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wajjs · 3 years

Note

prompt part: the taliajaybru continuation of your bb dami fic? where everyone is still soft and nothing hurts (too much) and bruce catches up on how to be with the people he loves?

omegaverse, omega!jay (ft. male breastfeeding - a very short scene at the very beginning)

continuation of this fic

In my darkness I search for you

Breeze comes in through the window that had been closed.

Breeze comes in, makes the curtains flutter, and Jason doesn't look up from where Dami's head is nestled in his arms, face pressed to his chest. He doesn't look up as he strokes the thin hairs on the back of the head, as he smiles down at the expression of pure concentration Damian has while staying latched onto his nipple.

Jason doesn't look up and he doesn't need to, because he knows who is standing in front of him, tense and agitated and—he wonders what kind of thoughts are plaguing that head. What kind of picture does he paint, and how is it being interpreted?

Damian's tiny hands flex on Jason's chest and it makes him laugh.

He also thinks he can hear a single broken sob coming from the pillar of kevlar, weapons and living, breathing anguish.

When he goes back to the manor, he's carrying a small travel bag with diapers, a few onesies, towels, and Damian's favorite toys. It's clear he's not here for a prolonged stay. He also doesn't come back to the family house through the cave in the middle of the night, like a ghost from days past that descends upon everyone present like a curse. Instead, he walks up the steps to the front door and bounces his baby in his arms. And he waits.

Not for long, though. Because there it is Alfred, looking like he always does and if Jason notices new wrinkles, he doesn't say a thing. He smiles, a small, shy thing, and shifts Damian to just one arm, propping him up on his side.

"Hey there, Alfie," Jason says. If there's a pang of nostalgia clanging in between his ribs, he stays quiet about it.

Alfred's eyes are wide open. This is the most caught he's ever looked.

"Master Jason," he gasps, hand shaking around the doorknob. The lack of steadiness becomes even more obvious when the older man's eyes drift until they are focused on the baby.

Jason understands the surprise. But also, it's getting cold and Damian is still getting better from that trip to—

"I apologize," Alfred quickly recomposes himself, stands to the side as he opens the door as far as it goes, "please, master Jason, please come in."

He smiles and steps inside. Familiarity rushes through him. The house seems stuck in time, as always, and he… he's changed so much.

Bruce can't stop looking at him. The man is pale and silent and he looks at Jason and his baby like they are both going to vanish the minute he blinks. Jason doesn't reassure him that this isn't a half-crazed delusion, this isn't a vision, he's here, he's real. No, he makes no attempt at comforting him. Jason knows more than well it would fall upon stubborn ears.

Alfred is the one sitting by his side and smiling as he watches with an avid eye while Damian plays in his baby chair. Well, not his, but the one that's never left the manor, much like everything else that ever entered here. Still sturdy as ever, and Jason sits next to his child and he kisses the soft hairs.

Sometimes he can't believe this is his reality.

"How," Bruce finally asks.

Even with the fireplace lit up, the room drops to sub-zero temperatures.

"I think you're well acquainted with how babies are made, B."

That's not it, though. The three adults present know.

"How did you come back?"

At least they are talking, Jason thinks, and Bruce has yet to force him into completing one medical scan after the other. It's only a matter of time for that, though. Everyone is well aware.

At the end of the day, well into the night, he's sitting by the small table in the kitchen, Damian dozing off in his arms, waiting for the kettle to start whistling. It's late, now. Late enough for Batman to be expected to be seen prowling the city, and yet the man under the cape is here, by Jason's side. Closer, so much closer than before.

"He looks like Talia," Bruce says and the air he exhales as he speaks brushes Jason's cheek.

"I know," with a rogue smile, he turns towards the other, shifts his hold so his intentions are clear. "Do you want to hold him?"

In typical Bruce fashion, the answer he gets is: "Stay."

And there are so many things left to be said. So many silenced truths waiting round the corner for their best moment to strike. Speeches Jason has rehearsed, over and over, in front of a mirror—fueled by fear and pain and anger and… and grief. Things he's thought about in the middle of training around the world with Talia's guidance.

Things that moved to the very back of his priorities when he discovered that he was—

And so he resigns himself to be, for once, the bigger person.

"I'll stay for the night."

Talia's a beauty that escapes definition, elegantly sprawled on the couch, and Jason feels warmth when he sees her the moment he crosses the door. It's as much his instincts telling him that's my alpha as it is him loving her beyond all that. There's a soft noise forming deep within his chest that has Damian reacting as well, and she laughs with such a wonderful melody.

"We missed you," he says as Damian tries to reach out, both arms extended towards her.

"I'm happy to see you doing much better," Talia stands and picks the baby in her arms. He belongs there as much as he belongs in Jason's hold. "I apologize I couldn't help when you needed me."

"Nonsense," Jason huffs a little, his cheeks getting warm, "you help us all the time. We wouldn't—"

She shushes him with a soft kiss on his lips. It makes Jason's blush grow darker, stirs up half asleep needs and wants and…

He exhales shakily, slumping against the nearest wall and letting the bag fall to the floor. Talia's eyes shine with a new light, one he's seen quite a few times before. They both know what this means.

"I shouldn't," he swallows, runs his hand over his forehead to push his hair out of his face, "I shouldn't go through one so soon, right?"

"You've been with him," her words are not reprimanding. They never are, when she gets it so well, "you've been around him more and more, lately. There are even rumors going around in high society circles. Gossip."

"But," looking at her face, taking in her expression, he shakes again, bites his fist because he needs a distraction. It's not happening just yet, but it's coming. The one thing he did not miss at all. "That… that couldn't be it…"

Talia smiles. She steps closer to him so she can kiss him again. "You've always loved him, dearest."

Jason's knees get a little weaker. He tries not to cry.

"I love you," he says. Desperation adds weight to his voice.

"I know you do," cradling Damian in her arms, she brushes his cheek with her lips, feels his exhale close to her ear, "and I love you, too, dearest."

What Talia doesn't have to say out loud, because he gets it, is: worry not. I'll find a solution.

The ridiculous thought of he's too big for this room keeps repeating itself, like a blinking neon billboard, inside Jason's head. Over and over, till words lose meaning and—

His breath hitches high in his throat and Bruce, god, Bruce Bruce Bruce, he gives him a twitch of his lips that passes for reassurance, an almost smile that Jason used to live for. He's different now, he's grown, he's, he… Talia is right, and Jason looks for her, sees her sitting by the edge of the bed, right next to him. He feels exposed, vulnerable in ways he hates, but he's safe. He's the safest he can be, here, with them paying attention to him.

"Jason," Bruce's voice is soft yet commanding and their eyes meet again. "I can leave if you—"

"No," he says too quickly, reaching out, sitting up on the bed so he can hold onto the other's clothes, "no, don't."

"Beloved," Talia scolds Bruce from behind Jason's shoulders. She's the one pushing him back down onto the mattress, the one massaging away the lines of tension taking over. "Don't tease him like this. Surely you know he's been waiting for you all this time."

Forced into view, being made to be seen, Jason gulps, closes his eyes so he doesn't get to see whatever expression is forming on Bruce's face. He's. He's embarrassed but there is warmth simmering low and insistent in his gut, warmth that gets stronger the more he's made to wait. All the scents, the smell of alpha, they are all making him dizzy, making him want. And he's achingly empty. Why aren't they…?

"I'm sorry, Jason," Bruce whispers and Jason gasps, there's the dip in the mattress, the line of heat of a body broad and big like his own laying on top of him.

Then, then there are the touches. The softest drag of fingertips over his cheek, the line of his jaw, the dip of his collarbones.

"I didn't mean to make you wait so long."

When he blinks and looks at them, at Talia, at Bruce, he's both lost and found. He needs. Legs falling open in the most natural of invitations, he bares his neck, presents himself, shivers and swallows back breathless gasps that betray just how much he craves. Like this, in the cradle of their embrace, like this Jason doesn't have to think of his fears, his anger, the wounds that never heal.

With Bruce on top of him, shedding their clothes, with Talia's fingers in his hair, with all this thorough attention, Jason doesn't have to think about all that he's lost or given up.

Like this, for this moment, he can pretend.

In the peak of winter, bundled up in worn out sweaters, cheeks red and an easy smile on his face, Jason sits on a cushion on the floor, watching as Damian plays next to him. He's giggling, babbling, round and soft and so happy, it's like there are actual stars in his eyes. The two of them paint the most incredible and magical of pictures. An allegory of second chances and new beginnings, of love, of dedication. Of loyalty.

Talia stands by the door, she's always looking, always from a certain distance, like someone who's always protecting. And there is much to protect, here. Much to keep safe.

Bruce stops by her side and his eyes follow the line of her sight. The smile that he gives, it's the most natural smile he's shown in years.

"You saved him," Bruce speaks barely above a whisper.

"Beloved," Talia sighs, leans into his side like all three of them are indeed normal people, like this arrangement won't bring problems, like they get to have a chance at a normal life, "I didn't do anything. He actually saved all three of us."

#jaytalia #brujay #taliajaybru #talia al ghul #jason todd #bruce wayne #omega jason todd #blob writes #blob's prompt party #the very last one!#setsailslash

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Klaine one-shot “Home Sweet Home?” (Rated NC17)

Summary:

While spending the first night in their brand new home, Blaine and Kurt come to realize that the old residents may not have exactly left yet. (2198 words)

Notes: Written for @sunshineoptimismandangels and inspired by the Klaine Valentines 2019 prompt 'You Take My Breath Away' by Queen.

Read on AO3.

“I can’t believe we finally got our own home!” Kurt giggles in throwback baby penguin fashion, his inner teenager clawing to the surface to pump a fist in the air in triumph as he climbs underneath the covers beside his husband. With no electricity turn on scheduled till the next afternoon, it’s nearly pitch black in their bedroom and cold as sin, but Kurt doesn’t care. Blaine’s body heat solves the temperature problem, and as for the darkness …

… it could turn out to be convenient.

“I know!” Blaine agrees, wrapping his arms around Kurt as he rests his head against Blaine’s chest. “Three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, guest rooms, a kitchen with a breakfast nook, an office, a den, and a cellar! Except for being a little run down, it’s in amazing condition! And it was a steal! I can’t believe there wasn’t a line of people out a mile trying to get their hands on it!”

“Some people are afraid of a little hard work when it comes to houses,” Kurt murmurs contentedly into his husband’s chest. “I can’t blame them. In this market, if you’re going to sink hundreds of thousands of dollars into a property, why buy a fixer-upper? It’s like buying someone else’s problems.”

“Or their mistakes.”

“Mm-hm. But my father always said buy the worst house in the best neighborhood and make it your own. And I trust my dad more than anyone.”

“So do I.” Blaine grins, mentally thanking his father-in-law for his advice … and for so much more, including this angel in his arms. “And there’s so much room! Other houses we saw at this price range were almost a third the size. At this rate, we won’t need to move after we have kids unless we want to.”

“Who would want to? We’re in such a good neighborhood, within walking distance to one of the best schools in the city, parks, museums, culture! Nope. I’m not moving,” Kurt declares, snuggling his husband tighter, burrowing symbolically into everything that represents home to him. “You’re going to be burying me in this house because I’m staying!”

“Then I’m going to be buried right next to you,” Blaine says, leaning down for a kiss.

“Aw, Mr. Ander-Hummel. That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said. Or the creepiest.”

“Let’s stick with romantic and go from there,” Blaine suggests, slipping cold hands underneath his husband’s long-sleeved flannel shirt. Kurt squirms at the touch, but retaliates with an even more frigid hand down his husband’s pants.

“Ooo!” Blaine yelps, shivers running down his spine. But only one of those is from the invasion on his warm skin. A handful are from something else, something he hears with his whole body – a faint but clear creak coming from downstairs in the general location of the kitchen. Kurt wraps his fingers around him and starts to stroke, but Blaine goes still, ears straining to catch a hint of that noise should it come around again.

“What … what’s wrong?” Kurt asks when Blaine doesn’t start bucking up into his fist.

“D---did … did you hear that?” Blaine stutters. He pictures the kitchen in his head: painted bright yellow with windows all around that let in tons of sunlight during the day, and a white-washed door that leads to their back yard. It’s a decent amount of space for being located right outside a major city. Kurt plans on turning it into a garden. It’s fenced in with a locked gate. Sure someone could climb it, but why go through the trouble when so many other houses don’t have a fence?

As far as Blaine remembers, he locked the back door and the windows, secured the shutters and pulled the drapes. Coming from the city, they even put a brace against the doorknob for extra protection, even though the few neighbors they’ve met claim the neighborhood is so safe, you could forget to lock your doors and you’d be fine.

Could the neighbors be playing up the safety of the place so that he and Kurt wouldn’t have second thoughts?

Is there a chance he forgot a window?

Blaine was in such a hurry to get upstairs and ready for bed, could it have slipped his mind?

Could someone have snuck in? Are they now prowling around the kitchen, on their way into the living room and up the stairs to where Kurt and Blaine lay in bed, completely unaware that a killer is loose in their house!?

“Hmm? No,” Kurt mutters, kissing a path of distraction down Blaine’s neck. “What did it sound like?”

“It sounded like …” Blaine gulps hard, Kurt’s kisses doing their job well except for one icy prickle at the base of his neck that’s telling him they’re not alone “… footsteps … downstairs … i-in the kitchen.”

“It’s probably the house settling.” Kurt starts on the buttons to Blaine’s pajama top, misinterpreting his trembling for excitement. “Old houses do that all the time. When I first moved into the basement of our old house, it was a nightmare. The wood creaking and moaning …”

Blaine’s eyebrows lift. Despite his bone-chilling fear, he grins. “Moaning, huh?”

“Yeah.” Kurt hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Blaine’s pants and gives them a tug down. “Or … our house could be haunted.” Kurt snickers, nibbling Blaine’s earlobe while his hands creep up his shirt. “New England style house in a historic neighborhood? Maybe we’re living with the ghost of Paul Revere, hmm? Preparing for his epic ride? The British are coming …” Those words fall against Blaine’s collarbone, coming dancing across his skin like the fractured edge of burgeoning orgasm. “The British are coming …”

Blaine responds with soft gasps and hums, at a loss for a coherent comeback with the word coming ringing through his ears in Kurt’s silvery tenor.

“Maybe we should start making some noise of our own. Drown him out.”

“Yeah,” Blaine agrees, the potential of a serial killer climbing their stairs to slaughter them in their Laura Ashley sheets replaced by memories of his husband’s sinful noises, his pleading for more, his whimpering when he’s so so close. “Maybe we should.”

Kurt doesn’t need to be told twice. Actually, he didn’t need to be told once. He already has Blaine’s pants pulled down to mid-thigh, grinding his crotch down over him, teasing his cock with the soft flannel of his pajama pants until Blaine starts to moan.

“Ooh, Kurt,” he whines, reaching for Kurt’s kisses with his hungry mouth while Kurt pins him down with his body. “Ooh … ooh … oh, God … ooh …”

“Ooh ooh ooh ooh …”

A haunting voice rises up from the corner of the room, shadowing Blaine’s every time he moans. Kurt doesn’t seem to notice, but Blaine does, since the echo doesn’t sound like him at all.

“Kurt?”

“Yes?”

“Stop for a moment,” Blaine commands. “Just … stay quiet.”

“Oh …” Kurt smirks, misunderstanding. “That’s the way you want to play it. Okay. I can be quiet. I won’t … make … a sound …”

“No,” Blaine says, his brain crying, his erection aching, his entire body begging, ‘Yes!’. “No, that’s not what I mean.”

Kurt frowns at his husband, beyond frustrated. “Then what do you …?”

“Ooh ooh …”

Kurt’s head pops up like a rabbit’s in the snow, sensing the presence of an approaching fox.

“Ooh ooh …”

In the corner of the room, a blue light simmers, cutting through the dark with its stark brightness. Blaine sees it face forward, over Kurt’s back, but Kurt sees it in the reflection of Blaine’s eyes. Both men gulp hard as the light pulses and the moaning continues.

“Ooh ooh ooh …”

…

“Ooh ooh ooh …”

…

Kurt turns slowly, looks over his shoulder. The blue light strobes but only for a second. Then it blinks out of existence.

But the moaning continues.

Only it’s not moaning, Kurt realizes first.

It’s singing.

Ooh ooh ooh take it take it all away

Ooh ooh ooh ooh - ooh take my breath away – ooh

Ooh ooh ooh ooh

Ooh you take my breath away

Kurt sighs, relief seeping into a bubbly laugh. “Blaine! It’s just Alexa! It’s playing music!”

“Okay but no one said Alexa,” Blaine insists. “It woke up on its own!”

“They’ve been known to do that. I read about it on Twitter.”

“Now it’s playing Queen! No one asked for Queen!”

“It’s in your cloud. Alexa chose it at random. It’s got some decent taste.” Kurt chuckles. “And an impeccable sense of romantic timing. It’s either the best wingman ever or the worst …”

A loud thunk stops Kurt’s commentary in its tracks. He rises up again, listening for the origin of the noise, sounding like a baseball cracked by a bat. He can’t determine where the noise came from, but he knows this.

The music has stopped.

“Alexa?” he calls out as if the device were a real live person in the room with them. When it doesn’t respond, he crawls to the end of the bed in search of it. “Alexa? Why did you stop …?”

He doesn’t finish his question.

That’s okay. He doesn’t need Alexa to answer.

He knows what that thunk was.

It was Alexa, no longer sitting on the floor in the corner of the room but now rolling on its side against the far wall … over ten feet away.

“How the hell …?” Kurt looks questioningly at Blaine, sitting up and peeking past Kurt, seeing what Kurt sees. He shakes his head in subconscious response.

“It was on the floor,” Kurt explains needlessly. “How could it …?”

Crash!

Their bedroom window breaking sends Kurt scrambling to the head of the bed. He dives underneath the covers, pulling the comforter over his and Blaine’s head to protect them from flying glass.

“OhmyGod, ohmyGod, ohmyGod, ohmyGod!”

“Shhh!” Blaine holds his husband tight to stop him from shaking to pieces. “Shhh! Try to keep quiet! We don’t want anyone knowing we’re here!”

Kurt nods, fighting anxiety to bite his lips shut and lie still as stone to wait for the aftermath - another crash, crunching glass, cruel laughter, the squeal of tires peeling down the street.

Nothing else comes, not even a breath of wind. It had been howling outside before they’d retired, but there isn’t a whisper of it now. Kurt’s breathing slows and Blaine’s follows. After ten more seconds of silence, they peek out from beneath the covers to inspect the damage.

But there is none.

The windows are intact, locked to their sills, their shutters drawn, just like the ones downstairs.

And with the absence of Alexa’s blinking blue light, the room is pitch black again.

“Oh hell no!” Kurt yells. “Do not tell me we moved into a haunted house!”

“It is Boston,” Blaine says, eyes scanning the room with vigilance. “The odds were pretty high, all things considered.”

Kurt leaps out of bed and heads for the light switch. “I’m not sleeping in the dark with a ghost!”

“Kurt!” Blaine reaches for his husband, grabbing for an arm, a leg, anything before he runs off too far. “We don’t have electricity!”

Kurt stops a foot from the bedroom door, eyes wide as saucers when he sees it’s not closed all the way, the chill breeze running through the house from a leak somewhere causing it to swing forward and back by inches, revealing glimpses of an ink black hallway. “Shit!” he says, bolting back to the safety of the bed. “I forgot!”

“Wh---what should we do?” Blaine asks, eyes shifting side to side, on high alert for whatever else might happen, what furniture may fly … or what phantom might phase through the walls.

“Candles!” Kurt says, opening the drawers to the dresser beside the bed and rummaging through them blindly. “And flashlights! Find every one you can and light it! Tomorrow I’m going to call that realtor and rip her a new one! No wonder she worked so hard to sell us on this place, bend over backward for all our demands, how flippin’ eager the sellers were to drop the price at every turn! Even my dad said we went from tour to escrow quicker than anyone he’s ever known in his life!”

“D-do you think we should get proof? So she’ll believe us? Should we try to take a picture of it?” Blaine picks his cell phone up off the bedside table and switches on the camera app. “If nothing else, that might tell us what we’re dealing with.”

Kurt stares at his husband with the round blue eyes of a frightened foal. “Is that a picture you want to see!?” he squeals.

Blaine looks at his blank phone screen. He imagines taking a picture of the space above their bed and seeing the ghoulish, twisted face of some ungodly creature. It might be there right now; staring at him in amusement; sharp, blood-stained teeth gnashing inches from his head; but at least he doesn’t have to look at it.

“Nope,” Blaine decides, switching to his flashlight app instead. “Not in the slightest.”

#klaine #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #frankie writes

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