#until i just kinda. settled back into living without her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlinos · 2 months

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It would’ve been sweet if it could’ve been me

♡ Pairing: Bang Chan × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Single dad!Chan, friends to strangers to lovers

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), mentions of parental guilt, themes of loneliness, Chan is stuck in the past, lying, mentions of feeling lost in life, story spans over a number of years, nipple play, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

♡ Word count: 8.2k

♡ Synopsis: Being a single dad to Hyerin is all Chan has known for the past four years. He and his ex-girlfriend reached an agreement that saw her going off to live a life she had always dreamed of while he was left with a life of loneliness, which he endured with a smile on his face for his daughter. A small gleam of hope seems to appear in his life in the shape of you. But hiding himself under a haze of lies seems to be his only option if he ever wants to keep you.

♡ A/N: Based off a request by anon! Thank you for requesting, this was so much fun to write 🩷 I will admit this is a lot more focused on Chan as a character than I originally wanted it to be, and I kinda went a bit crazy with the plot, but I hope you still like it! The song Chan sings to Hyerin is Little Star by Standing Egg 💗

Every day in Chan’s life is a monotonous, never-ending cycle. Like watching reruns of bad TV shows on gloomy Sunday nights, every second of his past and upcoming days is etched into his mind like a quilt of mundane tasks and repetitive moments.

But that wasn’t always the case.

Once, excitement filled his every waking moment. His weekends were a whirlwind of new places teeming with bustling crowds and unfamiliar faces who became fast friends. During his university years, he and his friends lived their lives with ardor, savoring every moment as if it could be their last. His days were filled with an array of unplanned parties and impromptu trips which brought a kaleidoscope of color to his life.

Until he met Dana.

He was about to graduate, and she swept into his life like a hurricane — flipping everything upside down before disappearing just as quickly, with only destruction and ashes remaining in her wake.

He was infatuated; she was bored. That was clear from the start, but Chan was too blinded by affection to be concerned with such a minute detail. So long as he got to have her by his side, he was happy. Their relationship lasted a year, yet it changed his life forever.

He was twenty-one when Dana announced her pregnancy. On his twenty-second birthday, she told him she didn’t want to be a mother.

By that point in his life, Chan had already forsaken everything he had for her. He turned his back on his old friends, the vibrant life he once led, and everything that once made him who he was. Without Dana, he would be left with nothing but the ugly reflection of his self-destructive choices made in the name of a loveless love.

And so, they came to an agreement. Dana would leave — that had been her plan from the start, anyway — but she would leave Chan with a small piece of their story.

Hyerin was born on November 20th, 2019.

Dana left on a plane to New York City on December 1st.

Now, the only speck of color in his life is Hyerin. In the four years Chan has been lucky enough to be her dad, he has found she is much more than simply a reminder of Dana or what could have been between them. Hyerin is his entire world. She is the love he’s unknowingly been searching for his whole life, and he would sacrifice every last bit of himself to make sure she only ever knows happiness.

They live a quiet life, with Chan working a less-than-fulfilling corporate job and spending all his free time with her. He sometimes allows himself to wonder what happened to his old friends — did they all eventually settle for the mundanity of adult life, or are they still chasing an endless thrill? But he never dwells on it too much. The sweet memories of his early twenties are now nothing more than a comforting escape when the weight of loneliness becomes too overwhelming.

Today is one of those days. A late Friday night after his shift, Chan sprawled on his couch with Jisung, a co-worker who became his first friend after many years, a silly smile on his face as he reminisced about a trip to Jeju in his sophomore year of college. This is how he lives most of his life; when he’s not in the present with Hyerin, he’s stuck in the past.

How could he not be stuck in the past? So many people he loved and memories he cherished were there.

“I don’t get how you just left all of that behind for someone,” Jisung scoffs, loosening his tie. “Why couldn’t she just join your group of friends?”

“It’s complicated,” Chan sighs, eyes wandering toward Hyerin’s bedroom door for the umpteenth time to make sure she’s still sleeping soundly. When he turns to look back at Jisung, his expression prompts him to elaborate. “What? You want the whole story?”

Jisung shrugs. “It’s not like we have any other plans for tonight.”

“Well, there was this girl in my friend group. We hooked up a lot, but our relationship went beyond that,” Chan explains, fingers tapping his thighs as the memories flood his mind. It was a sore topic, one he certainly didn’t enjoy remembering. “We never dated, but Dana was jealous, and I couldn’t blame her. Me and this girl were… very close. I couldn’t be in a relationship while also being that close to her, but I also couldn’t imagine us being only friends. So it was easier to walk away.”

Chan conveniently leaves out the fact that he walked away because an artificial love strangely provided solace for his heart, unlike the searing torment of unrequited love, which engulfed him like molten lava.

“And that was the last time you ever had that type of relationship with anyone?”

“With Dana? Yeah—”

“Hyung, you know what I mean. You told me yourself Dana didn’t love you,” Jisung points out. “I mean this other girl.”

Chan shrugs dismissively. “I guess, yeah. Doesn’t matter, though.”

And Jisung scoffs loudly at his words, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. Memories of that love flood Chan’s mind, and he's ready to let them sweep him away when Jisung abruptly turns so he sits facing him, resolve swimming in his eyes.

“Give me your phone,” his loud voice reverberates through the small apartment, prompting Chan to shush him with a stern look. “Give me your phone,” Jisung repeats himself with a harsh whisper.

Chan rolls his eyes but ultimately smiles at his friend. He retrieves his phone from the end table, handing it to a much too enthusiastic Jisung. “The password is Hyerin’s birthday,” he tells him, albeit a bit apprehensive.

He watches amusedly as Jisung types away at his own phone before doing the same on his, handing him the device with a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What did you do, you little menace?” Chan questions the younger boy, narrowing his eyes. Jisung simply shrugs.

“I got you a date tomorrow. Thank me later.”

Chan immediately sits up on the couch, eyes darting toward his phone screen. A chat with a single message from him to an unknown contact makes him question his entire friendship with Jisung.

Me: I’m your date for tomorrow 😉

Me: O’neul restaurant, 6 pm. See you there, cutie

“Jisung, what the fuck?”

“What?” His friend asks between giggles. “Sora has this friend she said desperately needs a date, and I have you in the same situation,” he explains, clearly proud of himself. “I just did you both a favor while also getting boyfriend points.”

Chan’s eyes shift toward his phone once more, inwardly cringing at the messages with a heavy sigh.

“And was making me sound this creepy necessary?”

Jisung waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, that was just a little treat for me.”

“And why the fuck is her name Mystery Girl?” Chan queries, the irritation making him unknowingly raise his voice.

“It’s a blind date,” his friend explains. “This girl’s apparently super picky, kept turning down every guy Sora suggested. So, she came up with this solution. Can’t turn you down if she doesn’t know what you look like.”

Chan groans, ultimately sinking back onto the couch with a defeated sigh. Jisung was trying to be a good friend, he knew that, but he wasn’t at all thrilled with the prospect of a date. Not only did he not want one, but he also had no time for such a futile thing. He had Hyerin, and she was the sole reason for his existence. He didn’t need anyone meddling in their little world. But he didn’t have the courage to tell Jisung that.

It would be a lie to say the past four years weren’t lonesome. Falling asleep alone in a cold, empty bed was a sorrow he had simply grown numb to. Yet, he still yearned to have someone to share the grapples of routine life with, someone whose presence alone would effortlessly diminish his worries, someone he could make love to before falling asleep and waking up intertwined.

But he couldn’t afford to have that.

At least this date was bound to fail; the woman’s demanding nature, coupled with Chan’s unwillingness to even be there in the first place sure to make their wasted time brief.

Just as he’s about to grumble about the messages again, Hyerin comes stumbling out of her room, her small feet shuffling against the floor as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

“Oh, honey, were we being too loud?” Chan asks sweetly, and his eyes discreetly shoot daggers at Jisung, who mouths an apology.

Hyerin firmly shakes her head, the crooked pigtails Chan clumsily had tied this morning coming undone as she does so. He smiles at her, propping his elbows on his knees and waiting for her to speak her little mind.

“I had a dream,” she mumbles. “With a dragon.”

Chan gasps, hands wrapping around her tiny frame and picking her up before walking toward her room. It took him some time, but he ultimately learned that it’s best to ease her back into bed while she’s distracted, lest she throws a tantrum.

“And was it a nice dragon?” He asks. Hyerin giggles, and Chan is positive that the sound has the power to light up even his most somber days.

“Of course it was a nice dragon, daddy,” she tells him. “You said I only have nice dreams ‘cause my mind is pretty, remember?”

Chan nods as he gently tucks her back into bed, triple-checking that she is comfortable and warm. “Of course, of course. How could I forget?” He slaps a hand on his forehead with a sigh. “Hyerinnie has the prettiest mind. It can only make up pretty things.”

Hyerin smiles at him, tugging her blanket close to her chin, her doe eyes already heavy with sleep and blinking languidly. Chan asks her the same question he does every night, although the answer remains unchanging every time: would she like him to sing to her? She drowsily tells him she wants to hear him sing her favorite song, Little Star.

Chan promptly gets under the covers beside her — Hyerin pouting and whining about how he’s stealing her blanket for himself, to which he can’t help the hearty laugh that escapes his lips. Since turning four, she’s developed quite a strong personality that Chan soon finds he adores, much like everything about her.

He turns on his side to watch her features as he sings; her nose and mouth so similar to his, and the way she furrows her brows while falling asleep mirrors his own habits. Chan might not be a happy man in his job or his personal life, but the boundless happiness his little gift provides him surpasses anything else he could wish for. Every now and then, he finds himself wanting more, but it’s not long before he realizes he already has everything he needs.

Chan goes over his rather extensive list of how to care for Hyerin with Jisung for the tenth time that evening, making sure the younger man knows what to do in any situation that could arise in the couple hours he’ll be gone. Hyerin is the one to usher him out of the apartment, assuring him she’ll be fine with her uncle Han, and Chan has to stop himself from wallowing over the fact that his once tiny baby is rapidly blossoming into a young kid.

He made no real effort to dress for his date; a simple button-up shirt and jeans served him just fine, seeing as he plans to return home as soon as possible. His date and he haven’t talked much at all since his initial texts yesterday, texting each other only to confirm the time and place of their basically forced date.

He arrives fifteen minutes late, all but running from the bus stop to the restaurant while cursing Jisung under his breath. This was definitely not worth the hassle, and Chan wanted nothing more than to be back at home with his daughter. He’d pick watching Tangled with her for the hundredth time over an unwanted date in a heartbeat.

Chan finally walks into the restaurant, informing the waiter that he’s there to meet Cherry. His face visibly grimaces as he mutters the words. Fuck this blind date bullshit.

He’s led to his table, dragging his feet behind the waiter. His attention is immediately drawn to the pencil holding his date’s messy ponytail together. He chuckles quietly, circling around the table and forcing out a smile to introduce himself.

But then he’s met with a sight he had long given up hope of ever seeing again: you.

You, who were next to him as he made stupid decisions during college. Like when he drunkenly thought it wise to bet his laptop in a game of beer pong.

You, who always made him your special hangover soup after a party. He especially loved it when you let him keep the leftovers, knowing that he and his roommate were hopeless in the kitchen.

You, who filled the space in his cold sheets with warmth and always made his bed feel like a sanctuary.

You, who let him make love to you despite you both swearing to be only friends.

You, who later had to watch him walk away from you like a coward, driven by sheer fear.

You, staring back at him with a stunned look on your face.

“Chan?” You ask, an unsure lilt to your words.

And Chan embarrassingly fumbles over his words, his tongue tying itself into knots in front of you. He notices you pursing your lips to stop from giggling and clears his throat a bit too loudly, a few patrons turning their heads to look at him. But he can’t bring himself to care, not when it seems the universe has turned the wheels of his fate in his favor for once.

“Uh, hi,” is all his brain can muster among the jumble of thoughts inside his head. He mentally berates himself for acting so damn awkward when you’re clearly not as affected by this encounter as he is.

“Damn, it’s been so long,” you marvel, eyes not leaving his face for a second. “I thought you moved to a different country or something. It’s so strange how we never ran into each other.”

Chan forces out a chuckle, hands now fiddling with the menu on the table. Of course you two never ran into each other; he only ever leaves the house for work or when he has to accompany Hyerin, and he doubts you frequent playgrounds or zoos.

“Yeah, I… don’t go out much anymore,” he simply says.

You hum, and he properly takes in your appearance. You haven’t changed one bit; from your hair to your choice of clothes, you’re still the same girl who ruled over his every thought during college.

You two order your food and fall into an infuriating cycle of small talk. Chan doesn’t want to talk about the weather or if you have seen the latest movie yet — he’s desperate to ask you how you’ve been, if you ever pursued your dreams, if you can still outdrink anyone in your friend group, and—

And if you’re still single because you find relationships a hassle.

But as the food arrives, you fall into an even more frustrating cycle: silence. Chan feels restless, squirming in his seat every few minutes while you calmly eat and watch the people around you. He remembers your habit of scanning crowded rooms and making up stories for strangers with your vivid imagination. He wants to ask if you still do that, but it seems he’s only grown into more of a coward since your last encounter.

You’re the first to break the silence, waiting for the waiter to leave with your plates to ask what Chan has been doing since graduating. It’s a casual question with no weight to your words, as lighthearted as you have always been. And the complete opposite of his every possible answer.

How can he tell you he’s given up music altogether, now surrounded by gray walls and lifeless faces in his corporate job? How can he tell you he’s alone most of the time, partly by choice and partly because he doesn’t know how to dig himself out of this comfortable hole he’s trapped himself in?

How can he possibly explain that he agreed to be a single father, sacrificing his own happiness for the selfish whims of a woman who never even loved him?

You’re still the same; the same carefree eyes and attitude, same easygoing approach to everything life throws your way — such as meeting him again after years.

All of him has changed.

Chan can’t tarnish your colorful life, can’t sit before you and spill out his problems or grumble about the overwhelming loneliness in his life when he knows damn well that was a consequence of his own choices.

He wants nothing more than to be the same Chan he was in college. Creating life stories for strangers in dive bars with you, not caring about whether he’ll have enough money to pay the water bill next month, not having to bear the burden of something as precious as a human life depending solely on him.

It’s selfish, but he wants nothing more than to go back.

So he does.

“I actually still write songs, though it’s only a freelance thing,” he lies. He hasn’t written a single note in years. “Other than that, I’ve just been taking it day by day. Same as I’ve always done, I guess.”

And your eyes immediately light up — you’ve always loved his songs, after all. Your conversation flows much like it used to in the past after that, with you making witty jokes and Chan laughing loudly at them. You tell him you started working as an art teacher for the elderly when living off of commissions became impossible, and that you adore the stories they share about their younger years. They remind you of your own stories together, you admit with a genuine smile.

Your conversation is endless, continuing even as Chan walks you to your car in the empty parking lot. The night has grown colder, and the crescent moon gleaming in the sky above him almost feels like a sign that things will change for the better.

As you two stand in front of your car, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Ever the free soul, you ask him outright if he would like to come back to your place. There are no further implications hidden in your request beyond a hookup. Nothing’s ever heavy with you, every little thing always feeling light as a feather.

He says he would love to, but quickly excuses himself under the guise of calling his roommate about the spare key. Chan hurriedly calls Jisung as soon as he turns a corner in the parking lot, ensuring you won’t be able to hear him. It’s juvenile, the way he’s actually taking pleasure in almost creating a different version of himself — a version much closer to who he was when you were his, at least in some sense of the word. He’s a father, he should be responsible and dependable, but the weight of that role had been thrust upon him far too abruptly. He can’t be faulted for wanting to go back in time.

“Okay, I have no time to explain,” he blurts out as soon as Jisung picks up the phone. “Would it be too much to ask you to stay the night?”

Jisung chuckles at the other end of the line. “Damn, was the date that good?”

Chan ignores his sly comment, because yes, the date was everything he never thought it could be.

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” he assures him. “I’ll even pay you if you want. How much—”

“Hey, no need for that,” Jisung cuts him off. “You know I love looking after Hyerin.”

And the pang of guilt inside his chest at the mention of his daughter’s name almost knocks the air out of his lungs. He feels ashamed, as if he’s neglecting his daughter for a hookup, going after a fantasy that has long crumbled and faded away.

“How is she? Is she okay?” He asks, guilt washing over him like a wave. He hadn’t thought of his daughter for a second that entire night. “Did she cry at all? Did she notice I was gone for longer than I promised?”

Jisung calls out his name with a chuckle, prompting him to stop his rambling. “Relax. We painted each other’s nails, she did my makeup, had her dinner, and is now sleeping soundly after listening to another one of uncle Han’s phenomenal stories about frogs,” He details, causing a hearty laugh to fall from Chan’s lips at the image of Jisung’s face painted with Hyerin’s cheap children’s makeup. His friend then adds, “Go get laid, man.”

And so Chan hangs up the phone, all but running toward your figure waiting by your car. You smile at him, taking his hand and pulling him into a tight embrace. It’s the first time he holds you in almost five years, and he feels his dull world away from Hyerin slowly fill up with vibrant hues.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to reach your apartment building, and Chan is thanking any higher power that might listen for that. The sheer anticipation of what is implied to happen once you two are alone together has him picking at his cuticles until it stings.

He’s nervous, to put it lightly. A couple of terrible drunken hookups in dingy motels after office gatherings were his only sexual encounters after Hyerin was born.

But once you’re standing in front of him in your living room, your eyes never leaving his even as you’re slipping off your heels, Chan knows you’re both equals in this playing field.

He’s the one to pull you into a kiss, lips barely grazing against yours. But the feeling of finally kissing you again after so many years was like wildfire, consuming him wholly until the kiss turns feverish. His hand travels from your shoulders to your lower back, pulling you flush against his body. You hum against his lips, fingers clumsily undoing his buckle, and the prospect that you might be as eager as he is has him gripping the fabric of your dress.

Chan swears his vision goes black the moment your fingertips brush against his hardening erection, the feathery touch enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

A hand is pressed to his chest before he has the chance to think, and you’re pushing him backward until his back meets the wall. You immediately drop to your knees in front of him, leaning forward and nuzzling your face against his clothed cock.

“I missed you,” you whisper, hungry eyes looking up at him. “Don’t think I got to say that.”

Chan takes in the sight of you, memorizing and storing it in his mind alongside the countless images he already had of you on his knees for him. His fingers thread in your hair, your lips falling open with a sigh.

“I missed you too,” he professes. You have no idea how much.

With a smile, you quickly work his zipper open, pulling his jeans down his legs and pressing a wet kiss to his clothed erection. Chan feels your tongue lap at his member through his boxers, lips sucking around the head as your nails scrape the flesh of his thighs lightly.

It feels like you mouth at his length for hours, the light gray fabric of his boxers stained with your saliva and his precum, leaving Chan panting and tugging at your hair. You trail soft, wet kisses down his thigh while pushing his boxers out of your way, his cock already swollen and flushed. He’d be embarrassed for the way his body reacted so responsively to you if you weren’t also visibly as affected.

Your tongue circles his length languidly, lapping at a small bead of precum with a hum. Finally wrapping your lips around his tip, your tongue flicks teasingly beneath the head of his cock, Chan sucking in a deep breath and using his grip on your hair as leverage to pull you toward him. You almost obediently drop your jaw to slide his now fully hardened length into your mouth, your hand wrapping around the base as you begin to bob your head up and down his cock. Chan hisses your name when you relax your throat after a few passes, taking him fully into your pretty mouth, your nose brushing his pelvis.

“Fuck, you always looked so pretty like that,” Chan chokes out. “Pretty lips taking me so well.”

You groan at his words and the vibrations traveling along his shaft have Chan growling with a harsh tug of your hair, causing you to sputter as his cock hit the back of your throat. You seek purchase in his hips as tears prick the corner of your eyes. You’re unrelenting nonetheless, circling your tongue around him before pulling away, hands now sliding up his thigh before gently gliding over his balls. As you slowly lick from the base of his shaft all the way up to the sensitive tip, Chan’s gaze shifts down as he catches a glimpse of your thighs rubbing together. He feels himself twitch, and immediately pulls you away from him.

“Don’t wanna come like this, I need to fuck you,” he rasps out.

You stand back up, legs wobbly, and fumble with the buttons of his shirt while he slides your dress down your shoulders. Your movements are messy and filled with urgency, your breaths quickening as you both want nothing more than to strip away any form of barrier between you. Piling up five years of yearning will do that.

As your impatience reaches its peak, you tear open the last remaining buttons of his shirt, your nails grazing his skin as you slide the fabric down his shoulders. A wave of goosebumps travels across Chan’s body, and his hands abandon the task of removing your dress in favor of tracing the curve of your ass before picking you up off the floor.

“First door on the right,” you tell him, your words answering his unspoken thoughts as if you could read his mind. Chan nods, your proximity making it impossible for him not to press his lips to yours, tongue sliding over your bottom lip before licking into your mouth with a low hum.

He collides with a wall, missing the entrance to your bedroom by a hair’s breadth, and you giggle against his lips. Chan smiles back. Nothing’s ever heavy with you.

He lowers you onto the bed gently, his body instinctively slotting between your spread legs the way he did so many times before. You soon also wrap your thighs around his waist as you always did, pulling him closer until his cock is pressed up against your clothed pussy.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, grinding your hips forward and eliciting a quiet moan from Chan’s lips as he hastily nods. With a tight grip on your waist, he flips you both effortlessly.

Promptly sitting up on his thighs, you finally rid yourself of the inconvenient fabric of your dress, followed by your bra, your nipples instantly hardening. Chan sits up, eyes transfixed on your chest as his calloused thumbs trace the nubs before his lips circle around one, sucking harshly. As you gently roll your hips, he can feel the way your soaked panties cling to his skin as your core presses up against his thigh.

Your fingers tangle in his hair with a whimper, pushing his face into your breasts as he bites the sensitive skin. His lips leave your nipples with a wet sound, then trailing kisses up the column of your neck until his gaze is locked on yours again. He was dying to mark you, bite and suck on your skin until it blossomed into a beautiful maroon — but he knew better. You weren’t twenty anymore, and you weren’t his; in no sense of the word.

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him, eyes heavy with lust.

And he knows this is a terrible idea. This was exactly how he came to be a father.

But it’s not his mind that’s doing the thinking, and so he nods, his grip on your hips tightening as you pull your soaked panties to the side just enough to slide the swollen tip of his cock against your slick folds. Chan sucks in a breath, fighting a war against his own body not to come from this feeling alone. It wasn’t just how long it had been since he was with someone, it was you. It was all you. The effect you had always had on him having never faded, simply laying dormant until his body had you again.

Chan rests his forehead on yours as you slowly sink down on his length. His lips find your neck again, gently sucking the skin into his mouth as you slowly grind down on him, a whine falling from your lips and going straight to his cock. His hips buck up unwittingly, causing you to moan loudly in his ears. But your slow pace remains, and Chan knows he should savor this moment, but he wants nothing more than to fuck you into the mattress until he forgets every minor issue aggravating his brain.

Such as the fact that he knows you will leave his life again the second you find out he lied to you.

So his hands find your waist and he flips you down onto the mattress once more. His eyes bore into you as you suck in a breath.

“Fuck me,” you plead, hips grinding into his cock again. “I want it, please—”

Chan doesn’t waste another second, retreating only to plunge back harshly into your cunt. He moves with deep strokes, hips falling into an erratic rhythm, your nails digging into his back as your thighs clenched around his waist. All he can hear is static and your choked moans as he presses you into the mattress.

“Missed this so fucking much,” he groans against your ear. And finally succumbing to his desires, he bends down to suck and nibble on the delicate skin of your neck, mind too focused on how your walls squeeze around him to worry about marking you. He laps at the small bruises he leaves behind, your fingers tangling in his hair as you mewl.

You roll your hips, matching his rhythm, and Chan feels a familiar heat rise within him. He reaches down to glide small circles around your clit, your body jolting and squirming. He absentmindedly smiles against your skin.

After an entire night of pretending his life was the same as it was five years ago, fucking you required no acting.

“It’s too much, fuck,” you whimper, tugging him by the hair until your lips are crashing together in a sloppy kiss. Your walls tighten around him, body clenching as the tension finally snaps, your orgasm coursing through your shaking body as Chan growls into your parted lips.

He keeps fucking into you, until his hips meet yours one last time, and a low groan reverberates through the room. His cock twitches inside of you as his body stills, filling you with his warm release which leaked out of you and onto your sheets as he pulled out with a sigh.

Chan throws himself onto the mattress, labored breaths leaving his heavy lungs. He pulls you into his arms, and you melt into his embrace as if it were a habit. It’s as though he’s gone back in time, even if temporarily.

He feels like he’s simply a guy making love with the girl he adores in the familiar comfort of his dorm room again.

When the first rays of sunlight seeped into your room, Chan was already awake. He watched as you slept, eyelids fluttering and a small smile adorning your lips.

It was as if you were his, in every sense of the word.

Guilt.

That’s what Chan feels every time he sees Hyerin’s laughing face on his phone’s wallpaper when he’s out, entertaining the silly lie he crafted.

It’s been two months since you reconnected and you effortlessly slipped him back into your life. The reunion with his old friends was expected — but Chan dreaded it, regardless. He found that out of the nine people that once comprised their group, only five remained. He wasn’t the only one who had gone his own way.

But he was the only one who had done it in the worst way possible, carelessly ghosting every single one of them, hoping his existence gradually faded from their memories.

That made facing his once best friend frightening. Minho was the first friend he made on the very first day of university, when Chan walked into his dorm room only to find he had snuck his cat into the building.

They were roommates for two years, and best friends for four. Chan complained loudly when he was assigned a new roommate. Minho was silent as he watched his best friend turn his back on him with no explanation.

Minho initially ignored him entirely, and Chan doesn’t fault him. When his vibrant face turned cold upon seeing him walk into a bar, Chan knew he earned that the moment he decided to ignore his friend’s every text message and phone call. When Minho made backhanded remarks about how nice it felt to have him back in their group, he knew he deserved it for not answering the door the only time his friend came looking for him.

It takes a drunken argument leading to a fist colliding with Chan’s cheek for Minho to finally address him. It takes them being escorted out of the bar by security for them to finally have a conversation, tears and resentment flowing freely as they sat at a bus stop late at night. After that, their friendship returned to what it was before, as if they had never been apart even for a second.

Despite the years and the changes, Minho was still his best friend — which was why he was the only person he came clean to.

Hyerin loved Minho, especially his cats. Her new favorite pastime quickly became going over to his house to play with her new ‘friends’, as she called them. And Chan was overwhelmed with happiness to witness his best friend falling under his daughter’s spell — his house now containing its very own box filled with every toy Hyerin mentioned even once, his kitchen stocked with all her favorite foods, and his cats falling asleep beside her anytime they came over to visit.

It was as if he was watching his two worlds collide. His past and present, which he had separated out of a senseless fear, intertwined so effortlessly it made him feel stupid for ever thinking he needed to build this barrier. For assuming the people he loved so much would reject him.

Made him feel even worse for walking away in a futile attempt to protect his feelings, because it only resulted in more hurt.

After so much of his time spent wondering, Chan finally has the answer to his questions. Some of his friends did settle for an ordinary adult life, some already married and some focusing their energy solely on climbing the corporate ladder. Still, some remained relatively unchanged — much like you did.

His social life blossomed again after reconnecting with his old friends. However, he still refused to hire a nanny, too fearful to leave Hyerin to a stranger’s care, resulting in constantly having to come up with excuses when his parents aren’t able to babysit. He won’t deny that he often fabricated these lies purely because staying in with his daughter and watching Tangled now outweighs any appeal of noisy nightclubs.

Jisung remained his salvation whenever he wanted to spend the night at your place, with Chan slowly but surely running out of reasons as to why you can’t go to his apartment for a change. He hasn’t had the heart or the courage to tell you the entire truth yet, only owning up to his lie about his job after you understandably asked him to listen to his new music and he was put on the spot.

Ever since you walked back into his life, he finds himself weaving a web of little white lies that slowly chip away at his heart.

He’s at a small gathering for his friend’s birthday, listening to Minho all but eulogize his fiancee. They have been a couple since university, Chan playing the wingman and encouraging his friend to finally do something about his crush (mostly because he couldn’t handle any more of Minho’s whining before going to sleep). Despite what everyone around them surmised, they beat all the odds and statistics and stayed together even after university. Chan would be happier about that if he hadn’t bet money on them breaking up before graduation. He wonders if Hongjoong will ask for his twenty bucks now that they’re friends again.

“No, really, settling down with someone is so good,” Minho says after another shot of Soju, a silly smile etched onto his lips. “I thought I would hate it, y’know? Thought slapping such a significant title on our relationship would wear it down, but it’s the complete opposite. Ever since she proposed, it’s like we’re two love-struck nineteen-year-olds again.”

Chan smiles, saying they should drink to that purely because he hopes the sensation of alcohol burning his throat will numb his overwhelming jealousy. After congratulating Minho for the umpteenth time, he finds himself listening to yet another story about his relationship.

And he’s happy for Minho, just as much as he’s happy for Wonwoo for getting married last year. He couldn’t express the overwhelming joy he felt upon discovering these people, who once meant so much to him, had successfully navigated their way through life. But envy rears its ugly head every time he listens to one of their stories, because Chan’s direction in life seems to be a winding road. He’s a father, and his love for Hyerin is immeasurable, but he’s still actively lying about this side of him simply because he feels as if maybe he made the right choices in life at the worst possible time.

As he’s walking out of Hongjoong’s apartment with you later that night, he wraps an arm around your waist, a smile spreading across his face when you nestle closer to him. You two discuss Wonwoo’s marriage, with you talking about how beautiful the ceremony was, but ultimately scowling at the mere thought of getting married. Chan feels the corner of his heart crack at your words, but he laughs it off.

“Do you think he wants kids?” he wonders aloud.

He expects you to laugh at his sudden curiosity. He doesn’t expect you to dig at the fissure in his heart with your words, causing it to shatter completely.

“Gosh, it’d be so weird to see.” You cringe, snuggling deeper into his arms as a chilly breeze brushes against you two. “I like kids, but I’d never have them myself. Feel like it’d kinda ruin my life.”

Chan feels his grip on your waist loosen.

“Having kids doesn’t ruin your life,” he reasons. “You’re given the chance to care for something so precious, so important to this world…” he trails off, shaking his head and taking a step away from you. It feels as if exasperation has filled his entire being. “You look into their eyes and see yourself, and it’s— the love you feel when you first see them is so pure and earth-shattering that you can’t think of anything but how to make that tiny being only experience the good in the world. It doesn’t ruin your life.”

You eye him with confusion, cocking your head to the side and huffing out a laugh. “You talk like you know what that’s like. If you ever have kids one day, then you’ll know—”

“But I do know,” he’s yelling before he can stop himself, his footsteps coming to a halt. “I know because I have that. I have that and it’s the most precious thing in my life and yet I’ve been taking it for granted. And for what?”

He scoffs bitterly, his gaze fixing on your features; your flushed cheeks and slightly smudged lipstick, the way your puzzled eyes gleam under the moonlight. He shakes his head.

“For childish illusions. The illusion that I could go back in time if I pretended hard enough, the illusion that this romanticized idea I have of my early twenties was superior to the life I have now,” Chan lets out a heavy breath, averting his gaze to the pavement. “The illusion that I could ever have you.”

“So it’s my fault you chose to lie about being a dad?” You blurt out.

He doesn’t lift his head. He can’t, the burden of guilt and shame weighing too heavily on his shoulders for him to face you.

“It’s my fault. You were simply the catalyst.”

“What do you even mean?”

“I mean I’ve always felt this way,” he exasperates, finally lifting his head but keeping his gaze anywhere but on you. He’s a coward. “I’ve always felt like maybe I was too young to be a dad, too immature to fully understand the consequences of the choices I made. I don’t regret my daughter, but I certainly regret the timing, and this haunts me every day. Meeting you again just made these feelings worse because you represent everything about my past that I no longer have.”

You remain quiet for a beat, but it feels like an eternity as Chan is forced to endure the deafening ring of your silence.

When you finally speak, your voice is unsteady. “You know, that’s why I always figured it was for the best that you left.”

“What?” Chan turns his gaze toward your face at last, your words stomping on his scattered heart one last time. He expects anger, but sorrow has taken over your expression, one so heavy he doesn’t recall a single moment in the years he’s known you where he’s seen you like this.

“You were always like this, Chan. You might think you were a different person back then, but you said it yourself,” you shrug with a sullen chuckle. “It’s only an illusion.”

He hums, nodding his head as it dawns on him. “You were never gonna be mine, were you? No matter what I did. I lied to you because I thought you would never want someone like who I am today. But I guess that was all in vain, ‘cause I’ve always been like this.”

“You always talked about getting married, settling down, having kids.” As you run a hand through your hair, an exasperated sigh falls from your lips. “You went along with our bullshit, but even back then, you were always like the dad of our group. This has always been you, Chan, but that’s not a bad thing. Don’t think you need to change or lie about who you are ‘cause you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, but…”

He scoffs. “But?”

“But we’re too different. We’ve always been. We’re great together in every way but the way you want us to be — the way I would love for us to be as well,” you simply say, offering him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And would it kill you if we tried? ‘Cause this unfulfilled hope has been killing me since I first fell in love with you.”

“What’s her name?” You simply ask, avoiding his question altogether. Chan furrows his brows. “Your daughter, what’s her name?”

He shifts on his feet. “Hyerin.”

“I hope she knows how lucky she is to have you as a dad.”

Chan shakes his head. “I’m far from the perfect father.”

“Good,” you state matter-of-factly. “Perfect wouldn’t be you.”

You fall into a much lighter silence, although it’s still far from comfortable. A swarm of questions fills Chan’s mind, but his words fade into silence and die on his lips.

He knows everything is over when you suck in a sharp breath, muttering, “I can’t be what you need. When love becomes too serious, I feel trapped and run away. You know what that’s like,” you trail off. “I know we loved each other back then, and I know I still love you now, but I think it’s my turn to walk away. I’m sorry, Chan.”

And just like that, he’s left to watch your figure slowly grow smaller and smaller as you fade into the dimly lit street. You don’t reprimand him for lying or question if he also loves you still. You don’t explain why you can’t make an effort, probably because you’re unsure of the answer yourself. It turns out you both remained unchanged.

And after all this time, it’s only then that Chan realizes you were always just as lost as he was.

Chan didn’t allow himself to think much about you since he watched you walk away that night. He missed you often, as he had done for so long before your last encounter, but he had long grown numb to that feeling.

In the two years he was apart from you for the second time, he learned that life isn’t black or white. He could be a father while also being his own person; a son, a friend, a boyfriend. He learned that prioritizing Hyerin didn’t mean neglecting himself, as that would negatively impact her as well. She couldn’t only know happiness if her father was always dripping with sadness.

He learned he doesn’t have to choose between who he is now and who he was at twenty years old; they were both him, with certain moments bringing out glimpses of one or the other.

Hyerin started elementary school and is blossoming into a caring little girl, no longer needing Chan to tie her pigtails in the morning or remind her to brush her teeth before bed. Although she still demands that they maintain their nightly routine of lying together until she falls asleep to the sound of his voice singing her favorite song.

During his first parent-teacher conference — after walking into the classroom fifteen minutes late — he’s stunned to see you sitting across from him yet again, a pencil holding up your ponytail the same way it did that night at the restaurant. He couldn’t help the smile that spread on his lips.

You were Hyerin’s teacher. He recalled picking her up after her first day of school and listening to her gush over the art teacher who was so pretty and nice, and talking about how she wanted to be like her when she grows up.

It felt as if you were destined to find each other every time one of you chose to walk away.

Your friendship picked up again slowly this time — no rushing into bed together and no rushing into long overdue serious conversations. They had already been avoided for years, anyway, they could wait a bit longer. This is exactly what you needed; patience. Chan had never had the patience to wait for you, while you never had the patience to understand your own feelings.

It’s been ten months now, and he’s yet again sitting before you. The teachers and parents converse around you both as you sit in silence. When you think no one is watching, you exchange glances, struggling to suppress the silly smiles that insist on spreading across your faces.

As people leave the room one by one after the meeting, Chan approaches you.

“You’re Bang Hyerin’s father, correct?” You speak with a grin.

“Correct.”

“She’s an amazing kid,” you tell him.

He smiles, shifting his gaze toward his feet before his eyes find yours again as you speak.

“We could grab a coffee this weekend.”

This time, there are further implications hidden in your request. You’re not asking as a friend, like you’ve been doing these past months. Some things are heavy with you now, and this is something he’s only recently come to find. He’s also come to find that he loves that change.

So he answers, “Sure. Tomorrow at three?”

“Then I’m your date for tomorrow,” you say with a giggle. “See you there, cutie.”

And Chan lets out a hearty laugh at that, which earns him a scolding look from the other teachers in the room.

He isn’t sure what will come of this. Maybe you two are better off as friends and all it will take is a couple of months to figure that out. Maybe time has changed you both more than he can understand, and you will finally be able to try something real after all these years of unfulfilled hopes and childish illusions.

Either way, Chan knows he won’t let go of you this time.

He wants you to be his, in any sense of the word.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings, @seungseung-minmin, @yourcvndx, @hynjinnnnnnnie @vlctorriaa @yongbokkiesworld

#stray kids #bang chan smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan #bang chan x you #stray kids smut #skz #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan x you

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bunnywritesjunk · 10 months

Text

My King

Series summary: Your parents signed you up for an Alpha Omega Match company when you were eighteen. It took years for them to find your match, but you meet the giant austrian man. Will he be a good partner?

Chapter summary: You get a call from your mother regarding your match. You are nervous to meet them, but they turn out to be a pleasant surprise.

Pairing: König x Fem Reader

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Never use this abbreviation without the slashes it is an indigenous slur) 18+ MDNI (no others for this chapter)

Word count: 4.1k (damn thats a lot for me)

Genre: Mostly Fluff a little angst here and there.

A/n: Yo Yo Yo whatup. New fic dropping. This one is black/poc coded but anyone can read. I haven't seen any poc coded cod fics just yet (if you know any send them my way). If you do not like Omegaverse fics please do not read. Also I tried making a cute little mood board, i think it sucks but I tried my best. Konig art credit. (I couldn't find the art credit for the girl). König and reader are neurospicy. I got inspired to do an Apex Alpha König from @ghostlythunderbird go give them some love please. Also this is kinda what I imagine him looking like.

Next Chapter

Chapter One:

His back ached as he climbed the few steps to his door. The passage back to his home was uncomfortable. All König wanted to do with collapse on his bed. The duplex he resided in was decent, the little old woman who rented it to him was very sweet. König had a hard time getting anyone to rent to him. His status as an Apex alpha was concerning for most people. They believed him to be violent and inconsiderate. His landlord is an omega that lives with her alpha mate. König managed to convince her. She thought he was sweet and kind. He opened the foyer door that lead to both apartments. He glanced at the mailbox, wondering if he should wait until morning. Begrudgingly, he took out the small mailbox key and fiddled the metal box open. He grabbed the plethora of mail and closed the box gently. The box was filled up quite a bit as he had not been home in a couple of weeks.

Heading up the stairs he filed through the mail. Most were junk coupons and magazines, some were credit card sign-up letters. One envelope caught his eye. It had no company name just a large white manila envelope addressed to him. He opened his door and stepped inside placing the mail and his belongings on his couch. He ripped open the envelope and took out a thin book. It had the circular logo of the AOMO, the Alpha Omega Match organization.

König started at the cover his heartbeat sped up the longer he thought about it. He signed up for the program after a particularly hard mission he had in KorTac. He left and joined the 141 and decided he wanted an omega. A lot of the men in the 141 had partners they could come home to. König wanted that. Most people were too afraid to be in a committed relationship with him. König often settled for one-night stands with betas but it left him feeling empty. He opened the packet to the first page.

'Congratulations!' The first word read. His heart beat harder the more he read.

'We have found you a match!' König's heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest.

'In the plastic wrap, we've provided a fresh scent sample from your potential match. If you like the scent of your match, please send us a scent sample from you as soon as possible.'

König gripped the packet and leaned over the table, putting his weight on the table. He took a deep breath, he felt a mix of fear and excitement. When he signed up he was not hopeful for a match. He assumed his situation was too complicated for them. He flipped through the packet before reading the rest searching for the scent sample. A plastic bag fell out onto the table. It was sealed and had a verification sticker assuring its authenticity. König picked up the bag carefully. It had a square of white fabric inside it. He took his hood off before opening the bag gingerly. The scent instantly made his knees weak. This Omega had a warm and spicy scent. Coconut and sugary vanilla with hints of sandalwood. König stuffed his nose into the bag inhaling the deep rich smell of this Omega.

König sealed the scent sample wanting to savor it. He opened the packet back up to the first page. It said once he mailed his scent sample and was approved by his match, they would arrange a meeting with him and his match. There was more information about this Omega and their family along with the reasoning for them picking them. They informed him that this omega was a twenty-six-year-old female. Her father is also an Apex Alpha, he is retired American military. They did not provide a picture of any matches because they wanted the connection to be based on instinct rather than looks. Her mother is an Omega that works as a teacher. There is not much else about the Omega but, König is hopeful. He reads the instructions to send his scent sample. They provided a kit with a form envelope, a small square of fabric, and a plastic bag, almost identical to the one he received from his match.

'Wash your hands, and rinse any dirt off of your scent glands.'

'Then remove the fabric from the plastic.'

'Rub the fabric on your clean scent glands for 20-25 minutes.'

'Seal the fabric thoroughly in the bag provided .'

He shed his vest and protective gear, the last thing he wanted was for her to smell dust and gunpowder on him. König tried to quell his excitement as he followed the directions. Rushing to his bathroom and then back to his dining room. The fabric square was slightly smaller than his palm. He cupped the crook of his neck, sandwiching the fabric between his hand and his neck. He rubbed gently filling it with his scent. He read the rest of the packet as he rubbed. The rest was mostly semantics about the company and its policies. He combed it a few more times trying to memorize every piece of information about his Omega.

König smiled gently, he shouldn't think of her as his yet. She smelled so good, too good for him. He smelled the cloth every once in a while to ensure his scent was potent enough. When he was done he placed it in the bag and sealed it. He filled out the form and packed the pre-paid envelope neatly. He grabbed his keys and left his apartment to go to the mail drop-off on the corner of the block. He needed to send it today, he wouldn't be able to sleep if he didn't. He walked back to his apartment having long forgotten about his back pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You looked at the list on your phone pushing your shopping cart. Buying the week's groceries had fallen to you this time as your mother was dealing with state testing for her students and your dad was on a hunting trip. You maneuvered the isles expertly collecting the items on your list. As well as some extra sweet snacks you like to indulge in much to our mother's chagrin. You were about to put a pack of Oreos in the cart when your mom called.

“Hello?” You answered but all you can hear was excited screeching. You held the phone away from your ear until she quieted down.

“He accepted you!!!” She screamed.

“What? Mom, you're too loud.”

“The match company! The match they picked liked your scent.” She giggled.

You were slightly stunned. Your parents signed you up for the AOMO when you were eighteen. You weren't that on board with it but you let them. You know they only want the best for you. You kept sending scent samples every year but they never got back to you about anything. Now, six years later they show up with a match for you.

“I just got the call, they're sending a scent sample for you right now it's gonna get here in a few days.”

“Wow...” That was all you managed to say.

“Now I know this wasn't your ideal way to meet someone, but just please be open-minded sweetheart.”

You sighed. “I will. I'm finishing up at the grocery and I'll head home.”

“Alright, I'm gonna be home soon too, bye sweetie.”

You hung up the phone and stood in the aisle. You placed the pack of Oreos in the cart and moved to get the rest of the items before checking out.

When you arrived home your mother was there waiting. She squealed and hugged you before helping you take the grocery bags inside.

“I am so excited for you! I have heard so many good things about the AOMO. I bet whoever they picked is gonna be great.”

“Let's hope.” You say.

The next few days went by quickly. You dove into writing your next few chapters to take your mind off of the match. The sequel to your best-selling fantasy novel was underway. Your days consisted of writing, planning, engaging with fans, and talking to your editor. You typed out the outline for the next few chapters when you heard a knock.

“Come in.” You said.

Your mother walked in holding a large envelope. “Guess what came today?” She said excitedly.

Your heart thumped with anxiety. She placed the envelope on your desk.

“I’ll leave you to it, let me know if you like them.” She sauntered out of the room happily.

You picked up the envelope and opened it pulling out a packet of information. You flipped to the first page.

‘Congratulations!’ It read.

‘The match we have chosen for you wants to meet you. Once you contact us with your acceptance of their scent, we will arrange for them to meet you and your family with the chaperone of one AOMO agents to facilitate. The two of you will go on a date and get to know each other before deciding whether to move forward. If you do not accept the scent, we will put you back in our database to be matched with someone else.’

In the middle of the pages, there was a plastic bag with a white cloth in it. You picked it up and sighed. You doubted you would like the scent. Most alphas were off-putting to you, either way too strong of a scent of they smelled like dishwater. You opened the bag casually and took a whiff. Your inner Omega preened at the musk that erupted from the bag.

“Oh my…” You inhaled deeply.

This Alpha…smelled good? He smelled like chocolate and dark roast espresso. There were some hints of fresh baked bread and cinnamon. You caught yourself before you got lost in his scent. You sealed the bag up and took a breath. Maybe, this would be a good experience for you. You scanned through the rest of the information looking over what little they provide about this Alpha. He is a male Alpha, non-American but they did not specify what country. The only other thing they said about him was that his demeanor was shy and that he is military. The instructions said to call the number if you wanted to meet him. You reached for your phone a little too eagerly and dialed the number. A woman’s voice answered.

“Hi, you’ve reached the Alpha Omega Match organization how may I help you?”

“Hi, um I got an Alpha’s scent in the mail, and I want to meet him.” You said awkwardly.

“What’s your name and date of birth?” You told her, nervously.

“Please hold while I transfer you.”

The light piano hold music came on, you fidgeted with your sleeve.

“This is Kara, how may I help you?”

“Oh hi, I got an Alpha’s scent in the mail and I would like to meet him.”

“Alright, let me get your file from reception she’s sending it right now…Ah got it. Oooh ok great I am your agent that will be facilitating this meeting. Your parents will want to meet him yes?”

“Definitely.”

“Ok so, what we will do is you and your parents will meet me at a public space of your choice then. I will bring you to meet the Alpha first, then your parents. We like to keep parent meetings brief as they tend to try and challenge the Alpha. I will have you know, this Alpha is an Apex like your dad. That is one of the reasons we chose you as his match, you have experience with an Apex. Will you be comfortable with all that?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Your head was reeling from all this information. Great, I see you guys are in New York City which is one of my favorite places to visit. Do you have anywhere in mind to meet?”

“Um, we could do the Highline, there’s food, and it's pretty.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea let me write it down here. How does September ninth at noon sound to you? A weekday so there are not too many people.”

Your heart jumped, that’s in two days.

“Uh, sure.”

“Alright, I will send you a follow-up email regarding our plans all you need to do is confirm. Your match will be notified, and his flight will be booked as soon as we receive confirmation. Do you have any other questions?”

“No not at the moment.”

“Ok, don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any concerns. I will see you in a few days.”

“Bye.”

You put your phone on your desk and walked out of your room. Your mother was standing a few feet away from your door. When she noticed you, her face lit up.

“So? How was the scent? Are you meeting them?”

You smiled and nodded “Yup, in two days.”

She squealed and captured you in a bone-crushing hug.

“I can’t wait! Let’s go tell your father!” She practically ran down the hall.

You walked to your living room where your otherwise stoic-looking dad was watching TV.

“Tell us about them, sweetheart.” Your mother said. Your dad turned the volume on the TV down and looked at you expectantly.

“Well, I don’t know much but, I know he’s not American and that he might be shy…He smells good.”

“That’s important, I hope you wouldn’t pick someone who smells like shit.” Your dad chimed in.

“He’s also military, and an Apex.” You added quickly.

Your mother gasped quietly, and your father raised his eyebrows.

“Now that’s intriguing.” Your mom said smiling.

“You already booked a meeting with him?” Your dad asked. You nodded.

“You should’ve asked me first.” He pinched his nose bridge in annoyance.

“Well, he’s my match and I wanted to meet him.”

“Apex Alphas are dangerous. I would know.”

“Oh, please honey it’ll be fine.” Your mother ridiculed him.

“It’s my choice, Dad. You guys are the ones who signed up, I finally got a match, so I want to see it through. If it doesn’t work out, then I’ll call it off.”

Your father growled lowly. “Fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your mother insisted to dress you in a cutesy outfit, so you let her have her moment. She dressed you in a dark floral dress that hugged your curves just right. She added dainty jewelry along with your protective collar. You didn’t usually wear it but again, she insisted. She did your hair half up half down. Your dad was waiting by the front door with your mom’s purse in hand.

The train ride there was silent, your mother looked utterly content while your father was peeved about this whole situation. You arrived at the station and walked to the Highline. You got a text from Kara telling you what she looked like and where she was. She was wearing a dark blue pencil skirt and a white blouse. She stood up as you and your family approached. You stuck your hand out to shake hers.

“Nice to meet you guys, come sit.” She said motioning to the bench she was on.

Your father stayed standing while you and your mother took a seat next to her.

“So, there are some things I want to go over with you all and then I’ll talk to you privately and do the official meeting ok?”

“He’s here?” You said in an almost panicked tone.

Kara chuckled. “He is here but I left him to wait somewhere out of sight for now.”

She continued. “His name is König, he was born in Austria. When we did his psyche and personality evaluations, we found that he has neurodivergent tendencies, like you. Our matches with people that have a similar way of communicating have gone well.”

“Wait, neurodivergent?” Your mom chimed in.

“Yes, your daughter did show signs of some behavioral abnormalities, but she is high functioning.”

“I told you that Mom.” You say giving her a deadpan look. Your mother looked down and gave a small ‘hmm’. Kara continued.

“He does struggle with social anxiety so please be patient with him. Other than that, he currently lives in Amsterdam, if you choose to go forward that is where you will live.”

Your dad finally spoke “Is Amsterdam safe for people like us?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh yes, Amsterdam has many people from different places and backgrounds. It is one of the most popular immigration and tourist countries, don’t worry.”

“Alright, how about you come with me, and we’ll get your meeting started.”

Kara led you away, you turned and did a small wave to your parents your mom smiled back at you warmly.

“So, I will be in contact with you the whole time. If you want to go just say the word, I am never going to be more than a couple minutes away. Honestly, I don’t think you’ll have any issues with him.”

She led you to a restaurant below the high line, it had indoor and outdoor seating. There were a lot of people laughing and drinking. Your heartbeat sped up as you scanned the crowd. The scent of food entered your nose. Everyone’s scent in the dining area mixed into an indescribable concoction. Among the borderline overwhelming smells, you got a hint of something familiar, espresso.

You scanned the large room trying to pinpoint where it was coming from or if you were just imagining it. I dark figure near the corner of the room caught your eye. He looked way too large for the chair he was sitting in. He was looking down at his hands, dirty blonde hair covered his forehead. He was wearing a black cloth mask along with a form-fitting black shirt. As soon as you walked in he raised his head. You looked away pretending you weren't staring at him. Kara led you straight to his table.

“This is König.” She gestured to him.

He stood up to shake your hand still keeping himself hunched at the waist to appear smaller. You shook his hand and smiled as you introduced yourself. He nodded and said a small 'hmm' to acknowledge you.

“Alright, I'll be near. Have fun.” Kara left swiftly.

You sat down in the chair across from him as he did the same. A wave of anxiety came as you did, not knowing how to break the ice with him. You picked up the menu and scanned it.

“Did you order yet?” You ask.

“No, I was waiting for you.”

“Well thank you, what looks good?”

“The Steak frites look pretty good.” He glued his menu.

“I'm excited for dessert, they have chocolate cheesecake.”

He chuckled and it made your stomach flip.

“You like sweets?” He asked.

“Very much.” You smile at him.

The waitress came over and asked if you wanted any drinks. König looked at you, waiting for you to order first.

“I'll try the elderberry gin and tonic.” You said.

Konig was about to order when the table next to us erupted in loud laughter. He jumped slightly before answering the waitress.

“I'll get the house Lager.” He said.

The waitress left to grab the drinks. The adjacent table was still very loud. The group of friends hollering and screaming obviously day drunk. Konig had his head slightly turned away from them in an attempt to lessen the noise. It was subtle but you could tell. You reached into your bag and brought out a pair of foldable headphones. You turned on the noise cancellation and gave them to him. He looked slightly confused.

“Put them on.” You encourage him.

When he did the noise muffled and the restaurant was much quieter. You could see the tension in his shoulders ease by the second. His scent sweetened

“Is that better? Can you hear me ok?”

König swears he could've kissed you right then and there, but he settles on a nod.

“Thank you, Leibe.”

“No problem.”

The waitress came by with the drinks and asked if the two of you are ready to order entrees. You ordered the fish and König ordered the Steak. While you waited, you two had a pleasant small talk about his flight and how he is enjoying his visit. He hesitated to take off his mask at first so you focused on your menu to give him the space to be comfortable with you. You glanced up and took in his face. He was beautiful, he had scars on his face that added ruggedness to his chiseled features. König noticed your scent amplify as you gazed at him. His inner alpha pushed him to be closer, to know more about you.

“So, you're in the military?”

He nods. “I work for a military contractor. Do you work?”

“Sort of, I'm an author so I work from home.”

“That is nice, are you published?” König was secretly very happy he'd get to have you at home all day.

“Yes, I am. I'm working on my sequel right now. Do you like to read? Or, do you read in German?”

He chuckled. “I have not had much time to read lately, but I will now.”

“Well, you have to buy my book of course.” You giggled.

König nearly fell off his chair at the sound. This Omega was everything he wanted. He prayed to whatever god was up there that you felt something with him. By the time the food came you both fell into a comfortable rhythm. He asked about your childhood and hobbies. It was a change of pace, most Alphas are very self-centered, but he is putting effort into getting to know you. The food came out and you both ate. He offered bites of his food for you to try which you happily returned the favor. By the time you finished your food, you hadn't noticed how much time has gone by. Kara texted you to check-in.

'Hey, so I saw things were going well so I let you guys talk for an hour and a half but, your parents are getting antsy. Are you guys ready to see your parents?'

“Oh, Kara is asking if we're ready to see my parents.”

König fiddled with his fork. “I'm ready.”

He paid the bill and you both left the restaurant. You took in the full size of the Alpha you matched with. He was no less than a giant. He held the door for you but stopped before he walked through.

“I forgot something, I'll be back.” He walked back into the restaurant.

Kara walked up to you. “How did it go?”

“I...really like him...”

“I know, that feeling is scary. I think you guys are a wonderful match.”

König came out holding a small to-go box. He handed it to you, you could tell he was smiling under his mask.

“What's this?”

Inside the box was a slice of chocolate cheesecake and a fork.

“We forgot to order dessert.”

You were stunned, you didn't think there could be Alphas that were so thoughtful. Your inner Omega soared, this Alpha was courting you so well.

“Thank you, König, that's really sweet.”

“Ah, here they are.” Kara said.

Your parents walked up to the three of you. Your mother had a surprised but happy look on her face. Your father kept his deadpan face from earlier, not a good sign.

“Wow, sweetheart you caught a big one!” Your mom chuckled.

“Parents, this is König.” Kara said.

Your mother introduced herself and your father as he stood there sizing up the taller Apex.

“Alright, let's keep things brief parents do you have any questions for König?”

“Well, as long as she likes him I don't.” Your mother said.

“Can you protect her?” Your dad asked putting some venom behind his words.

“I would never let anything happen to her sir. You have my word.” König answered without hesitation.

Your dad nodded and looked at you. “You like him?”

“...Yeah I do.”

“Alright then, that's all that matters.”

“Well, I think it's safe to say that the match is made. I will contact you for the next steps. Parents, let's let them say goodbye.” Kara led your parents away.

You turned to König. “Thank you for meeting with me, I had a really good time.” You saw a faint blush at the top of his mask.

“I also had a good time, liebe.”

“What does that mean?”

“Ah...it means love.”

“Oh well...” You motioned for him to come bend down close to you.

When he got close enough you pecked his cheek.

“I'll see you soon, love.”

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bratphilia · 5 months

Text

── ★ ˙ princess? whore ̟ !!

note ✧.*‎ written after copious amounts of convos with rhi about step-dad leon. i live and breathe for stepcest. my world makes no sense and then stepcest is there to guide it back on track. anyways i hope this kickstarts more revil asks especially leon bc i love that man to death.

pairing ✧.*‎‎ leon s. kennedy x reader

cw ✧.*‎‎ reader is of age and in college, step-dad!leon, stepcest, age difference, kinda voyeurism, groping, pussy slapping, squirting, clit rubbing, overstim, mocking, daddy kink, literal wedgie, spanking, multiple orgasms, doggy style, rough sex, name-calling, general degrading

taglist ✧.*‎‎ @kissingrhi @cemeteryry

synopsis ✧.*‎ your step-dad finds you in your room with a boy's hand up your skirt and decides to teach you a lesson.

the second leon pulls up in the driveway and sees an unfamiliar car parked in his usual spot, he knows something is wrong. very wrong. so wrong that a shitty feeling settles in the pit of his stomach, causing him to frown. someone in his house when you're supposed to be home alone only spells out trouble.

so naturally, he goes and investigates. doesn't call your name when he walks in like he usually does. something tells him not to. the door closes quietly. he kicks off his shoes — per your mother's request to keep the floors clean — and pads upstairs. to his surprise, your door is cracked slightly open. it's usually closed. this is weird, and once again, he just gets an icky feeling that something is wrong.

conveniently, the space between the door and its frame leaves enough room for leon to peer inside without having to open it any wider. and that's where he finds the source of that nasty feeling disturbing him. some boy, who looks to be about your age, has both of his hands under your shirt. from the way the imprint of his hands underneath the fabric looks, he's groping you harshly. no method, just pure lust and hunger. but, like the needy slut leon pegs you for, you're gripping the sheets of your lacy white duvet, moaning quietly.

"you like that?" the guy asks you, pulling his hands out to pinch a nipple that earns a yelp from you.

"mhm," you murmur, drawing out an 'ooh' with your mouth in the shape of an 'o.'

god fucking dammit. the way you moan always goes straight to leon's cock. apart of him says to just walk away and leave you alone. that is, until this boy's lips meet your own and his hand glides up one of your spread thighs to reach under your skirt. that's when leon's had enough. no one gets to touch you down there except for him.

all respect of privacy goes out the window when leon swings the door open so hard it slams into the wall. "get your hands off of her," he says, voice low and threatening.

automatically, your legs snap shut and the guy's arm retracts, looking very fearful of leon. but he has the audacity to ask, "who the fuck are you?"

"who the fuck are you?" leon spits, "in my home, with your hands on my daughter. get out of my house."

the guy sighs, defeated. he turns to you, who's looking quite pale yourself, and says "i'll see you in class."

leon follows the guy out to the hallway, stands over the bannister and watches him close the door behind him. he can feel your eyes on him, and when he turns to face you, they're glossy with tears. "'m sorry, daddy. i can explain—"

but leon's too pissed to hear your whiny excuses. "no. i don't wanna hear it."

he walks over to you. nice and slow to keep you on the edge of suspense as he tells you, "you're a fucking whore, you know that? couldn't wait til daddy came home to get fucked? you had to bring some boytoy in here to do the job for me. and then what? did you expect him to do it better than me?"

"n-no." a tear slips down your cheek. "no, we've just been talking for awhile and—"

he holds a hand up to silence you. "what did i just say? i don't give a fuck about your excuses."

you sniffle, more tears fall from your eyes. "daddy, 'm sorry. won't do it again, i promise."

he tsks at that. "you're really good at that, you know. repeating one phrase, my dumb little broken record." and then he mocks your voice by going up a few pitches, "daddy, daddy, daddy."

you sob, "stop it..."

leon ignored you and sits back on the bed, rests against your plushie of a duck that's fat enough to be used as a pillow. kiiroitori? who gives a fuck, he doesn't care. you turn around and watch him. spreading his legs to make room for you in the middle, he makes a face that suggests resting there is the most obvious thing in the world and pats the area.

you climb over to the place between his legs with another sniffle and assume correctly that he wants you to lay back against his chest. leon pushes the folds of your skirt up to rest on your tummy, not bothering to take it off and making no moves to take off your panties. he snakes his hand down to your panties. he can't see which one it is — your skirt's in the way, blocking his view — but he gets a feel around it and he can tell which one it is just by the itchy fabric. it's your pretty white, lace thong with flowers embroidered as the pattern. he knows you wear it to impress him even though they're "uncomfy" — in your words. it makes his blood boil to think you wore them for that guy. this asshole who doesn't deserve what leon's doing to you right now.

jealousy gets the better of him. he bunches up your panties and pulls real hard, the fabric getting smushed between your lips in a wedgie. "daddy," you whine desperately, drawing out the word.

"mhm, keep fuckin' talking," he says like he's bored. you keep whining and he keeps tugging, and eventually it feels good. the burn of the fabric scratching you down there is honestly better than you could imagine. but with one last, long tug, he lets it snap against you, causing you to involuntarily close your legs and fall to your side on his lower abdomen. your reaction is what shocks him.

"does my little girl like it when daddy hurts her cunt? you wanna be abused down there, huh?" he asks with a smile that you unfortunately can't see, but there's delight evident in his voice.

you're breathing heavily through your nose, trying to compose yourself by wriggling back in the center of his legs. impulsively, leon brings his hand down to smack your pussy. you yelp, closing your legs around his hand. but with a strong grip, he situates your legs so they rest on the outside of his, leaving you nice and open for him. he smacks you again, hitting your clit with precision, but mainly just with a large hand that knows the area all to well.

he smacks you over and over and over. you cry and jolt and whimper with every hit landed onto your poor cunt but he doesn't let up for even a moment. your incessant whining only encourages him more. you can feel your wetness pooling, molding your panties to become one with your pussy.

and then, with a particularly rough hit, you're cumming — no, squirting — through your panties. soaking the fabric, the sheets below you, his hand, and babbling incoherent words such as "oh my god" and "daddy" and "please." he goes harder and increases in speed to induce more of your cum insatiably.

"there you go, there you fuckin' go. just let it all out, yeah? you needy slut," he eggs you on, making you moan and flush at his words alone.

when you've come down from your high is when leon pulls your panties to the side and begins to circle around your sensitive clit. "daddy," you whimper quietly. "no more. please."

"shut the fuck up," he says calmly. "you wanted to get fucked so badly so i'm giving you what you want, the right way."

you didn't say anything after that, instead just flush impossibly deeper. he rubs your clit side to side. picks up his pace over time. he wonders if you can squirt again, but cumming for him twice is enough. you're biting your lip while you moan, squeezing your eye shut, shaking your legs. to no avail, there's just no getting away from his hand. you're trapped here, in this absolute mind fuck of a situation. literally.

you don't end up squirting for him again, but you do cum. he collects the wetness that gathers at your weeping hole and sticks his middle finger in your mouth, sloppy and wet from dipping it inside of you. you taste yourself, that taste leon knows he can't get enough of. he wants to taste you right now, directly from the source, but you don't deserve that right now. for now, you're just a needy slut who tried to fuck some other guy, invited him into your bedroom willingly, almost let his hand up your skirt, and the thought just makes leon seethe, earning just one more slap to your clit. you cry out in surprise, a delicious sound that he basks in; he'll never get tired of it.

"get up and bend over at the foot of the bed so i can fuck you," he whispers in your ear. on shaky legs, you get up and do what he says. pulling up your skirt isn't necessary as it rides up to give him perfect, easy access.

he rubs the fat head of his cock up and down your slit. "think you deserve it?" he asks tauntingly.

you only sniffle and push backwards, desperately attempting to slip his cock inside you yourself. "uh-uh. i asked you a question."

"no," you say, sniffling again. "i don't deserve it."

"good girl. exactly what i wanted to hear," he says and slips it in. once he's bottomed out inside of you, he leans down to tuck a strand behind your ear and whisper, "bet you wanted to be taken like a princess on your princess bed, huh? wanted to be his little pillow princess, sitting back while he does all the work. but you deserve to get fucked like a whore by your daddy. i'm the only one who should be fucking you."

"ohh," you moan, completely at a loss for words. how the fuck do you even respond to that.

with that, he starts thrusting. he doesn't slam into you in fast strokes, but every time he fucks into you he bottoms out. buries into you to the hilt, just how you like it. just like how he rubbed your clit, he eventually picks up the pace.

the sound of his torso hitting your ass only adds to the noise. the bed rocks, not as violent as the way he's hitting it right now, but enough to creak. there's also the noises of your slick sliding against his dick, swallowing him and elongating every time thrusts back in. you're moaning and whimpering wildly, matching the sounds of his grunts and his dirty talk, muttering almost nonsense. you can pick up the words "slut" and "whore" though.

"tell me you're mine and you'll get to cum," he tells you.

your face burns in humiliation. "i'm yours, daddy."

"are you going to bring another boy in my house?"

"n-no, won't ever happen again. i — ah — promise."

he nestles himself inside of you, kissing your cervix. rubs your clit nice and fast, side to side just like before. you babble "i'm yours" and "only yours" and "daddy" over and over as if it's a prayer as you cum around his cock. you clench so deliciously. he pulls out and shoots his load on your back. slaps your ass with his dick and then his hand for good measure.

once you gain composure, you sit up on the bed, pupils dialated, look at him with doe eyes. "'m really sorry, daddy. never meant to hurt you."

"what-the-fuck-ever," he sighs and walks out the room. he needs a beer and smoke.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #re4 leon #re4 remake #re2 remake #resident evil 2 #leon kennedy resident evil #reader insert #pls send leon stuff i need him so bad #resident evil

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gorgeys · 5 months

Text

FOR YOU ★ katniss everdeen

katniss everdeen x fem!reader

you see katniss for the first time after she wins the 74th annual hunger games

warnings: just some cheesy fluff bc i watched the hunger games for the first time

word count: 1145

note: this takes place after the first movie bc i’ve only watched that one and the ballad of songbirds and snakes 🫣

also this is kinda based on that one forrest gump scene where he’s at the vietnam war protest and jenny starts running to him through the reflecting pool to get to him 😭😭

hope you enjoy!!

the second she steps off the train, she’s already surrounded by the crowd. some people are chanting her name, others are offering her the three-finger salute, and some are even crying. she feels peeta squeeze her shoulder as he steps off behind her, and she can sense the smile on his face.

but she can barely feel his fingers on her skin or hear district 12 celebrating around her. she’s so focused, her eyes frantically scanning the crowd. there were so many people there to congratulate and thank her yet she only wanted to see one person.

it takes a few seconds before she hears a faint shout of her name.

“katniss!” the voice calls out. “katniss!”

her ears instantly perk up and she instinctively moves toward the source of the sound.

“katniss!”

it’s clearer now and she’s sure she knows who it belongs to. she can see people getting shoved in the back of the crowd as someone makes their way to the front. she doesn’t even need to see who it is before tears rim her eyes.

she involuntarily releases a strained noise of sheer desperation before she speeds up, the crowd kindly parting for her. the same can’t be said for you as you use every bit of your strength to push past citizens, some of them leaving you irritated glances.

luckily you make quick work and suddenly your unkempt hair catches katniss’ eye. she notices your rough, seasoned hands fighting those around you to get to her and now she’s nearly running toward you.

she screams your name, letting you know that she’s seen you and reminding you of how intensely she’s missed you. her voice is raw and distraught. she reminds you of how painful it is for her to be without you.

only when you’ve made it all the way to the front do you stop and does katniss get a clear look at you. you stumble out of the crowd, nearly falling, but you catch yourself. bystanders stare, questioning the importance of your presence, but all you do is look up and meet katniss’ eyes.

she stops fifteen steps ahead of you. only then does she remember why she had fought so hard to stay alive; why she had killed; why she had refused to give up even when the odds were against her. because, when she looked into your eyes—your perfect, beautiful, joyful eyes that reflected all of her own emotions—she remembered that it was all for you.

she refused to let her life end in that artificial forest because her life hadn’t truly begun until she was able to be with you. you were her reason, the single thing that kept her going, that motivated her, that she thought about on every dark, cold, soulless night.

she dreamed endlessly about returning to district 12 just to be wrapped in your warm embrace, to feel your chaste kiss on her cheek, and to start a new life with you. in fact, she dreamed about this very moment that she was living in. she dreamed about everything from how you would look to the way you would look at her. she dreamed about how it would feel and what she would do, but once she was in the moment, everything was more powerful than she could have ever imagined. everything was far more perfect than in her dreams.

she watched your own tears swell as your eyes settled upon her. your hands came to your face, covering your mouth as you fought your natural crying face into a smile.

seeing you cry always made her so weak and she felt her tears start flowing down her cheeks. she felt her ugly cry begin but she couldn’t help it. it felt so good to see you that it was almost painful. you had woven your way into her heart and now the two of you were one.

a tiny part of her brain was scared of what you might think of her. would you be afraid of her after seeing her kill so ruthlessly? would you lose your feelings after watching her at her lowest moment? or worst of all, would you be angry at her after witnessing her onscreen romance with peeta?

she had played into her role during the games—the girl on fire who was head over heels for the baker’s son—but the games were over now and there was no need to pretend anymore. while peeta may have loved her, katniss’ feelings for him were never close to what she felt for you. she just hoped that you had realized that too.

no matter what peeta would say to her or how many people were there to worship her, everything seemed insignificant when she was face to face with you. and you felt exactly the same. that empty hole in your chest that had appeared when katniss had volunteered all those weeks ago was suddenly full. with her return to district 12, katniss everdeen has also returned your heart.

she finally started toward you, slowly at first, and then faster. it didn’t matter who was watching, whether it was peeta or the capitol or the whole world, she had a primitive need to be with you. and you would accept her with open arms.

she tightly hugged your shoulders, her grip so strong that you couldn’t have pulled away even if you wanted to. she pulled your body into hers and kept your face close to hers so that your noses were nearly touching.

your hands found solace holding each side of her face. she knew how powerful your hands were from all the times you had been hunting together so it meant even more when you were able to hold her so gently. you always touched her like she was glass that would break in your hands if you weren’t careful. she relished the feeling; no one had ever treated her so softly and made her feel so special, not peeta, not gale.

when you felt her warm skin beneath your fingers, everything felt all the more real. she was really there. she had really survived the deadliest of arenas and now she was here with you. she was here for you.

you shared a single loving gaze, one that conveyed every emotion. you shared your sorrow, your pain, your excitement, your joy, your newfound relaxation. you shared your bare love with each other.

only then did she press her lips to yours in a feverish kiss. your lips fit perfectly as your tears merged into a single stream. you disregarded air and molded yourselves into each other, willing the moment to live on forever.

a single thought entered katniss’ mind, one that would’ve sounded crazy to anyone but her:

she would’ve done it all over again if it meant coming home to you.

omg i’m so sorry that i haven’t been writing any requests i have 9 sitting in my inbox 😭

the next story will prob be camille from house of usher and then i’ll work on those requests starting with naomi from wolf of wall street

i’ll try to be better y’all 😔

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celtic-crossbow · 20 days

Text

Blood Ties Chapter 24

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Poorly written smut; pregnancy hormones absolutely get a warning

A/N: I kinda love this chapter.

There was a chill in the house without a fire being burned overnight. Too many walkers made the light a liability. You had your leggings and a pair of sweats, a long sleeve shirt and a sweater, your two pairs of socks, and your jacket. Carol was going to sleep next to you while Daryl took his turn on watch that night. The woman was the complete opposite of your partner. She was a human icebox. “Jesus, Carol, your hands are freezing!” You could feel the frigid skin beneath the fabric of her gloves. “Here, put them inside my coat.” She was shaking her head even as you guided her hands under either of your arms, shivering from the sudden cold where you were much warmer. Maybe you’d tell Daryl she was staying next to you when he came to lie down. Sure, he’d grumble and groan, but he’d never let Carol freeze.

“Thank you.” The other woman sighed, moving a little closer to you. The archer had tucked the blankets around you before you had invited Carol to share.

“You’re welcome. Do you have enough of the blanket?” She nodded and snuggled against you, full on laughing when the baby gave her a swift punch to the midsection. “Yeah, sorry. Thumper is lively tonight.” You twisted your head around as far as you could manage to ensure no one had been disturbed.

“Don’t apologize. Probably just knows I’m not daddy and isn’t happy about that.”

She was absolutely right. At 34 weeks, the baby seemed to sense when Daryl was around, just as he seemed to know just when to put his hand over the swell to calm them. Moving from place to place was getting harder and harder for you. The groups of walkers seemed to be everywhere, each town full of the people who had tried to persevere, only to become one of the dead. Sometimes you would find a place, settle in, only to run two hours later. You were exhausted, physically and mentally, and Thumper could feel it. The baby would move relentlessly, only adding fuel to your anxiety and making rest impossible.

Until Daryl would intervene.

It started the same night he had first taken the weight of the baby for you.

Daryl stood there with you for at least an hour, bracing you against him and giving your bones and muscles a well deserved break. When he began to tire, he simply walked backwards to lean against the wall. It wasn’t until you were nearly falling asleep, he scooped you up and carried you to the bedroll, an extra blanket on top of it to give your body some support. He was expected to take watch soon but they would come collect him when it was time. So he crawled under another blanket with you, molding himself around your back, still without a single word. You were warm and felt safe, but once you had tried to sleep, Thumper became restless; rolling and kicking until you were nearly sobbing with exhaustion.

“Baby, please, mama’s so tired. Please, just—”

“Listen, kid.” You had barely registered that Daryl had moved at all, holding himself up on one hand while he leaned over your side, the other hand planted firmly on your round abdomen. The tone he used was one you hadn’t heard from him before: soft but serious, no nonsense but comforting. “Ya gotta give your mama a break. World ain’t great out here right now, an’ she needs to sleep. I promise ya ain’t gotta be scared or—or nervous. M’gonna make sure you an’ your mama are safe.” You didn’t say anything, didn’t move, barely breathed. While the baby didn’t go still, the movements calmed to flutters and ripples. “There ya go.” When he started to lie back, he caught the look on your face and flushed, ducking his head. “Book says they can hear ya. Thought it might help.”

His damn books. You could kick yourself for how frustrated you’d get with him when he only ever used the knowledge for your benefit. “It did. My god, you’re the baby whisperer.” You smiled, snuggling against him. “You’re gonna be the best daddy, Daryl. I hope you know that.” You were met with nothing more than his breath against the back of your neck. “I love you.” There was a flex of his fingers on your stomach, proving he was awake. You never said it with the expectation of him saying it back. It was simply part of your process to continue reassuring him that this was his family. He had a partner and a child, both who adored him. With your hand on top of his, the three of you slept.

No one woke him for watch.

He talked to the baby constantly now. Not one of those dads that used your bump as a pillow and had full conversations with the fetus, but would check in, let the baby know what he was doing. Whether a boy or a girl, Thumper definitely already favored their daddy. That was something with which you were fine. You wanted their relationship to be special. You weren’t afraid of not bonding with your child, but worried that Daryl feared he would never do so himself. That he might even let that fear sabotage him.

As if keeping time inside your womb, the strong movements intensified, Thumper now expecting the presence of their father; demanding it, even. With a sigh, you opened your eyes. Carol wasn’t asleep, but smiling tenderly, finally having found some warmth even if it meant cage fighting with your unborn child.

“S’this?” Came a rough whisper from above. You simply rolled your head to meet Daryl’s curious gaze and caught Carol’s elbow when she immediately tried to remove herself from the equation.

“Carol’s cold and Thumper says you’re late.” To the other woman, the archer probably looked angry but you knew that look. The furrowed brow and squinted eyes.

“Well, ya gonna make room or what?”

He didn’t like the idea of Carol in his space. He didn't need to vocalize that, and he didn’t. Carol removed herself almost completely but didn’t attempt to find somewhere when she found you watching her. You knew she’d try if only to ease Daryl’s discomfort. You weren’t thrilled that he’d be ill at ease but Carol needed to be warm and the man was literally a walking fireplace. You’d be between them, looking at him, while the three of you shared warmth.

It took a good amount of effort—and Daryl’s assistance—for you to roll over. The woman now at your back was whispering apologies at not being the one to move when you waved a hand at her.

“Just lay down, Carol.” You laughed as quietly as you could manage. “Snuggle as close as you can to me, okay?” Her blue eyes lifted to Daryl, now propped on his elbow in front of you. He gave her a nod before you felt the blankets being arranged and her front against your back. Her presence didn’t bother you at all. And you could have told her that Daryl would have never let her lie where he was anyway. It would mean there was a door behind you and he never let there be a way for a threat to get you without going through him. You were too tired and ready to snuggle into a warm chest. You could tell her the next day. When everyone was settled and still, you smiled tiredly at him. “Hi.”

He didn’t get to answer before practically your entire stomach shifted with Thumper’s movement. “S’like watching a fuckin’ alien movie.” Daryl grunted, fingers working down the zipper of your jacket enough to slip his hand inside and splay his fingers open across your belly.

“Don’t say that.” You whined. Your nightmares had been plagued with imagery of a walker baby gnawing its way from your womb. You hadn’t told him about the dreams, didn’t want to put the idea in his head that it was even a possibility. True to Dixon form, however, he surprised you.

“I think ‘bout it too.” He whispered, his hand gliding back over forth over your abdomen. “Wouldn’t be no heartbeat when Hershel checks ‘em though an’ s’there. Everyday.” You sighed deeply, smiling like a lovesick idiot and snuggling against his chest while your baby already began to settle beneath his palm. “What?”

“Just thanking my lucky stars, as my daddy would suggest at this moment.”

Daryl snorted. “What for?”

Carol shifted at your back and hummed in her sleep, her body already warm against you. “You. Thumper. This little family.” You wanted to be closer to him but without crawling under his skin, it wouldn’t be possible. And yet you were wrong. Daryl moved, angling his hip toward you so the weight of the baby could rest on him instead of pulling toward the floor. From that position, you were able to press almost flatly against his chest in complete relaxation. “Goddamnit, Daryl Dixon, I fucking love you.”

He hummed, nuzzling his cheek against your head. “So ya keep sayin’.”

“And I’ll keep saying it, too. Get used to it.”

Another day, another drive. It was cold. The breeze from Daryl’s window wasn’t helping anything, but you dared not speak it. Even with the ventilation, all you could smell was the burning tobacco. Why the man would be smoking after pneumonia nearly killed him was something you probably would never understand. Regardless, he was considerate about it. He always made sure the smoke was never blowing in your direction. It wasn’t even something that you found unappealing. Quite the opposite. Daryl made smoking look like less of a habit and more of something that was just a natural part of him. Even with your super senses, the smell didn’t bother you. It never had.

And it wasn’t bothering you at the moment either, but that didn’t matter. He was.

“You realize that you nearly drowned from fluid in your lungs just a few weeks ago, right?” It was a jab, unnecessary and was meant to make you feel better, but couldn’t have been further away from that result. Absolutely no one would have missed the way he clenched his jaw, barely relaxing it enough for the next drag.

“Ya realize that bein’ pregnant ain’t a excuse to be a bitch all’a the time, right?” There was an immediate spasm of regret in his expression, his hand tightening on the wheel. “Didn’t mean that. M’sorry.” Kudos to Daryl for not holding in an apology after snapping, even if the apology wasn’t need because he was 100% correct. You slumped down in the seat. One hand rubbed your itchy belly while the other reached for his forearm and squeezed it gently until his grip loosened.

“Don’t apologize. I deserved that.” You knew full well that you were being unbearable, even if it was something beyond your control at points. You had laid into the poor man for commenting that he should go through the bags and grab you a larger sweater because you looked uncomfortable in the one that now had to stretch to accommodate the changes in your body. He hadn’t argued when you called him an inconsiderate dick and spewed off anger and insults that you couldn’t even recall.

“Nah.” He flicked the cigarette out the window. “Don’t ever deserve me or anyone else talkin’ to ya like that, pregnant or not.” Those pretty blue eyes were catching the sun just right to give them a crystal shine as he watched the road. You didn’t miss the way they flitted down to your hand still on his arm, nor did you miss his left hand start to move toward it but retract.

You gave him a smile, one that he began to fidget underneath. With a jerk upward of his arm, he prompted you to let go. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable so you looked away, picking absently at the front of the oversized sweater he had dug out for you regardless of your tantrum.

Five and a half weeks left before you’d be roughly around forty weeks, which meant you could safely go into labor after the next week or so. While you were thrilled at the prospect of meeting Thumper, you were terrified of giving birth. So much could go wrong and there just wasn't the available equipment to ensure either comfort or safety. The thought of battling through without even the option of pain relief was daunting. You’d seen the movies, and though Lori had assured you they were all on the dramatic side, she did warn you that contractions were not still not fun. She refused to go through her birth story, wary of aggravating your nerves even more. She did add that every woman’s body was different and she couldn’t tell you much more than that.

So what did you do? Naturally, you grabbed up one of Daryl’s books. You had placed it back in his bag after only two pages, fear doubling with anxiety to tag team in constricting your chest. He wasn’t any help, having no time to read lately. He was going by Lori’s advice and what he was learning from your cues. He was doing the best he could and you were thankful for him, even if you didn’t always show it.

Glancing over at him, slouched behind the wheel with his left thumb dragging back and forth over his bottom lip, you felt a pulse between your legs. Even with that god awful poncho, he was so fucking attractive. You’d barely let him touch you recently. He never seemed upset about it, always just pulling you closer after the initial don’t touch me had worn off. He never tried again, never questioned. Just rolling with the punches to ensure you had what you needed.

And at that very moment, your body was screaming that you needed him.

“Daryl.”

“Hmm?” He didn’t look over but your tone was level, seemingly unbothered.

“I need you to pull over.” You licked your lips but he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did. The man had an eagle eye and an elephant brain. He glanced at you and then back to the road.

“Gotta piss again?”

Charming. “Yeah.” He always went with you now, standing on the other side of the tree so you didn’t feel like he had followed you into the bathroom. If he continued that trend this time, you’d beg him once out of sight and earshot of the group.

“One sec.” He blew the horn once, the signal to the group, and maneuvered the truck to the side of the road, just shy of the ditch. “C’mon then.” He got out and shut his own door but you didn’t move. Just as he knew your routine, you knew his. He rounded the front and opened the door for you, offering his arms to lift you from the seat and place your feet on the ground. There was a bit of strain on his face, but you tried to ignore it. The weight was from pregnancy. It’s the baby, it’s the baby. Don’t think about your weight right now.

“Thank you.” You patted his cheek and placed your hands on the small of your back, pushing your belly outward. “It’s fine.” You chuckled without even looking at him. The door had yet to shut which meant he was watching you instead. “Just stiff. Come on, I really have to pee.” Lie, lie, lie. You really needed his fingers stretching you open, his thumb against your throbbing clit. Maybe his mouth.

“Jesus, woman. Slow down.” He huffed, having no trouble keeping stride with you. He was, of course, concerned that you’d fall in your haste. You stopped at a large oak, biting your lip with a nod. A glance back revealed the group was beyond visibility, but you’d have to be quiet. That was going to be difficult with how wound up you were. “G’on. I’ll be right here.” His back was already against the rough bark. You were suddenly reminded of the bite against your skin the day he came inside you for the first time.

Daryl reached for his knife, intent on toying with it, cleaning from underneath his nails with the sharp tip but your hand halted him from even unlatching the sheath. With a frown, he looked you over. You watched the slow process toward realization.

“Don’t really need to piss, do ya?”

“No.” You were already dragging your sweats and leggings down to your knees, taking hold of his wrist and all but slapping his hand against your damp panties. “Please.” Using your grip to hold him still, you ground your hips down for friction that would surely bring some sense of relief. “Please, Daryl.” With a sigh, he stepped forward and turned you so that your back was against his chest. He must have been feeling frustrated. How many times had you nearly had his digits slipping inside you before your body changed its mind? God, your poor partner likely had balls as blue as his eyes.

“S’alright. Y’should know by now that I’ll do whatever it is thatcha need.” And then he was pushing your underwear down one-handed and his middle finger was dipping into your entrance, your body clenching around the intrusion before it began to pulse and pull him deeper. “Fuck.” Daryl dropped his forehead to the back of your head with a groan. You were nearly dripping but this time, the burning ache for his touch wasn’t going away.

“Please.” You said again, rolling your hips, letting out a squeak when your clit pressed into the heel of his hand. “I swear it won’t take long. I just—dear god, I need you.”

“I gotcha.” He whispered into your hair, pumping the digit in and out of your greedy cunt a mere three times before stretching you further with his index finger. The wet sounds accompanying his ministrations were absolutely filthy. “Christ, Y/N.” He was growing hard against your ass, the press of him against you nearly toppling you over the edge then and there.

“No.”

Another sigh from behind you and he was withdrawing with a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. “Better get back. They’re probably already—” The look on his face would have been hilarious if you weren't vibrating with a carnal need for him. It took all of three seconds for you to work open his pants and pull him free. There was a delectable hiss that you wanted to snatch with your teeth and bite into as if it were a living thing. Daryl’s hand shot out to brace himself against the tree as you fervently stroked him.

“This. I need this.” You were absolutely going to implode if he didn’t touch you soon. Time was limited. Rick would bring Glenn and T-Dog to search for the pair of you if you took too long. It was time to see if Daryl was even capable of a quickie. He’d always somehow managed to fuck you for what felt like hours. You spun and placed your hands against the tree trunk, jutting out your ass, your hip bumping into the head of his cock. The moment his hand squeezed just one hip, you knew you’d need to hold on tight.

One thrust and he was bottomed out, the stretch of it painful and exquisite. Just what you needed. He wasted no time, pounding into you like his life depended on it. He was likely wound just as tight as you were. You had never been intentionally teasing him, just reacting to the will of your indecisive, hormonal body.

Thank god that same body was craving what he was giving you.

His left hand slid around to support your belly, ever considerate of your comfort despite the frenzied state of his mind in that moment. Your clit was throbbing, begging for pressure and friction that you granted yourself for once as he skillfully plunged in and out of you, the head of him tapping that soft spot inside you that had you rising onto your tiptoes and bending as far as you could manage to open yourself up for him.

Daryl growled, an almost feral sound from deep within his chest, his thrusts growing sloppy. He was close but you were closer, already seeing stars with each stroke of your fingers. You continued to get lost in the way he was making you feel, forgetting to keep your own rhythm going. Fuck. He was going to throw you off the precipice without the need for your aid. “Right there! Oh god, Daryl—I’m gonna—”

“Ssh!” He released your hip in favor of bowing over your back to cover your mouth. He knew you too well. When his teeth bit down just to the right of your spine to muffle his own exclamations, you fell apart. Your walls clamped down on him, pulsing and squeezing until he shouted against your flesh, his hips stuttering against your ass. There was a rush of warmth inside you, welcomed and satisfying. After the spasms slowed in their intensity, Daryl gently, lazily thrust into you a few more times to ensure you rode every single wave. He didn’t slip out of you until you slouched with a contented sigh.

“God, I needed that.” You hummed as he pulled up your panties and leggings, adjusting them to be comfortable before doing the same with your sweats. “Thank you.” You whispered breathlessly, turning to face him as he tucked himself away.

“Ain’t never gotta thank me for somethin’ that’s yours, crazy girl.” The archer froze in the middle of securing his belt, staring at the ground somewhere between your boots and his. You found yourself unable to move as well, just blinking at him, wondering if that meant what you thought it did. His head was down but you could see him glancing back and forth between you and the dirt. When his hands released the leather, his right one circling your wrist, you held your breath. “Y/N —I, uh—”

“Hey!”

Glenn was one of the sweetest men you’d ever known but at that moment, you had never wanted to murder someone more in your entire life.

“You guys okay?”

Daryl grunted and let you go. “C’mon. I guess, they’re sick’a waitin’.”

You sighed but the words, the expression, the moment kept replaying as you followed him. Was he about to tell you that he loved you? It was such a strange feeling to somehow know that he did but feeling like that was made null by his unwillingness to express it. None of this was easy for him. I love you was something he had likely never heard in a way he could believe, from anyone who hadn’t at some point caused him pain. You’d wait. You’d wait forever if you had to.

They always said actions speak louder than words and his actions were absolutely roaring. You just wanted to hear it. Just once. Just wanted to be able to pluck the words from the air and lock them away in your heart to call back when you needed them during the times he couldn’t say it.

You were nearly back to the truck when it hit you and you stopped with a heavy sigh that had your partner twisting at the waist to glance back at you. “Ya alright?”

With a wincing smile, you begrudgingly admitted: “I really do have to pee now.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon angst #pregnant!reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon the walking dead

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heartpascal · 9 months

Text

when the sun goes down

▹— joel miller x platonic!f!reader

▹— summary: joel doesn’t talk about you, until he does

▹— a/n: this one might be kinda ,, weird?? idk if i like how ive written it!! its kinda different to my usual fics !!! + the ending is kinda funky idk

▹— warnings: fem!reader (she/her used), reader is dead , mention of reader getting infected , grief, loss, guilt, lots of angst, small mention of suicidal ideation, referenced murder, mother tess, father joel, uncle tommy, ellie asking inappropriate questions tbh, think that’s everything but let me know!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear (pedro)

masterlist

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When Joel had been a stranger, Ellie would have never even had the thought to guess that you or Sarah had existed. The man seemed… too stoic, too unbothered, or perhaps, too bothered. She was never really sure what Joel was, back then.

But over the weeks, then the months, and then the years of knowing Joel Miller, it had become increasingly obvious that there was a distinctive daughter-shaped gap within him. It had left a cavernous space in the man, which Ellie had done her very best to fill, even if she would never have admitted it to anyone.

It was clear in the way Joel had tied up her hair when she was sick, in the way he knew exactly what she needed to hear, even when she didn’t know herself. It was obvious in the way he responded to her argumentative nature, her spitting words, his protective behaviour.

Ellie hadn’t even really thought about it, until the day she and Joel arrived at Jackson, until Maria revealed what the two names on that chalkboard meant. After that, it all started to make sense, and she had finally believed that she understood Joel Miller in some deeper way, in a way that actually mattered. She didn’t think about what she was doing back when she had argued with Joel, when she had spluttered out, “I’m not her, you know.”

Your name hadn’t even been mentioned, back then, and Ellie hadn’t known at the time that when she had said her, Joel didn’t know exactly who she was talking about.

Either way, he made it clear that Ellie shouldn’t be mentioning anybody Joel had lost. Certainly not you or Sarah, or even Tess.

After the whole… hospital fiasco, Ellie wasn’t sure she had ever understood Joel, after all. She’d been numb, to some extent, when she and Joel had finally made it back to Jackson, back to Tommy and Maria’s warm house, with their surprisingly peaceful baby. The first time she had visited their house, she hadn’t even noticed your name up on the chalkboard, a new addition, one without any dates below it, but written with as much care as the others.

It was the second, or the third time, maybe, that Ellie noticed the brand new name up on the chalkboard in Maria’s living room. She had been even more hesitant to talk about it than she had been to talk about Sarah and Kevin, so Ellie had figured that the loss was fresh. She hadn’t asked again, for a very long time.

Tommy, unsurprisingly, had been the one to tell her. A long day after a nightly patrol had the man exhausted, and he was two glasses of booze in when he had seen Ellie squinting up at the chalkboard as she was around for dinner.

“He ever tell you about her?” Tommy asked, fresh glass of booze gripped in his fist as he settled down on the sofa, looking up at the board with something numb in his eyes.

Ellie had said your name like a question, eyes scanning between the board and Tommy with furrowed brows. At Tommy’s nod, Ellie had shook her head, turning to Tommy like a child ready for story time before bed.

Tommy took another sip of his drink, sucking his teeth before he finally spoke. “He never told me what happened to her,” He said, eyes fixed on the board as if information might appear. “But I figure he must blame himself, whatever happened. She was fine when I left, but I’m guessing gone by the time you were around.” Tommy continued, looking to Ellie, who nodded. “Don’t know when exactly it happened. He’s real tight lip about it, even more so than he is about Tess, but I don’t blame him. She was his second chance.”

“Second chance?” Ellie repeated, eyebrows raised.

Tommy nodded in confirmation. “Found her not long after the Outbreak. She took to Joel straight away, poor kid. After Sarah, he was… different, but Joel, he looked after that girl like nobody else would’a.”

Some of the things Joel had done or said made a lot more sense to Ellie, in light of this information. You had been Joel’s second chance at protecting his daughter, his redemption, and he had failed. It was no surprise, in that case, that he had been as protective as he had. Or that he had tried to dump Ellie with Tommy, back when they first got to Jackson.

Joel believed he was a failure.

It was quite the realisation for Ellie.

She noticed more, after that. Like the way Joel would stop in the street when he saw people who must have held a certain resemblance to you or to Sarah. Or the way he would stay up late into the night, staring blankly at the darkening world around him as he sat on the porch. Ellie noticed just how much effort Joel put into looking after her, as if afraid that something could happen to her, or she could just disappear. She also noticed the way his eyes lingered on Tommy’s chalkboard, each time they visited.

Ellie thought that maybe, some day, Joel would wind up talking about you on his own. But days passed, and then weeks, and then they’d been staying in Jackson for close to two years, and nothing.

If it hadn’t had been for Joel sticking his nose into Ellie’s business, she probably would’ve never even revealed to him that she knew of your existence. Or at least, your connection to him. But Joel Miller was nothing if not stubborn, and when Ellie had been down for more than two days in a row, he stopped minding his business.

Joel was all comforting words in the face of a preventable loss on a patrol, and Ellie was sick of it.

“It ain’t your fault, kiddo. Nobody blames you for what happened, and you oughta talk about it to somebody.” Joel had said, voice warm and concerned like any father might be, and Ellie couldn’t help but snap after the day she’d had.

“It’s always one thing for you and then another for me, Joel!” She said, baring her teeth at the man, who only looked as confused as ever. “I’m sick of it. Stop telling me things that you know aren’t true, just because you feel guilty!”

His arms had been crossed defensively over his chest at her words, his eyebrows furrowing, the crease between them more prominent than ever. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, voice gruff and warning, as opposed to the previous tone he had been taking with her. He was practically daring her to go on with what she was insinuating.

“That you want to believe your kids dying wasn’t on you! And that’s great, Joel, but this was on me. It was my fault.” Ellie had spat out, arms wide out by her side, their stances opposing one another. She was accepting her guilt, acknowledging it, realising it was true, where Joel had only ever taken the blame, lugging the guilt along with him for years as if hoping it could disappear.

He had been sure, for a moment, that Ellie had taken to physical blows, but he realised in the silence which had followed her words that the pain was all him. She was right, which to Joel, was the real kicker. He had a knack for projecting onto people, for being defensive over guilt as if it reflected his own. As if, somehow, Ellie being guilty meant that Joel certainly was, too.

Maybe Ellie was right, but even if she was, Joel was in no mindset to admit it. How could he? He couldn’t even bring himself to talk about you, too scared that Ellie would see him for what he truly was; a failure. How would Ellie have responded to that? It was the exact reason he hadn’t told her the truth about the hospital, about what he had done, about the lengths he would go to. She might have seen him violent before, but never to that extent. Never against people she cared for.

If he told Ellie the truth, he would have to admit that he had failed a third child. Perhaps not quite in the same way as he had failed you and Sarah, but in some capacity, he would lose her, too.

Joel had been a selfish man for a very long time, by then. It was no surprise that he opted for the path that would allow him to keep the only child he had left. Who could blame him? Even Tommy, in some strange way, had understood his actions. Especially after his baby had been born, Tommy couldn’t blame Joel for doing what was necessary.

A parent’s love for their child was unrelenting. And Joel took that sentiment very seriously.

But Ellie couldn’t understand. She wouldn’t.

So, in that moment, he had levelled her with a look that put all parental glares to shame. “Go to your room.” Joel had instructed, voice flat, cold. Ellie, in her shock, had done as she was told, which was unusual.

This time, however, when Joel told Tommy of what had occurred, his brother hadn’t agreed with his actions.

When Tommy explained that Ellie didn’t know about you, or about Sarah, and certainly didn’t understand the relationship the two of you had had with Joel, he could see how she could’ve said something so… distasteful. After all, Joel had never told Ellie exactly what had happened to Sarah, let alone to you. Hell, he didn’t speak about you at all. He didn’t want Ellie to believe that he would fail her next.

But the talk was overdue, and the silence in the house had been suffocating Joel, and he noticed how uncomfortable Ellie had been, too. So he had no choice but to steel himself, to grip a mug of coffee, give up on slowing his heart rate.

When Ellie walked through the door, having been out with her friends all day, she stopped short at seeing Joel sat on the couch, looking more stressed than she had seen him in a long, long time. “Sit down.” Joel said, his words catching and tumbling out, as he gestured towards the armchair opposite the couch.

Surprisingly, she sat. “Is everything… okay?” She asked, hesitantly.

“I think it’s time I have a talk with you,” Joel admitted, his fingers squeezing the mug tightly. “You were right.”

“As always.” Ellie responded instantly, an instinctive response that generated a scoff of laughter from Joel, soothing his stressed brow the slightest amount. She cringed, but relaxed at his expression. “About what, exactly?”

“About it being one thing for me, and another for you. It’s not fair of me to ask you to talk about things, if I don’t talk right back to you.” Joel said, slowly, trying to sort through his thoughts before he fumbled another important father-daughter talk, as he had done many times before. “I’m goin’ to tell you about my girls.”

“Joel, you really don’t—”

He interrupted, “No, I do. And I want to.”

Ellie nodded after a moment, settling down in her chair, finally placing her backpack by her feet. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Joel repeated. He took a deep breath, squeezing the coffee mug once more. He said your name, the syllables almost unfamiliar for how long it had been since he had said it. “She, well, I—… She got Infected, ‘bout six years ago.”

Ellie sucked in a harsh breath, sure she knew what had happened after that. It was a story she knew, all too well. Joel scratched at the hair on his cheek, grinding his teeth together. Remembering it all, remembering you was… hard. But it was also refreshing. As if showing the parts of you he’d held to his chest for so long was a weight, lifted from his shoulders.

He didn’t want to talk about that part, about the time he failed you, about what he’d done for you, but other things? He could talk about those.

Joel remembered the years he had spent with you, watching you grow, spending weeks of his life searching for gifts for every assumed birthday. He remembered teaching you how to read, gifting you books, helping you learn how to survive. He remembered the bond you’d shared with Tess, the time the two of them would spend doing your hair for you, with whatever supplies they could manage.

Telling Ellie about you was probably the most vulnerable Joel had ever been with her. It was certainly the most open he had been. It felt like, for the first time in a very long time, he had his heart stitched onto his sleeve.

There was so many memories of you, so many he’d kept to himself for years because Tess had never been able to talk about you, because he couldn’t bring himself to, either. He worried about memories he had forgotten, about how much of your face had faded into obscurity, about how inaccurately he recalled your laugh, your voice.

He thought that, perhaps, his very worst fear would be that if he let go of these memories, if he let other people look upon them alongside him, he’d forget. Joel wasn’t sure he could be open and hold on tight enough. What was too much? How much could he say before he forgot it all? How much would he remember if he didn’t analyse them in his mind? If he let Ellie listen to the moments he held most dear?

Joel didn’t want to forget.

But if he didn’t tell anybody, then who would remember you, after Joel was gone?

There was Tommy, he’d considered, but he knew Tommy’s memories were corrupted, taken over by Firefly nostalgia. No, despite Joel’s being older, his memories of you were certain to be more reliable.

“Here,” Joel said, eventually, his throat feeling tight with the effort of holding back tears. He pulled out a folded up print, one he had gotten out just that afternoon. It was crumpled and degraded with age, but the image remained true. “This is her.”

Ellie took the photo from his hands, the image being of you. It was taken when you were a kid, back when he’d first found you, back when FEDRA had been doing photographs, before all of the printing supplies ran out. It wasn’t a happy picture by any means, merely an image of you, stood in front of a white background with a scared look on your face, dirt smeared across your nose, but it was you. And to Joel, that was enough.

He much preferred to think of you that way, rather than your last moments. It was the only thing that allowed him to let go of that last picture of you, the one that haunted his mind.

When Tess had died, the only thing that gave Joel some peace was the belief that she would have reunited with you. That you wouldn’t be alone, anymore. Often times, in the events after your… well, after he lost you, Joel had considered following you down that path. He had prayed to the God he had once believed in, he had cried out for any divine interference to stop what had happened from being true. But no matter how much he prayed, how much he cried, you were gone.

You had given him a purpose, after Sarah. Joel doesn’t think he would’ve made it this far, if it hadn’t been for you. And it feels so… wrong. He thinks, now, that Ellie had provided him with a purpose, after you.

“So, you raised her in the apocalypse?” Ellie asked, looking down at the photograph fondly, running a thumb along the yellowing picture.

“That I did.”

“Lucky kid.” Ellie said, not nastily.

“I dunno, kiddo, I’ve not always been the best…” Joel trailed off, unsure if he could actually refer to himself as your dad, after everything. After what he had done. Or, rather, what he hadn’t. “We did our best, me and Tess. Hell, even Tommy pitched in.” Joel decided on, after a moment.

He remembered the times Tommy would agree to look after you, to babysit, if such a thing existed in the apocalypse. Usually, it was when he and Tess were going outside of the QZ for supplies, occasionally for the Fireflies, which was why Tommy was allowed time away from his war against FEDRA.

One such time, Joel recalled, he and Tess had returned back to the ransacked apartment they had been assigned to find you and Tommy curled up on the decaying couch, which had only one cushion, asleep. A blanket had been wrapped around your shoulders, and Tommy had your newest book held in his lap.

In that moment, Joel had so wished that he could’ve taken a picture. He remembered a picture of almost the same scene, of Tommy and Sarah on the couch in his old house, in front of a still-playing TV. He regretted not taking the photo albums when they left, back then. Even now, he often felt a pang of regret over how much of Sarah’s memory was reliant on his own.

“Tess raised her with you?” Ellie questioned, almost surprised, but she could remember the way Tess had acted almost… maternal. Not to mention her optimism, her hope, when there was a possibility of a cure. She wondered if that was because of what had happened to you.

Joel nodded, going on to tell the tale of Tess teaching you how to shoot, when you became old enough to handle a gun, when it became apparent that you would need to handle one. He remembered how you had missed all but one shot by your second lot of ammo. He remembered how frustrated you had been, how Tess had told you to suck it up and try again, with that good old no-nonsense attitude.

Ellie could almost imagine Tess saying that, could almost picture how annoying that must’ve been for you as a kid. It was almost amusing to try and picture Joel and Tess raising a child in the apocalypse, especially given how the two had been when she had met them, herself. She tried to imagine that Tess being a mother, but came up empty.

“Did she, y’know, call you dad, or whatever?” Ellie asked Joel, after a moment of hesitation. She wasn’t sure if that was inappropriate to ask, but she was curious. She couldn’t imagine calling Joel ‘dad’ to his face, even though he was the only father she had ever known.

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“Dad!” You yelled, jumping up from the couch and away from Tommy, successfully waking him up in the process. You stumbled your way to the door as Joel swung it open, already dropping his bag to the floor. He was used to the greeting party, but you didn’t often shout him, in fact — did you ever? And since when did you call him ‘dad’? “You’re home! Did you get it?” You asked, jumping into his awaiting arms.

Joel squeezed you tightly, feeling a mixture of guilty and relieved that he was glad to be back, to come home to the child he had yet to fail. He thought about where you could have learnt that word, that name from, and could only come up with the new books Tommy had been helping you with while he and Tess had been away.

“‘Course I got it,” Joel responded, his voice gruff but full of warmth and humour. “Who d’you take me for?” He asked, grinning at your laughter and the way you squirmed from his hold to get to the backpack he’d dropped beside his feet.

“What’re we reading next, then?” Tommy asked, drawing Joel’s attention over towards the sofa, where his younger brother was smiling fondly. You hurried over, attention easily drawn away, and showed Tommy the book you’d taken from Joel’s bag, the one he’d managed to scrounge on his journey outside with Tess.

Joel was quickly drawn from his memories of the journey by you calling out to him once more. “Dad, are you coming to read with us, or not?” You asked, exasperated, and Joel grinned as he came over, his heart aching in his chest at the name, at the nostalgia of the activity.

“You bet.”

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

“She did.” Joel answered, after a moment of him being distracted, thinking of that very first time, thinking of the way he had fallen back into the title with such familiarity. He wondered if you would have been much like Sarah, had you been born before the apocalypse. Sometimes, he wondered that about Ellie. Often, he had to remind himself that you and Ellie weren’t his biological kids, and if it wasn’t for the apocalypse, he wouldn’t have had you.

He doesn’t like the way his chest aches at the thought of that. It might just be the only reason he’s grateful for the apocalypse that had ruined the world.

“She would’a liked you, y’know.” Joel said, almost absentmindedly, as if that comment didn’t make Ellie’s chest warm with appreciation, with pride. As if it didn’t make her wish that she could’ve met you, could’ve proved that comment correct.

“I think I would’ve liked her, too.” Ellie said, quietly, watching the way Joel reminisced, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the photo she still held. He smiled after a moment, and she was sure he was imagining what his life would’ve been like, had all of his kids met.

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supershot73199 · 5 months

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Hey so this is kinda inspired by @virgamsysxvolumes lucky rush au but it's more my own twist on the bioshock inspiration. Actual prompt / idea below the cut

Ok so this would be a good parents au where Danny revealed himself to his parents shortly after the series (excluding phantom planet) and they were super supportive and asked for his help in learning more about ghosts. He also managed to track down Dani and brought her back to Amity only to learn that the ecto dejecto was only a quick fix. Eventually with Frostbites help they cure Dani but the only way is to essentially turn her into her core and let her form a new body in a special pod only she would be a baby. Now at first Jack and Maddie were going to fake a pregnancy and pretend she was Danny's and Jazz's sister however she and Danny bonded while they were looking for a cure and she accidentally called him Daddy. Danny was smitten and decided he would not pretend to be her brother and would be her dad.

The fentons pass it off as an invention gone weird that basically made a baby from Danny with no mother and Amity just shrugs at the Fenton weirdness and accept baby Dawn (She asked Danny to give her a new name before she was turned to a baby and I think that would be a cute name Danny would come up with.) Now 4 years later Danny is 19 or 20 and Dawn is 4 years old and Danny had been studying inventing like his parents and medicine from Frostbite. At Dawn's most recent check up Frostbite gave Danny one as well only to discover that Danny has been absorbing more ecto-energy than his core can handle because he is a primordial in the making (yes this is master of space Danny). So the solution to this is two-fold he has to move to another dimension with less ecto-energy and he has to where a special suit in his ghost form that frostbite and his parents made together. Which is this.

Just without the drill and maybe a little more astronaut themed.

So eventually they pack up Danny and Dawn and find a new dimension with a city where they can live without people asking too many questions. Gotham city. With the number of vigilantes already there Danny won't feel obligated to go out and fight and he can finish his degree at Gotham U and start a business making and selling meta specialized medical equipment and other helpful inventions. (But no weapons.)

So Danny and Dawn with their new identities and parents/grandparents, aunts and uncles (blood and honorary) settle in pretty well with Danny and Dawn going out on moonlit walks in Ghost form. Thus the people of Gotham meet Big Daddy and his little starlight.

Now as for who I would ship with Danny I personally love DannyxCass or Dead silent as I think the current ship name for them is.

So maybe she meets the single dad Danny at college or at the park for the first time but they don't really hit it off until Danny signs Dawn up for a ballet class that Cass teaches.

Meanwhile Bruce and the more paranoid Bat's are trying to find out more about this tank like Meta that the public named big daddy (I imagine people heard Dawn calling him Daddy and No one ever asked his name so they start calling him that as a sort of meme) after he beat down a feral ManBat who tried to go after Starlight. (They heard Danny call her that in the suit and ran with it)

Basically we have creepy tank man and his glowing ghostly daughter on one side and sweet Cass and Danny romance with little gremlin Dawn trying to play matchmaker on the other.

Also what I think the other bat's think of Cass new boyfriend.

Dick is full overprotective big brother.

Jason after seeing the way that Danny is trying to help the underprivileged and the fact that they are like something out of a Hallmark movie ships it.

Tim is paranoid about this stranger and is back to his old habits(stalking) to find answers.

Steph is full Gung ho wing women she will be Cass bridesmaid God dammit.

Damien starts off hostile thinking there is no way he's good enough for his favorite sister until he meets Dawn and suddenly he is declaring that Cass needs to hurry up and marry him or else he will because he will have that adorable little girl in his family no matter what.

Duke is wary at first because he hadn't ever seen someone who glows as bright as Danny and Dawn but the more time he spends with them the more he realizes that the bright glow is a safe and protective aura and that it reaches out and covers everyone Danny cares about. (Danny has a ghostly aura he subconsciously covers people he cares about with that let's him react to danger faster)

Alfred is already planning out weddings and birthdays. He always expected Dick to be the first one to give him Great grand babies but he's not complaining.

Bruce much like Dick is full over protective dad maybe he even borrows one of Alfred's guns to try to intimidate Danny.

Barbara who is both a big sister figure and a almost mother like figure to Cass is absolutely delighted. (It doesn't hurt that Danny made a set of leg braces that can read nerves to allow her to walk naturally again without needing surgery)

Selina adores the two and thinks they make a cute couple.

Also I think it would be funny if after all of Bruce, Dicks, and Tim's paranoia Danny just strait up tells them that he is from another dimension and even offers to let them tag along on the next visit to his parents so they can do a proper background check (which freaks them out because they hadn't told him they were doing that. At least until while they are discussing it and if that was evidence that Danny is more than he appears Cass says she told him that they were doing a background check on him. Not that Danny didn't already know but it helps the suspicion.)

But yeah part neutral Meta and park Hallmark romance.

Also maybe a side plot of Jazz coming to this dimension and maybe she has a relationship with Supergirl because I haven't seen that before.

#danny x cass #danny phantom #dp x dc writing prompt #dp x dc #dead silent #dani phantom is now dawn #kara danvers #jazz fenton #jazz fenton x kara danvers #what would their ship name be #super therapy?

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piratefishmama · 11 months

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Forgiven Not Forgotten | Part 7

Never let it be said that the Harringtons knew how to go small. They didn’t. The quaint little two bed they’d been living in was always going to be temporary if Steve came home. Even if it was now… technically theirs. It was a nice house, perfect for many a small family, which technically they were.

But they were also… filthy stinking rich.

The Harringtons didn’t really know how to go and stay small. Which is why by the following weekend, Eddie’s release from hospital looming upon them and the two bed house feeling more and more cramped by the day, they already had a cash offer in place on a five bedroom estate in Bloomington.

Five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a finished basement games room, just under eight acres of land, a pool, and an extra little pool house outfitted as a detached bungalow on the property.

The little house they’d lived in… given it was theirs, well. They had no real plans for it yet. Selling it on was a potential, it was too far from the estate to even contemplate handing the keys to one of the families linked to theirs through their children’s shared trauma, although that’d be a nice gesture on their part, the idea of separating their kids after such an ordeal?

Nope. They’d clung to each other. Kept each other alive. They needed each other.

One of the reasons they even chose the bigger property was because “It’s big enough for you all to be there.” That’s what Lynda had told Steve when he’d asked about it. “It’s not going to happen for another couple of weeks, so the house is still going to be a little cramped with everyone in it, but…”

“We have no intentions of separating you from your family, Steven.” John finished for her, nodding over Steve’s shoulder to the multiple sets of eyes watching them. “Like your mother said, what we have now is too cramped, this new place will have plenty of room for everyone.”

“And… what about when their parents turn up?” Because it was a when, not an if. “Just gonna go back to an empty house?” They were operating on when. Nevermind that they’d never seen their parents get out of Hawkins. Nevermind that the only parent they knew for certain was alive and well outside of Joyce and Hopper, was Karen Wheeler, Ted having put himself between his kids and a Demogorgon during the early days and hadn’t come out as the victor. It didn’t matter that they’d seen horrors beyond anything a child should have to witness.

The kids needed to operate on when.

“Then we’ll help them find homes in the area, but until then, the house will be… a home base of sorts. A comfortable starting point for all of you so you’re not too far away from each other, it’ll never be an empty house, Steven. I know it might look like we’re just spending money for the sake of it but… it’s not like that anymore.” They weren’t doing that anymore. They’d found a better way than being away from home all the time. John worked from a home office and delegated important tasks and jobs to others to free up his time, and Lynda decided she wanted to be at home.

They were just glad Steve was allowing them to just decide to be there for him all of a sudden. He didn’t have to.

“…Forgive me if I still doubt that.” No amount of tearful apologies could erase all that history “But thanks, for… for thinking of us. It’s true, we kinda stuck together like glue after Mr Wheeler…” he trailed off. After they’d gotten Karen and Holly out of that house while Ted held back that shaking door, huge, clawed fingers tearing through wood. He still remembered Holly’s screams, still remembered Karen crying, begging them to go back as Nancy and Mike dragged her out, Holly running straight to Steve. “We were never far apart from each other.” It’d be weird without them, unsettling when the dust finally settled. When parents returned to claim their kids.

“And you wont be.” John placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, firm, squeezing it in comforting reassurance. “You won’t be.”

“Aaaand this is your room.” Had it not been for the fact that Eddie had been in a coma for the last god only knows, where he could, with rules, conjure ridiculous shit, he’d have probably assumed he was still out.

He had a room. In what was essentially. A mansion. But he’d never seen it before, so he wasn’t still in his funky little void because he wouldn’t have been able to conjure it.

Only what he’d seen, only places he’d been.

He had his own room. Bigger than his old one at the trailer because of course it was. Currently empty of personal belongings, void of personality, but Steve was holding boxes. Boxes with stuff in them, rolled up tubes of paper, stuff wrapped in newspapers, and he was setting those boxes down one by one inside the room. “…What’s in those?”

“Shit we saved from the trailer, it’s not much but… it’s something.” Eddie silently turned to just. Stare at him. Brows furrowed, confusion so evident Steve had to ask “what?”

“…How long has it been since I died, Steve?” He had to ask again, just to be sure of something, even if it was a weird question to ask.

“Bout two years, why?”

“… And in that time, Hawkins basically ate shit, right?”

“Yup, where’s this going?”

“How’d you save my stuff for that long? Why did you save my stuff for that long? Shit couldn’t have been easy to keep safe, right? So… why?” Steve fell silent, his jaw shifting, lips pursing, visibly going through all the possible reasons he could have saved that stuff, all the reasons why he would have saved that stuff, all the potential excuses, the boy would be terrible at poker.

He settled on shrugging his shoulders.

“Because I did. Because I could. Like I said, it’s not much.” It was so much. Not quantity wise, no… Steve was right there wasn’t much in those boxes, probably why Steve could carry multiple at a time but it meant so much. Steve obviously wasn’t going to go into the why’s or the how’s with him though. He was going to brush them away, without answers. “We saved some mugs, there’s some posters in here, uhh, I got a bunch of your tapes and your deck, I wish I could say I saved your guitars but… I’m sorry man, it was just too risky carting around something that could make noise. I think… they might still be there but—”

“It’s fine, Steve… this—this is way more than I could have asked for.” He could always get a new guitar, eventually. It’d mean saving up somehow, or using some of the hush money that the government had promised him for signing, he was planning on using that to find Wayne though.

It’d been over a week, the hospital had slowly been cleared of survivors, the Sinclair’s were the only parents who’d made it thus far, having been staying with Sue’s sister a few towns over doing the exact same thing as the Harringtons. Waiting. Hoping. Praying for news on their kids, any news. Anything.

They’d taken the Harrington’s offer to stay in the converted pool house with Karen until they could get housing arranged, the kids staying in the main house with everyone else.

“Yeah well… we’ll sort you out a new one eventually. Can’t leave the bard without his instrument, right?” Eddie’s wide eyes were on him again, a beaming smile spreading across his lips, dimpling his cheeks, stretching the scar tissue on his jaw, and Steve had to look away, he had to, because otherwise he just might fall again, and he couldn’t… he couldn’t make that mistake twice.

“Be still my beating heart, was that a D&D reference, Harrington?” He could feel the warmth seeping into his cheeks at the attention, as Eddie leaned in a little closer, got into his space, it’d been so long since someone had paid him any attention. Even if it meant nothing to Eddie, even if he was just being silly, be still his own beating heart.

“Maybe. Now get to unpacking your shit.” He put the last of the boxes down on the bed, purposefully turning away from Eddie to hide his reddening face, to hide what he knew Eddie had never wanted to see. “We’ll be heading out into town in an hour to find us all some new clothes, maybe some new stuff for the rooms too. Hop to it.”

“You’re not gonna help lil ol me unpack? I just got out of hospital!” Eddie called after him as Steve made to leave the room.

“With a clean bill of health! You can manage a few boxes!” And he was gone. Running away. Like a coward.

#PirateWrites #ForgivenNotForgottenFiclet #Steddie #Post!S5 #Mentions of Kas Eddie #Hurt/Comfort #Miscommunication

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k-daydreams · 11 months

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The Pursuit of Feeling Alive: II. Acting Coy

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Synopsis: cousin to Rhysand and Morrigan, y/n was once her family’s golden child. Faced with trials and tribulations her whole life, she needed reprieve— a distraction. Until a surprise homecoming opens Pandora’s box, and gives y/n a reality check. Especially facing her once close friend Azriel. Friends to Enemies to lovers trope.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: swearing, angst, angst, angst!! Ooc Azriel being a dick?, flashbacks, mentions of trauma

Author’s note: wow wow, thank you everyone for the support! Kinda strayed from my original idea of this fic, but I’m loving it more. As always like, reblog, and please give feedback if ya can! I love all the messages I’ve been getting! It makes me so excited for this! Anyways enjoy and lmk if you want to be added to taglist?!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You stood on the corner of the balcony attached to your bedroom in the House of Wind, gazing up at the remarkable Night Court sky. The stars twinkled above, painting the velvet canvas, while a gentle breeze enveloped you, carrying with it the faint scent of jasmine, a delicate reminder of Velaris' beauty. Aware that this might be your final stay in the city for a while, you cherished every precious moment, savoring the sights and sensations that had become familiar and comforting.

Tomorrow morning marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life—a journey to the Spring Court with your parents and the rest of the night court, where you would wed and live with your soon-to-be husband, the eldest son of the High Lord. Leaving the House of Wind was no easy task, for it had become your sanctuary, but it was your duty to follow the path laid before you. The weight of tradition and family expectations had been ingrained in you since childhood, shaping you into the dutiful daughter you strived to be, hoping to bring honor to your family's name. Sacrificing your own hopes, dreams, and aspirations was not in vain, or so you convinced yourself, fearful of the consequences of pursuing a different path.

As you basked in the soft glow of the moonlight, you allowed its radiant embrace to caress your bare arms, feeling a connection with the celestial bodies above. The gentle luminescence seemed to emanate from your own skin, illuminating the periphery of your vision. Tonight, you felt too numb to dim that light, to suppress the thoughts that consumed you. You had just embraced it all. It had been almost a year since your dormant abilities had awakened, making every fire and faelight burn tenfold, announcing your extraordinary powers. Since then, you have dedicated yourself to honing those powers, training relentlessly while also still excelling in your studies and various skill sets. It had also been almost a year since you were promised to a man in whom you held no interest.

The weariness had settled deep within you, amplified in recent weeks by the wedding preparations and the intense mental shield training by Rhysand. The purpose behind this training was to safeguard Velaris and the secrets of the Night Court from the prying minds of daemati, ensuring no slip of information would jeopardize your mission. Rhysand didn’t hold back with training, pushing you, and when you thought he couldn’t push anymore he found away to break you past the point. No amount of tonics and headache powders could help the pain that raged in your head, even making your body ache. You wished to snap, to surrender to the madness— senility seemed like a preferable alternative to the path laid out before you. You knew better than that.

A rustling sound behind you alerted your senses, accompanied by sturdy footsteps that landed with certainty. Without needing to guess, you knew who had joined you on the balcony, and for the moment, you wished for the company of only your own thoughts. That's why you had taken dinner in your room, denying even your handmaiden's presence. You didn't want your family or the court to witness the turmoil brewing within you. How vulnerable you actually were.

"You've been avoiding everyone," Azriel stated, his voice carrying from the opposite side of the balcony. His massive wings were relaxed hung over the railing, his elbows propped on the ornate material. Though he stood a step away, his shadow slid across the tiled floor, subtly wrapping itself around your ankle in a comforting greeting—a gesture you were too stubborn to admit brought solace.

"I've been preoccupied with making sure everything is ready for tomorrow and the wedding," you replied coolly, feigning detachment.

"You have people for that," he countered, a sliver of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Azriel possessed the uncanny ability to read you like an open book—it was, after all, his skill as the Spymaster. It was more than the skill he had as he has been your friend for almost a century already, and he just knew by this point. He could sense whenever you were distressed, angry, happy, or on the verge of breaking apart.

"I'd like to ensure that all my belongings reach the Spring Court safely," you retorted with a nonchalant tone, your hands resting on your hips. Even if he was right, he was the last person who should be visiting you without a chaperone. The high lord was very strict with orders on who could visit you. Azriel was not one of them.

"Bullshit," he coughed, crossing his arms. You turned to face him, glaring, carefully observing his appearance. Dressed in his customary Illyrian fighting leathers, black and glazed, black gloves concealing his scarred hands, his blue siphons shining bright against your own radiant glow, his onyx hair neatly pushed back, not a strand out of place, and his jawline clean-shaven, he looked as fresh as a daisy, despite his busy schedule.

"Have you considered the possibility that I simply don't want company?" you queried, your tone laced with defiance. He chuckled at your stubbornness in a humorless way, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Your affairs are encroaching on mine at this point," he sighed, his frustration not directed at you, but rather at the fact that you had become a pawn in the grand scheme orchestrated by the High Lord, Kier, and your father. Another piece sacrificed in this intricate game of war, and it was unfair to you. While you remained oblivious to what lay ahead, Azriel had an inkling of the ordeal awaiting you. His spies had informed him about your soon-to-be husband and the nature of his family. He had known the court was everything you despised despite having everything you loved. He knew you were about to become the Spring Court's most prized olive branch and trophy once the night court handed you off, and he couldn’t do nothing about it.

"Sorry if my call to duty is so bothersome for you, Spymaster," your blood began to boil, indignation rising within you. He was upset? You were the one marching toward your sole purpose in life, or so you had been led to believe. It felt like you were going to your own funeral. Yet he wanted huff and puff in annoyance?

Azriel raised his hands in defense as your anger escalated. "I say this out of genuine concern for you, dear dove," he said, his voice gentle. Your heart fluttered at the nickname your friend had used for you—an endearing term that had started as teasing but had evolved into something deeper for you. "I know this isn't easy for you. Morrigan sends her wishes as well."

You scowled, your heart aching for what your family had put Morrigan through when she refused a preordained fate. You wished you possessed even a fraction of her bravery. But you were not her; you were yourself—the Night Court's shining jewel, the rare black diamond that they had painstakingly cultivated and finally gotten right.

"Azriel, what if I can't do this? What if I make a mistake?" Your throat tightened, your body trembling as you fought back the anguish welling up inside you. "I'm so fucking scared," you whispered, a tear escaping and trickling down your cheek. Azriel approached, closing the distance between you, and pulled you into his strong arms. He cradled your head with his gloved hand, the other rubbing soothing circles on your back, while his shadows gently played with the ends of your hair. The dam burst, and sobs wracked your body as you silently cried in his embrace, finally succumbing to the weight of it all. You could smell the mist and cedar on him, and it sent waves of solace through your body. It was one of your favorite smells, if not the top favorite on your list.

"You're going to do more than great," he whispered, his voice a gentle reassurance amidst the storm. "You're going to be the most intelligent, talented, and powerful woman to ever grace the Spring Court with your presence." He gently pulled away, cupping your tear-streaked face, wiping away the evidence of your pain. His hazel irises bore into yours, and a sincere look on his face as he continued. "Did I mention the prettiest as well?" A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you rolled your eyes, appreciating the attempt to lighten the mood. You pulled him back to you, just needing to savor his warmth and presence for a little while longer. He didn’t protest, just rubbing your back as his shadows still continued to play with your hair.

After a while, you pulled away feeling your eyes were getting heavy. "I suppose I should get some sleep. Thank you, Az," you sniffled, your voice still shaky. He nodded, offering you a closed-lip smile.

"Of course, dear dove," he nodded, the moonlight still casting its ethereal glow upon you, making even your stray tears appear crystalline. Retrieving a small box from his pocket, he handed it to you—a black box adorned with a deep purple ribbon. "From all of us. You don't have to open it right now."

You took the box from his hand, your fingers lingering for a moment on his gloved one. He seized the opportunity and pulled you into another embrace, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. Your heart swelled at the gesture. Azriel may have been aloof most of the time, but when it mattered, he was compassionate. You could only hope your husband would possess a fraction of his considerate nature. He pulled away, and you wiped the remaining tears from your face.

"Goodnight, Y/n," he murmured.

"Goodnight, Az," you nodded, watching him as he moved away. His wings rustled before taking flight into the shimmering night sky of Velaris. You allowed him several meters of distance before entering your room. Sitting on your bed, you toyed with the small box, anticipation building within you. Unable to resist any longer, you opened the gift.

Inside, nestled on a bed of purple velvet, was a stunning jewelry set adorned with black diamonds. They were the most exquisite pieces you had ever laid eyes upon. A note was tucked beside them, signed by Rhysand, Morrigan, Cassian, and Azriel:

For our little star.

You had been heavy in thought all morning, memories haunting you, filling your heart with a weird sense of deja-vu. Preparing to leave for the Night Court proved to be a daunting task while nursing a hangover. At least you were staying for another few days, only gathering some belongings to leave with Morrigan when the inner circle left this morning. You wanted to tie up loose ends before leaving the Day Court and returning to the city of Velaris. You couldn't bear to leave Helion clueless on what stood in your affairs at his court; you had left too many loose ends in your life already. This time you were determined to at least end this chapter of your life closed and on a better note than all the others in your life.

The faint smell of the wildflowers and honey from the colorful gardens below breezed through the windows, and light from the morning sun glittered your skin where it was exposed as you moved around your room. You savored the feeling on you as it absorbed through your thin night clothes and robes as you packed. The light was hard to ignore as it buzzed in your veins, the frequency low compared to what it felt like when you weren’t hungover. Your head was already spinning, a whirlwind of emotions and nerves churning about. It was hard to tell whether the flutter in your stomach came from nerves or the remnants of the wine you had indulged in the night into the early morning. A big thanks to Mor, who never allowed your glass to be empty.

You had packed a decent size sack of clothes, but glamoured it into a small coin purse so Mor could easily bring it to Velaris without straining herself too much. Her room was further down at the end of the hall from yours, where she had always stayed in the Day Court (when she had not occupied Helion’s room). Not feeling the need to change out your night clothes yet, you left your room with the coin purse to go visit your cousin.

The day court palace was ethereal and heavenly. Everything from the statues, the molding around the high domed ceilings, the pillars that lined the halls of the palace, to the tiles of the floor were made of marble and quartz. The dome ceilings had murals painted of past day court rulers, great battle scenes from the Great War, and even some of Helion’s closest friends and court members. The halls had endless windows to let the sunlight in with balconies and verandas attached that held sitting areas of gold and champagne colored silk chairs and tables scattered about facing the best views of the grounds.

As you strolled down the hallway, the sunlight embraced your skin, leaving a warm sensation lingering upon you. The rings adorning your fingers glimmered, casting reflections on the polished floor. It was these little details that you would surely miss once you departed—the comforting warmth of the Day Court and the ability to harness your power so effortlessly. In the Night Court, where the moon and stars reigned supreme, the sun’s brilliance was muted, and manipulating light consistently proved more challenging. Lost in your own world and lost in thought, you failed to notice who was walking your way.

“Y/n!”

You looked over and saw Cassian, Nesta, Elain, and Azriel walking towards you. You mustered up a brave face, offering a meek smile. Azriel’s shadows came out of nowhere, swirling and circling up his arms. Almost like they were chirping to him. He subtly shook his arm to rid them, not looking impressed.

“Good morning,” you greeted, tucking your robe closer to your body, trying to cover up a bit more. You couldn’t help but notice the awe in Elain’s and Nesta’s faces as they looked at you. You didn’t think it was because you were in your night clothes either.

“You're glowing,” Nesta said with inquisition, ignoring your greeting. Your skin even through the mesh of your robe shined lightly emanating a soft glow.

Your cheeks reddened and you willed the light down into your being, not doing a great job as it seemed to shine brighter. Cassian smiled broadly, his wings rustling in amusement. Azriel had remained stoic close behind Elain. His facial expression was unreadable, a big contrast to the wonder in the young woman’s face.

“Didn’t I tell you she did that?” Cassian wrapped his arm around his mate, and her eyebrows furrowed together looking at him. She reminded you of a black apothecary cat that hated almost everyone, and Cassian was the stray golden long haired dog that roamed around the streets of Velaris begging for pets and food. It was odd, but sweet.

“I thought you meant figuratively.” She pushed him away slightly, fixing her hair.

“No, no it’s actually literal.” You tried to add a playful tone to your voice in an attempt to diffuse your unease. You felt naked and improper in front of them in just your night clothes. It didn’t help, they were already dressed for the day, all in their traveling attire.

“Intriguing,” Nesta hummed in curiosity.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Elain spoke up. “You’re truly the star they say you are.” You looked at the middle Archeron sister, her features soft and dainty. Her brown eyes are warm like toffee and her hair matched. She had reminded you of yourself many many centuries ago. “I had a lot of time to read in the libraries.”

“I’m in books, I didn’t realize I was of significance.” The statement came out harsher than intended. The feeling of indifference was powerful towards your biological family.

“You are one of the most important court members to exist. Of course you're in the Night Court texts.” Azriel muttered. “No need to act coy.” Though his voice was calm and level, you knew that had been intended as snark.

Your softened gaze hardened as you glared at him, “I’m not being coy, just genuinely surprised because I was also one of the most shunned members.” The air was now heavy with an unsaid tension as Cassian and the sisters looked between Azriel and you. This was the first time you’ve talked to him in over fifty years, of course it was meant to be an argument. Cassian should’ve expected this, knowing his brother's feelings and how your temper got. Knowing how you ended things and the complex history between you two.

“Surprised you’re always put on a pedestal, no matter what your status is?” He jeered. Your could feel your inner rage ignite in your veins. You weren’t some pretty prize or trophy. Not anymore at least.

“Nesta, Elain let me show you the gardens.” Cassian suggested casually. Nesta looked entertained that she got to see the shadowsinger break his mask of cool, but quickly got annoyed at her mate who was pulling her away. Whereas Elain looked hesitant, bracing a hand on Azriel’s muscular bicep, showing her concern before trailing behind her sister.

“We’ll see you back at Velaris, Y/n.” Cassian put his hand on your shoulder walking past you and shooting Azriel a pointed look, escorting the women to the gardens; leaving the other Illyrian male and you alone. You watched as Elain walked away, Azriel’s shadows came out once again alerting the male in front of you.

Your narrowed eyes and the lurch in your stomach betrayed the surge of emotions you felt as you observed him staring after her. That look, the same one he used to give Mor when he thought no one else was watching, the one you used to yearn for—now it made you sick. An insatiable, jealous feeling clawed at you.

“Moved on, I see.” You chided, not being able to filter your mouth. You knew it was a low blow, knowing what you did know, but at this moment you didn’t care. Any warmth you felt from the past night had dissipated and you let your heart iced over once more.

“That’s none of your concern.” He uttered. His eyes a dark hazel as he took you in finally, without the stares of others following. You wanted to shudder under his dark gaze, but you held your composure standing taller, chin jutted out. He stalked towards you until his face dangerously close to yours, his frame towering over you. His steady breath hit your face as he spoke lowly. “Nor are matters in the Night Court.”

You could feel the flames building and intensifying inside you. “Is my appearance not wanted by you Spymaster?” Rhysand said he wouldn’t admit that missed you, but surely this couldn’t be the same Azriel that your cousin had spoken about last night.

He scoffed, “you ran away from us after you were freed. You didn’t even send a letter. I-we had to find out from Rhys once he came back from the cabin!” His smooth voice now gruff from his raising it. Azriel hardly raised his voice at anyone, but when it came to you, he would raise his voice until no words came out.

Your blood was boiling at assumptions he made. “You don’t know what I went through! You won’t ever know!” You exclaimed, feeling your eyes burn tears ready to spill.

“Your right, I won’t ever know.” He said with a scary calmness. “I don’t want to know either. You’re selfish for running away, leaving us. When you don’t want to deal with shit that’s what you do— run. Then what happens? We rescue you from whatever shit show you’re in. If it wasn’t an order from my high lady, I wouldn’t have come last night to your pity party.”

You were speechless, you could feel your stomach drop. Those were choice words he made, and each one was a stab to the stomach. He knew you hadn’t had a choice when you were married off to that monster. Azriel knew it wasn’t your fault that he went off and murdered your cousins. It wasn’t your fault his family was so scared of you for being too powerful so they had done terrible things to you. But he still threw it in your face as if it was your choice. You never had a choice. His face was expressionless again, “but anyways welcome home, Y/n.” His tone was void of any kindness as he brushed your shoulder passing you.

You could feel a couple tears finally slip down your flushed cheeks as you stood alone in the hall. Unsure of what had gone so wrong between Azriel and you for him to act so out of character. What made you want to get under his skin so bad that it only ended up with you hurting more. He had acted the same way before you followed Rhysand under the mountain, when he had tried to convince you not to go. He screamed, shouted, cried, and almost had his shadows restrain you, just so you wouldn’t leave. Now he wanted nothing to do with you.

You choked on the lump stuck in your throat, turning back to go to your room. When Mor was ready she knew where to find you. For now, you had decided it round two of your pity party.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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Taglist: @rachelnicolee @tcris2020

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unknownati · 3 months

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iii. are you still watching?

a/n: EEEK ilygsm. im glad ppl liked the last post so much ^_^ <333 thank u!!!

u didnt hear this from me but i MAYYY be working on a lil something w ellie 😜😇🤫🤫

ngl? idk if i like this! i'm very 50/50 on it but ur the judge 🤷🏾‍♀️

warnings/tags: suggestive? like you're literally on the BRINK of fucking (so mdni!!) , still fluffy tho (you already know i can't live without it), "netflix n chill 🤓", cuddling, making out, not really tlou aligned more of a modern au, ending kinda sucks lol, guess what. NOT PROOFREAD 🔥🔥, once again not very long but still made with love 😁 🫶🏾

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it took you an abby an hour to actually pick a show to watch. it always took you two forever, and the first 10 minutes of disagreement was usually on whether it should be a show or a movie. once you got past that, then it was which one to actually watch.

horror?..not really abby's thing.

sci-fi? not feeling that.

mystery? you didn't feel like thinking.

thriller? nothing good.

you eventually just settled on 'insecure' since you'd had your eye on it for a minute (and abby didn't feel like going back and forth with you anymore).

once you made it past the hour of picking something to watch, these were your favorite nights to have with abby. she'd come over, sometimes you'd order food, and you'd whip out your comfiest blankets to bundle up in. you had this specific blanket that abby loved to use, it was not too thin but not too thick, and it was adorned with these cute little cartoon dogs. she refused to let you use it even though it was yours.

you were fully invested in this show, but the same couldn't be said for abby. she kept glancing over towards you, staring for long enough that she didn't know what was going on.

you kept making small comments about the show just to receive late 'mhm's and 'ohhh's back. it wasn't until you took a peek at abby that you realized she wasn't even looking at the screen. "are you even watching it?"

she shrugged and nodded, almost defensive. "i am! you're just..." she exhaled, the faintest grin spreading across her face. "distracting."

you blink, raising a brow but matching her expression. "how am i distracting you? i'm not even doing anything, babe."

she nudges your leg with her knee. "you're just so pretty, i can't not look at you." you roll your eyes, focusing your attention back on the screen when the intensity starts picking back up. and abby let you watch. for a couple minutes, at least.

right when it was getting good, you felt a hand at your thigh. you glance over, she's darting between your face and your thigh; testing the waters. you don't say anything, still partially trying to see what's happening. her hand moves, up, up, right to the hem of your shirt. she pushes the fabric up, and that fully captures your attention.

"whatcha doin'?" you question, watching how she moves closer to you and looks at you with the prettiest, most love-struck eyes you've ever seen.

"nothing. just keep watching," abby reaches up and turns your head back towards the tv. you try your hardest to focus, but the feeling of her hands sliding up your shirt and slowly savoring every inch of your skin was a lot. and it didn't help that she started to kiss your neck, taking her sweet time to cover you with affection.

she trails up your neck, and soon she's kissing your jaw, her hand stationed at your waist. "you're so pretty. can't keep my hands off you, just wanna touch you all the time."

"abby..." you whispered, turning to give her a proper kiss. and that was all she needed. the way your voice sounded was like music to her ears, especially the way her name rolled off of your tongue and dripped like honey. heavenly.

it doesn't take long before you're on your back with her on top of you, her hand pulling your shirt up above your chest like she'll die if it's not off of you. it's so cute, the way her brows are furrowed while she kisses you, the small noises she makes that are just enough to tell you how bad she needed you. her touches are so gentle. she treated you like the most delicate piece of glassware yet she was so desperate for you.

her lips trail down, kissing down your sternum while she looks up at you with glimmering blue-grey eyes. she makes her way down your body, stopping right above the hem of your shorts. by this point, you your hear your heart thumping in your chest even over your thick breaths. "can i?" she asked, voice breathy.

you've never nodded and muttered a 'please' like that any faster.

it wasn't until you felt your shorts slide off and be carelessly tossed to the side that you noticed your show had paused and a large box of text popped up on the screen.

'are you still watching?"

#abby anderson #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson wlw #abby anderson x reader #the last of us abby #tlou #wlw #tlou2 fanfic #abby anderson smut #abby the last of us #i kinda cooked #abby tlou #tlou2

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forever-rogue · 1 year

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Hi bee, how are you? hope you're having a great week ❤

I was thinking about a Joel fic, they're in Jackson and reader lives in the house next to Joel's, they become friends and are feelings in between but they're to stubborn to confess.

Ellie is kinda dude just tell her and finally he does it with some dinner in his house or something like that.

Thank you, your fics are amazing 🥰

AN | I love this so much! Joel being soft for his girl has me so <3

Combined with this prompt | Can I please request something with Joel where he’s like cold in front of others but he’s so soft with his girl. And Ellie absolutely teases him for it.

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, Mentions of Sexual Situations

Word Count | 2.9k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"You're soft, you know," Joel stiffened at the sound of Ellie's comment. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, but decided not to indulge her. Not yet anyway, "for her."

"Ellie," his voice was careful, collected. So much for being any sort of subtle.

"I'm just saying," she holds up her hands innocently, playing as best as she could into her innocent child role, "and everybody knows."

“Nobody knows anything,” he insisted with a gentle, playful little tap to the side of her cheek, “y’all are always so nosey with everyone else’s business, makes me wonder what any of you ever get done.”

“Hey, I’m a kid, I’m not supposed to do anything,” she stuck her tongue but Joel’s hands settled on his hips as he gave her that look, “fine, I do some things.”

“Some things,” he twanged back at her, “like your chores, right? Which you should be doing right now, not harassing me, so get going.”

“You’re so stubborn,” she groaned, throwing her arms up in the arm, “and blind! Dude, just tell her!”

“Ain’t nothing to tell!” he called after her as she threw up her middle finger. If she would have looked back she would have seen the wicked, rosy blush that was covering his cheeks. His face felt warm enough to fry an egg on.

He wondered if people were really that perceptive or if just she was. He hated the idea that he was being so obvious. It wasn’t that he wasn’t into you, oh no. Joel Miller was into you; the whole picturing a future together, picturing you in his bed when he was alone at night, growing old(er) with you, type of into you.

He just had no clue if you felt the same. Even remotely so. And he wasn’t about to make a fuckin’ fool out of myself by making a move and potentially being wrong. The thing he hated most of all was the idea of a life without you. He’d rather keep you as a friend than lose you altogether.

Joel huffed at him, feeling pathetic with how lovesick he sounded. He wasn’t some sort of teenage boy, he was a grown ass man.

“Hey cowboy,” okay. He was a pathetic lovesick grown ass man, “whatcha up to?”

“Nothing,” fucking hell. Joel’s voice pitched up about three octaves as he glanced over at you, standing in the backyard like a vision. He never knew he loved sundresses so much; not until the weather grew warm and you started wearing them. You and those pretty little dresses were going to be the death of him, “just working on a few things around the house.”

“Hmm,” you mused as you walked over, ghosting your fingers along the flowers that had started growing, “need a hand? I’m done with the things I needed to do today. The rest are a problem for future me.”

“I like your thinking,” he agreed, setting down the hammer he’d absentmindedly picked up to look like he was doing something, “let’s call it a day.”

“Want to head to the river?” Your suggestion was followed by a sugary sweet smile that made him want to take you in his arms and kiss you, “we can bring some lunch and have a little picnic.”

He wanted to have a little more than lunch. But that was a conversation for a different day.

“Sure,” he agreed, a vain attempt at nonchalance, but if you noticed, you didn’t give it away, “let me just get out of these dirty clothes first.”

“Need a hand with that?” you teased, feeling emboldened for whatever reason. The surprised look on his face as he opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water was worth it, “I’m just teasing, Joel. No need to look so panicked. You change and I’ll get some lunch together. Do you think Ellie would like to come?”

“No!” he insisted quickly before realizing his gaff. You raised an eyebrow but remained silent, “she’s busy with her chores this afternoon. Kid’s gotta earn her keep, you know?”

“Mhmm,” you reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, “well, just meet me at mine when you’re done. Door will be unlocked as always.”

Joel watched wordlessly as you flounced away, skirt swishing and hips swaying. He was pretty sure he was almost drooling, but caught himself before anyone around seemed to notice. You were trouble; you were absolutely going to cause him to lose it.

And god, he was so here for it.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You looked nervously around the kitchen, trying to figure out what you could throw together for a little picnic. You hadn’t really thought this far ahead - you hadn’t really expected him to say yes. Not that Joel had ever said no to you but still…one never knew. Maybe the dress was helping; you’d worn it purposely after all. Men practically became putty when they saw a woman in a sundress.

“Fuck,” you sighed to yourself, already mentally prepping the food as you grabbed the picnic basket out of the cupboard. You sang to yourself, “don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck this upppppp.”

You kept singing that mantra to yourself as you bounced around the kitchen and managed to whip up a lunch that wasn’t too shabby at all. By the time Joel made his way over to yours, you were flushed and breathless. His handsome face and lovely smile were almost too much for you. You felt like a victorian maiden in the presence of a man alone for the time.

Yikes. You really needed to get laid. Preferably by Joel, but that was a worry for another day.

“What’s got you smilin’ like that?” you could have sworn there was a knowing little smile on his face.

“Nothing,”you. You weren’t about to just freely admit that yet, “just excited to get to spend some time in the sunshine with my best guy.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You knew you wouldn’t be able to take his reaction, be it good or bad.

“Come on,” he reached for the basket before you could even think about reaching for it, “let’s get going then, sweetheart.”

You warmed up under his saccharine gaze but let him take the basket nonetheless and followed after him.

As the two of you walked towards the lake, on the outskirts of the ever expanding Jackson, a few people here and there stopped to say hello and, you know, do the whole chit-chat thing. You loved talking to people and totally soaked it up…meanwhile Joel was a totally different story. He didn’t dislike people, not unless they gave him a reason to, but he wasn’t a big talker or mingler.

You wouldn’t say he was cold to others (Ellie totally would), but he was absolutely soft for you. Even if you didn’t know it, you had that man wrapped around your finger.

While he vehemently tried to avoid being stopped by anyone else, you looped your arm through his…and almost killed him in the process. You smelled sweet, not cloying so, but just right and your skin was dangerously soft. He should have gotten an award or something for how much self control he managed to exercise around you.

Meanwhile, you were oblivious to the internal struggle he was currently experiencing, instead talking his ear off about something Gemma had said to Ben but then did with Kerrie. He wasn’t sure, he was only half listening, way too distracted by you.

When you got to the lake, you slipped your hand into the basket and pulled out the soft blanket that you’d had enough forethrough to bring. You tossed it under the shade from one of the trees so neither of you would get too hot from the direct sunlight. You sat down and patted the space next to you, watching as he set the basket down, his brows knitted together in what appeared to be deep thought.

It wasn’t all that deep; he was trying not to stare at your breasts or how good they looked in that dress, or how your legs looked particularly enticing. If you were to sum it all up, he was basically trying not to be a pubescent boy and pop a boner at the sight of you.

Grown man he repeated to himself, you are a grown man.

“I don’t bite,” was it on purpose? Maybe, maybe not. But you liked the look of pure panic that his face morphed into, “unless you want me to.”

“Sweetheart-”

“C’mon,” you cut him off, enjoying this a little too much, “pull out some sandwiches because I’m starving!”

So was he. Just not for food. Well - you and food if he was being honest.

When he froze, you reached over him and pulled out the freshly cut fruit and sandwiches for each of you, handing it to him with an air of innocence. He gratefully accepted your offering, stuffing his face full before he could make too much of a fool of himself.

And from there, as always, the two of you feel into easy conversation, about life, this, that, and everything in between. You liked that about him - things were always so easy, so right with Joel. In the time since he and Ellie had arrived in Jackson the winter before, Joel Miller had easily become your best friend…and all around favorite person.

You wanted to tell him, really, but you were terrified of messing things up and losing him. It wasn’t worth the risk. Not yet anyway…and maybe never but yeah. Joel was it for you in so many ways.

"Berries," his smile lit up his entire face, effectively pulling you out of your little fantasy. You nodded as you watched him grab a ripe strawberry and pop into his mouth, "my favorites!"

"I know," ugh. How was this man adorable and dorky on top of everything else? It was unfair, "you told me."

"When? Like once in passing," he raised his eyebrows as you tried to play it off, "you remembered?"

"I remember a lot of things," you whispered, "especially about the people that mean most to me."

Joel was stunned, unable to think of the words to properly convey what he was feeling. He opted for a nod as he leaned against the tree, casting him in a golden, sunny light.

You grabbed a few berries from the bowl and gave him a wink before lying down on the back, staring at the fluffy white clouds.

The two of you settled into a comfortable silence as you ate the lunch you had packed, growing full and warm.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After a while, you came up with a brilliant plan. You sat up and looked around to make sure no one was nearby before standing back up.

"Swim with me," you said suddenly as you grinned at Joel. He remained silent as you started to push up your dress, brown eyes wide and his throat feeling thick. You shucked the dress off and tossed it by him, "Joel?"

"O-okay," he was trying not to lose his control as you stood there in front of him, only a bra and panties. You were so carefree, uninhibited, and wild that it was infectious. You tied up your hair before walking over to the water and motioned for him to hurry up, "are you sure you want to-"

You jumped into the water before he could say anything else, remaining below the water for a few moments to let your body adjust the temperature difference. When your lungs started to burn, you floated back up and broke through the surface. Joel was standing at the edge of the lake, hands on his lips as he watched, a lazy little smile on his face.

“Water’s perfect,” you drew back your hand and splashed them gently, “come on in!”

You could see his hesitation and shook your head. You swam to the edge and held out your hand to him. He was weighing something in his mind, mulling over his decision before he eventually tugged off his boots and pants, kicked them to the side. It was a moment until he gathered up the courage to pull off his shirt - silly, he would say but you would argue otherwise - but he tossed into the pile of your clothing.

“Handsome,” you cooed softly as his shoulders relaxed. And he was, you weren’t just trying to make him feel better. You could see the scars and marks littering his body along with the freckles you already planned on connected with your lips, and the muscle under the softness. You loved him - all of him, “alright?”

“Alright,” he agreed before sitting down and dangling his legs in and eventually slipping all the way into the water. You could tell he was up to something but your musing was quickly put to an end when you felt his hands on your hips, causing you to shriek in surprise. You heard him laughing as you pouted at him, “what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“You are a menace,” you turned around so you were facing him, settling your hands on his shoulders, “you, Joel Miller, are trouble.”

“Yeah?” he was practically vibrating under your touch as you tried to give him a somewhat serious expression. It fell flat, more of a sweet, innocent look, which made his heart even softer than he thought possible, “what about you then? What does that make you?”

“Sweet and innocent,” you grinned softly, “I’m a good girl.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Were you trying to kill him?

“Oh sweetheart,” he tried to keep it from sounding too much like a groan, “you are something else.”

You hummed in content as you closed your eyes and tilted your head towards the sun. You couldn’t have imagined a better day - but there was still one more thing you wanted to know that could make the day even better than anything else, “So, I was talking to Ellie…and she told me something interesting.”

“Ellie says a lot of things.” oh no. His heart was racing so quickly that he was afraid that he was going to pass out, “mostly nonsense.”

“I’m not so sure on that one,” you snorted in amusement, “do you wanna know what she told me?”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me regardless of what I say…”

“Of course,” you reached over and stroked his cheek, watching as a boyish grin grew on his face, “she told me that you like me. You know, like me like me.”

“And she said it just like that?” he asked, trying to his cool as you tried to read his expression.

“She did actually,” you stuck your tongue out at him, “are you gonna tell me if its true or not? Or are ya gonna leave me guessing?”

“Do you really need me to tell you or do you already know the answer?” he was deflecting, trying to make sure he hadn’t read anything wrong.

“I’m pretty sure that you’re hopelessly and madly in love with me,” you were teasing - but only just. You both knew that much, “but a little bit of reassurance doesn’t hurt either.”

“I am,” he confirmed after a few moments of tranquil quietness passed between the two of you. Inside you were practically screaming and bursting with joy. When you didn’t didn’t say anything, he grew worried, “is that…are you…okay? You’re makin’ me nervous sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you gave him the most dazzling smile. You paused for a moment before quietly exhaling, “oh! I’m in love with you too. If that wasn’t obvious….I thought it was, but I figured you’d want to hear it too.”

“I did,” he relaxed; every fiber of his being was humming with positive energy. Holy shit. You loved him. You were in love with him, “were you ever going to say anything?”

“Eventually,” you confessed, “but I kind of liked watching you squirm too. You look real cute when you blush, you know.”

“I do not,” he huffed indignantly, “I do not blush.”

“Whatever you say, love,” oh. He liked that sound of that, “are you going to kiss me or?”

“Do you want me to?” his eyes widened, “you want me to kiss you?”

“Very much so,” you agreed, “I would love it if you kissed me…finally.”

“Finally?” he asked, wondering if you’d wanted this for as long and as much as he had. The look on your face said it all.

“Finally.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou hbo

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annaizscribbling · 5 months

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one of those Stardew drabbles where the farmer is not quite human but from different villager perspectives. Here's Sebby's

(Pt 1) (pt 2) (pt 3) (pt 4) (pt 5)

Sebastian sipped his piping hot coffee. He took it with a bit of cream these days. He was comfortably settled against his favorite windowsill, watching his wife work in the field. The sun politely warmed his pale skin. He’d gained a little color since moving to the farm, but not enough to really lose his sickly pallor. He made sure of that, wearing plenty of sunscreen.

He’s content. It’s nice to feel that way. Living in a stuffy basement, working and isolating himself felt foggy and miserable. But now, he’s happy. Calmer. He managed to get out of that old environment, and here with his wife, life finally seemed to mean something. He doesn’t long to escape and become something, instead, what he already is has become something worthwhile.

Living on a quiet farm, making breakfast for his wife, picking fruit and feeding chickens. It brings out a softness in him, a side that never fully been realized. Tenderness. Serenity. Peace.

Sebastion watches his wife chew some raw seaweed, pulled directly from her little black backpack. She’s never without that bag, as soon as she gets out of bed, it’s over her shoulder until she sleeps again. His eyes trail her bare arms as she clears some rocks. He’d given up on understanding how and why she consumes some strange foods, as long as he can wrangle her into a few balanced meals with him, he doesn’t care too much.

Her muscles are toned, far more defined than his will probably ever be. She hefts her pickaxe high above her head before brining it down onto the stone, shattering it. She’s quick to scoop up the rocks she wants as she kicks the rest to the side. His wife could do it for hours without pause, hours upon hours. Time always seemed to part for her.

She unknowingly flexes her bicep as she prepares to strike again. So strong, he can’t help but lean a little further into the window to catch a good glimpse. The little black tank top she usually wears leaves her deeply tanned olive skin on display. There’s hardly a sheen of sweat on her, which Sebastion always found strange. He takes one step outside on a summer day and he’s instantly disgusting. Somehow every hair on her face is immaculate and the thick eyeliner she applies every morning is always inexplicitly intact.

Perhaps he once thought of her as a strange woman, but now she’s his strange woman. The love of his life, the sexy farmer who he accidently stumbled into a romance with. The quiet, perhaps at times eerie, foreign city girl who changed the whole town. Who changed him …

He enjoyed watching her. It didn’t really matter what she was doing, her existence just drew him in. Sometimes he felt like a housecat unwilling to leave a sunbeam. Her radiance warmed him, calmed him, it made him feel like he was exactly where fate wanted him to be. She was the sun, or at least she was his. It didn’t matter what he was, so long as he could bask in her presence.

Speak of the devil, Sebastian doesn’t realize she’s come back inside until the front door opens. He discovers that he’s smiling before he’s even realized he’s turned his head to look at her.

Short curls that don’t seem to care for gravity and its rules. Freckled olive skin. Big brown eyes that seem to melt anybody who stares into them long enough. Muscles that he longs to caress and be wrapped up in each morning. Big heavy boots who have seen more monster blood and dirt than most do in their lifetimes. A shy smile.

The Farmer. His wife.

“Hey, Babe,” Sebatian says, “want some coffee? I woke up early from a nightmare and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

She smiles, and it’s so genuine that even now that they’ve been married a year, his heart just swells with that fluttery kinda love. His wife wasn’t a huge talker, it’s not that she didn’t talk at all, but she often spoke with her face. At this moment, her soft eyes are telling him everything he needs to know.

Soon, they’re cuddled together on the big sofa his mother had built. A cup of coffee for each of them rests on the coffee table. She’s resting her head on his lap, looking up at him with a dreaminess he’s sure is present on his own face.

“I have a gift for you,” she whispers, reaching into her bag, which she slipped off her shoulder and onto the rug. “Eyes closed, please.”

Sebastian does as he’s told. He feels her warm hands pry open his cold one, and something chilly is pushed into his palm. One side of his mouth turns up in a knowing smile. He knows what the gift is by the shape, and it charms him just as much as it did the first time she brought him one.

“A frozen tear,” Sebastian says fondly, holding up the glassy, perpetually cold little tear. He loves collecting them, keeping them, studying them. The first one she ever gave him is his favorite. He even had Clint turn it into a necklace. It’s under his hoodie on a chain even now, slightly cold, pressing against his chest, gently reminding him how much somebody loves him.

“It’s perfect,” Sebastian says, rubbing his thumb over the round base of the tear.

She tries to give him another one, but Sebastion laughs and tells her to stop spoiling him. He’ll take it later, when he doesn’t see it coming. One gift a day is already so much, especially combined with getting to hold her every night. A man’s heart can only handle so much.

Sometimes he wonders how she could possibly be of this world. She’s an angel. She’s a celestial being who commands the earth below her feet by purely existing. He’s sure of it some days. The plants grow like they’re reaching for her somehow. The waters always bring a fresh fish for her hook within seconds. The two can go looking for seashells together, but they’ll wash up to shore just for her, surely they must be. She heals weary souls by simply talking to her. Her farm animals love her, managing to produce perfect eggs and milk through their adoration for her.

Sebastion didn’t really know what she was, but he loved her.

#sdv sebastian #sebastian #stardew farmer #stardew sebastian #the farmer is a cryptid #stardew valley

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luckybunny555 · 9 months

Text

Gwen patching you up after a mission

You and Gwen had just finished a particularly difficult and demanding mission, so when you both finally arrive to your apartment, she helps you take care of your bruises and scratches. You return the favor, taking care of her too

🕷 Gwen Stacy x Spider!GN!Reader 🕷

Warnings: mention of injuries, cursing, not very angsty, more like fluff actually, reader lives alone because I wanted to?? but not necessarily 18+, in my head it makes sense. SFW ofc

A/N: reader is kinda chaotic and clumsy?? because I was writing some HCs for this type of reader when I had the idea for this scenario so... it's kinda complementing my HCs post(that I haven't posted yet). Also, I didn't specify the relationship she has with the reader, so you can choose whether or not you guys are dating or something else, but it is romantic(cute feelings and kisses yay!). Proofread and written at 3am so idk if this is good but let's gooo.

She might’ve never admitted it out loud, but Gwen loved being paired with you for missions. That was one of the ways she found to keep an eye on you and make sure you were safe during dangerous fights. The two of you had slowly gotten closer with time– you met her through the Spider Society, of course, and despite her attempts to keep her emotional walls up and high, you managed to find a way into her heart. And when you did? Oh boy, she could not let go of you.

It was her instinct to become more and more protective of you, given everything she's gone through. Besides, that's what happens when you feel a deep connection to someone. She wants to protect you, keep you safe, make sure nothing bad ever happens to her precious spidey. And you were very aware of that. It was obvious, from the way she would find any excuse and moment to casually touch you, to how she'd stand closer to you whenever Miguel's anger over some mishap in a mission was starting to get out of hand, or when she'd keep her gaze on you from a distance whenever you were up to some trouble, always ready to rescue you when needed. You could tell how protective she was over you, and it made your heart grow warmer each time she showed you.

But even with all the protection she could offer you, keeping you completely unharmed was a very difficult task. You were a free spirited person, guided by your curiosity and passion, and there was not a single person in the entire multiverse who could get you to settle down and chill out. In other words, getting into trouble was a daily occurrence to you.

You had a tendency to dive head first into danger, and your passion for your "spider-duties" and keeping people safe encouraged you to jump into action without second thought. And of course, your approach wasn't always successful. This time wasn't very different.

Miguel had assigned you both to a particularly difficult mission. This anomaly you had to contain was unlike your usual villains, which is why you were caught by surprise and unprepared. Even though it demanded more effort than your average missions, you and Gwen were actually able to knock out this unconventional villain, but unfortunately, not before it did a number on both of you.

The nasty wound on your knee that caused you to limp was enough reason for her to not leave you unsupervised for a single moment. She refused to let go of you when heading back to the HQ, carefully helping you walk as she slung your arm over her shoulders to support you. No matter how much you protested(not much anyways, because you enjoyed how close she was to you...) and tried to convince her your bruise wasn't that serious, she simply wouldn't listen. She had to make sure herself that you were fine, and she wouldn't rest until she took proper care of your injury.

"Gwen, it's not that bad! I can still walk, I'm just slower than-"

"Shut up, you got hurt and I'm gonna take you home to make sure you're fine. Forgive me if I don't trust your words, troublemaker, but with the frequency you get yourself hurt, I have reason to worry," she tells you in a scolding tone, but you know she's not serious, seeing the hint of a smile on the corner of her lips, causing you to chuckle.

"Aw, you're worried about me?" you tease her, your gaze fixed on her as she narrows her eyes at you, playfully pretending to be fed up with your attitude. You laughed to yourself.

After a quick word with Miguel to make sure everything went okay with the mission, she insists on taking you home. Even though she had some injuries herself, she pushed them to the back of her mind, focusing on making sure your wound was properly taken care of before she worried about her own.

So, once you crawl inside through your window with her help, you allow your body to fall on your bed, letting out a loud sigh as you dramatically throw your arms up and cross them over your eyes. Gwen lets out a chuckle while watching you, your playfulness soothing her nerves since you don't seem to be too affected by your bruised knee. At this point, she knew your apartment like the back of her hand, so she hurried to get the first aid kit you kept in your bathroom cabinet.

Coming back into your bedroom, she sat with her legs crossed on your bed, placing the box beside her. She positioned your legs over each of her thighs, sitting between them so she could take proper care of your knee.

"Use the Hello Kitty[or whatever character you'd like] band-aids this time," you say, jokingly pretending to be mad at her, uncovering your eyes to look at her.

"Oh, you think those band-aids are gonna cover this wound? Cute," she teases you, laughing as she takes a few items from the first aid kit.

"It's not that bad," you dramatically let your arms fall on the bed, causing her to look at you. She knew she could get overly worried at times, but judging from your expression, you didn't seem mad at her. "I mean, usually it's a lot less worse, though. But did you see that villain? They were huge!" she chuckles, listening to your rant as she starts to clean the big scratch on your skin.

You kept rambling about the mission, as you usually do, letting Gwen do her thing. And in the back of your mind, you noticed how nice it felt. Not the wound, obviously. But how gentle she was when taking care of you. You had kind of a taste for danger, whether intentionally or not, but you were glad to have someone so patient and caring to patch you up every time you needed. And you could handle her totally non-threatening scolds, neither of you taking it seriously, knowing it wouldn't keep you from getting yourself hurt again.

You also started realizing how attentive she was. I mean, she was very focused on your bruise, carefully cleaning it to prevent any infections. But she also seemed to pay attention to your whole rant, complementing your comments with her own experiences from the mission. Most people would've tuned it out now, or wouldn't be able to focus on both things.

Your talk started to slow down, and as you fixed your gaze on her, admiring her focused expression, you noticed your breaths getting deeper and slower. You couldn't help noticing how pretty she looked. The bedroom was only dimly lit, the lamp on your bedside table illuminating your wound enough for her, but you could faintly see her freckles, and her soft smile that had appeared during your conversation, and how her hair was covering part of her face, her head tilted, eyes on your bruise...

Realizing that you had gone quiet for a moment, she looked up at you with a curious expression. Her hands stopped cleaning the scratch on your leg when she noticed the way you were looking at her. You weren't aware of it, of course, but she felt her heart skip a beat in that moment. "Why are you staring at me like that, you weirdo?" she joked, letting out a nervous chuckle. You hesitate for a moment.

Propping yourself up on your hands, you shift closer as you keep your gaze on hers. Her breath hitches with your sudden movement, surprised and curious about your intentions. "Because you look really pretty," you confess, trying to ignore how fast your heart is beating. Her eyes slightly widen at your words, and you can see a bit of her tooth gap as her lips slightly part when she lets out a subtle gasp. You brush a strand of hair away from her face, allowing you to have a better look at her, and it sends a shiver down her spine. "Thank you for putting up with me, and always taking care of me when I get hurt. Which is often," you let out a low chuckle, admiring her eyes as you straighten your seated position, your faces only a few inches apart.

Gwen's mind went blank for a moment, thoughts clouded as time seemed to melt while she was seated in front of you, closer than she would've dared, but not close enough for her liking. Your words make her scoff, slightly smiling as she shakes her head, "Yeah, more often than I'd like." She drops the cloth she was using to clean your scratch, allowing her hands to rest on your thighs. "It would be great if you could be more careful, but we both know that's not gonna happen," she quietly laughs, her gaze traveling across your face, observing all your features, that she adores so much.

You giggle, shaking your head from side to side, "No..." a playful grin appears on your face, knowing this scene would keep repeating itself, in different ways and settings, but reveling in the idea that she'd still be there for you. "Good thing I always have my princess charming to catch me right in time, right?" you say, tilting your head slightly to the side, wrapping your arms around her shoulders as you bring her closer. The grin that appears on her face matches yours, and she can't help but chuckle at your choice of words.

"Yeah, you always do," taking one last look at your eyes, she says before closing the distance between you two. Her hands move towards your waist, bringing you even closer as she kisses you. Even with your lips connected, you can feel the both of you smiling.

When you two pull back, breaking the kiss, you notice the softness and admiration in her gaze. You can only assume your eyes express the same for her. Breaking the silence, she turns her gaze to your bruise once again. "Alright, stop distracting me now, your knee still needs bandage," she tells you, and you let out a loud sigh as you let you body drop on the bed once more, but unable to hold back your giggles as you continue to gaze at her.

She quickly finishes patching you up, placing a large band-aid on your knee before reaching out to grab one of the colorful pens you keep on your bedside table. She draws [whatever character you like] over it, remembering how you wanted her to use your cuter, but unfortunately smaller, band-aids. "Done, are you happy now?" she asks, teasing you.

Sitting up again, you notice her drawing on your bandage, which makes your eyes light up. To her, the look on your face was the equivalent to cartoon characters having stars in their big, wide eyes, and seeing you like that made her giggle. You quickly embrace her in a tight hug, only pulling back to pepper kisses on her face, causing you both to laugh.

"Thank you, it looks super cute," you say with a sweet smile on your face. Despite the darker setting, you could almost see a slight shade of pink on her cheeks. "Did you get any bad bruises too?" you ask, concerned about her state as well, even though she hadn't complained about any injuries.

She shakes her head, a small smile still on her face as her expression softens at your gentleness and concern. "Nothing a shower can't take care of," she replies, reassuring you. You nod, slowly pulling away your arms from her shoulders.

The two of you had gotten used to this. You enjoyed having company in your apartment, so you'd always invite her over, sometimes for a sleepover, and sometimes it would last a few days... You got used to her borrowing your clothes, eating your food, sleeping on your bed(because you refused to let her sleep on the couch, even though she said it would be fine). It was nice to constantly have her as a house guest.

So you get up, carefully as to not hurt your knee again, and make your way towards your closet, finding clean, comfortable clothes for her to borrow. Handing them to her, she gets up from your bed and plants a kiss on your forehead as a thank you, heading to your bathroom to take a shower.

While you wait for her, you notice the sounds coming from your stomach, and you assume she might be hungry as well. Since you have time, but not a lot of energy since you got back from a mission, you decide to make a quick and easy meal just for the two of you.

Right after her, you take a quick shower, feeling more comfortable and warm. You bring the two bowls with food to your bedroom, sitting down in bed with Gwen, your backs against the headboard as you turn on the TV to watch something while you eat.

Despite the intensity of the day, it feels relaxing to simply enjoy a simple meal in bed, right beside her as you laugh at the TV screen. For these few moments, there's no Spider duty, no problems that need to be solved. She could finally relax, knowing the both of you were safe and okay.

After a while, both plates finished and now in an almost laid down position, the tiredness from the day started setting in. A few yawns were let out by both of you as your eyes wanted to drift closed, but neither of you wanted to give in, enjoying each other's company too much to let your exhaustion get in the way.

Unable to resist any longer, and partially because you wanted to feel Gwen closer to you, you finally decide to turn off the lights. Laying down and finding a comfortable position, you wrap your arms around her, bringing her down to lay next to you. You gently hold her face, laying her head on your chest as your arms wrap tightly yet comfortably around her.

Gwen was a bit surprised by your actions. Of course you had already slept in the same bed before, but being this close to you? That's a new one. It took her a moment to really adjust to it.

She started noticing how softly you were holding her, even though your grip was tight enough to keep her close. It made her feel comforted and wanted. And when you started playing with her hair, oh, she melted under your touch.

Almost instinctively, she buried her head deeper into your chest, her arms wrapping tightly around your waist. You could tell what it meant for her to be held like that, so you placed a soft kiss on the top of her head, glad to offer her comfort in return for how caring and gentle she was with you.

Truly, it meant a lot for you too. You might be reckless, like, 90% of the time, but being able to witness this, to notice how all of her muscles relax while you're lovingly holding her, how her breath starts to slow down and get steadier with each second, it was like being bathed in sunlight. As you felt both of you drifting asleep, all you wished for was that this moment would last for as long as it could.

#across the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderman atsv #gwen stacy #spider gwen #spider man across the spider verse #ghost spider #atsv #atsv x reader #gwen x reader #gwen stacy x reader #ghost spider x reader #spider gwen x reader #spider man: across the spider verse

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cowgurrrl · 8 months

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Omgggg Charlie. I love her. Could I please get a fluff piece of Joel having a cute little night in with her when she is tiny - mom is on patrol shift. It’s just him and nugget Charlie at home, him cooking, doing bathtime and doing HER LITTLE CURLY HAIR and just reminiscing about being a girl dad again

Charlotte Sometimes

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: “Maybe our world will grow kinder eventually. Maybe the desire to make something beautiful is the piece of God that is inside each of us.” — Mary Oliver, from “Frank Marc’s Blue Horses” aka this ask [1.4k]

Warnings: talks of Tess and Sarah, Joel being the softest girl dad in the world, chronic pain, marital bliss

Joel never took care of his hair. Before the Outbreak, all his knowledge about hair was learned to protect Sarah's hair. Thanks to a lovely woman he met at Sarah's daycare, he learned about bonnets, leave-in conditioners, braids, and so much more. Joel would often come home from work with cracked and exhausted hands, but that all got washed away when Sarah sat in front of him with combs, sweet-smelling products, and hair ties. They'd listen to music together, talk about their days, and laugh as Joel worked his Dad Magic. Spending time caring for his daughter's hair was his form of meditation.

After the Outbreak, he couldn't even look in the direction of the shitty FEDRA shampoo and conditioner without feeling pieces of him crumble and splinter like the face of his watch. He was always a rinse-and-go kind of guy, but especially so once he settled in Boston. There was always somewhere to go, something to do. He didn't have time to be alone with his thoughts, and he didn't want to. Tess washed his hair for him when he broke his arm during a shake-down. "You're killing me, Texas," she said when she brushed his hair back. She was the first person who ever cared for him the way he cared for Sarah. And it scared the shit out of him. Still, even after all those years, he remembers how she called him Texas and gave his malnourished strands attention. He remembers how she reminded him of that soft, vulnerable part of himself, and he buried it as deep as he could until he met you.

Joel never cared about his hair until Charlie was born with identical ringlets and wave patterns. The Miller Curls is the affectionate name for it. Everyone in the Miller family has had some version of The Miller Curls. Joel and Tommy's mom passed it down to the boys, and then the boys passed it down to their kids. Sarah and Camille have a scarily similar curl pattern, and Joel has given Tommy all the help to nourish her hair. So when you first noticed the tight curls forming on Charlie's head, you let Joel take the reins.

By the time she's three, they have their own routine. Once a week, you work a night patrol shift with Maria or Ellie, sometimes Tommy, and he makes dinner. He usually makes more than is necessary for just three people, so you can take leftovers to Ellie or whoever you're working with that night, and you leave home with a full belly, Tupperware, and kisses from your favorite people. The second you're out the door, it's over.

They chase each other around the house, color on the floor, sing loudly to whatever's spinning on the record player, and play guitar together. Well, Joel plays guitar, and Charlie just kinda makes up songs and dances. He strums to keep time with her, but she interrupts him with laughter and requests for new songs. Tonight, it's "Mommy's Song," which is what she calls your favorite Beatles song. When the sun gets low, they pick up the living room together, and Joel carries Charlie upstairs to take a bath.

He takes his time washing the marker off her hands, brushing the tangles out, and shampooing and conditioning her hair. Once she's out and in her pajamas, she sits in front of Joel and hands him the products he asks for: leave-in conditioner, spray, and cream to hold her curls. Maria and a few other parents in Jackson made their own stuff and taught Joel how to mix different oils and herbs to strengthen and condition her hair. It gives him a sense of pride, knowing he can take that extra step to show how much he cares for her. When he's done with the products, he lightly scrunches and wraps stray pieces around his finger to encourage the curl formation.

By the end of their routine, Charlie is nodding off, her cheek smushing against Joel's knee. "Let's get you to bed, baby girl." He murmurs as he kisses the top of her head and carefully picks her up. She buries her face in his neck and wraps her arms around his shoulders, feeling nothing but safety and love as she falls asleep on him.

When he lays her down in her bed, she doesn't immediately let go of him. She groggily blinks her eyes open to look at Joel in the moonlight shining through her window and smiles. "I love you, Daddy," she yawns and kisses his cheek. "I love when you do my hair, too." It's the last thing she gets out before rolling over in bed and closing her eyes. Joel sits there, as starstruck as the day she was born, and has to take a deep breath to stop himself from crying.

"I love you, too, Charlotte." He says, but she can't hear him. He tucks her in a little tighter and kisses her temple again before leaving her room.

When you get home from patrol, he's asleep on the couch, snoring with his arms crossed over his chest. You've told him repeatedly that he doesn't have to wait up for you, that you'll see him in the morning or when you crawl into bed. Nearly four years of marriage, and he still doesn't listen to you. You walk over to the back of the couch and push his hair out of his face to kiss his forehead, rousing him awake. He hums and lifts his arm to hold your hip. "If you keep falling asleep here, you're gonna fuck up your back." You whisper as he leans his head back to get a kiss.

"M'back's already fucked up." He says, his voice gravelly and deep from fatigue, and you laugh.

"You guys have a good night?"

"The best," he says. "She told me she loves when I do her hair."

"She did?" You gush, and he smiles softly. "I'm telling you, you've got a talent for that kinda thing." Joel Miller, hardened survivor and killer, has spent the last three years becoming a pro at handling his toddler's hair. There's a joke in there somewhere, but you're too tired to try and find it.

"How was patrol?" He asks, and you reach for your shoulder.

"All clear. I think I've gotta switch back to my handgun 'cause the shotgun is hurting my shoulder."

"Could be the cold, too."

"Could be how many times I've dislocated it."

"And that one time you caught a bullet right," he trails his hand up until his thumb can press into the thick scar tissue near your collarbone. "There." He says, and you hum. You sigh and pat Joel's chest before walking over to the coat rack and shrugging your jacket off, wincing as you do.

"Why don't you go to bed, and I'll join you after I take a shower?" You suggest, and an idea lights up his brain.

"Your shoulder gonna be alright?"

"I'll manage."

"Y'know..." he starts, standing from the couch and waltzing over to you. His hands snake around your waist, and you raise your eyebrows at him. "A very smart lady once told me I've got a talent for doin' hair."

"I think I remember hearing that." You tease.

"You gonna let me wash your hair for you, darlin'?" He asks, that stupid, sleepy southern drawl doing it for you every time, and you fight a smile. "To rest your shoulder, of course."

"Of course," you echo, squinting at him. You try to wrap your arms around his neck, but shooting pain stops you from getting very far. As much as you want to fight him and make him go to bed, you could also probably use the help. "You can wash my hair only if you promise to stop falling asleep on the couch when I'm on nights."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Miller."

"Mm." You hum. He pretends to think as his thumbs make soothing circles into your shirt.

"I promise to try and stop fallin' asleep on the couch."

"I'll take it."

"Yeah?" He asks, and you nod. He kisses you and your injured shoulder, a gentle, sleepy smile on his face the whole time before he leads you upstairs and to the bathroom that still smells of his homemade products and Jane's lotion.

Joel Miller never took care of his hair. At least, not until he had someone like you running your hands through it or daughters who needed him to care. Who would've thought that big, broody, dangerous man with the scar across his nose would be the same man to color on the floor with your baby or brush her curly hair or fall asleep on an uncomfortable couch just to make sure you got home safe?

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @moonandseatgr-yngf @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @korynnekorynne

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britcision · 2 months

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AND HERE WE ARE! Totally getting this out in February well done team! And this is gonna be our last chapter before a wee teeny tiny time skip and Jason’s finished core! What a beautiful day 🥰

We’re getting another two-parter too, because Danny and Jason refused to let me get to the end of this lil introductory arc without at least one more pile of abject fluff! But finally, we’re ready to begin the plot!

Once again, the link to the AO3 version is in the first chapter and the 15th chapter; you can see it in the text for the link if you wanna subscribe to be told when it updates 😁

First Chapter:

Previous Chapter:

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So That Just Happened part 1

Back in her own room on the other side of the country from Gotham, Sam Manson reclined back into giant, coffin shaped body pillow her beloved girlfriend had given her when they moved and contemplated her phone.

The brand new Wayne-chat was blowing up satisfactorily, although apparently Tim was a massive stalker too. That was probably a good thing; it meant she hadn’t actually nuked Tuck’s chances with his nerd-crush. Now they could bond over their mutual stalker tendencies.

But, did that make her revenge less effective?

It wasn’t like she was actually out to ruin his life, but she’d kinda like to leave a mark. Something that would make him think twice about letting her think he and Danny had fucking died in Gotham in her absence.

Or. Well. Gone radio silent in Gotham, which was probably actually worse because if they were dead she’d know exactly where they were.

The Wayne chat were all pretty sure Tim and Tucker were together too, and Sam’s new best friend Babs had even pulled up the feed from their living room tv somehow. Sam wasn’t exactly the tech wizard Tucker was, but… after seeing that, she disconnected her and Val’s TV from the wifi.

And settled in to remote watch Tuck get his ass kicked at Spiderheck, apparently. At least for a little while; until something else on her phone caught her attention.

It was… almost funny. While she knew she was a whole three timezones away, she’d never really felt left out before. Like maybe she should have stayed on the east coast…

Not that she regretted it, of course. She had a good job, a good school, a wonderful girlfriend who’d been so excited to get into a good school and really go to town on the business department.

(Apparently there were posters of Val’s face in the ethics classrooms. Sam refused to ask if they were golden example or dire warning.)

She was just… a long way away. Even a long portal away, and… being back with the guys, even in Gotham, made the quiet of their comfy little apartment seem lonely.

Huffing, she turned and traced her fingers through the leaves of her mimosa plant on the windowsill beside the bed. They curled gently shut at her touch, and made her smile. Just like always.

She was happy to be home. She wasn’t technically liminal enough yet that it was her haunt, but… well, for all the jokes Val made, Sam had to admit she’d put down roots. She loved her job at the greenhouses, and her internship at the botanical gardens.

She loved scaring the hell out of the dudebros in Val’s business classes who thought ethics were a waste of time. She loved sharing messages with Jazz about the boys, laughing that even three hours ahead, Tuck and Danny still couldn’t get up before them.

She was kinda considering texting Harley about Timblr too. Not like, for any particular reason; if Tim’s family weren’t gonna embarrass Tucker enough, Harley probably wouldn’t either. She’d probably think it was adorable.

Or, y’know, worrying evidence of obsession. Psych types worried about stuff like that, usually.

Sam was kinda also considering sending Harley Jazz’s number. Jazz might still be skating just on the neurosurgery side of the line, but she’d always been big into psychology. Big enough to try and triple major, and only drop to major-major-minor after the third pre-exam meltdown.

And she could use having someone else do the shrink bit on her a little more often. Although really, for that Sam should make her a professional appointment; friends didn’t ask friends to psychoanalyze their overprotective pseudo-sisters. And Jazz could use more friends.

Jazz could use a transfer to a specialty that would let her sleep once in a while, a more stable supply of fresh ecto, and about six weeks in a meditation retreat to get the accidental telepathy under control, but more friends would be good too. And less stubborn insistence on her second try for double majors.

Maybe the switch to psychiatry full time would be good for her? Or psychology. Sam was a little fuzzy on the difference, which one Jazz was currently still minoring in, and which one Harley did.

(Jazz’s current second major was neurosurgery, which Jazz insisted was totally less taxing alongside a neurology major because it was the same body part. She was the only person in her class attempting the double major though, so.)

Humming tunelessly to herself, Sam flicked back into the group chat. Babs was still sharing the feed… brows drawing in, Sam frowned at the little spider figures still fighting to the death. Now, she wasn’t as big of a gamer as she used to be, but she was pretty sure Spiderheck didn’t actually offer red berets.

Snorting a laugh, she flicked back out of the chat and opened a new one, adding both Jazz and Harley. All it needed was the perfect name… something that would grab both of their attention.

Obvious. Child’s play.

Snuggling back into her coffin pillow, Sam grinned down at her phone screen.

Danny Has A Boyfriend chat was live.

Having eight legs wasn’t exactly the same as suddenly having four new ones, or two new legs and two new arms. While the first two were definitely functioning as “hands”, being the ones to pick up and use all of the weapons, Tim had quickly learned that he could grip with any of the eight “feet” that were available.

Yeah, spinning a laser staff all the way down one side of his body and up the other was fucking cool.

He’d adjusted pretty quickly during their “practice” round, while they all got used to the web slinging and worked out how to open the boxes and use the weapons.

(Tucker had swung himself into the lava by accident, so they’d started a second round.)

Tim felt pretty much ready to go, although if he was honest with himself… his only actual complaint was that he didn’t have a camera.

Conner had asked Tuck at the start of their second round if his powers had been nerfed to make it “fair”. Tucker, sweet innocent Tucker, had managed to convey a sidelong look even looking at even without a face on their little blob bodies and said he didn’t think Conner needed a nerf.

He just needed to understand how the powers worked, and they could be incorporated into the system. Which, well, was like catnip for Conner.

At least Tucker seemed a lot less flustered about talking to him while they were both spiders, because Conner had started talking his ear off about TTK and hadn’t stopped since.

Tim was kinda considering swinging over and taking them both out, just to get the game moving. But Conner was cute when he got really into something, and being a headless little spider body did not seem to have changed that.

He spent the time practicing with the webs instead, spinning and tossing himself around the map. It was pretty similar to using a grapple, although he wasn’t exactly sure whether or not the web was coming from his own body.

If it was, it was coming from inside a foot, which wasn’t how actual spiders worked… but Tim was pretty sure that was on Spiderheck, not Tucker.

Being able to run around upside down was the biggest change for him, and pretty cool. Tim scuttled around under a couple of the higher platforms for a while, planning his strategy.

Honestly, he was pretty sure TTK was going to wind up fucking Conner over rather than making anything easier for him. You’d think that flying would be an advantage in Spiderheck, at least as far as avoiding lava or an out of bounds, but Tim knew pretty explicitly how far it took Conner to stop.

It wasn’t exactly on a dime, and in this game? The pace didn’t exactly allow for imprecision.

And they were wasting time talking about it rather than getting used to having an extra six hand-feet.

Still upside down, Tim twisted until he could see the other two spiders. Which was when he learned that… they did kinda have their faces on them. Just, instead of being in a face position, on the front of his body that he was seeing out of, it was just sorta… plastered across the body.

Like a photo skin mapped onto a flat blob.

He considered letting the other two know; if anyone walked into the room, they’d probably be able to see their little faces on the screen. If they were just standing around talking.

Also, the pictures’ mouths weren’t moving, which hadn’t been weird when Tim was listening to them talk and didn’t think they had mouths. Kinda was to look down on Conner’s smiling face and hear his voice at a mile a minute.

Tucker probably already knew, and might have done the faces on purpose? And if he hadn’t, it was gonna be pretty funny to see what happened when he noticed.

He’d gotten progressively better at actually talking to Conner the longer he wasn’t actually looking at him, and the focus being on the game had helped too. Face in the game? Probably gonna throw him again.

And it was probably time to get things actually moving, so he could enjoy that.

Humming softly to himself, Tim scuttled across to the loot crates, found himself a double ended lightsabre, and dropped down on Tucker and Conner’s heads.

“Sooooooo…” Danny clapped his hands, doing his best to make his broad grin at least look a little innocent as he floated sideways into Jason’s field of view, “not that that wasn’t adorable and dramatic and everything, super touching, buuuut…?”

He almost laughed as Jason jumped, having apparently forgotten Danny was there for a hot second, then pulled his hand back from Lady Gotham’s to glare at him. The Lady herself didn’t bother hiding her chuckle, settling back to recline once more on a cloud of smog.

“Was there something you needed, Phantom?” She asked with a dry amusement.

Danny shrugged innocently, sticking his hands in his spectral pockets. Much more dangerous than regular pockets, but he’d not been doing more than blob wrangling lately.

“Not so much what I need, just, y’know, trying to keep things on track. I dunno if you’ve got other plans for the night Jay, but we were with Frostbite for a while and if you did…” he trailed off, and Jason grimaced.

“Not what you’d call set plans, but…” Jason trailed off as well, and Danny could feel the guilt even before it tried creeping in.

Nope, not having that. He’d almost talked himself into that bullshit already tonight, none for Jason. He nodded airily, floating up to drape an arm over the larger man’s shoulder.

“All I’ve gotta do is get to bed before midnight, so I’m not rushing now that Tucker’s found himself a new ride.” Waggled eyebrows punctuated that comment with enough emphasis that Jason snickered, darker feelings pushed aside without finding purchase.

“What, you don’t wanna go watch that train wreck in person?” Jason teased with a lopsided half smile.

Danny pulled a face, both at the thought of Tucker’s goddamn disastrous attempts at flirting and… well, the possibility of running into Bruce again. Maybe Constantine.

Danny was maaaaaybe kinda avoiding the wizard since he’d started collecting the other contracts on his soul; it wasn’t like he wanted them for nefarious purposes, it was just fucking weird. He didn’t like owning people. Not even overgrown Sour Patch Kids in trench coats.

(At least Constantine was still alive though. Those unlucky souls who died still bound to Pariah damn near went through a full reboot. No memories, no personality, none of what Danny would have thought of as like, the core components of a soul.

So far nothing anyone had done had been able to help them, and Danny had a nasty feeling the final answer would be Ending them. The Observants didn’t want to, they were perfectly happy with a thrall army so long as they controlled it, but Danny was firm.

No slaves, no thralls. If the only way he could free them was through a final and permanent death… he would.

But Clockwork was still looking, and so long as the ancient of time thought there might be a way… Danny held out hope too.)

For now, he shook his head quickly, holding up both hands.

“No way man. Bruce already hates my guts, I’m gonna keep a healthy distance.”

For both their sakes, really. Jason’s mood every time Bruce had spoken to him today kinda proved he hadn’t listened to Danny’s advice and stepped up. Not that Danny had exactly expected him to; again, hated his guts.

Jason pulled a face but didn’t bother to argue; he’d probably rather not actually deal with the old man for a third time either. Instead he just shrugged, turning his attention back to Lady Gotham.

“Do you know what time it is in Gotham now, my lady?” He asked, and the really weird thing was that it didn’t actually sound weird.

Danny always felt awkward and formal whenever he tried to address a ghost by their title, and Lady Gotham was the very worst because she never bothered to hide when she was laughing at him. Which was, y’know, every time he said it.

(He wasn’t gonna just call her “Gotham” though. That would be worse, so he just sucked it up.)

On Jason’s lips, words like “my lady” just sounded right. Danny flashed back for a moment to snow in a graveyard, and Jason knelt before him quoting Shakespeare. There was something in Jason that was just made for flowery language and dramatic proclamations.

Lady Gotham clearly agreed, bestowing a fond smile upon Jason before inclining her head back for a moment, those red on black eyes glowing suddenly brighter. Looking into the living world, or right up Clockwork’s ass?

“It’s coming to ten o’clock,” she said softly, something almost like regret in her tone. The smile that she turned back to them was softer, sadder.

Danny’d feel bad about being the one to point it out, except, yeah. He’d had to. Ghosts in general didn’t exactly think about time. It was a problem for the living, so - him. And Jason.

Who didn’t seem nearly so sorry with the answer. He nodded, fingers beginning to drum against his thigh.

“Time for a few more questions, then.” That wasn’t a question, and if Danny was completely insensate or possibly locked in a sensory deprivation tank he might have warned Jason about talking to a powerful spirit like that.

It’d need to be a damn good tank for him to miss all the signs though; Jason was so in the good books. Lady Gotham just smiled and nodded, gesturing once more with her traffic cone.

“Of course. And, of course, we will have plenty of other opportunities to speak. I may spend much of my time here, but now that we have been introduced… I can also speak to you there, if you would like?”

It was a delicate question, and Danny hesitated, suddenly wondering if he should… well, elaborate again.

“Uh… yeah, sure? I’d like that?” Jason asked, clearly confused by the reticence, and that made up Danny’s mind.

“She’s not going to sound the same,” he explained quickly, giving Lady Gotham a quick smile. She smiled back, gesturing for him to continue, because none of the damn older ghosts explained shit for themselves.

Danny totally didn’t roll his eyes.

“Like, the way we talk to her in the Infinite Realms is kinda the abstract? She looks kinda human,” he added, gesturing vaguely at the Lady.

Jason’s brows furrowed for a moment, but he felt more curious than concerned.

“So… she’s an anthropomorphic personification, but not in the living world?” He asked, and Danny’s eyes nearly crossed.

He turned to Lady Gotham, hoping that this might be some weird city slang, and she laughed at him. Again.

“Yes,” she agreed with Jason instead, which absolutely did not help. “It’s easier for me to speak with you here, using eyes and ears like your own. But building and maintaining this shape in the living world is… complicated.”

“Because her real body there is the city,” Danny added, privately resolving to ask Sam what the fuck Jason was talking about later.

Honestly, Jason would probably get along real good with Mr Lancer. They both liked weird words.

At least he actually looked a little confused too now; Danny had freaked the first time Lady Gotham talked to him out in the city itself. He gave Jason a consoling pat on the shoulder.

“You’ve gotta see it to believe it, man. Just… it’s gonna be weird.” Not the most helpful, sure, but Danny was doing his best!

Jason nodded slowly, willing to table it for now, and refocused on Lady Gotham, something darker now welling in the purpose building inside him.

“So you said the Joker wasn’t from the Curse,” he said bluntly. Danny flinched, more from the lack of any aura inflection than the remnants he could feel.

Yeah, a lotta Gothamites hated the Joker specifically, but if Danny had even the faintest doubt of who’d killed Jason… the black, leaden lump of Death in Jason’s aura wiped it out.

Lady Gotham stilled too, her own smile fading as she regarded Jason. Those red and black eyes were suddenly so much older, so much sadder.

“Yes,” she agreed softly, lowering her traffic cone to rest at her hip. “Are you sure?”

‘Are you sure you want to know?’

Or ‘Are you sure you want to know now?’

Danny wouldn’t put money on which she’d intended, but it didn’t take a genius to know the answer to both. Stubborn, emotionally repressed, and self destructive as hell, bat-training only left one answer.

Jason nodded firmly now, his jaw clenching.

“Yes.”

Lady Gotham studied him for a moment longer but didn’t argue, inclining her head gently.

“Then I will be brief. While the Curse has always been part of the city, feeding on fear and despair, in recent years we have both felt… something else. I told you of the malevolence on the land?” She asked, and Jason made a soft, impatient noise.

“And that it’s where the Curse comes from, yeah. And that the Joker is different,” he prodded.

Danny made a face. He was usually very much on the side of blunt answers, and knew full well that the Lady wouldn’t actually like, break Jason for being mouthy. He was very, very used to seeing favouritism from the outside, and Jason was clearly a firm favourite.

Maybe because he was currently Gotham’s only actual part ghost child? (To be fair, Danny didn’t think that’d change much in the fullness of time; Jason was his favourite of all the bats alive or dead.)

Whatever it was, his interruption only brought a flicker of a smile to the Lady’s lips, which vanished just as quickly.

“Yes. The Curse is indeed the original manifestation of that malevolence, given form and now, purpose. But even that malevolence came from somewhere; Gotham lies on a crack between worlds, older than time. Every world in the multiverse exist along certain markers; certain weak spots. Gotham is one of them.”

“Of course it is,” Jason grumbled beside him and Danny shifted closer, brushing their shoulders together.

Personally, he figured that if Gotham was a weak point in the universe and all the bad shit just leaked through, they were probably doing pretty well for themselves. Then, he’d seen the depths of the Ghost Zone; he knew what else could be trying to leak through.

Which, obviously, meant the good luck had to end.

“When the Joker died,” Lady Gotham continued, only to be cut off by a startled “What?!” from Jason and a totally-super-dignified squawk from Danny.

“You are not gonna tell me that asshole’s a ghost!” Danny moaned, dragging his hands down his face. Honestly, if he’d missed a whole actual ghost in the city for an entire year too, he was never going to live it down.

Like any of the other ghosts had any fucking clue what it was like being half alive… or living fully inside a city spirit’s haunt. Let them visit Lady Gotham’s and see what they sensed.

“Who the hell killed the Joker?!” Jason demanded, something weirdly like panic spiking through anger. “It wasn’t fucking Bruce-”

Lady Gotham silenced them both with a pointed look, shadows growing suddenly long and dark under her stare. Then she returned her gaze to Jason, her expression sombre.

“The Joker is not a ghost, nor a halfa. Bruce Wayne resuscitated him, which may be all that kept him from becoming a manifestation himself; he was killed not only in Gotham, but by a nexus point, in rage and revenge and hatred.”

There was something dark in Lady Gotham’s eyes now, something black and burning and for half a second Danny could swear he felt that rage himself, deep in his chest.

“Something else leaked through in the short time that he was dead,” she went on, her gaze firmly locked on Jason’s and Danny couldn’t imagine just how much the older-younger halfa was feeling under its full force. “Something small, and hungry, and craving death because it was denied his - the death I believe would give it shape.”

It wasn’t enough for Jason, that much was obvious; bitterness-frustration-grief hung in the air in a cloud almost thicker than the Lady’s smogs, and this time Danny gave in to temptation.

Let his own soothing-sorrow-loss twine through, even if he didn’t exactly understand the cause of the feeling. Jason startled a little, knocked from grumbling something that hadn’t been for anyone but him, but his hand reached back for Danny’s. Squeezed tight, even as the bitterness deepened.

His eyes narrowed, he remained focused on Lady Gotham though.

“Of course. Of course he fucking brought the clown back, even after someone did the world a fucking favour,” he hissed through his teeth, then raised his voice more clearly. “So, what? No one can ever kill the Joker, or Gotham gets another curse? Who’d fucking notice at this point?”

A genuine sorrow and pain passed across Lady Gotham’s face but she schooled it, kept her own aura calm and composed… or at least in closer than they could feel. There was probably a reason she’d put space between them again.

“Not quite, but close,” she agreed softly, those red bat eyes somehow more gentle even against the black pupil. “This other entity is already here, growing each day. Every violent death in Gotham is being consumed by it, which I will admit has strengthened the truce between the Curse and myself. Neither of us wish to feed it any more than necessary.”

Danny’s brows furrowed at that and he tried to think back to everything that Frostbite had ever told him about spirits. Not the dead-people kind, but the Neverborn; entities, concepts, ideas given form. Like time, and cities.

“So… when did the Joker die?” He asked cautiously, and felt surprise jolt through Jason. Lady Gotham gave him a quick glance, and cocked her head at Jason himself.

“Not so long after Jason did. A matter of months, less than a year, though he was dead less than a few minutes.” There was something in her tone, a weight on the words that made Danny think he was on the right track… but that she didn’t want to say it.

Which. Well. That was all kinds of bad fucking news if an entity as old as Lady Gotham was wary of speaking it into being. Luckily, Danny was just a fucked up little half ghost who had absolutely no supernatural tie ins to things like belief.

And he believed in just laying all the cards on the table before he decided if he had to flip it.

“That’s really young for any kind of belief spirit,” he said bluntly, watching Lady Gotham’s eyes. Saw… just a hint of something, creasing the corners, and seriously considered reaching his aura to hers for the first time today.

It’d save so much time to just get the message through feeling, but… if she preferred words, the words had to be important, and Jason probably needed words.

Fuck, they’d all need words, because this was going to be a goddamn bat-briefing if Lady Gotham was filling them in, and Mr Emotional Repression Is My Soulmate was not going to be up to aura reads.

Chewing his lower lip, he thought through the next stage a couple times before speaking slowly, watching for any hint he was still on the right path.

“If… it’s grown fast enough that you both noticed… it’s not new?” He tried, wondering briefly if he’d retroactively doomed them all by thinking about “what else could break through” from the depths of the Zone.

Lady Gotham shook her head though, gesturing impatiently through her smoke to clear it… maybe the first sign he’d ever seen that she didn’t control it entirely.

“No. That much, we are both certain of. This entity… it is new and unformed, with no Name of its own. At the moment, all of the fear it wreaks is only feeding belief in the Curse, which is why it only has death. But there is already a will there, long before it should even have awareness. And it wants to grow.”

“Oh great, so Joker’s got a Pitty 2.0 but his is on the outside,” Jason quipped, irritation sparking through him… and Danny was kinda glad to see it, honestly. Just a little flash of the guy he’d been getting to know in all the dark.

Even Lady Gotham managed a brief smile, and didn’t actually bother refuting it; closing her eyes for a moment, she waved her hand and the clouds of smog between them solidified briefly into a model of the city. Buildings only, but with horribly empty shadows between them.

“The Joker’s death gave it an entrance, and his revival denied it his shape, his Name, and the fear he commands. But it is no longer fixated on killing the Joker - and it was, for several years. It pushed him before it had the power for anything else, driving him further, feeding poison to those around him, trying to have him killed so that it could become The Joker, the pure essence of every bloody mark the clown left on Gotham. And it very nearly succeeded,” she added softly, her gaze turning back to Jason with an almost tangible sorrow.

Something in Danny’s gut iced over, and suddenly he was really, really glad he didn’t know what she was thinking.

Bruce looked better as he rose from the table, Diana decided, watching her old friend closely. For all that he’d come with an actual reason for his doom and gloom (for a change), his attitude during the briefing was positively relaxed compared to their own discussion that followed.

He would still be worrying and fretting, she knew him too well to believe anything else, and… she knew why. While Diana had no children of her own (though she had met and heard of other versions of herself who had), she did dearly love her own proteges, and those of her friends.

She remembered Jason as the young, sweet boy who’d stumbled over every word he said to her and stared at her like she’d hung the stars. She remembered Bruce’s grief, Batman’s rage, and the shadow that hung over the Dark Knight with every step until Tim Drake took him to heel.

She knew that there was too much there, the guilt and pain and loss and grief for Bruce to see Jason objectively, and she didn’t begrudge him that. Nor did she condone it.

It only hurt both men, and while she would not give her opinion when it wasn’t wanted… well, she was aware Bruce spoke to Clark of his worries around Jason much more often than he would to her. This time though, she’d had no choice.

She knew the man well enough to know what was truly scaring him in this situation; that Jason would be taken from him again. He was at least as upset by this “Danny” boy as the thought of war with an entire realm.

It would have been cute, if he wasn’t a grown adult man who prided himself on critical thinking. Or actively forcing his son away with his own actions at every turn.

Still, there was one piece of counsel she could give. The thing he hated the most of all was a mystery. And while she also didn’t usually condone his stalking-as-a-sign-of-affection…

“Batman.”

He stopped in the doorway but didn’t look back, still as a statue. At least he was listening.

A fond smile pulling across her lips, Diana shook her head. Let the formal tones of Wonder Woman return to the voice of a friend.

“You see many dangers in the unknown. Perhaps you might reassure yourself by getting to know young Danny Fenton as a person, rather than a potential threat.”

He stayed frozen in the doorway for a moment longer, then nodded his head sharply and swept away.

Diana stifled a chuckle. Honestly, for all Constantine had come to her as if the world were about to end… all of their problems with this Infinite Realm were perfectly clear to her.

The American government had overstepped drastically with their Anti Ecto Acts and would be brought to heel.

The new ruler of the Infinite Realms had turned their head in this direction, and guided them to what must be fixed.

And young Jason Todd, while far from the only hero who had died and returned, had been chosen by this ruler to be favoured with protection, in exchange for service.

Of course, it may all blow out of control and become as dire as her dear friend already seemed to believe it was, but for all Bruce was constantly creating contingencies and backup plans, he very rarely had to use most of them.

She turned her attention to John Constantine instead, the magician seeming much less inclined to make himself scarce than usual. At least he had also calmed considerably, and was even smiling in his own crooked fashion after Bruce.

“You know he’s gonna go stalk that poor kid even more now?” He asked sardonically, pulling another cigarette from his pack but not reaching for the lighter.

Diana hesitated for a moment.

She’d meant for Bruce to talk to Danny, preferably directly. But Bruce did not like talking to new people; not without thorough research and a chance to prepare.

Then she shrugged.

“If it will keep him from disrupting our already tense situation with the Infinite Realms, better that he distract himself with more fatherly concerns,” she said simply.

Constantine snickered again, then frowned.

“Wait, fatherly concerns? For some kid his boy’s known like, a week?”

This time, Diana didn’t bother to restrain her smile, glancing down at the phone in her pocket.

“Merely a week, perhaps, but according to Wonder Girl they have already been caught at least once without their trousers.”

Which hadn’t been part of the official presentation, of course. Nor apparently whatever Bruce had already shared with Constantine, as the mage promptly nearly swallowed his unlit cigarette and began choking.

Diana gave him a carefully gauged slap to the back, sending the now soaked and crumpled smoke across the meeting table, but politely did not laugh.

Jason was pretty sure he was going to puke. Or scream. Maybe both.

It wasn’t bad enough that Bruce had refused to kill the Joker, to stop him from killing anyone else, no, he’d fucking brought him back to life. Given the fucking Joker the chance that none of his victims ever got.

None of them except Jason.

And now apparently even wanting the bastard dead was all part of some master fucking plan to make the fucking asshole even worse.

He’d wanted Bruce to be the one to avenge him from the second Tallia pulled him out of the Lazarus Pit, but when he’d come to Gotham… when his plans to carve out his turf, provoke the Joker with an old alias, set the trap had suddenly become stuffing heads in a bag…

He’d thought about it. A lot. About just hunting the fucker down, putting a bullet between his eyes, and leaving him in the Batcave deader than dead.

Had nearly done it, but no. He’d wanted… he’d wanted Bruce to choose him. To put him first, to say he loved Jason more than some moral stance, to value Tim’s life more, and Steph, and Cass, over the fucking scum who would have happily killed every last one of them with a smile on his face just to see if Bruce finally broke.

And Bruce hadn’t.

Bruce had nearly killed him.

And in and around that whole mess, he’d never gotten around to actually thinking about how his fucking daddy issues had saved the Joker’s life for… years, by now.

Jason wasn’t killing anymore. Not like, actively. Intentionally. Not because he thought Bruce was right; something, someone, had to be willing to stand up for the people of Gotham and actually stop fuckers like the Joker from killing them.

But… well, Crime Alley was his territory, and a scared enemy, a cowed enemy who’d seen their life in Jason’s hands and knew just how easily he could end it was more useful than dealing with the power vacuum, or the next million upstarts who’d think they knew better, would be better, and could take on the Red Hood themselves.

Ironically, keeping fuckers like Black Mask and Great White Shark alive and in power (at severely reduced scale) saved him time. Kept him from dealing with all those upstarts himself.

That was how Waylon had put it, back when Jason was considering adding to his bag of heads. It was… like farming. Keep them low, but keep them stable. Break anything new they went for, or anything that got on his turf.

Let them harvest some of the power hungry fucks who thought they could take a piece of the Alley.

And then Dick had noticed. And reached out. And didn’t stop until Jason gave in and reached back.

When Danny came to Gotham. Somehow, it all swung back around to Danny.

And the fact that if he actually believed what he told Bruce, he could have gone to kill the clown himself at any time since returning to the city.

And he never had. The time wasn’t right. Something came up. Something went wrong, or broke, or distracted him before he thought too hard about it.

Killing the Joker hadn’t even been in his original plans for his triumphant return. He’d just wanted to take back the Alley, prove his point to Bruce. Keep his home safe.

When had killing the Joker become such a big part of the plan? Who the fuck had gotten into his fucking head, redefined him as the last moment of his fucking life, demanded his new life be all about how the last one ended?

Eyes narrowing, he looked searchingly into Lady Gotham’s face just in time to catch her slow nod, like she’d heard every thought. Like he’d been speaking aloud.

“I could not stop it from reaching to you,” she said softly, her voice heavy with sadness, “but I could… distract. Get in the way, make its path harder. That you did not give in…”

Something soft, something proud flickered in her eyes again, and it made him want to squirm.

“You may not have consciously known that you fought yet another enemy, yet you triumphed regardless. My dear Jason…” she sighed, heavy with sorrow, and reached out a hand again as though to cup his face.

Jason found himself moving to meet her before he even thought about it. Stopped himself just before it actually got him anywhere.

He wasn’t done being angry yet. He wasn’t even sure he’d actually started. If he could ever, would ever, be angry enough for this.

There was something building in him like a tide, riding high on resentment and his spiralling thoughts. It wasn’t green tinted like the pit rage, his vision was still clear… if anything, it felt sharper, like everything had been dialled up to eleven. Like the terrible, roaring anger was seeking a target.

“I am sorry that you have been robbed of your justice in this way,” Lady Gotham said quietly and once again Jason’s focus narrowed down with her intensity, like she was the only real thing in the world, “that even your own emotions of this, your death, have been used against you. It is…”

She hesitated, actually looking to Danny for help herself for the first time. Judging from the sudden low horror Jason could feel from the other man, he might actually be under reacting.

Or the tide was still rising.

He felt like razing the whole city to the fucking ground, with his own hands, brick by brick. Or puking. Or screaming until his lungs ripped out of his chest, if only he could move.

It felt like something had reached into his brain and cranked up the contrast, made the already neon brights of the Ghost Zone brighter, the shadows darker, the very air prickling at his skin like needles with the urge to do something.

Because if he moved, did anything, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Not when every muscle ached to tear the whole universe apart.

He was almost a passenger in his own skin as something else, a different, slow boiling rage barely under control clamped him in a vice.

“So y’know we talked about not asking about how ghosts died?” Danny said slowly, his voice suddenly low and hoarse.

Jason managed a stiff nod, every muscle twanging tight with tension. It had been pretty important, pre-Ghost-Zone.

And he could put the pieces together, right from the tight hot center of that ball of rage that he was pretty sure was his own core.

“This is worse,” he said gruffly, not bothering to look over. Didn’t have to, when he could feel the face Danny was pulling through the worry-worry-fear-anger-horror still surrounding him.

He… fuck. He was a little afraid of what he might do, if there was even an ounce of pity on Danny’s face, and honestly that panicked him more than anything else. All the rage wanted was a target, and he didn’t think he’d be able to choose what it was.

Danny nodded anyway, making a conscious effort to try and reign his aura in. Like he couldn’t hear the subtext, feel it in Jason’s, or like he could and didn’t care.

It left him feeling cold, icy and alone, but still relieved under the echoing slam of rage in his veins. A little more alone in his own head. A little less watched. Judged. Not good enough.

“Like, worse than worse, dude. Ghosts will throw down and rip each other apart just for fun and no one’s actually hurt, but… you don’t fuck with somebody’s death. You just don’t. It’s the worst thing you could do to a ghost, worse than Ending them. Not even Pariah Dark…”

“Exactly,” Lady Gotham hissed, baring her teeth in something not even remotely a smile, full cheeks and lips suddenly gaunt and hollow as the teeth became fangs. It lasted barely a moment, a flicker before it faded, but it snapped Jason straight out of his fury with a sudden shock of terror.

She’d been intimidating before. Effortlessly, gracefully powerful and commanding, the kind of person people would beg to step on them without a hint of aggression. Those teeth though… just the moment of that rage, of something so powerful suddenly nothing but raw, feral danger…

It wasn’t even directed at him but it still felt like a bucket of cold water down his spine. An instant urge to duck his head, show his throat, convince this much larger predator that he wasn’t a threat.

She was immediately contrite, turning her head away as her face cast into shadow, only the red pupils still visible.

“My apologies. It is… less personal for me than it is for you, yet it seems still too close to my heart.”

Forcing himself to swallow, Jason took a couple of deep, heavy breaths. The anger was still there, kind of. He could feel it in an almost distant way, past the hammering of his heart, but it wasn’t all he was anymore.

It was just… a feeling now. One he was in control of.

The shadows were just shadows again. The green of the Zone no longer blinding.

He blew the last breath out slowly, and let the remnants of the anger go with it.

“No, uh… it’s fine. I think that helped, actually,” he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and suddenly embarrassed at just how tense he’d become.

Justified, apparently, from both the other ghosts’ reactions, but that didn’t mean Jason wanted to feel so out of control. How close to just… being carried away by the anger.

No matter what anyone else said, no matter what the damn Pit or Joker-monster or whatever the fuck else tried to do, Jason Todd was not going to be defined by rage.

For one thing, he’d never live it down.

Danny sagged beside him, relief as tangible as that last breath flowing out of him, despite the core of concern underneath. That was fine; Jason was still concerned too.

And maybe thinking about his stash of ecto-candies again, but he honestly didn’t feel half as drained this time. He wasn’t even scared of Lady Gotham anymore - that moment had ended as soon as it started. As soon as she’d tucked those terrifying needle-like teeth away. Now she just looked…

Proud. Proud, and fond, and so, so sad. Like Alfred had been the first time he presented Jason with his very own Robin suit for the field.

It choked something inside Jason just a little, made his throat tight and breath hitch.

“You are so much more than anyone gives you credit for, Jason Todd,” she said softly, her sclera softening briefly to a bright, sunshine yellow. Like the cape he’d drowned in as a boy flying from her rooftops, “and they all think far better of you than you believe.”

That caught him up for a moment, confusion pulling into the absolute fucking mess of emotions he was pretty sure he was projecting to all and sundry.

Then Danny sighed heavily and draped himself sideways over Jason’s shoulders like a particularly lanky and bony scarf.

“Yeah, yeah, and your ghost mom is fucking terrifying. Did not need that reminder, Ladyship,” he tossed at Lady Gotham with a cheeky wink, effectively steam rolling the tension yet again.

Jason could have kissed him, but from the angle Danny had flopped on, his options were armpit or hip, and neither appealed.

Sassy comebacks, he could handle. Reassurances that people didn’t think he was a complete sack of shit, apparently not.

The whole batfam were just perfect poster kids for mental health, alright?

The Lady herself laughed softly and inclined her head, not arguing the point.

“Of course. Still, I am sorry Jason.”

He cut her off this time, raising both hands and stopping just short of reaching for the back of his neck again, which was about where Danny’s waist was sat.

“Don’t be. I… think I needed to be knocked out of my head there. I really do feel better now,” he added, and Danny huffed a noncommittal noise and ruffled his hair.

“Yeah, well. You’re allowed to be pissed about it,” Danny informed him like he wasn’t sure if Jason actually knew that.

Which, obviously, Jason absolutely wasn’t. He had a pit ghost baby to teach good habits to, and Danny still had no idea what Jason was like when he actually lost control of the anger. But he could appreciate the sentiment.

And deflect like a Robin.

“Oh, is that a royal decree?” He asked archly, and while this noise was no more coherent than the last it was decidedly more whiny and drawn out into wordless protest.

Which still ended in a very quiet “yes.”

Luckily, quiet enough that Jason could pretend he didn’t hear it.

“Anyway, I’m good. Still gonna kick this thing’s ass for messing with my head, and maybe put it in a blender, but for now I’m good. Chill vibes only for Pitty,” he added with a roll of his eyes when Danny made a confused little chirping sound.

Lady Gotham chuckled softly to herself and nodded, resettling herself to recline on her smog clouds once more.

“Indeed. You currently have more pressing concerns; as little as I enjoy the present situation, it can wait. The Curse and I can monitor this new being’s behaviour through the rogues it has affected; they are noticeably becoming more violent, while the Curse is swaying the rest towards being less. For contrast,” she added before Jason could ask.

Which… might actually explain why Riddler had tossed a broken game box at Croc and the Wayne gala rather than trying to fix it. He’d stripped most of the interesting stuff according to Tim’s report, sure, but Nygma never let a thread go.

So he wasn’t gonna be on this new bad guy’s kill list.

Nor would Waylon, and Harley had been more destructive than homicidal for years. Already making a mental list on the events he’d caught wind of in the last few weeks, Jason didn’t even realise the conversation had moved on without him until Danny stuck a wet finger in his ear.

“What the actual fuck!” Jason demanded, trying to shrug the ghost off his shoulders. And while there was deadass no weight to Danny in this form, it was frankly unfair that he just rolled with the movement like he also didn’t have bones, snickering.

“You had Resting Bat Face,” he explained with a grin, twisting upwards to look down at him in a way that actually really shouldn’t have been doable with a human spine - and Jason had grown up around Dick Grayson, who ran the limit of everything a human spine was capable of.

“He does best with a problem to solve,” Lady Gotham noted with a sly amusement. “This one, however, has no time limit as yet. If I thought you would listen, I would have insisted on telling you at a later date.”

And that was just pointed enough that Jason rolled his eyes, feeling his cheeks flush in spite of himself. He just… liked to have all of the information. It’s not like he was Bruce.

“Yeah, well, I like to know what I’m dealing with,” he grumbled, folding his arms and scowling at Danny. Who grinned back and ruffled his hair.

“Well, either way. Not like you need to pull the spandex back on imminently, right? There’s plenty of bats around,” he offered hopefully, and Jason felt a quick pang.

Danny… really didn’t want him to have to be a vigilante. He could taste it in the hope, in the worry, in everything his king was putting off. For some reason, he seemed to think Jason had come back to life and left the masks behind.

Like he hadn’t even thought about why Jason was still in fighting shape to be his fucking knight in the first place.

He knew he’d be annoyed if it was anyone else trying to insist he stay out of the game. He’d shot at Dick more than once for suggesting he go home when he was injured; the rest knew better than to say a word.

He hadn’t even considered giving up the vigilante life when he came back from the dead… except that brief period when he’d sort of been a rogue. He’d never even been a normal crime lord, most of them were way less hands on.

If he looked at the future now, he couldn’t imagine ever giving it up. The rogues would apparently literally always be a problem; the city would always need protectors.

That thought had never made him sad before, and yet…

Was it really the first time anyone had suggested he’d done enough? He’d died, and sure Jason was back now, but Danny seemed to really, actually believe he could stop wearing the mask.

That he’d given enough, given everything, and could and should just have a peaceful life now.

It made him almost ashamed to admit that he’d never even considered the possibility.

For all Jason railed against teen heroes, he’d only stopped being one for a temporary villain arc. Which was apparently at least partially supernaturally motivated, which was fun.

It’d shut Bruce up if Jason ever dragged that out in an argument, but Bruce already thought Jason was too volatile and susceptible to being controlled. Never mind that he hadn’t actually killed the Joker and started the apocalypse or whatever, all Bruce would hear was “someone else made Jason a villain so it could happen again”.

He’d probably try and take Jason off the case of this mystic whatever that was feeding on death. Fuck that noise. Until Bruce got a face to face with Lady G, Jason probably wouldn’t even tell him the details.

(Honestly, if there was even half a chance of avoiding that subject altogether, he’d take it. Bruce got ornery about magic in his city in a way none of the Robins had ever enjoyed dealing with, and that had been back when he and Jason had a good relationship.

Now… well, Constantine had been sticking around, so hopefully he could handle that mess and Jason could just get the actual work done.)

He gave Danny his best reassuring smile anyway, rolling his eyes and reaching to try and ruffle his hair. Found that he actually couldn’t quite reach with the way Danny was twisted around him, which was kinda weird.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard Frostbite. Side effects of the forming core could be pretty much fucking anything, and til Pitty pops out I’m not even gonna do research on anything that’ll set us off.”

Which wasn’t the same as saying he wouldn’t start the case. He could arrange what he already knew, start a plan of action, and organise his next steps without doing any additional research, after all.

Something about Lady Gotham’s delicately arching eyebrow let him know that she, at least, was onto his bullshit. Lucky for Jason, Danny just accepted the words, grinning and twisting around to wrap his whole head in a hug.

And then flowed back off his shoulders like a fucking liquid before Jason could worry about having to breathe.

“That’s great! Oh, and we should set up your haunt too! That’ll help!” Danny enthused brightly, clapping his hands and doing his best impression of a totally solid human that was apparently not his default.

Maybe it was a ghost thing.

Just so long as he never did it in human form, Jason could ignore that he definitely shoulda felt a ribcage being squeezed like that…

And no, Jason absolutely wasn’t wondering about what else Danny could use that noodley flexibility for. Totally not letting Dick know either… for competitive gymnast reasons, definitely.

No one wanted to deal with that.

And then his brain fizzled to a halt as Danny’s actual words penetrated and a sliver of concern slipped in.

Because… yeah. They’d talked about haunts. It was practically the first topic on the list; what to do in someone else’s haunt, what to never ever do even near someone else’s haunt, what a haunt meant to a ghost.

It was soul-underwear again, one of the most sacred parts of a person’s soul; their truest, actual home. Fortress and power source.

Halfas had to have them too, since Danny and Frostbite had both insisted that keeping and maintaining his haunt were going to be vital to his health while his cores stabilized. As in, Frostbite told him not to leave it for long and suggested redecorating as a soothing activity.

(Danny’s was officially Amity Park, which had not escaped Jason’s notice when he was apparently being put on haunt-arrest. It might have been an older halfa thing; very few ghosts actually stayed in their haunts all the time, although Jason could see the temptation.

It also might have been something else, and Jason had this thing about secrets and surprises down the line. He’d ask later, if he couldn’t work it out himself.)

Danny called Crime Alley Jason’s haunt, and that had felt right from the first time he’d said it. Crime Alley was his, his territory, his space, his home more than anywhere else. He knew it inside and out, could feel its moods and taste the changes in the air when something went wrong.

Baby ghosts usually couldn’t claim a haunt of any size as their own, but Jason knew that the Alley belonged to him.

That was before he’d met Lady Gotham. And if she was the spirit of the whole city… maybe he’d been wrong? Maybe it was just through her that he knew it so well?

He found himself looking to her uncertainly, searching her face in case there was any trace of displeasure. Any sign she didn’t want another ghost’s haunt in… well, what was kinda her physical body.

He couldn’t see or feel anything, but when she’d already been so careful about keeping her feelings her own… no better time to ask, really.

“Yeah… about that…” this time he did scratch the back of his neck, Danny safely down beside him. Which was about when he realized that he had no clue how to word the question.

Haunts were personal, he knew that much.

Then again, Lady Gotham said she was his ghost-mom. That had to include stupid questions. Blunt it was.

“Is it weird if I have a haunt in the city? I mean, it’s obviously your city, duh, but how do I… it feels like I’m squatting in your closet,” he said finally, giving up on not being just the most awkward creature in a thousand mile radius.

Danny’s mouth opened and closed a few times, excitement fading to a confused fascination as his words sunk in.

“Y’know, that’s a really good point… except it’s more like he’s squatting in your kidneys,” he pointed out to Lady Gotham, turning to face her too.

Lady Gotham chuckled softly and took a slow drag from her traffic cone, which had almost stopped smoking.

“Ah, I forget the limitations of a halfa’s knowledge… all ghosts begin with a haunt within their parent’s, Jason. From the moment you returned to my arms I opened up the Alley for you, and it has been yours ever since.” She paused to blow out a long plume of smog, which shaped itself into a tiny row of very familiar buildings.

Jason didn’t have to see more than a couple to know what they were; he could feel it right down to his core.

“When you are older, stronger, you may desire another, although being in the mortal world is already a degree of distance, but Crime Alley will always be your first,” Lady Gotham continued as Crime Alley bloomed from the smog before them, tiny and yet more than just an image, more than just a replica; the real thing in the scope of her power.

There were no lights in tiny windows, nothing moving through the smog, and yet it was still clearly alive. No, filled with things that were alive, people and noise and even the rats.

And it was his. His beating heart.

Lady Gotham’s smile was a tender beacon in the fog, her hands coming up to caress the smoking Crime Alley and gently waft it in his direction.

“Every crumbling brick, every pothole, every shadow. It is a heavy responsibility, and one I shall share with you until you decide you no longer need my help, but it will always be yours, Jason. It would not have accepted anyone else.”

The cluster of smoggy buildings fell apart as they reached Jason and for a moment he nearly panicked trying to keep them together, but… he was suddenly washed in a wave of old, familiar scent.

Not the burned rubber and pollution of all the rest of the smogs, the constant smell of the city. This was… floral. Soft, and sweet, and chemical in the way that cheap perfumes always were because they couldn’t have afforded the good ones.

Watered down, because they could get even that so rarely that she would begin refilling the bottle with water when it was barely half empty. Catherine Todd’s favourite perfume.

It hadn’t covered the stink of cigarettes and worse coming from the very walls of their apartment; he’d only smelled it when she was holding him close. Shielding him from Willis’s rage, tucking him into bed, cuddled up on the couch to wait out the rain or sickness.

The smell of home.

It brought tears to his eyes, the pressure of the day threatening to spill over and overwhelm him again.

Intellectually, it felt like another moment that should have been terrifying. More than any show of teeth, this was her strength. Who and what she was, she could break him with a wave of her hand, a wisp of smoke, and yet…

He felt warm. Comforted. Wrapped in her smile and at peace in a way he hadn’t in… fuck it had been years.

There was something else too, a layer under the flowers that only the deepest detective-trained parts of him tried to pluck apart; it was part of the home smell, inextricable, but it didn’t make sense. Wasn’t the perfume. Just the very faintest hint of baking far away, and Catherine Todd had never been able to afford…

Oh.

Of course not. Because Catherine Todd, his mother in every possible sense of the word but one, had never met Alfred.

So, the good news: Tucker was currently in the lead for Spiderheck. Bad news: they’d finished the first set (Tim won, but he’d been two ahead from the start which was cheating), and… the game had ticked directly over into another set.

They hadn’t been planning on changing any settings, so it was fine, and Conner and Tim hadn’t noticed anything wrong.

But… Tucker was beginning to worry, just a little. He’d done video games before, with Danny and Sam; no worries, they’d taken a turn directly in pretty much every game they’d played together.

Just, y’know, he knew Danny and Sam really well. And Tim and Conner were really cool, and he understood a lot more about how the Supers worked than he ever had before? But, maybe that was why he’d kinda screwed up.

Because he wanted things to be fair, and didn’t want them to think he’d given himself extra advantages. So they were all spiders, all the same.

And he wasn’t completely sure where the meta controls were?

Danny and Sam always insisted he have a version of the controller somewhere, so they could flick to the menu (and sometimes run riot there too). Last time they did Spiderheck, he’d put the buttons on his stomach, so Danny and Sam could try and hit them for an extra level of difficulty.

But he wanted to be fair. Didn’t want extra powers. And, apparently, technopathy had sorta maybe converted that wish into him not being able to feel it while he was spidered up.

All his combat moves were fine! The break, grab, web commands were smooth and easy, just like every other time he did them. Different attacks, no worries. And, obviously, he hadn’t stood still and tried to look for the code, because they were playing Spiderheck and that was a really easy way to get wiped.

Dodging another swinging attack from Tim, he scuttled at top speed across the platform and jumped behind a box. No weapons here, and he scanned quickly for the next spawn point.

Which, normally, shoulda shown up on two levels; the normal game vision, and the white lined underlay of the code, which he could always see through from top to bottom of the level.

(This was usually an active impediment rather than an advantage in Spiderheck; it was way too hard to know what he could stand on.)

He couldn’t see one, just the platform above and the wall behind.

Maybe he should take an early death, just to give himself a little time to work this out. Just so he could stop worrying. He was 21, he’d had these powers for years, he totally knew how they worked by now.

He just, maybe, might have gotten overconfident.

Danny would never let him live it down if they all had to be rescued from Spiderheck.

And, way more importantly, Tim Drake-Wayne and his super hot boyfriend would only remember him as the loser who couldn’t even control his powers.

Nope. Absolutely not.

A loud buzzing heralded the arrival of one of the spinning laser traps, and Tucker made up his mind. Just one early death. No worries. He had a two win lead, and honestly he’d rather lose the set than admit he’d fucked up.

Scuttling “away” from Tim’s probable next attack, Tucker scurried into the path of the spinning laser trap.

And saw, at the very last second, Conner swinging in from the other side, directly into a laser.

Shit.

Sam was comfortably snuggled down into her pillows and thoroughly enjoying the chaos her new chat was creating when she finally heard the door. A little too buried to easily get up, or look particularly graceful doing it, so instead she stuck a hand straight up into the air.

“In here, love!”

And, like the angel of mercy that she was, Val only made her wait ten minutes to get out of all of her winter gear and put the kettle on before coming to save her from her fate.

“Not the fastest rescue I’ve received,” Sam teased, even as Val hauled her easily to her feet. Val grinned back and pulled her in for a quick peck.

“I wasn’t aware I was being timed. I can do better.”

“I bet you can,” Sam laughed, draping her arms around her girlfriend’s shoulders. Val gave her another, deeper kiss, then drew back enough to press their foreheads together.

“So, how was Gotham? I saw Danny made the front page,” she teased back, and Sam hesitated.

In amongst all of their various plans for disaster, it hadn’t really come up that whatever they did at the party, it was sure to make the gossip rags. Front page though? That was probably an achievement.

And, given what she herself had done, really annoying.

“What, they gave the front page to him? I blatantly accused at least two CEOs and Lex Luthor of weaponizing misogyny, with citations, and Danny got the front page?” She huffed, drawing back and folding her arms, fully intent on turning away to sulk, but not remotely objecting when Val’s arms snuck around her waist and pulled her back in.

Val’s chin tucked in over her shoulder and the taller woman snickered.

“I know, right? Sadly cold hard facts just fade away in the face of a scandal.” Val sighed dramatically, then dropped a kiss on the side of Sam’s neck. ��You’re on page seven. It’s mostly about your parents, but using Lex’s name got a couple other points in. Oh, and Vicki Vale did a three page piece on how Brucie Wayne specifically upholds the patriarchy. I think she quoted you.”

Sam considered that for a moment, her arms automatically coming around to cover Val’s for a brief squeeze. It wasn’t like she’d actually been planning to change anything at the gala. Mostly she’d just wanted to be heard.

It could be an interesting starting point, though. Especially since she got to pick her outfit for the next gala; her mother hadn’t even specified that it had to be a dress on the document, which was definitely a peace offering.

Cass Wayne had looked really good in that suit.

Her cheeks suddenly hot for absolutely no reason, Sam twisted in Val’s arms to kiss her again.

“I’m sorry my mom’s… the worst,” she finished lamely, wrapping her arms around Val again.

The whole fall-from-grace thing may have been seven years ago, and Val had more than moved on, but. Well. Sam didn’t exactly believe all the scars had healed.

Especially when Val stilled for a moment in her arms.

Then she chuckled, wrapping her arms a littler tighter around Sam and lifting her off her feet.

“Hey, at least she’s not actually a bigot. It’s always nicer to be hated personally than in general, y’know?” She teased, echoing something Sam was pretty sure Danny had said to her back in her Phantom-hunting days.

Sam huffed and wrapped her legs around Val’s waist too, raining kisses down on her face.

“Yeah, well, she can still shove it up her ass. You’re my date for the next gala, if you actually want to come.”

Which.

Well.

Was about when she realized that the next gala was probably going to be extra interesting, after all their shenanigans. Maybe they should have been more discrete? More careful?

Her worry must have shown on her face, because Val gave her a very gentle bounce to shake her out of it.

“Hey. Samantha Manson. I would be delighted to go to the next gala with you, and tell all the little journalists that yeah, I’m that Val,” she said firmly once Sam had refocused on her. Then she grinned. “I’ll even be on my best behaviour and not one up Danny until the second one.”

That made Sam laugh again, hugging on tight even as Val turned and easily carried her through to their little kitchenette and sat her up on one of the counters.

“Hey, did you get that autograph from Harley for me by the way? I wanna send it to my dad for his birthday,” she added, sneaking another kiss and then pulling a pair of mugs next to the steaming kettle.

Sam considered hopping off the counter. Didn’t bother, reaching behind herself instead to pull her favourite tea for the month and drop a bag into her mug.

“Yeah, a couple actually. And she said if we wanna meet Ivy she’ll let us know when they’re back on the west coast, but it won’t be any time soon.” That hadn’t been particularly surprising, but it still made Sam a little sad.

Just another reminder that they were on the outside looking in all the way over here.

Valerie stilled, coming back and resting both hands on Sam’s thighs.

“Do you miss being on the east coast?” She asked quietly, those gorgeous green eyes so large and gentle.

Sam hesitated a moment longer, then sighed and let her head thunk back against the cupboard behind her.

“Honestly, I think I just miss being closer to everyone. It’s not far for Danny with the Zone, but if you or I wanna visit anyone we have to hop on an airplane or spend weeks driving, neither of which are good for the environment. We just… get forgotten out here, stuck out of the loop.”

Val raised an eyebrow, a smirk on her face but eyes still soft with understanding.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk. I thought I’d pick up a new phone and rejoin the group chat that day, but suddenly I gotta wait nearly a week for “new secrets”,” she teased and Sam sighed, shaking her head. Not quite able to lift all the way out of her funk.

“Yeah, I know… it probably woulda been fine, Danny shouldn’t have dropped anything at all in the main chat if he didn’t want everyone to see it, I just…”

“Wanted to be more sensitive than he is,” Val finished the sentence, leaning in for another kiss. Not needing to reach up even with Sam sat on the counter. “That’s why I’m still dating you.”

It did pull a smile from Sam anyway and she draped her arms over her girlfriend’s shoulders again.

“For some reason. So, what did you think?”

Val shrugged, her hands sliding up to settle around Sam’s waist.

“About a new halfa? Probably sucks for him. Especially when he’s gotta come out as dead to his family. The Waynes aren’t exactly known for being stable,” she pointed out when Sam snickered.

Which was a fair point.

“They’re actually worse when there’s more of them,” she mused, glancing back towards the bed where she’d left her phone, “and the oldest’s a cop now.”

This time it was Val’s turn to snicker.

“Yeah, I heard. Tuck already sent me the blow by blow of you eviscerating the poor guy.”

Sam preened. Deservedly.

“Hey, you know me, I’m not gonna play nice just cuz I’ve been dragged to some social function.”

The snicker turned to a chuckle as Val leaned in, rubbing their noses together.

“And you know me, baby girl, ACAB all the way, and I still think that should extend to the Justice League. Heard half of Batman Inc also showed up, did you let them have it too?”

“You know I did,” Sam purred, locking her ankles behind Val’s back and nipping playfully at her lower lip. Val laughed, her hands creeping slowly up the small of Sam’s back.

“That’s my little leopard. Tea’s done.” And then, totally unfairly, she reached back with one hand and pulled Sam’s ankles apart, slipping free with a laugh as Sam pouted. “Hey, you’d be more upset if I let it over steep.”

“I can make more tea,” Sam grumbled, finally slipping off the counter, but a rebellious smile made it onto her face anyway. Val toasted her with the french press.

“True that, darling, but I’m not wasting the good coffee beans. Daddy asked me four times if I was sure about taking the train but honestly, he’s a state away now, it’s not worth a flight.”

Setting her teabag aside, Sam squirted in some vanilla agave syrup and took a deep breath. Gotham was fine, but no hotels could match her home tea stash. Not even the Waynes could.

“Beautiful, strong, environmentally conscious, and a Daddy’s girl. How did I land you again?” She asked innocently as Val dropped creamer into her own mug.

“By being all of those but the last one,” Val countered easily, taking a mug and holding an arm out for Sam to tuck under. “Now c’mon, if I’m going to the next gala you need to tell me allllll about a certain cutie Cassandra Wayne,” she cooed, making for their couch.

Sam’s face flushed red and she made to duck away instantly, but those damn vigilante muscles made it so hard.

“Okay, veto, you’re not allowed to do that anymore! My mom is trying to hook me up with her!” Sam did not whine. She. Protested. With dignity. Totally no idea why Val snickered, holding her coffee up and away in her other arm.

“Yeah, that’s the point. How funny would it be if Danny and I both stole a Wayne from you?” She asked with a vicious grin.

Which… did make Sam pause. Because that would be really funny. And Cass would almost certainly be down for it; she wasn’t as loud or attention seeking as any of the boys, but Sam could recognize the wicked gleam in anyones’ eyes when they enjoyed the chaos.

Then she sighed.

“No, we have to be good for the next gala. Otherwise no one’s going to listen to what I actually have to say.”

Val hummed an agreement, guiding her to sit on the plush, well loved cushions. It was an old couch, and a hand-me-down from Sam’s work, but it was just too good to pass up. They could both lie comfortably side by side on the seat, if they snuggled just a little, and the back was wide and plush enough for two throws.

“Okay. The gala after that, then. It’ll make our slow burn long distance romance all the more compelling,” she added when Sam snorted, finally releasing Sam to sink comfortably into oblivion.

Sam swatted at her and put her tea down on the table.

“You’re dreadful. I love you. We’ll ask Cass, lemme just get my phone and I’ll hook you into the group chat with her, Steph, and Babs. They’re Wayne family friends,” she added at Val’s questioning noise, “I haven’t met Babs yet, but Steph is great. You’re gonna love her.”

“Only if we’re going for some three’s company action,” Val snickered as Sam jogged to the bedroom, flipping her girlfriend off as she went.

Jason was quiet as they left the Zone. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially after the day he’d had and the emotional whiplash.

Danny was doing his very best not to let it bother him. He remembered the early days of being a halfa, how much he’d second-guessed himself, how much every new change and discovery had rocked his world. And he’d been a teenager, all hormones and fire and energy.

He hadn’t even been dead a month before shit got weird.

Jason was twenty-two, and had already been dead for almost seven years. Danny’d like to think he’d found ways to cope, but seven years in himself he was pretty sure he still hadn’t.

Whatever Jason had dealt with in those six and a half years was being ripped up in front of him day by day.

If there was anything he wanted, anything he needed, Danny would be there for him in a heartbeat. Before he could even have to ask, if possible. Aaaand the only thing he couldn’t do that for was if Jason needed space.

Lady Gotham had been able to open them a portal directly into Jason’s apartment; Danny preferred to aim high enough to miss walls and buildings on the way back, but it was her city. She knew exactly where everything and anything was - the portal had been in the back of Jason’s front door.

Danny totally wasn’t jealous. He could come back out almost at the same place he’d gone in, if he was quick. And he could go intangible anyway.

It was still really cool to watch the city spirit do it, the way the realms opened easily and willingly at her touch. She’d given Jason a token, a coin that had to be at least six hundred years old that showed the city’s skyline. Apparently he could use it to get in touch with her, or get back to the Zone on his own if Danny couldn’t take him.

Danny was fine with that. For sure.

The Infinite Realms were dangerous, but the token should bring him straight to Lady Gotham, in an emergency. And then Danny could follow and find her, and find Jason. It was a super reasonable backup plan.

He still found himself hovering in the doorway, unsure if Jason wanted him to stay or go while the other man shrugged out of his coat, boots, and shoulder holster that Danny had totally missed this entire time. And then walked directly into the bathroom.

Danny hovered a little closer, entirely unknowing what exactly he’d do if Jason was crying. Or screaming. Or beating a hole in the wall away from prying eyes. Or, actually using the bathroom for its intended purpose, apparently.

Because Danny forgot Jason was still in mandatory human form at all times.

He couldn’t hear anything from inside the bathroom with the door shut anyway, not even movement or the sink running. But then again, Jason’s family knew Superman personally. That probably lead to some inside jokes and really specific precautions.

Danny hovered back to the door. Stared around at the incredibly clean, well organized display of video games and weaponry on the walls, the double shelf of books.

This, he was beginning to suspect, was a third, larger, more expensive apartment. The furniture and room layouts were about the same, but he was like 80% sure the apartment they’d played MarioKart in hadn’t had as much stuff.

This one had some dishes waiting by the sink though. Given how well organized everything else was, they stuck out.

…

Five minutes. Jason was still in the bathroom.

Danny hated waiting. If he was going to stick around, he could justify it by helping out. He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

———————

Part two imminent! All my love to the tag list, you’ll be following the link on this one so you don’t get both separately

Part 2:

Tag list: @welcometosasakiworld @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop p @mayoota-blog @xysidhe e @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper r @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking g @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor r @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 8 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf f @frivolous-pastel

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny fenton dead and loving it #dfdali #dead on main ship #chapter probably 18 part 1 #so that just happened #in which there is LORE #and SPIDERHECK #and LESBIANS #feast my children feast

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