. We were like... fucking 15, running around the city like we were so big and bad. My parents had no clue what I was really up to but they knew something was wrong. I didn't care. I was with Alex and I would follow Alex anywhere. We had this little alleyway, right? Between a Thai place and a laundromat. That's where I could always find her. And one day, we were fucking around and caught some guy dealing back there. Alex got pissed. We tried to take his money but he defended himself. I said something... he spit at me. And Alex just lost it.

"She beat him into the concrete and I just... watched. This guy, couldn't even throw a punch if his life depended on it, and she just wailed on him. And I watched. And I liked it. I felt powerful. We felt powerful. I know, a pair of jackass teenagers hurting people for fun? We were pathetic. But it didn't feel that way, being with Alex. She was my best friend."

The tears are free-falling now and you don't even bother to wipe them away. It would feel cowardly. You couldn't hide from Bruce now, not anymore. Not if he wanted to believe in you. "We didn't know who this kid was, other than the fact he was a Viper. A young one, a weak one. We didn't think he'd even last a week. Most kids like him end up getting disposed of by the boss anyway. And then all five of us were fucking around in that alley again when they showed up: the guy, Dimitri, and his sister Nat and this other kid. All of 'em Vipers.

"Nat wanted the money and the drugs back. Kid had a black eye so I guess he'd gotten shit from his boss about it. Alex was... indignant. Refused. For once, I begged her to give in but she just wouldn't fucking listen. Of course she wouldn't, do you know how much I enabled her? We were on top of the world, why would she give in? And she really pissed Nat off with that, but then she started mouthing off and then... Nat shot her. Right in front of me. It was instant."

Bruce remains incredibly still. His lips part to say something but nothing really comes out. You keep on going, "I was so shocked that I didn't even move when Nat turned the gun on me. It was like... I don't know, it was like I couldn't quite believe she was dead. But I understood what happened. Logically. I saw it happen. I saw the bullet in her brain. And when Nat turned on me, I think a part of me just... didn't want to have to think about it. Like a coward. If it wasn't for our friends pulling me out of the way, I wouldn't... be here. Next thing I knew, I was at the GCPD getting investigated for murder."

"They thought one of you did it?"

"The cops that brought us in, yeah. They just so happened to be around the corner when we ran into them. By that time, Nat and Dimitri had run off. The cops thought it was some fight between the five of us and that one of us pulled the trigger, but they couldn't find the gun. That's when Detective Russo showed up."

"And he offered to get you a plea deal."

You nod, sniffling, "He told me... he said that he could tell I'd never seen something like that before. There was no way I could've done it. And when I couldn't even finish the whole story without choking up, he said... he said that in exchange for our help catching Natalie, he would make sure all the crimes they tied back to us were sealed and expunged."

"What about Natalie? How did they find her?"

"The GCPD had been looking into the Vipers for months. Vipers almost exclusively recruit minors because they're more loyal, but there wasn't a way to get in without putting some innocent kid in danger. So they had us look into it. We found one of their hideouts by the docks. GCPD wanted to get the kids out and into the foster system since a lot of them were orphans, like Natalie and Dimitri. But the ambush didn't take. They got a couple kids out but... a few died, including Nat. Last I heard of Dimitri, he got tried as an adult for killing a cop during the shootout. That was life in Arkham."

Bruce shifts closer, "Until he got out. And he came looking for Russo."

"He was just a kid, Bruce," your voice cracks, "he was just a kid. He couldn't even defend himself. And because we were assholes we got his sister killed and we got him put away. He was just a kid."

"So were you."

Something about the tender way Bruce says that makes you sob. For years, you've looked back on that moment with so much guilt, knowing how lucky you were to make it out of that situation alive and unscathed. How lucky you were to be taken seriously, to be cared for, for a detective like Joey Russo to show you a picture of his kid in his wallet and tell you that he would hate to see them in your position.

You were lucky that you got to fix your grades and go to college, study medicine, save lives, be here. Natalie didn't get that. Dimitri didn't get that. Alex didn't get that.

"You said... you said you hated Gotham. Why did you stay?"

You wipe at your cheeks, "I- I honestly... I wanted to. My parents made a deal with me that we would leave for New Jersey after I graduated but I didn't want to leave. I couldn't. I couldn't leave Alex. I couldn't leave the city, after all I'd done to it. In it. I wanted to leave like my friends because the guilt was so much but I felt obligated to fix it. I wanted to help people. Not hurt them. And I've worked hard to do better. I just can't leave. I don't want to leave."

What surprises you is the hand on your face afterwards. Bruce cups his your cheek. His thumb brushes away some tears, and it feels so unlike Bruce even though it's him, even though he's the one who cradled and comforted you after being held hostage, even though he was the one that stood on your fire escape and confessed that he trusted you, liked you even. Your brain just sort of stops there. You melt like putty in his hand. You realize you've been craving a gentle touch like this for a while.

"Then you won't have to," Bruce casts his eyes to the side, looking at where you laid your file on the desk. You can see the cogs turning beneath his furrowed brow, "I'll make sure of it."

"How?"

"...You won't like it."

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poisonlove · 3 months

Text

Yellow | Jenna Ortega

author; I wanted to do something between a Demon and an Angel.

Jenna ortega x fem!reader

My eyes observed with curiosity and malice the bustling flow of the hospital: doctors striving to save lives, patients seeking redemption, souls finally finding peace, and others descending unaware of the torment they would endure.

I walk barefoot along the corridor, watching with a mixture of fascination and mockery as relatives weep over the lifeless bodies of their loved ones: oh, they were so tender and so... touchingly pitiful. To be honest, I enjoyed contemplating their suffering as they tried to understand the cause of death, amidst pain and tears. It almost seemed like I preferred this spectacle to the daily torment of hell. A sardonic smile played on my face, aware that the daily infernal screams might have offered a greater satisfaction than this context, but what can I say, I settled.

I spread my black wings, stretching in the gesture.

I sneak through the corridors, my lower lip trapped between my teeth, searching for room 5A. A gurney slides past me, and my hand extends over the lifeless body of a man, capturing his soul. I smile widely, watching the soul attempt to escape, the man's body slowly extinguishing.

Poor doctors, so naive.

"I hope Dad is satisfied with this little gift," I say maliciously. "After all, watching an innocent soul burn is so satisfying." I smirk and clench my fist, flames surrounding my hand guiding the soul to the house of the damned.

Lucifer, my father, had informed me of the need to corrupt more souls, specifically requesting this guy: Michael Smith. The name wasn't familiar to me, and looking at his file, he seemed like a simple and boring guy. Green eyes, brown hair, and a dazzling smile. Oh... that's what interests me.

Remorse.

The poor guy felt guilty for killing his father, a violent parent who abused his mother and little sister. From what I can see, Michael even attempted suicide.

"What a shame," I think, "if only he had taken his own life, I would have avoided all this unnecessary trouble of coming to get him."

The doctor exits the room, and I close the door behind me, tiptoeing towards the guy who was sadly gazing out of the hospital window. Of course, I won't make myself seen by the whole world; maybe I'll have some fun with his conscience. Michael had bags under his eyes, showing his fatigue, and his arms were covered with cuts that had already healed.

"Hello," I say, smiling widely, showing my canines.

The guy turns from my direction and opens his mouth in surprise, his eyes slowly looking at me in horror. I tilt my head to the side, seeing his body freeze.

"Even if you scream, they won't hear you," I say bored.

Michael looks around, blinking with disbelief.

"Have I gone crazy?" He says to himself, and I roll my eyes at his comment.

"No, I'm y/n," I say, smiling widely, spreading my beautiful black wings, my tongue passing over my canines. "I've come to give you a hand," I say innocently, his eyes looking at me with curiosity.

"What are you?" He asks defensively, his eyes moving towards the pills near the nightstand. He reaches out his trembling hand and grabs them, looking at their contents. "No, I won't disappear if you take the pills," I say amused, the guy trying to hide his fear.

"What are you?" He repeats, swallowing loudly.

"I have wings, see?" I say rhetorically, my hands grabbing a chair in front of his bed.

"Are you... an angel?" He asks, frightened and excited.

"I have black ones, idiot," I say smiling mischievously, savoring the moment of his realization. "No... no... no..." he stammers, his face turning pale.

"Your father is doing well down there," I say, laughing. "But it's only right that you come too; you killed him," I say, tilting my head to the side.

"Don't listen to her!" Someone suddenly intervenes.

My eyes go towards the sound of the voice, and I smile widely when I see who it is. Jenna Ortega, one of the kindest and most annoying angels I've ever met. Her brown eyes look at me with anger, and I can feel the disdain she feels towards me. Jenna moves a hand away from her face and walks towards me.

Even though Jenna is an angel, I feel a strong attraction to her; after all, it's justifiable since she's gorgeous.

"Jenna!" I open my arms with excitement. "My favorite angel," I say, smiling widely, her eyes looking at me with disgust.

"I can't say the same," she mutters weakly, her eyes shifting towards Michael. The guy was noticeably upset and moments away from fainting. "Hello," she says, smiling widely, a perfect and beautiful smile.

My eyes scrutinized her appearance: brown hair, coffee-colored eyes, and numerous freckles surrounding her face. As a demon, I possess all sins, especially lust. "Don't worry; you won't remember this conversation," Jenna say gently, approaching the guy.

"Hey! I was working on him!" I pout, Jenna giving me a sidelong glance. "I know it seems cliché... but you should never listen to a demon, even if their proposals are tempting," she says, looking at me scornfully.

"Thanks for the compliments," I casually examine my nails, my eyes watching how things unfold. "But now I have to finish my job," I say, smiling slightly, looking at Jenna with bright eyes.

"You don't deserve to die... you did kill, yes..." Jenna tilts her head, smiling at Michael. "But don't feel guilty for saving your family," she says gently, her hand dangerously approaching his body. I abruptly stand up from the chair, placing my hand on Jenna's shoulder, distancing her from him.

An absurd shock pervades my body, but I avoid thinking too much about it.

"If you touch him, I can't take him anymore," I growl angrily, the fire threatening to spread along my body. "I won't let you destroy him," says Jenna, smiling widely, her dimples appearing thanks to her pulled lips.

Jenna challenges me with her gaze.

"I'm a demon, Jenna. It's in my natural domain to destroy," I say with a sarcastic laugh. "And you, sweet angel, should know that better than anyone else."

I observe as Jenna spreads her beautiful wings.

"You're lucky I like you," I say, squinting my eyes, Jenna's cheeks turning red with embarrassment. "An angel blushing at a demon's words? Your God shouldn't be pleased," I say, smiling widely.

"There's only one God," she asserts herself, her voice angry.

"Apologies," I say, falsely smiling.

"What's happening?" Michael says, frightened.

"Nothing, just carry on with life; it's not your fault," Jenna says, smiling widely. The brunette raises her hand and points her fingers at the guy. A white light emerges from her index finger, and a few seconds later, it hits Michael's forehead, making him lie unconscious in bed.

"An angel playing dirty?" I say incredulously.

Jenna releases a sigh of relief since she had erased the guy's memory and then looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "You can do anything in the name of good," she says, smiling at her words.

"Even in mine?" I say, approaching the brunette.

The situation intensifies, and the spark between us grows more intense.

A strange sensation runs through my body, and instinctively, I move closer to the angel. Jenna looks at me with embarrassment. "What the hell are you doing?" she says with concern, her eyes on Michael, who sleeps peacefully on his bed. "Something I've wanted for a long time," I run my tongue over my lower lip, pulling it shyly.

Jenna watches my gesture and swallows nervously.

The brunette stretches her hands and pushes my body away from hers, avoiding my lips that wanted to land on hers. By now, the mission had failed, but converting an angel would be more fun and effective for the cause. "I know you want it," I say with a singsong tone, my breath brushing against her ear.

"It's wrong," she says coldly.

"But you want it," I say, smiling amused. Jenna pushes me away from her body, and I look at her with a raised eyebrow. "What? Every time I roam on Earth, you follow me, " I say mockingly. "Did God run out of supplies?" I ask amused, and she looks at me with anger.

"I come to prevent ruining the balance!" The brunette clenches her fists and glares at me. "Because if it were up to you, you'd let the world burn," she says, and I nod my head, knowing she was right.

"True... but despite that, you can send another one," I say mischievously.

"I have to keep an eye on you!" she snaps and rolls her eyes at my comment. I tilt my head to the side and look at her, smiling sadly.

I huff and turn my back.

I open the door of the room, intending to leave. I squint, and the sensation of flames trying to escape subsides. Other footsteps approach, and I unconsciously smile. "Are you following me now?" I say with a singsong tone, glancing at the brunette from the corner of my eye. "I repeat, I have to keep an eye on you," Jenna replies calmly.

"For what? If the way home is crowded?" I respond sarcastically.

My eyes turn to a patient's room, noticing a small child on the verge of choking. Jenna seems to have noticed but, for some reason, doesn't intervene. What? An angel not intervening? I thought.

How peculiar the situation is. The child's face is turning violet, with no family nearby.

Mmh... not so amusing.

I sigh and raise my finger towards the child. A dark trail hits the child, making them fall. In the action, the object lodged in their throat shoots out like a rocket. The child coughs, trying to recover oxygen, and the color returns to their cheeks.

Jenna looks at me with intense eyes, trying to penetrate the armor of my demonic self. "Y/n, you're not as bad as you want to believe," she asserts calmly, brushing my shoulder with a light touch. "There are still sparks of goodness in you."

I raise an eyebrow sarcastically. "Oh, really? An angel trying to convert a demon? What a nice plot twist."

"Not all demons are irredeemably evil," Jenna retorts with determination. "I can sense that there's still a trace of humanity in you; you saved that child."

The tension between us grows as we argue. The flames around me dance with an uncontrollable energy as my anger rises. "Don't play with fire, Jenna," I say with a mocking smile. "Can't you see this is my realm? Your light has no power here." I confess bitterly. "Man is selfish," I add, raising an eyebrow with malice.

Jenna lowers her gaze slightly, but her eyes remain fixed on me. "I know there's pain inside you, Y/n. But redemption is possible. Don't let the darkness consume you completely."

I approach her slowly, ignoring the flames dancing around me. "You have pity for a demon, Jenna? Interesting. But you can't change who I am. I was born for sin."

"I don't believe anyone is irredeemable," Jenna whispers with compassion. "There are fallen angels who have found the path to redemption. You could too."

"Your naivety is disarming," I say with a sarcastic laugh. "Maybe I embraced my destiny too firmly, but it's too late to turn back."

Her wings bend slightly, and Jenna looks at me with compassionate eyes. "I don't want to blame you, Y/n. I just want to help you find the light that's still in you."

I stop in front of her, the fire roaring around us, the surroundings oblivious to my pain and anger. "You have no idea what it means to be damned," I hiss, brushing her face with fingers as cold as ice. Jenna looks at me with determined eyes, her light trying to penetrate the darkness that envelops me. "Maybe it's time for you to discover how resilient my light is in the darkness," she states firmly.

I smile mischievously, flipping the script. "Are you sure you want to find out, Jenna? My embrace might be darker than you imagine."

Her wings flutter slightly, but her resolution seems to crack. "I can't surrender to your darkness, but I'm here to help you find the path of redemption."

I approach slowly, the infernal flames dancing at our passage. "And what if I told you that my dark side might be your only way out?"

Jenna hesitates, unsure, as the darkness creeps between us. "I won't allow you to corrupt me, Y/n. Light can always triumph over darkness."

With an intensely provocative gaze, I graze her lips with mine. "Light can triumph, but what happens when it mixes with darkness?" I whisper, trying to confuse her certainties.

Jenna falters, but ultimately succumbs to the ambiguous call of darkness. Our lips unite in a kiss full of contrasts, and in the moment when darkness and light intertwine, something extraordinary happens.

A strange energy emanates between us, a fusion of sin and virtue. The boundaries between good and evil blur, creating a paradoxical harmony. Jenna lets herself be carried away by the kiss, her body vibrating with an unknown energy.

Our forbidden embrace opens a breach in the fabric of duality itself, creating a bond between the dark and the light. Everything around us seems to dissipate, leaving us only with the ambiguous intoxication of what we have just shared.

I break the kiss with a mocking smile. "See, Jenna, the boundary between good and evil can be thinner than you imagine."

Jenna looks at me, bewildered and fascinated, while the effect of the kiss continues to reverberate between us. The drama between our souls complicates further, leaving both of us uncertain about the destiny that awaits us.

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