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mrs-bucky-barnes106 · 6 months

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bucky x reader

the one where you get locked out and go a-knocking on your sworn enemy's door in the middle of the night

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"Fuck!" You yelled, for what seemed like the millionth time that night. You should've listened to Wanda and stayed home instead of going to that stupid bar with that guy. Now, you were locked out of your house because you brilliantly left your keys in his car, and he left you when he said he was going to the bathroom.

You'd been out here for a half hour now doing everything you could to get in your house. You tried to pick the lock, break open a window with a rock, everything. You even walked around back and found a half-open window. You had never been more grateful for your forgetfulness. The only problem was that the window was on the second floor, a full twenty feet above where you stood.

It seemed your only option was to ask for help. All you needed was a ladder to climb up to that window, and everything would be just dandy. Sighing you tried to remember who in your neighborhood was actually home, and who'd let you in at- what time was it anyway?

10:45 P.M. Not bad. Nat and Steve were on vacation. Wanda wasn't here. Sam was away on work.

Shit.

The harsh realization struck you square in the chest. Bucky. The man next door. He was your only option in this dire situation. You hated to think of it, but he was your only acquaintance on this street, if you could even call him that.

You stomped over to his house, your very uncomfortably high heels getting sucked into the mud in his garden.

You made it to his door, steeling yourself to knock.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Your knuckles rapped heavily on the door.

You stood there a minute, and when he didn't appear, you turned around, ready to walk away. He was probably sleeping, there was no use knocking anyway. Maybe you could just camp outside on your porch and wait for Wanda to get back.

Before you got very far, his deep rasp stopped you in your tracks. "Doll? What the hell are you doing here?" Bucky stood at the door, in all his bleary-eyed glory.

You considered bolting to save yourself the embarrassment.

No, you scolded yourself. You had already disturbed him, so the very least you could do was not stand there like a fool and instead, tell him about your troubles. It couldn't make him hate you any more than he already did.

"Doll?"

You turned around and gave him a small wave.

"Jesus-the hell happened to you? You look awful." You missed the concern in his eyes, only seeing the way they flicked down your body. You were suddenly embarrassed of the sequined dress you had chosen for the night. Not exactly something you wanted your most-hated coworker to see you in.

"Well, thanks," you rolled your eyes. "I- you know if you're just gonna stand there and tell me how bad I look, then forget it." You started to walk away.

"I wasn't- doll, wait. Why'd ya come?" He sounded earnest, almost concerned as he reached out for your wrist and gently grabbed hold of it.

"I- I need your help with something."

"With what?"

"I need help getting inside my house," you whispered, eyes cast downward from the shame that now consumed you.

God, how pathetic was this? Not only did you do the most idiotic thing you possibly could have in your entire adult life, but you went to Bucky of all people for help.

"With what? I can't hear you, c'mon speak up," his tone was commanding, and he sounded slightly irritated. His forehead crinkled, eyebrows scrunching down till his eyes were two thin slits, the blue orbs almost completely disappearing. Great, he was making you say it again.

You lifted your head up, staring into his eyes. The worst of it was over, you had come to Barnes. You spoke clearly, trying not to cringe at how stupid your situation sounded, "I need help getting into my house. Do you have a ladder or something?"

"The hell happened to your keys?"

"D-does it matter?!" You cried, exasperated.

"I- no, no, just come in, it's freezing out here and you look half-dead. And half-naked. Jesus, doll, do you not own anything warm?" Again with the insults. If you weren't desperate you would've showed him what half-dead really looked like.

You walked in after him, and were immediately struck with the realization that you had never been inside his house. And well, it looked...nice. Nicer than you expected for an old grouch like him. Huge murals filled two of the foyer walls, and everything was in pleasant, muted autumnal colors that somehow made him seem almost human.

"So where's the ladd...," you trailed off, realizing he was no longer in sight. Just great, he had left you by yourself immediately after inviting you in.

By this point, you were freezing in your mini dress, and all you really wanted was to just wipe off all your makeup and curl up into a ball of oblivion. Unsure if you were welcome to take a seat while you waited, you stood awkwardly in his foyer, shivering slightly because, of course, he had the thermostat turned all the way down.

"Here," Bucky reappeared suddenly, handing you a soft blanket and pillow.

"W-wait I don't need a place to sleep just the-"

"Look, doll, it's now 11:00 and it's freezing out. Quite frankly, you're insane if you think I'm gonna let you go out there with a ladder to climb into your side window. So, just please shut up, go to the bathroom do whatever you need to do, put on the change of clothes I left you and just go. to. sleep."

Wait change of clothes? Wouldn't they be...his clothes? Why was he being so nice to you, and more concerningly, why did that make you feel warm inside??

"I- okay, thank you," you didn't know what else to say.

Why was he being so nice to you? Where was the Barnes that was condescending? The one that was annoyed by every little thing you did and hated your entire existence?

He led you upstairs to his bathroom where you wiped off your makeup and splashed some water on your face.

Walking out to his bedroom, you found the clothes he laid out for you. An oversized T-shirt you guessed was too small for him and gray sweatpants. They were huge, but oh so soft. They also smelled like him, woodsy with a hint of...was that sandalwood?

You put on his clothes, instantly engulfed in the fabric. You walked downstairs with the blanket and pillow in hand, finding the couch easily enough.

"What're you doing?" Bucky asked, walking into the living room with a mug.

"Going to sleep?" You frowned up at him as you started to position the pillow to your liking.

"I- Jesus, doll, there's an entire bed up there. The hell do you mean you're sleepin' on the couch?"

"It's your house, I'm not taking your bed away too!"

"You're not taking the bed away, just go lie down."

"No, I'll sleep on the couch, it's fine."

"Why are you being stubborn? I'm offering you the bed."

"And I'm declining." You crossed your arms without realizing that you were mirroring the pose he held.

He sighed heavily before asking, "Why don't we both take the bed then, will that make ya feel better?" He sounded as exasperated as you felt and before you knew it, he was ushering you upstairs, grabbing the pillow and blanket he provided you with earlier.

You entered his room and laid down on opposite sides of the bed, which was warm, and so soft. Of course, it smelled like him too. You made a mental note to ask him about his mattress later to get yourself the same one.

"So, uh, how'd you get locked out?" Bucky asked awkwardly, cringing at his attempt to break the silence.

"I left my keys in this guy's car."

"So you didn't ask him for them back?" You felt him turn his head to face you, but you remained staring at the ceiling.

"He drove away before I realized, so yeah."

"Oh, what an ass," he growled.

"Got that right," you chuckled. Then, you stopped yourself. Why did he genuinely sound upset? Was he being protective? No, that was silly. He could care less about you.

You swallowed, turning to face him, welcomed by the sight of his pretty blue eyes and the smirk that would forever adorn his lips.

"Why'd you let me stay?" You finally asked, voicing the question that lingered in your mind.

"Because you'd freeze if you slept out there," he stated plainly.

"Thought you'd enjoy it if that happened," you chortled.

"Eh well- I wouldn't be happy about it. Besides I didn't need that weighing on my conscious all night."

"Mhm," you smiled at him.

"So, what if I told you that I make great pancakes," he scooted closer.

"I would say I'd love some," you said, scooting a bit closer as well. "On one condition."

"What?" You felt his hand rest on your arm, and you let it stay there.

Before you knew it, you were blurting, "Stay here and hold me?"

"Course doll, c'mere."

You snuggled your way up to his chest and felt loving hands run up and down your arms, which then snaked their way down to your waist. He buried his head in your neck, inviting you to rest yours on his chest.

"G'night Bucky."

"G'night doll, sleep well."

You felt a feather-light kiss being pressed to your temple, not quite sure if you had dreamed it all up. In the morning, however, you were greeted with a stack of pancakes in bed...

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chaethewriter · 1 year

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You're dead to me [6]

dad!Jake Sully x human!daughter!reader

In which Jake Sully leaves his life on earth to settle down with the Omatikaya people as Toruk Makto. Having a family that consists of four kids with Neytiri, everything seems to work out just fine, but what if the past comes back for him? And his babygirl is right there in front of him?

warning: english isn't my first language, barely proofread, i lowkey don't like this chap but it's cute, fluff and angst, silly siblings, sad Jake.

Word count: 3,1k

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Your flight back to high camp was amazing. Walking through the forest was something enchanting, out of a fairy tale, but the view from above was something so unrealistic. Colors of green, pink, and blue covered the ground beneath you, and the way the animals climbed the trees or flew just under you. You still couldn't believe where you were. You let go of the reins Neteyam told you to hold and you slightly get up from your seat, holding your body up as you tried to get a better view of everything around you. Neteyam frantically holds onto your arm, "sit down! You're going to fall!"

"As if you would let me fall, who will take care of my younger brother then?" You playfully hit him in the chest with your elbow. Lo'ak then came gliding next to the two of you, "bro! Did you already think of the excuse you're giving mom and dad by being late and bringing (Y/N) with us?" Neteyam groans in response, "I will think of something as an excuse. We are going to hide her in high camp until tomorrow morning by then." You huffed at his words, "hide me in high camp? What are you going to put me in? In a fucking woven bag?!" Lo'ak answered your question as a matter of fact, "I mean, you would easily fit in the bag?" You were ready to jump from Neteyam's Ikran right onto Loak's Ikran, ready to pounce on him. He might be your much younger brother, but you weren't afraid to fight the Na'vi right there and then. "Sis please!" Neteyam wraps his arm around your waist to pull you down, keeping you in place. Even though you were older than them, you had childish traits he thought you wouldn't have. Is this the effect of growing up early and finally feeling free? Would he get to experience that too one day?

As they approached high camp, the horns were heard through the night skies to notify the clan of a return, their return. Kiri facepalmed and looked at Neteyam, "well, there goes your plan. Ready to face the wrath?" His spine shuddered at the question, imagining the wrath of his mother if they took their sister to the clan, but they didn't have another choice now, did they? They couldn't leave you alone out in the open and you were supposed to get here tomorrow anyway, so might as well make you settle down, right? The three Ikrans land right at the opening of the mountains and your four Na'vi siblings climb off it with ease, meanwhile you struggle to get off the animal. You never rode a horse before, imagine a banshee ten times the size. Alright, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the banshees were huge compared to your human self. You huffed in embarrassment as you had a hard time getting off. You were one of the finest warriors and embarrassing yourself in front of a whole clan wasn't on your bucket list, definitely not. Neteyam held your legs as helped you down and you silently thanked him for doing so. The clan surrounded the five of you, standing in a half circle as they stared at you, either with curiosity or weariness. You felt watched, but not in a good way. You were a sky human after all, demon blood in their eyes. Neteyam stepped in front of you, half-shielding you from the prying eyes of his clan, "mawey Na'vi, mawey!" His chest puffed out as he spoke, shoulders broad. You watched him in awe. He was still a child, yet a fine warrior and respected by all. He would be such a good Olo'eyktan. The Na'vi made way as the Tsahik and her daughter passed through, moving to the front with ease as the clan parted like the red sea. You moved away from behind Neteyam, now standing right next to him as you brought your hand to your forehead, "Oel Ngati Kameie." You greeted Mo'at and Neytiri with respect once they were right in front of the crowd.

"I already expected your arrival, (Y/N) Sully." You're shocked that the Tsahik herself announced the news, just like that. The clan started whispering amongst themselves at the mention of the Olo'eyktan's last name and you felt yourself crumbling through the ground. Even Neytiri, your stepmother (?), looked surprised. You didn't know if that surprised expression was meant for the fact her mother announced it or the fact you're her mate's daughter. "I'm- thank you for having me." You bowed your head to show your gratitude, then your gaze traveled to Neytiri. She was already looking at you with those yellow eyes that had so much emotion hidden in them. You felt like she had a lot to say and you felt the same. "My people, mawey. Welcome (Y/N) Sully, daughter of the Olo'eyktan like she's one of our people. She's here to protect us from the dangerous sky demons." Mo'at had her back turned to you as she spoke to her people, emphasizing the fact that you're Jake Sully's child. If she did this to keep you safe, you are in debt to her. Yet, wouldn't something like this make it more complicated? Since you emotionally disowned him as your father? You did, right? You're getting pulled out of your thoughts by a hand harshly wrapping around your wrist. Your head turned to the person in front of you, it was Neytiri. She didn't say anything as she pulled you away from the crowd. Your breath hitched in your mask as you grew nervous, but you didn't complain. She didn't rip your head off, so she wanted to talk to you, right? Tuk looked after you as her mother pulled you away. She looked over at her big brother as she tugged his loincloth, "what is happening?" Tuk was still young, she didn't understand anything that was happening. "It's okay, Tuk! Let's get some food" Lo'ak patted her head, his hands running through her locks. Kiri nodded in agreement, taking Tuk's hand and pulling her to the fire to get their dinner. Neteyam looked after you as his mom and his sister entered their pod, hoping things wouldn't turn more complicated for you.

"Ma'am, what did you want to talk about?" You asked politely once you entered the pod, yet still tried to push her to get to the point. You still remembered how she acted when you taunted your father for questioning his parenting. Neytiri closed the flap of the entrance as she turned to you, cautiously walking over to you. Once she was close enough, she got on her knees for the height difference to not be too intimidating as she spoke, "You're my mate's daughter." You didn't know if it was a question or an extra form of confirmation, but you nodded your head yes. "And you're human." You nodded your head again. "I don't like you, you reek of demon blood." You rolled your eyes. You had to see that one coming."But tell me, child." Your head tilted to the side as you watched her in confusion. Tell her? Tell her what exactly? Neytiri could sense your confusion, so she continued explaining, "what happened, child. Tell your part." You knew it was a demand, yet you couldn't sense a lot of grudges. Her tone was stern and demanding, but not hateful. It was the voice of a wise woman, a wise mother. You decided to make yourself comfortable: taking a seat, sitting your butt on the soft woven carpets as you leaned against the wooden wall. "He was an amazing dad. He didn't see himself as it, but he tried. He tried for me and that's what made him amazing." You fiddled with your mask as you didn't know where to keep your hands, obviously nervous about telling Neytiri about all this. She nodded in understanding, taking a seat as well as she kept quiet to let you continue at your own pace. "Then he left so suddenly and he never returned. I had to hear from the people around me where he went. I waited for years and eventually gave up." Your hands were now lying in your lap as you moved your legs in a cross-legged position, much more comfortable than your last one, "until this day, I hold a grudge against him. He abandoned me, so I am giving him a taste of his own medicine." You didn't notice that your eyes were once again welling up with tears. Your left hand moved towards your mask to try and push it closer towards your face in an attempt to hide. Thank Eywa the mask wasn't transparent. Neytiri leaned towards you, even though she was very weary of you, she awkwardly extended her arm towards you to wipe your tears. Only for a few seconds as she pulled her hand away quickly, but your eyes still widened at the gesture, not knowing how to feel about all this, "you're a strong child with a strong heart, for a sky demon." She then got up and out of the pod. Now that you were finally alone, you once again got lost in your thoughts as you thought about your father.

Once Jake left to Eywa-knows-where, she turned to the backdoor of the pod, "I know you're there. All of you." Neteyam was the first to walk out with his ears flat against his head, followed by Lo'ak, Kiri and Tuk. She looked at her children with a sigh as they all held a guilty yet innocent facade up. "If she's dad's daughter, our sister.. would you hate her?" Lo'ak was the first to speak up. Neteyam wanted to honestly hit him on the back of his head for asking questions like that, but he continued, "she's putting her life in danger for us, therefore she's not so bad right? Dad would have wanted you to try if she's his." Those words hit Neytiri like a truck. Even if she hated sky demons, her mate used to be one and he changed a lot in just a few weeks. Why not her? Being the adorable girl that Tuk is, she chimed into the conversation, "Mom I want to meet her! Can I meet her? Another sibling yay!" Neytiri's canines pierced through her bottom lip as she thought. She still disliked you, also because you were a sky demon. She was conflicted with her feelings, but then she thought about Jake's sad expression. She would be willing to try, for him. Just like how he always tried for her.

From the corner of his eye, Lo'ak noticed how his mother left the pod, meaning you were alone now. At the same time, a horn went off, indicating an arrival. All their heads turned to the opening of the mountain, noticing a familiar ikran about to land. Their father. The four siblings exchanged a look and Neteyam spoke up, "Kiri get some fruits for her and get her away from there. Tuk, Lo'ak, and I will take care of dad. Go!" Kiri followed his orders as she ran to get some leftovers for you to eat, meanwhile, Neteyam immediately went to his father. Lo'ak crouched down to his youngest sibling, "Okay, so don't say anything about sis (Y/N) alright? Dad can't know yet, alright?" Tuk didn't really understand what he meant, but she just nodded as a response, "yes!"

"Sister (Y/N)?" You removed your face from your knees as you were sitting with your knees to your chest, "Oh Kiri, what's wrong?" She walked towards you with a bunch of fruits in her arms, "I got these for you." You chuckled at the small gesture, "thank you so much, but I hope you know I can't eat all that." She looked at the fruits in her arms, "I mean, rather too much than not enough, right? Come on, let's go to the Tsahik." It looked like she was in a rush and you raised your eyebrows at her, "Kiri, what's up? You look tense?" You got up from the ground. "Just follow me!" She already walked out before you could answer her, leaving you all confused and lost. But you obeyed her and followed suit after her.

"My children please just let me be for tonight, I'm tired." Jake wanted to be alone right now. His heart ached in his chest and his eyes were bloodshot red as his tears were drying up. He wanted to find Mo'at and talk to her. "We want to show you something, you must come!" Neteyam never asked something like this of his dad, not since he was ten years old. So this made him feel suspicious. "Yes! Tuk made something so beautiful and she wants to show it, right Tuk!" Lo'ak made up the quickest thing he could think of, eyes gazing down at Tuk who didn't know what to say. She glanced at Neteyam who nodded, so she looked into his eyes with determination, "Yes! You must follow us!"

You sat in Mo'at's tent as Kiri cut up some fruit for you. The moment the two of you entered the tent, she knew that you needed a moment for yourself and left the tent in your hands. You sat on one of the mats as Kiri sat next to you, cutting the fruits up for you to eat. You inhaled into your oxygen mask, letting the oxygen flow through your lungs before you removed the mask, took a piece of freshly cut fruit and popped it in your mouth, reattaching the mask to your mouth to gasp. Kiri watched you in awe as you chewed your food, "that's honestly so cool." She quickly finished up and put her hunter's knife back on her hip. "Eat well and rest up, alright? You got a long day ahead of you tomorrow." "Goodnight and thank you" the two of you exchanged a smile as she left the tent. You continued eating your pieces of fruit in peace, listening to the sound of the clan talking as their laughs filled the air. You popped a fruit in your mouth before reattaching your mask, smiling as you knew you made a good decision. They deserved to be protected.

"What is up with the three of you?" Jake grew frustrated at his children. They were standing in the pod for at least twenty minutes as the three rambled about the most bullshit subjects. "Do you know that I made this flower crown?" "Yes, you told me last week, Tuk." He tried once again to exit the pod, but Neteyam jumped in front of it as he scratched the back of his head, looking at Lo'ak for any other excuse. He was the best at pulling bullshit out of his ass after all. But also Lo'ak was quiet as his ears were pressed firmly against his head. "Well then, if you have nothing to say anymore. I have somewhere to be." His two sons stood there in defeat as they let their dad through, but then Tuk grabbed onto her father's hand, "no you can't!! (Y/N) will be upset if we let you go to her!!" Lo'ak immediately put his hand over Tuk's mouth as Neteyam coughed through that sentence, but unfortunately for them Jake already heard it. To check if he indeed heard that correctly, he crouched down to meet Tuk's gaze, "Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan, remove that hand from your sister. Tuk, what did you say?" Her eyes were now also pressed against her head, knowing she said the wrong thing while trying to help her brothers, "uhm.. I said.." she felt overwhelmed as her dad continued to pressure her into telling, making her lips quiver. That was the point when Lo'ak had enough, "you are a terrible father you know that?!" The young Na'vi exploded as he yelled into his father's face. "You abandoned (Y/N) in the most terrible way possible! And now you suddenly crave forgiveness?! You need to earn that! You can't just go around yelling your 'sorries' while sobbing and not do anything?!" His fists were balled as his ears perked up, his tail standing tall, "she has a right to be upset and instead of sulking around you need to talk to her without the need to use your excuses!" And off he went. If he was a cartoon, the steam would have been leaving his ears. He needed to cool off. Neteyam watched his dad's expression falter, knowing Lo'ak was right with every word he said. He silently told Tuk to come with him, as he raised Tuk in his arms, holding her against his hip. "Did I do something wrong?" "No sweetheart, this needed to be done." And the two left the pod, leaving Jake all on his own as he stood still like a statue, painful breaths leaving his lips. He thought it was impossible, but more tears rolled down. Then he remembered Tuk's words. You're here, his daughter is here.

And he knew exactly where to check.

Jake moved from healer's tent to healer's tent. He knew that if you were hiding somewhere, it was somewhere in this area, the healing tents. He swiftly moved from tent to tent in search of your small frame. He eventually got to the biggest tent right in the middle, Mo'ats tent. He ripped the flap open and there you were, sleeping peacefully with the mask on your face to keep you alive. The skin under your eyes were stained with dried tears and a sob left his lips. "My baby.." he moved inside and closed to flap. He knew you didn't want to see him, especially if you woke up, but Lo'ak was right. He needed to try with all his might now, not with only his excuses and words, but also with his actions to show you that he cared for you, like a father. He quietly sat down next you, taking your small hand in his. You moved a bit in your sleep, making Jake tense in his movements, but then you stopped as you rolled a bit closer towards him, towards the warmth you felt. A genuine smile finally plastered his face, he felt at peace.

For now, he decided to enjoy this moment,

not knowing if it would be the last or not.

A/N: another update!! Hope you enjoyed!! And thank you so much for the followers, almost at 2k is a huge achievement! Tell me what you thought of this part. <3 now I'm gonna go ahead and work on my novella fr.

Taglist in the comments!!

#dad!jake sully #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad! jake sully #jake sully x human!reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully #neteyam x sister!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #sully family x reader #sully family #neteyam #neteyam x reader

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charliemwrites · 5 months

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Part 7 of Charmed Slasher Simon

CW for gore and violence. No smut (yet) this part was already long enough so I’m saving it for part 8

The carpets are drenched in blood, squish beneath Simon’s boots as he toes a lifeless arm out of the way. Headcount: 5 dead, 6 to go. And you for last.

You, wide eyed and paralyzed as you recognized the skull mask from nearly a year ago. Your manager had to drag you off. Simon’s going to cut his fingers off one by one for that.

Your coworkers are such easy prey. Hapless in the dark with a snowstorm raging outside. Huddling first for warmth and now from fear. You’re trying to gather everyone up; strength in numbers. Not a bad idea. But Simon’s faster and quieter and he’s been picking them off one by one.

The ones you’ve always liked he gives a quick death. A hot spill of blood before they even realize they’re dead. The others though - ones that have reported you to HR, badmouthed you to the boss, so much as stolen a pen. Those he’s been taking special care with, dooming them to long, slow deaths that you always stumble upon too late to do much more than cry and hold their hands.

Oh you’re so pretty like this. It really is the best of you. Too kind for your own good, all that altruism useless against a tidal wave of violence. He loves to watch you be so good.

It’s three more before he finds you again - separated from that manager. All on your own. Simon will have his guts for that as well, since he’s not using them.

He lunges at you, just slow enough that you can duck away as his knife thunks against the wall. Your eyes are so big; he can see the reflection of the mask in them.

You scramble away without looking back like the smart girl you are and Simon grins to himself as he takes his time following. There’s a yelp and then a thump, your quiet curse. Simon rounds the corner but you’re long gone - the smeared blood from you slipping though…

His cock twitches. You, covered in the blood of his victims, your own coworkers…

He rips the mask off and tucks the knife away as he hears voices up ahead. His name in a harsh whisper. He puts on the same terrified look he’s seen a million times, crouches down as he wobbles around the corner.

“Riley!”

You choke off a sob as you stumble to him, hands reaching. He catches you fast, eyes flicking over your shoulder to find Brandon trembling behind the couch.

“Where have you been?!” you murmur, eyes flicking over his face, his body. “oh, god you’re covered in blood!”

“‘S not mine, luv.”

You sniffle, shaking hands gripping at his forearms. “I-it’s awful. I don’t know why this is happening again.”

“It’ll be alright, I’ll keep you safe from him.”

You give him a half-hearted smile. Simon mirrors it, putting on his best survivor face.

“How do you know it’s a ‘he’?” Brandon asks.

Simon levels him a flat look. “Caught a glimpse of him gutting your manager. Big fucking bloke.”

You whimper; he’s all too happy to bundle you in his arms, stain you in crimson. From the other side of the couch, Brandon is staring. Hard.

“Where have you been?”

“Hiding. Like you.”

You pull away, frown at Brandon in confusion.

“Where?” Brandon persists.

Simon narrows his eyes in warning but the wormfood doesn’t take it back.

“Wherever I can,” Simon answers. “Like you.”

“Then why are you covered in so much blood?”

You step between them, as if you could do anything if they did start fighting.

“Brandon, what are you getting at?” You ask. “You don’t seriously think…?”

“Well where the hell did all that blood come from then?!”

Simon scoffs, puts a little hysteria in it. “You think I did all this?! You think I - that I-”

Except once he starts laughing in disbelief, he can’t stop. It’s just too funny. This idiot that can’t recognize something that doesn’t belong to him has Simon clocked in less than five cumulative minutes. Meanwhile, you’ve been orbiting around him like a little moon for months and haven’t had so much as an inkling.

“I can’t,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I can’t keep a straight face. Never was much of an actor.”

The blood is draining from your face as you stare at him, warring with denial burning in your eyes. He coos, slips the mask from his back pocket and waves it in front of your face.

“Been too long since we last did this, eh, luv? Better venue than the hospital at least.”

You whimper, too frightened to even cry properly, all that water and energy going into survival. He takes a single step forward and grins as you nearly trip over yourself getting away.

“Careful, luv. I want a proper chase from you this time.”

But first-

“If you stay right there and give her time to run, I might not flay off all your skin.”

And the fucking coward bolts. Simon tsks in disgust, pulls the mask over his face.

“Looks like you didn’t learn the lesson last time,” he muses to you. “Your friends haven’t got any better. I’ll have to find another way to make the lesson stick.”

You pivot and dart around the couch, sprinting for the same doorway Brandon went through. Simon merrily follows, hopping the couch and letting his boots land hard to warn you that he’s right behind you.

You take sharp corners and double back, thinking that his larger size will make it harder to change directions. It would be smart in any other situation, against anyone else. But this is Simon, and he’s letting you stay just out of reach. Only tugging at your clothes when it seems like you need an extra boost.

As you’re passing through a doorway, there’s an ominous creak. A huge grandfather clock that nearly slams into Simon. You don’t dare look back, taking the next corner and disappearing.

Simon looks up at the landing where the clock used to stand. Brandon is leaning over the railing, white knuckled and despairing. Simon cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders.

“Alright then.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #charmed slasher ghost #final girl reader

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wilteddreamsofbaldursgate · 3 months

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New dad Astarion who is about to see his newborn child for the first time.

Of course, he expects his child to be the personification of serene beauty and divine grace. Them to have their father’s silken silvern locks, his immaculately chiselled features—the artwork perfected by Tav’s wonderful watercolour eyes…

And then he actually sees the child and—well—everybody assures him that, yes, Astarion, all babies look like that barely a half hour after birth…

He kind of has to take that at face value because he hasn’t seen an awful lot of newborns in his lifetime.

But it would’ve been nice if someone had told him that newborns happen to look like shrivelled potatoes, because he’s really, really trying to not let his bewilderment show.

Astarion swallows.

Tav’s beautiful eyes are watching him, waiting for a reaction—an enthusiastic one, no less.

Maybe Tav will believe that he’s overcome with emotions at seeing his firstborn child?

“Oh my, darling, I’m…speechless,” is all he can choke out, though, being rather proud that it’s at least not a lie.

To his luck, Tav only nods dreamily, her full attention back on the odd little bundle in her arms.

“Isn’t she perfect?”

Yes, perfectly hideous.

Astarion only hums in a way of reply.

That—his daughter, he supposes—is with no doubt one of the ugliest things he’s ever seen, but he has a feeling that his honesty wouldn’t be appreciated after Tav laboured for hours to give birth to this…potato-baby.

“Come, hold her, Astarion,” Tav says, then, bidding him to sit next to her on the bed.

The mattress shifts under Astarion’s weight and he obediently holds his arms out so that Tav can gently place the sleeping child against his chest.

Now that Astarion can take a better look, he can confirm that his daughter’s hair is of an indefinable colour and that her features are neither his nor Tav’s, plain as can be. Surely it won’t stay like that?

He and Tav are so ridiculously beautiful, their child can only be drop-dead gorgeous, right?

Astarion’s stomach drops indeed when, suddenly, something occurs to him.

Oh dear, what if it’s his fault? He has no recollection of his family whatsoever; it’s very much possible that he and his immaculate looks are the exception in his lineage, and that he’s passed on only those mysterious less-than-perfect genes…Tav, as per usual, can’t be the issue!

Astarion is still catastrophizing when the bundle in his arms begins to stir.

All of a sudden, gold-speckled pale green eyes are looking up at him as if to ask what the fuck this weirdo’s problem might be.

“Oh,” the weirdo in question exclaims at once. “Darling, look, she has your eyes!”

Tav, hugging him from behind, rests her chin on his shoulder, so she can watch as Astarion’s finger tenderly strokes their baby’s chubby cheek.

Their daughter also has, as it turns out, ten fingers and toes, a cute little nose and a hungry mouth—everything that’s supposed to be there is there, and it seems to be working fine, too—which is a huge relief.

And aren’t those the tiniest pointy ears Astarion has ever seen? Let alone the unexpectedly strong fingers grasping at his!

Astarion, worries forgotten in a heartbeat, can’t help but smile at the baby in his arms.

She is perfect, after all.

Tav, face hidden in the crook of his neck, begins to tremble against his back.

For a second, Astarion thinks she’s crying but then her laughter fills the chamber. It takes her a good moment to articulate whatever it is she finds so very funny.

“She'll grow out of it, you know?” Tav giggles in between her fits of laughter.

Astarion stiffens. “Of what?”

“The turnip look. That’s what you’ve been worrying about the whole time, haven't you?”

“I was leaning more towards potatoes—but yes, I might’ve been a little worried about that,” Astarion admits sheepishly, although a grin is already tugging at his lips.

Regaining her composure, Tav reaches over Astarion’s shoulder, her hand joining his as they get to know their child.

“Give it a couple of days and she will look like your proper little elf—beautiful just like her father.”

A content sigh leaves Astarion’s lips, right before he presses them against Tav’s temple.

“That’s the second best news I’ve heard today, my heart, truly.”

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #dadstarion #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #astarion x f!tav #baldur's gate astarion #astarion ancunin #to the best worst dad #astarion father of the year every year #Inspired by Howl from Howl's Moving Castle or rather Castle in the Air #where his first words upon seeing his newborn son are “My word he's ugly!”—truly an inspirational man!#my grandma said for legal reasons i'm not allowed to call any babies ugly so these are astarion's words not mine #just so we're on the same page #emicha writes

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sophiethewitch1 · 3 months

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What We Want - Chpt. 4 - Nightmares Too

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“You wanna get out from under there?”

What sort of question is that? Of course, you don’t. You’re going to live here now. You’re never leaving this tiny, cramped space till you rot away and die. The stained underside of some IKEA desk was your new home.

Well, since your actual home was seeming less and less like an option. Which kinda sucks, because you’re feeling surprisingly possessive of your stuff. You don’t want fancy dresses or bubbly champagne, you want your ratty couch and the neighbour’s cat that liked to visit in the middle of the night. Your mother was right, you were the type of person to never be happy no matter what. You could appreciate the food, though.

Shaking, trembling, knees clutched to your chest, you look up. Slowly, because you’ll probably piss yourself if you don’t.

Now that you weren’t holding his hand, the vigilante known as Red Hood was much, much scarier. He was sitting on the carpeted floor with you, but he still somehow looked incredibly menacing. You preferred his old look, honestly. The helmet had less ‘grim reaper’ vibes. The hood and metal face mask made him seem like a cyborg assassin, or something equally terrifying. He was terrifying.

Still, you could appreciate the insane sort of hilarity of this situation. The notorious crime fighter and crime committer was sitting here with you, crossed legs, twiddling his thumbs away. You press your face into your hands, laugh, and then scream. The sound is muffled, but he probably still hears the exciting new phase of your breakdown.

“Don’t…” your voice cuts off, you have to think before you can manage to speak again, “Don’t you have something better to be doing?”

His giant shoulders shrug.

“I’ve got time.”

Did he? You don’t know how long you’d been up here, how long you’d been sitting here either. You’d fallen asleep, despite your desperate fight not to, so it could be anywhere between 10 to the next day. Had you missed midnight? God, you hoped not.

That stupid little ritual is what convinces you to leave. Not common sense, not the Hood, not your desperate desire to get home and sleep. No, it’s the image of your mother’s tired smile, the city in the background as you wish her another happy birthday after a long day of work. It’s a memory you’re not willing to give up, even if you technically already made your wish.

You’d lived this awful day twice. You got to blow out your candles twice, too.

Slowly, surely, you climb out from under the desk. Red Hood is quiet, careful. He doesn’t move apart from a subtle shift in his hood, suggesting he’s watching you. He’s acting like you’re a wild animal or something, like he might scare you off, or might prompt you to attack.

If he tries anything, you will. It doesn’t matter that he could snap your neck like a twig. Maybe he’s right to act that way, you’re feeling pretty feral right now. Half giving him your back, you turn the monitor for the computer on. It’s Wayne property, so you think you technically have some right to it. It’s not like you’re going to hack it or anything, you just need it to-

11:48.

“Thank god,” you sigh, relieved. Still, you’re not out of the woods yet. You needed at least a lighter, hopefully, a candle and a desert of some kind too. There were lots of cakes downstairs, if you felt you could do it. Big ‘if’ there. The mental breakdown was still well underway. And not everyone could dodge a punch like Red Hood could. Knowing you, you’d probably get sued for millions if you accidentally snapped at some poor rando.

Let’s start small. You wrench open the office’s drawer and start rooting around. You find lots of things, a Wayne Enterprises-themed stress toy, a kid’s drawing of them and their parent holding hands, and a surprising amount of hand cream, but no lighter. You slam the drawer closed and move to the next one.

“Hey, what are you doing?” his voice rumbles out, and your head snaps around.

You look down. Right. This is probably illegal. You were rooting through someone else’s private property. Of course, it wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this, but it was definitely the first time you’d done it in plain view of a vigilante.

Crap. You hadn’t thought. That was your entire night, summarised.

“Uh, this is… Do you have a lighter?” you ask, wincing. You don’t really like the mask he’s wearing. Apart from being so intimidating, you’re shaking like a wet chihuahua, it’s also impossible to tell what he’s thinking through it. The domino mask, the metal face mask and the voice changer completely hid any emotion. Full coverage and all.

The helmet probably would’ve made that even harder. You’d still prefer it. This guy's creepy.

“You smoke?” he responds, slowly but surely getting to his feet. You back up quickly, pressing yourself to the wall of the cubicle. Red Hood pauses and then moves even slower. He’s careful not to frighten you any more than already.

This was all really strange. One of the strangest things that had ever happened to you. And you might’ve woken up this morning in an alternate dimension. Or something, you had zero clue what was going on. God, you really wished you’d paid more attention in science class. You’d thought Mr Gregory was crazy, but he’d gotten the last laugh.

“I don’t,” you clench your sweaty fists tight, “Maybe I should.”

“Don’t get started, it’s impossible to stop,” Red Hood says, digging into his pocket for something. You freeze, but relax again when he hands you a scuffed metal lighter.

Holding it close to your chest, you whisper a thank you to him. He nods his head in acknowledgement.

This was really weird. You couldn’t say it enough.

“I hate you,” you state because you sort of have to. Even when he’s being nice to you, helping you. It’s an obligation. You have to make sure that despite the show of good faith he was offering, you were certainly feeling no such thing.

“I figured,” he replies, which like- What the fuck? Does this make absolutely zero sense to anybody else? You’re not sure what about your panic-stricken tears and desperate hand-holding made you seem hateful, but you could work with it.

Maybe all the feelings you push down are starting to show. You ignore how worried that makes you because you’ve had enough for today. Today was more than e-fucking-nough.

You were going to find a cake and a candle, and you were going to make your wish. Again, because life sucks. You were going to finish this horrible day again because life sucks. And hopefully, you’d wake up tomorrow… tomorrow, not today.

You weren’t sure if you would. Life sucks, right?

You look the Red Hood in his creepy glowing red eyes and say, “I think I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

There’s quiet between you two for a moment. You think he’s staring at you, trying to figure you out. He knows you hate him, but you’re… well, you’re too tired to be angry right now. You just want to go to sleep. You just want this damn day to end. Tomorrow you’d go back to hating all the vigilantes of Gotham with a fiery passion, but today…

Well, you wouldn’t call it peaceful, whatever this situation is. Maybe it’s understanding. He seems understanding, for some reason. You don’t really want to think about that.

You just wanted to hate him. It was easier that way. Then you didn’t have to hate yourself so much.

“I’m going to go find some cake and a candle. It’s my birthday and I haven’t made a wish.”

Red Hood nods, “I could eat.”

That wasn’t an invitation, but whatever. Guess you’re blowing out your candles for your twenty-first with… this guy. Better than yesterday, which was with nobody but yourself and your trashy TV. Or, well, the first today.

You really think you are losing your mind. Whatever, whatever, let’s worry about it later.

After one of the most awkward and uncomfortable elevator rides of your life, squished into a corner as Red Hood took up the lion’s share of space, you find yourself back on the first floor. It’s chaos. The gorgeously decorated gala is now in rubble, and people are rushing around with the sort of fear you’d expect after the fucking Joker showed up.

He wasn’t here, which was good. It was important to focus on the good.

First responders flit around the space, checking the people who seem worse for wear and the rich bastards who think they’re more important than the service workers who are cut or bruised. All the food tables have been knocked over, the waste of it making you upset. Of course the Joker wastes food, he’s gotta be the evilest man on earth or something. It’s not just the interior that’s been destroyed, either. The giant gothic windows have been shattered inward, and broken glass covers the entire floor space. Red and blue lights flash through the gaping holes, bits of glass still attached to the stone sending it cascading across the walls.

You look down. You’re missing your shoes.

“You can’t walk on that,” Big Red says, which like, duh.

“I know that,” you mutter, looking around for another way. Ah, good, there’s a staff entrance over there, which you think probably leads to the kitchen-

“I could carry you.”

You give him a disturbed look and he shrugs. Pointing to the ‘staff only’ door, you wish you had the strength to tell the guy to fuck off. He feels like a babysitter or something.

“I’m going in there.” ‘Please don’t follow me.’

He follows you, because of course, he does.

Lucky for you, the staff entrance leads straight to the kitchen. Even luckier, there’s absolutely nobody here to witness you lose your mind. There are also lots of dishes waiting to be served, already plated and perfect. This is a professional kitchen, but it was your birthday so you have to assume they’d have had candles or a cake prepared.

You walk through the giant kitchen, and Red Hood hangs back. He leans against the doorway, crossing his tree-tunk-esque arms and glowering. Nowhere can do a scary hero like Gotham can. He was really messing with your vibe, which wasn’t all that great in the first place.

Your eyes rove over the platters, head snapping back when you spot a tiny set of confectionaries at the back. Cupcakes, three in total. They don’t match the rest of the other high-quality foods, but you know they’re the ones you want anyway. You hope this didn’t belong to someone else, and promise to pay them back… somehow. You’d write a note or something, leave your number behind.

You were rich now. You’d have preferred the lottery instead of all this. What’s the saying, ‘beggars can’t be choosers?’ You’d certainly been begging.

It’s a struggle to reach the back of the counter without knocking any of the other food. You grab the plate, lift it up and over, and then set it back down on an empty stretch of countertop.

You look over the three cupcakes, trying to pick one. There’s one that’s a dark raspberry pink. A pink that’s a little too dark, actually. Almost… reddish. You glance over your shoulder at the devil lurking behind you, wince, and decide you’re going for the blue cupcake. You think this might’ve also been one of Sam’s favourite colours. It would’ve been at some point, at least.

Now, candles. This might be the hard part, but it’s the most important one. Again you start rooting through some stranger’s property, and Red Hood just watches silently. It’s weird. This whole situation is weird. You’re tired and confused and you’re half convinced you’re dreaming it all, but… but you’re definitely starting to think this might be real.

And that’s fucking scary. So, back to candle hunting. They had to have some, it was your birthday. Maybe, you were pretty sure. Somehow the worst day of the year had happened twice because God knows you had some shit luck. You’d really like some solid answers, instead of just ‘maybe!’. And for some reason, you really didn’t think you’d be getting them anytime soon.

Ah, shoot. You found your candle. It’s one of those giant ‘Happy Birthday’ cake toppers, all loopy and connected words. Your cupcake is way too small, and your candle is way too big. Well, you’re nothing if not resourceful. When you bend the candle, the wax snaps easily under your grip. You’re left with a capital ‘H’ and under that the ‘B’ and little ‘i’ and ‘r’ from the beginning of birthday. Good enough, you suppose.

You stick the crumbly, glittery monstrosity on top of the stolen cupcake, and swipe the lighter again. The letters sag to the side, and you nudge them back into balance.

You glance down at the ovens, reading the bright neon numbers. 11:57.

You wait, flicking the lighter open and closed. The metallic click, the rhythm of the movement, it settles you a bit.

“Why are you waiting?” Red Hood pipes up, breaking that comfortable silence. At least he doesn’t come any closer, still lingering half in the room, half not.

“It has to be midnight,” you answer, wishing him away. This is your thing. You didn’t want anybody here for it, didn’t want anybody else’s presence tainting this piece of your mother’s memory. You were greedy for it, not eager to share.

You were sharing today. There’s a part of you that wants to scream and rant at the man who for some unknown reason simply will not leave, but you imagine your mother’s frowning face, and you can’t do it. She’s the angel on your shoulder (nagging, nagging, nagging) compared to your usual devil-inclined self. She was always insisting you needed to be a better host, be nicer to people. Maybe make more friends. And after she’d gone, you’d tried, you really, really had.

But Red Hood was an altogether different matter. Everything they were, everything they represented, was an altogether different matter.

You were obsessed with the Waynes. And in a different, more bitter, spiteful, malicious way, you were obsessed with the Bats, too.

You weren’t going to be friends with Red Hood. You hated him, despised him. Mum always said you needed to get better at forgiving people. You disagreed, but just… maybe just for today, you wouldn’t make him leave.

You could glare at him, though. You felt that was fair enough. He ignores your narrowed eyes like a seasoned professional. Bet he’s had a lot of people hate him. Bet he deserves it.

“It’s 11:59,” he tells you, and you stop glaring at him to light the candle.

The light is weak, barely able to touch you. Still, it’s strong enough to get rid of those tiny glimpses of red and blue police lights, to keep away the darkness for just long enough. You sigh into the light, absorbing it into yourself. You’d always thought the world was too dark, and you hated winter when you’d lose the sun. So like you had to hate the dark, you had to love this light. This tiny little candle, burning away.

“What’re you gonna wish for?”

You stare at the flickering flame. It twitches back and forth. Casts light into the kitchen. Mesmerises you. It’s barely alive, and you’re about to put it out before it can even start. It could’ve been some great fire, some city-destroying blaze. And you’re going to kill it. Kill it before it can kill you, can kill everyone here. Kill it before it could have ever hoped to live, to thrive.

Just a baby. Just a little, little baby.

It doesn’t deserve it. That never seems to matter. It never mattered before.

“The Joker to die.”

You exhale, blowing the light out and sending the kitchen into darkness. When you manage to find the light switch and turn it on, the room is empty. It’s just you, your cake, and your tears. Your hands clench, and then you realise you’re still holding it.

You still have the Red Hood’s lighter. He left without it.

Well, finder’s keepers, right?

You’re shaking in the back of the ambulance, the blanket wrapped around your shoulders not enough to keep out the Gotham night’s chill. You don’t really remember how you got here, to be honest. Everything’s pretty goddamn blurry. You were talking to a vigilante, a red one. Not down here, staring up at the Wayne Tower. You remember his face in the shifting candlelight. Did you blow out your candles with him? That was a fucking crazy thought.

And now the Bruce Wayne has a hand on your shoulder. You don’t remember when he arrived. He’s talking with the paramedic, chatting over the top of your head. There words are going in one ear and out the other, it’s alien for as much as you can understand. You want to shake his hand off, you don’t want anyone touching you right now. Especially not a stranger.

Even if it was a guy you had owned a fan Twitter for. Those were the darkest days of your past. Even more so than the time you’d totally thought about jumping in front of the Gotham subway. You’d only not done it because you’d have felt bad for wasting other commuters' time. What were you doing? Ah, right.

In the end, you don’t shove him off, because you don’t know if you can move other than blink. Even that’s against your will. Your eyelashes are fluttering randomly, eyes flicking around the interior of the ambulance. You’re barely conscious. And you doubt you’ll remember any of this later, either. You can feel the memories slipping away, the drain at the back of your mind sucking up the fear and bad thoughts and leaving you blank and empty. Numb, safe, but numb.

The paramedic’s mouth moves. You don’t think she’s talking to you, which is good. You can’t hear her over the ringing in your ears. She does some final checks, and then she’s off to the next person.

The two of you are left to silence, to watch the rest of the world in its chaos. You feel like there’s a barrier, a pane of glass, between you and the other people here. Like your TV screen, really. The paramedic goes to a woman and her son. The woman seems fine, but the son has a long gash on his arm. She’s screaming, he’s crying, and the paramedic is handling it all with calm professionalism. You wanted to start screaming too.

You glance at a man in a suit yelling at another first responder, spittle flying into the air with his rage. You think he’s one of the ones you saw earlier in the ballroom. His suit is still perfect, and he doesn’t have a speck of blood on him. Even his hair is still perfectly brushed and coiled.

You looked like a drowned rat in comparison.

“…Are you alright?” The question breaks the silence, and you slowly turn to look up at Bruce.

Well, that’s the dumbest question you’ve ever heard. You thought Bruce Wayne was supposed to be brilliant. Maybe he’s just feeling bad because of the new trauma he’s gifted you tonight? It wasn’t his fault. As most of your mental health issues stemmed from, it was the Joker’s fault.

“No,” you answer, and he nods stiffly. Great chat.

He huffs out a sound of frustration, lifting the hand on your shoulder. Immediately, some of the tension in you seeps out. You hope he doesn’t notice. You think he probably does.

Someone calls out your name. Your head turns to the crowd. They call out your name again, this time closer, and you call back. You’re sort of surprised when a crying Jeanine pushes out of the throng of people. She’s a mess, her hair out of her pristine bun, her suit missing its jacket, and her glasses cracked. Seems she didn’t have a very nice time either.

You look down. She’s also missing her shoes. It’d be kind of gross, walking around on Gotham’s streets barefoot, if you could manage to give a shit. You’re still restarting, however, and all energy is going towards not crying again. You’re failing. Awfully bad, at that.

Whatever. Gotta try.

Panting, Jeanine places her hands on her knees, “I’m so, so sorry.”

It takes a moment for you to load the words through your Windows XP brain, but when you do, you’re more confused than you were a second ago.

“What? Why are you sorry?” you say, for a second imagining Jeanine as one of the people that attacked you.

“Because you wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t… hadn’t forced you to come…” Jeanine’s voice trails off, a look of horror on her face. Ah, she’s noticed Bruce. Apparently, she’s quite afraid of the man. You feel a sense of camaraderie towards the woman. God knows how many times you’d worn the exact same expression talking to one of your own bosses.

And then, well, then you usually got fired. It’s not looking good for her.

“Mister Wayne! I didn’t see you there, apologies!” she says, straightening her shoulders.

“Jeanine, it’s good to see you. Are you well, have you checked with the paramedics yet?”

“I have, Sir. Thank you for worrying about me,” Jeanine answers, with a healthy dose of hero-worship in her voice. You can’t judge, you’d be staring all starry-eyed at Bruce if you weren’t falling asleep where you sat. Apparently, traumatic experiences make you sleep. Who would’ve thought?

Like you hadn’t experienced this scenario a thousand times before. First time with fucking Bruce Wayne standing right next to you, though.

“Of course, I would. You’re one of my people,” he says, giving her a warm smile. Jeanine physically sags with relief at his words, because it sounds like she’s probably not getting fired tonight.

Bruce gets a notification on his phone, hums, and then slides it back into his pant pocket.

“Jeanine, we’re going back together to the manor tonight,” Bruce continues. Also, you were? Nobody mentioned that to you, and certainly nobody asked you about it. Well, fuck what you want, right? Who cares if you desperately want your cramped apartment in the Narrows, you’re getting shipped off to the fucking Wayne Manor of all places.

You just go along with it. Just go along with it. Wayne Manor probably has lots of nice, plush beds, and you’d kill for a pillow and some ambient rain sounds right now.

Bruce looks off to the side, where Tim is on the phone. They make eye contact, Bruce nods, and then turns back to the two of you.

“I’ll be right back. You two stay here, do not go anywhere,” he commands, king of the castle.

There’s quiet between the two of you. Jeanine squirms under your gaze, obviously guilty. You think back over her words, and then you groan.

“Jeanine. Jeanine, did I not have to go to this fucking party?”

Jeanine is quiet. She’s too fucking quiet.

“Jeanine?” your voice is shaky, and you have to bite the inside of your lip to force yourself not to tear up again. It was getting kind of embarrassing, honestly. You did not cry this much. Usually. This was not a usual day, of course. You’d been Ground Hog Day-ed into another reality… you think.

“No, Ma’am, you didn’t need to go. You’re… you used to be a Wayne, and even if you’ve parted from the name, you still have the power that comes with that. You did not have to come tonight,” she says, sounding remorseful and afraid. And maybe she should be.

If you had as much power as she said, you could probably fire her. You press your hands into your face.

“I thought you said you’d quit if I didn’t go,” you grind out, digging your fingers into your eyes, clawing into your already ruined makeup.

“I was lying, Ma’am. As I always do. I’m sorry,” she apologises. None of this makes any sense, and neither does she. Why would she lie? Why is this normal? What is the new normal, and how are you supposed to hide if you don’t know how to blend in?

You realise that you’re falling into old habits instinctively. That maybe you should say something about all this, or at least that you have some weird form of amnesia. You don’t, though. You’re scared, you’re far too scared.

“Well how- I thought you were serious this time!” you cry out, stuttering over your own lies, flinging your hands from your face. Jeanine winces at you. It’s probably the dried mascara running down your face in black rivulets, making you look like an odd mix between a raccoon and a banshee.

You’d seen your reflection in the ambulance’s side mirror. It had almost been as scary as the Joker’s goons. Almost.

“…Please, please don’t fire me,” she begs, her hands clasped tight in front of her.

You realise you probably should for an admittance like that. This was too complicated, this woman and her non-existent relationship with you was far too complicated. You also realise that whoever ran this stupid body before was very used to Jeanine’s baseless threats, and it wouldn’t be at all fair to her. And she seems quite desperate for this job. Which really doesn’t make much sense, because she seems quite important, and she’s working for you, someone else who seems quite important.

God if you fucking knew. You were quickly discovering you didn’t know shit.

“I won’t, just… just don’t say anything about this to anyone, okay? I’m…” you sigh, uncertain what to do, what to say, “I’m having a hard time.”

“Thank you, thank you so, so, so much. I’ll pay you back, I won’t do it again, I’ll do whatever you ask me to-”

“That’s enough, please. I just… I’d like some quiet,” you cut her off, closing your eyes and shuffling back in the ambulance. You cut yourself off from the rest of the world, hide your head behind your knees, and try to ignore the flashing lights and yelling voices. The ambulance shifts weight slightly as Jeanine sits beside you. She’s not too close to feel uncomfortable, just toeing the line.

Bruce comes back, looking over the two of you. He seems sombre, but you’re not sure why. Is it the entire night? Did something bad happen again? Is it just how miserable the two of you look? You don’t care enough to ask.

You just don’t care.

You tune out of their conversation again, even knowing it might be important. When Jeanine leaves, and Bruce invites you to a black car, you follow silently. He opens the door, and after a moment’s hesitation, you follow him in.

He knocks on the panel separating the two of you from whoever’s driving the car, and like a well-oiled machine, the car pulls out of the traffic and the paparazzi and out onto the street. Must be nice. You bet Jeanine is going to have to walk home.

Ah, wait, you’re one of them now. You’re one of those ‘must be nice’ types. Weird. You kept forgetting, somehow. Even with Gotham’s prince sitting next to you. Weird.

“I want you to stay at the manor for the night,” Bruce says, and you nod, barely listening. You’re barely conscious, far too tired to understand the implications of the words he was saying. If there were any, like you said, you couldn’t tell.

You’re watching the city go by, the light streaming past in a blur of colours. You rest your head in your hand, your elbow on the armrest. Even with you pressing your face to the glass, you can’t see the sky. The buildings stretch too high. And even if you could, it wasn’t like you’d see anything aside from some late-night flights. The Gotham light pollution and the smoke-filled sky would see to that.

Bruce doesn’t say anything else after that. You’re grateful for the quiet.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and maybe in some act of self-harm, try to remember what happened tonight. Try to pick through your thoughts, and understand whatever happened. That man… that horrible man. He disappeared into thin air. Gone, just gone.

And your world had changed. You’d gotten richer, more powerful. And yet, and yet… you knew this feeling. You knew this weakness. You knew what it meant when you looked in the mirror and you saw something barely alive.

You knew what grief looked like.

You want to rip out your own hair and chew off your own skin. It didn’t make any sense, and you felt crazier and crazier by the second. And none of it made sense, and yet, you had the worst feeling. An omen, a dark cloud. Something worse than the Joker, something that made even less sense.

Even in this life, were you alone? That wasn’t fair. That didn’t make any sense. That didn’t make any sense at all.

Your voice is quiet in the car. Her voice is quiet in the car.

“Do you know where my Mum is?” a little girl asks the big, strong man, her tiny body dwarfed by the black leather of the car. She’s out of place, out of time. She doesn’t fit here.

She doesn’t think she ever has.

The big, strong man, the hero, stays silent, his face hidden by the darkness. The little girl sobs, cries, wails. She wants her mum back. She wants her family back. And now, she wants her life back.

All have been stolen from her.

Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was dead. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were dead. Maybe this was another world, and both you and her now have to navigate another lonely place. At least you’d do it together, hand in hand.

It didn’t matter. You knew where you needed to be.

“I want to see it.”

You need to see it. You grasp desperately at Bruce’s arm, nails digging into his expensive and ruined suit. Begging him, pleading him.

He says something. You think it’s a ‘what?’

“I want to see their graves. I want to see my mother’s grave.”

Bruce’s face darkens, and you’re too tired, too exhausted to tell what emotion flits across it. You wonder if it’s the same desperation you feel. But it confirms it. They’re dead. They’re still dead. Despite everything, despite the entire world changing for you, the most important part had been forgotten.

They were still dead. And you were still here. Alone.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, but for tonight, you need to rest,” he promises you, and your hand releases. You watch your palm hang limply in your lap, and for a second, it doesn’t seem like your hand. Bruce starts speaking again, this apologetic, pitying tone. You can’t stand it. You can’t stand it one bit.

And in the rudest, most cowardly thing you’ve ever done, you cover your ears like a child.

The rest of the car ride passes in a blur of colour and sound. You’re in Gotham, driving away from the Tower, you’re at the edges of town, passing over one of the bridges, you’re driving through New Jersey’s countryside, passing green fields and old buildings. You go by the iron-wrought gates of Wayne Manor, up the alley’s winding entryway, and finally, the car rolls to a stop in front of the stairs.

To Mr. Wayne’s credit, he doesn’t open the fucking door for you again. You get to stumble your way out on your own two stubborn legs, swaying drunkenly, sickly. He waits for you at the stairs, and you ignore the arm he offers you. He’s just as blindingly irritating as his son.

Didn’t you like these people? You would again in the morning, you just needed your hate. It was the only thing keeping you going at this point. Pure rage was fueling you as you climbed those steps. You’re panting, but you don’t really know why. They’re not that tall.

You feel weak. You feel so, so weak. And you hate it. You’d worked so hard to be free of it, even when you longed for it like a toxic ex-lover, you’d pushed it away. And now it had it’s fangs wrapped around you again, and again, you’d have to climb out of hell.

Today, it was more literal. Tomorrow? God fucking knows. People were literally vanishing from thin air, Pete’s sake. You’ll try, of course. But god fucking knows.

A butler opens the door, and Bruce enters. Once you follow in, the butler closes the door behind him. This time, you really do try to hear what they say. It’s impossible. You concentrate, but all you get for your hard work is a headache. Tomorrow, you’ll try again tomorrow.

The butler rushes off, something important and butler-y to be done. You really didn’t know what butlers did. You couldn’t imagine what their jobs were other than cleaning and cooking. Accounting? Did butlers do accounting?

“I need to handle some things. Will you be able to find your old room alright?” Bruce asks, interrupting your increasingly inane thoughts.

You blink, at him stupidly. Because you were stupid. You had a brand to keep.

“Yes,” you lie. You don’t really know why you do. Some odd mix of self-protective instincts, exhaustion-induced delirium, and also a deep desire to be alone. You really, really wanted to be fucking alone.

“Goodnight then,” Bruce says, he pauses like he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t. He’s done that twice now, you think. Maybe he just doesn’t think you’re worth the effort. He’d be right.

You watch his back as he strides off into the darkness of the manor, leaving you shivering in the empty foyer. Your expensive ballgown is tattered, grimy, and worst of all, bloody. You want to get out of it. And then you want to sleep.

The click of his dress shoes fades, and you’re left wondering what the fuck you’re going to do next. Could you just start storming into random empty rooms? Where would you find any clothes? You were not going to sleep in this dress, no way.

So, you start up the grand staircase and start storming into random empty rooms. You find studies, bathrooms, and bedrooms. None that seem like anyone lives in them, of course. They feel like fancy hotel stays, the type you see online and sigh about.

The house, no, the manor, is quiet. Empty. It feels haunted, honestly. It probably was, a building this old and important. And it wasn’t like you didn’t know about Martha and Thomas Wayne. You didn’t think any Gotham native didn’t know about them, about the tragedy that had struck them.

It made Bruce seem like someone real, someone like you. Because if even the billionaires could get shot in alleys in Gotham City, it made more sense when the poor folks died. Like you were all human like God didn’t play favourites.

But, let’s be honest, you’d prefer to be an orphan in a mansion than the Narrows. Bruce Wayne had time to heal after what happened to him, for you it was from the frying pan to the fire.

The orphanage you’d been in for two years before you’d turned eighteen and been kicked out had had a very strict hierarchy. Probably still did, you never went back to check. It was technically a foster home, but the ancient sign beside the front door spoke differently. ‘Gotham Orphanage - Founded by Alan Wayne 1878’, the mark of the Waynes even found there. You used to touch the sign every time you went past it like it was some odd good luck charm. You still owe that sign your first successful job interview. Like you didn’t touch the copper plate every damn day, including every day you’d failed another interview.

And, well, it was Gotham. It wasn’t a good place. It had long been cemented in your mind that those theories that Gotham was cursed were true. That there wasn’t any other explanation.

You pause in your musings when you find a room that actually looks like it might be lived in. A long time ago, you think, from the dust covering the shelves. When you check the closet, you find men’s clothes, also untouched. You hope whoever lives here doesn’t care if you steal their shit, because you certainly don’t. Oh wow, this bathroom is gorgeous. The tub is gigantic, easily able to fit a group of at least six, maybe more. Still, you want to go to sleep more than you want a nice soak, so you go for a quick shower where you get rid of all… all the blood.

You watch the red run down the drain and are brought back to much simpler times.

Even as one of the older kids, you were still new blood. You hadn’t made any friends when you tried to defend the younger, weaker kids, either. The foster ‘parents’ who didn’t let you call them anything other than Mrs and Mr Hemming didn’t care about any abuse that happened under the house, as long as it wasn’t visible. You’d done this ritual before, but it actually had been your blood. It hadn’t hurt as much as this did, for some unknowable reason.

You weren’t a fighter. The very few punches you did take, you never hit back. Not like you had tonight. You’d been terrified the Hemmings would kick you out, stop feeding you. Still, you never moved, either. Never let the others take their anger out on the younger kids. You couldn’t do it. And now, looking back on it, your fear of the Hemmings retaliating was stupid. They’d needed the funds the foster caring gave them, and they were always trying to take in more and more kids.

They were empty threats. You were a terrified child. The what-ifs didn’t really matter anymore.

And maybe you were a bleeding heart type, like the other kids had said. Maybe you were gullible, naive, and a pushover. Like you hadn’t been through all the bullshit everyone else had. Like you being nice and hopeful and all those things that got you picked on weren’t all deliberate choices. One day, all the anger and rage you had would bubble over. It would destroy you and your life in a catastrophe, not unlike the one that took your family.

You’d already pushed it down so many times. Waking up today, in a different, unfamiliar world, had probably just made it worse. As always, you ignore it. It’s not worth worrying about.

Getting out of the shower, you do a very lazy towel off and then grab that mystery man’s clothes. They’re mostly dress suits, but you find a few old T-shirts. It hangs off you like a curtain, but it’s warm and it smells nice. Minty and earthy and… oddly free. Bouncy, alive, but still calming and relaxing. It’s a nice counter to the corpse vibes you’re rocking right now, which is decidedly un-alive and un-calm.

You wonder what it would’ve been like to mourn in safety. Where you didn’t have to worry if someone would steal your portion of food or the few funds you could hide in the garden. Where the glares of others didn’t constantly dig into your skin, reminding you that you weren’t wanted there. That you never would be.

That was alright. The place had stunk of mould and rat shit anyway. And maybe you had in this life. It didn't look like you were doing much better, anyway. No, this version of you somehow looked worse. You didn't know how it was possible, and then you remind yourself that none of this is possible, and you really ought to let go of that word.

Still, you lived in Gotham. You would always live in Gotham. You couldn’t leave, it was your home. It was a part of you, like every other sorry idiot who still lived here. School shootings, bomb threats, the city’s regular ol’ disasters. Even if you had been put in a good foster home, even if you had lived... here, you doubted your life would’ve been that much better. Of course, you were still bitter about it. Couldn’t the world just take a little bit off your plate? Maybe it was now, maybe this was the universe's way of saying sorry. A fancy, but empty house, with a still dead family. Maybe you were a little too greedy, a little too jealous.

You slide the duvet covers to the side, untucking them just like you do whenever you do stay in a crappy motel. When all the sides are thoroughly untucked, you slide underneath the covers. When your face lands on the pillow, you sigh in relief. Despite all the bullshit you’d suffered tonight, you had silk pillows, and this phone had youtube premium, so you could listen to rain sounds on it.

Safe. Sort of. Happy. Sort of. Alive. Sort of.

You told yourself it could be worse. And it could’ve been, so you kept on. Today, even after the night you’d had, you tell yourself it could be worse, again. At least the goon didn’t capture you, at least you didn’t actually see the Joker, at least you had a safe bed for the night, at least…

At least the Batman didn’t rescue you. You know it’s silly, but you can’t help but think it.

You hated him almost as much as the Joker, which was saying something since you regularly daydreamed about ripping that man limb from limb. Because the Bat refused to do anything about the supervillain, to finally put the mad dog down, you would always hate him. There wasn’t any other option. You sort of hated his entire entourage. Even Red Hood a bit, since even if they constantly fought, it was obvious both of them held back when dealing with each other. Still, you hated Red Hood and Robin a little less, after tonight. You kind of owed it to them.

You didn’t want to. You wanted to hate them and keep hating them till you died. It was one of your little things, the little things you couldn’t let go of. The little things that hinted at your less-than-perfect sanity. You felt that if you ever forgot what they’d done, what they kept doing every day, that you’d be disrespecting your family, forgetting some part of them. Some part of their memory, which you greedily hoarded away. Not a single precious recollection was to be lost, not ever.

You weren’t allowed to move on. Weren’t supposed to. Sometimes the many little rules you’d made for yourself felt like they were going to eat you alive. A swarm devouring its master. Swallowing you down bit by bit. Up and up, eating all the parts of you pushed down.

You wrap the blanket tighter around you, closing your eyes tight. Like if you tuck your feet inside the duvet, the monsters can’t get you. Your monsters can’t get you. Sometimes it felt like they were already feasting, and you just refused to feel it.

But only sometimes, right?

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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spacebarbarianweird · 5 months

Text

Things We Deserve

Summary: Astarion re-lives one of the traumatic episodes of his life, and considers himself unworthy of love.

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, f!tav, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of past abuse

TW: a mild description of forced prostitution

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @satanicspinosaurus for your help! I live for your commentaries on ethical issues.

It is on the same corner of the street in the Lower City. Again.

A young elf is looking for a “client”. It's not difficult — he has soft white curls, a gentle smile, the body sculptured by some elven god. A glance, two, some nice words — and there is a night of passion ahead.

A half-orc, almost twice as big as the elf, grabs his chin and studies his face as if Astarion is an inanimate object. Then orders to lift up his shirt. The client looks at him with the same expression as if he were buying a horse.

His hand gropes the elf’s crotch, causing him to moan.

"Works for me", the half-orc grabs a handful of silver curls with his stiff fingers. "Never fucked an elf".

Astarion obeys. This is what he is. A mere street whore.

No, go away, you don't need to do that anymore. You are free, don't let him touch you!

Astarion knows what will come next. Two half-orcs, who despise and hate elves to their guts will really enjoy having one for themselves for the whole night.

They’ll give him pain. Disgust. Burning touches.

"Entertain us, elf", the half-orc groans pressing the Astarion’s face into the pillow.

Here’s a joke: the elf wants to die. Sadly, he is already dead. And that's his life now. Forever.

Beatings. Non-consensual sex. Or consensual? Is this what he wants? He never says “no”, after all.

I want you all to burn down, Astarion thinks spreading his legs. I want you to suffer as much as I do!

The half-orcs never give him a chance to drag them to the Cazador’s mansion. They won't die. They won't suffer. They use Astarion and then leave. A small sack of silver breaks when it is thrown on the floor.

And Astarion will have to deal with his sore body and numb mind. Forcing himself to get someone else inside the brothel, knowing too well that he is already doomed for torture because he hasn’t returned on time. Even if he delivers the most innocent and beautiful virgin to Cazador, he will be punished anyway.

Flayed with a razor. What? He is a vampire. He will regenerate.

Astarion opens his eyes and finds himself on the floor.

Where is he?

It's not a brothel. More like an Inn?

Reality slips back into his mind, replacing the awful visions of the past.

It wasn't real. Of course, it wasn't.

He doesn't have to sell his body anymore. He doesn’t have to sleep with people he doesn't like and want. He won't be beaten for saying “no”. He even has the luxury to say “no” to Tav, the only person whose body he enjoys.

But two hundred years of memories are too vivid. Tortures. Humiliation. Misery. Forced prostitution. He had to do the most disgusting things on his master's whims, and Astarion is afraid nothing will ever wash it away.

The flood of darkness flushes his brain again. Astarion rises up on his knees as if in a desperate prayer.

Why him?

Why did it happen to him?

His life was stolen. His personality, his future, his past. All was brutally taken away along with his beating heart.

Leaving only pain and disgust.

Tears burn his skin. The scars hurt as if they are still fresh and bleeding.

He was stripped away of everything. Of freedom. Of dignity. Of his own self-respect.

The person he could have become. The future he could have embraced.

Why?

Why?!

He digs his nail deep into his skin as if trying to peel it off. He is a vampire. It will regenerate.

Touches. The smell of unwashed bodies. Movements inside him. The fake pleasure. Pain. Always — pain. Either physical or mental, but often both.

He clenches his fists and groans like a wounded animal.

"Astarion"

A gentle voice resonates with his broken thoughts.

“Astarion, are you with me?”

He looks up and sees Tav. She sits in front of him. Concerned face. Worried eyes. She doesn’t move, doesn’t try to touch him. Like he's a person.

Like he's worth something.

Like he's broken and she needs to be careful.

"Oh, hello, darling", the mask is on again. "I am sorry. I've been carried away a bit. Tell me how was your day in the sunlight."

Tav sighs. “Astarion, I returned an hour ago. And you’ve been like that all this time.”

"Darling, you could just call me over”, Astarion smiles.

"I have done it five times."

“Oh. Then … “

“Astarion, I know when your smile is sincere and when it’s not. Don’t force yourself.”

He stops and sits back.

“May I touch you?”, she asks.

He nods. The caress sends a shiver down his spine and Astarion flinches avoiding looking at Tav.

He remembers. Again, and again. Never-ending tortures disguised as pleasures. Things he would have never done voluntarily. The dirt on his skin. The poison on his tongue.

Astarion wants to hide. He wants to disappear. He wants to run away.

Tav crawls closer to him to hold him in her hands.

He shivers.

“Hush, I am here. Tell me what is plaguing you.”

He almost orders himself to relax. Tav is here. Tav loves him. Tav doesn’t judge. Whatever he tells her, she won’t get angry. She won’t hurt him. She won’t punish him. Tav won’t use him for sex and pleasure. It will never happen no matter what he does.

He can run away. He can say “no”. He can fight back.

"Just a memory of a certain night in the lower town. A night of... what I usually was supposed to do. I...” the words stuck in his throat. “I am tainting you, Tav. I am ruining you.”

"Stop", Tav puts her chin on his shoulder nuzzling his collarbone.

"I am a terrible person, Tav. I truly am. It all happened to me and I sometimes think what a terrible person I used to be if I inflicted it all upon myself.”

Instead of answering, Tav holds him tighter as if not to not allow him to drown in dark waters.

"Do you remember anything from your past life?"

"No"

"Then why do you think you were a bad person?”

“Because — … “

He doesn’t know the answer. A corrupt magistrate who would easily ruin people’s lives. An arrogant racist who hated everyone who didn’t belong to the pure fairy kin.

But was it true?

“Listen, Astarion. I won’t pretend I know what you were like back then. I won’t lie by saying I know why it happened to you. But everything you “know” about your past life comes from Cazador. What if it was just another of his tortures? He wanted you to believe you were a bad person. He wanted you to think you were guilty. I know that type. It’s a special pleasure for them to torture good people. He — “

“Made me a street whore.”

He spits the last word. Yes, that is what he was all these years. He can mask it all with fancy words. Conquests, lovers, seduction. When it was just abuse.

Words spill out of him.

"Sometimes I wasn’t even supposed to drag anyone to the mansion. It was more like retrieving information by doing the only thing I knew how to do well. Sometimes it was an order to pleasure someone - as a reward for them. Sometimes it was just pointless. Just one more thing to break me even more.”

"You say like you did it of your own free will", she says.

"I-"

"You did it because you were like a puppet. Because it was impossible to say “no”. The moment you set yourself free, you stopped doing that."

"And the first thing I did was seduce you!”

She cups his face and kisses his forehead. It causes another flow of tears.

“I have my own free will, too,” she says. “Do you think I would sleep with you if I didn’t want to? I am not the person who hooks up with men in brothels and I am not the person who would enjoy a sentient trophy to fuck. It’s not normal to find people on streets and treat them like objects.”

Tav cradles him in her arms. Astarion’s muscles are still tense. He can’t do anything about that. Maybe, if Tav leaves him for a moment, he will find a way to relax but the mere thought of staying alone scares him.

She kisses him. Saying all the sweet words she knows to soothe his worries.

"I have an idea," she finally says. “Could you lie on your stomach?"

“What for?”

Tav kisses his neck.

"Please?"

He is trying to lie on the floor but Tav stops him.

“On the bed.”

He hesitates but agrees. Astarion puts his hands under his cheek. His bare back is exposed and it causes him to clench his fists again.

“I will stop if you feel uncomfortable, love. Just tell me and I will stop”

He nods. Tav saddles him with her hips and presses hands on his ribs.

“Can I touch your scars?”

“Yes.”

Tav presses arms into his skin causing a pleasant pressure. The fingers massage his back but there is nothing sexual about it. It's not a premise, not a prelude. It will lead to nothing. He won’t have to pay back.

The hands massage his back, strongly and gently.

"You have beautiful hands”, Tav murmurs. “They can do so many things —”

Yes, he thinks darkly, bringing pleasure mostly.

“They can sew, embroider. Pick up lockers. Steal pretty things. I like watching you doing tricks with coins. Can’t take my eyes off. Speaking of which… ”

Tav touches his curls.

“You have incredible eyes. Crimson red – “

The color of blood.

“The color of wine”, Tav proceeds. “You are always vigilant, like a cat on a hunt. You notice small details and see things I don’t.”

Tav moves a bit to be able to press a kiss on the crown of his head.

“You are so smart. You know so many things.” She gently touches his right ear. “I love your ears and how they peek out of your hair. They are so adorable especially when they twitch a bit, reacting to sounds or to your jaw movements.”

She keeps talking to him, massaging his back. The words of reassurance, of love, sound like a prayer. The touches and kisses cover his skin like a healing ointment.

Astarion feels protected. Loved.

And then it’s just too much.

He bursts into tears. Desperate, painful. Tears rip his chest apart causing pain in the throat.

Tav stops and gets off him allowing him to lay on his back.

“Astarion… Did I hurt you?”

He wants to say something but he can’t. He cries like a child abandoned in the streets. Cries like he did many years ago when the first tortures were inflicted upon him. When he realized no one would save him. That the Gods were silent and merciless.

“Astarion…”

All the darkness he has in his heart is spilling through the tears. They wash away the pain and disgust like rain washes dirt in the Lower City.

With effort he pulls Tav to him pressing her to his chest. She wraps her hands around him.

“Thank you”, he mutters through tears.

They sit like that for an eternity. Astarion listens to Tav’s heartbeat and breathing. He remembers her first reaction to his stories – anger. Pure, livid anger. Anger to people who did this to him. Not only Cazador but everyone who treated him like an object. And sorrow – she mourned his past along with him.

She is his happiness. The happiness he has never considered worthy of. He has found it with her. And he will be forever grateful for her patience and care.

“Tav?”, he whispers but she doesn’t reply. He pulls away a bit and sees she is asleep.

Astarion chuckles and helps Tav to lie on the bed beside him. He tucks her into the blanket and makes sure she lies on the dry side of the pillow (not the section damp with his tears).

And then, he begins whispering words like a prayer.

Thank you. Thank you for existing.

Tag List

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy

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crownofgildedlilies · 23 days

Text

oh, don't let your sunshine burn me!

in which: a son of hephaestus discovers a problem he can't solve. mainly, a daughter apollo who doesn't realize just how much her smiles hurt him.

pairing: leo valdez x daughter of apollo!reader

warnings: not proof read, slight cursing (otherwise, n/a)

tropes: friends to lovers, fluff, pining

word count: 3k

notes: my inaugural fic post on this blog. how special. plz enjoy. feedback is much appreciated.

Leo Valdez was going to lose his mind.

Or maybe a limb. Maybe that would get your attention. He wasn't going to pretend that he wasn't that desperate for you to turn your focus to him.

Stupid Garrett from stupid Ares. Why did he have to go and nearly get his head chopped off by Clarisse while sparring, stealing his thunder?

He should have done more than let his finger slip while hammering away in bunker nine. An exciting injury would have earned the most prized reward of your attention, for sure.

"Are you sure she's too busy?" Leo asked Will for probably four times too many to be considered casual. The blond only rolled his eyes and shoved an icepack into Leo's chest, nearly knocking him back a step, snapping him from his far too obvious admiring of you.

Even from across the infirmary, three hours into your shift, you stole the wind from his lungs. He was convinced you were a favorite of Apollo's, what with the way you glowed and lit up every room you were in.

Which is how he ended up in his current predicament. Absolutely desperate for any hint of your sunshine smile sent in his direction.

"Positive. Now, get out." Will confirmed, checking things off on his clipboard. Leo figured he was probably recording basic information like the patient—himself—had all his limbs, both eyes, ten fingers, and was practically drooling at his half-sister. Leo darted another glance across the room to you, still diligently assessing moronic Garrett from Ares who had been brain dead enough to accept Clarisse's offer of sparring.

Why were you blushing so much?

Something awful and too familiar twisted in his stomach, and all Leo could hear was Piper's voice telling him that he better make his move on you soon, because you were too sweet and too pretty to remain single much longer.

"When's her break again?" Leo asked, ignoring the way Will tipped his head back and closed his eyes, like he was praying for the strength to not hit his patient while under his care.

"And you can't ask her yourself because...?" Will prompted, dragging out the final word and forcing Leo to snap his attention towards the son of Apollo, his jaw practically open in shock.

"Because then she'll know I'm totally into her!" Leo whisper-shouted, waving his hands around as if to emphasize his point.

"You come in here everyday with a new injury asking for her to fix you up." Will pointed out, voice flat. "If she hasn't figured it out yet, I'm not sure she will. You should probably just be direct and ask her out."

Leo narrowed his eyes at Will, but on a rare miracle, he was at a loss for words. Maybe Will had a point. Leo was never exactly good at being subtle about his many, many, crushes, and if you hadn't realized he was hopelessly in love with you yet, then maybe he was safe from feeling the sting of your rejection.

"You're not going to talk to her, are you?" Will sighed, tilting his head slightly as he studied Leo, who, despite having already been given the magic remedy of an ice pack, remained perched on the side of a cot used as a medic's bed.

Leo shook his head side-to-side so quickly Will was a blur of blond hair and orange t-shirt in front of him.

"No can do." Leo said solemnly. "She's miles out of my league. Not even I'm stupid enough to think I have a shot with her."

"Well, at least Garrett isn't as oblivious as you," Will shrugged, shooting Leo a pointed look he didn't understand. The ugly feeling was back in Leo's stomach as he darted his attention towards you and the gods-damned son of Ares.

You were laughing, and Leo wasn't the cause.

Jealousy flared up in him.

You, on the other hand, were completely ignorant to the conversation occurring on the opposite side of the infirmary, far too engrossed in charismatic Garrett from Ares who was retelling the story of how Clarisse had knocked him on his ass and sent him to get bandaged up.

For a child of the war god, he was surprisingly graceful in his defeat.

"Next time, at least bring a shield with you." You smiled at Garrett, checking off the final few items on your clipboard. No major injuries towards his limbs, nor his ten fingers, neither of his eyes had been affected, and he was able to hold a proper conversation with you. "Otherwise I've got nothing else for you. Just an order to take the rest of the day easy."

"I can manage that," Garrett relented, which, for a demigod, was a pretty big ask. Taking it easy was never really an option when one of your parents was a god or goddess. "Hey, any particular reason Valdez is looking at me like he's going to send one of his inventions after me?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to act casual as you turned around slightly, finding that Leo had in fact found his way into the infirmary and in fact was staring at Garrett like he might make a good snack for Festus.

You had been starting to worry, thinking that maybe he wasn't going to show up that day.

"Dunno," You shrugged, ducking your face into your clipboard so you didn't have to look at Leo, or Garrett, or Will—who was sending you a look that was both pointed and annoyed at the same time. "But you're set to go."

"Perfect," Garrett jumped off of the examination bed, acting like he hadn't been carried in by two of his half-brothers, a sly grin on his face. "You sure that's not jealousy on Valdez's face?"

"What? Why would Leo be jealous?" You were ashamed to admit you stumbled over your words, your face turning a vibrant shade of red, as you considered the implication of Garrett's words. That Leo might have been into you, enough that just the sight of you talking to Garrett might have been enough to turn his mood sour. "We're just friends."

"Sure," Garrett grinned wickedly, the kind of grin only children of Ares could ever create. The kind that told he totally didn't believe her rushed dismissal of his words. "All I want is an invitation to the wedding. Talk to you later!"

Garrett darted off before you could swat at him with your clipboard, your face flushed with embarrassment. Gods, were you really that obvious in your crush on Leo?

Sure, he came into the infirmary just about every day you were working, with some minor injury or another for you to tend to. And maybe you took a little longer to heal him than you did when Percy or the Stolls came in, were a little sweeter, but were you so transparent that even Garrett from Ares knew what you felt?

"For the love of all the gods and goddesses, would you please just go talk to him?" Will grumbled, borderline exhausted, as he appeared at your side. You jumped, nearly lost in thought, and narrowed your sunshine stare at your half-brother. "He won't leave until he gets the chance to brag to you about his latest made-up injury."

You didn't have to ask who Will was talking about. Leo was still watching you from across the room, rather impatiently. He'd managed to find a few loose bolts and washers and was currently inventing something you couldn't comprehend while he stared very pointedly at the ground by your feet, having averted his stare the moment you darted yours in his direction.

"Shut up," You mumbled to Will, but regardless you dashed off across the room with what felt like permission to engage in your favorite part of the day.

You had received Apollo's gifts of healing, not his poetic words. And every day you cursed that fact, because never could you put into words just how much being around Leo Valdez made you feel centered within yourself. It was like his very personality gave you permission to the version of you that was nearly lost to time and circumstance and the tragedy of being a Greek hero.

"What's the problem today?" You grinned, the smile your half-siblings claimed shined brightest in the camp plastered on your face almost of its own accord as you stood before Leo.

"My hand, Doc." He sighed, playing along and holding up his left hand while the right shoved the ice pack Will had already given him behind his back. You snorted a laugh, and Leo's grin broke out from the solemn facade he had attempted. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to work again if you don't help me."

"Well there's only one solution," You nodded, pretending to read something off of your clipboard—which was still filled out with Garrett's information.

"Anything you recommend is good with me," Leo leaned closer, trying to read over the edge of your clipboard, which you quickly tugged close to your body.

"Right, I've got it." You grinned, dropping your face closer to his, almost like your heart was in control of your body instead of your mind. Leo nodded, and you would have sworn you saw his gaze shoot to your lips for the briefest of seconds. "Amputation. Mr. Valdez, I'm afraid we're going to have to take your hand off."

"But, that's my pretty hand!" Leo protested, playing into your joke quickly. You couldn't even pretend to hide your smile, laughter falling past your lips just as easily as breathing.

"Then I'm afraid there's nothing else we can do for you." You shook your head, grinning widely at Leo, who was—for a guy with ADHD as severe as him—giving you his full attention. "You're free to go. I'll see you and your pretty hand at the bonfire tonight."

"Glad to hear you agree that my hand is pretty." Leo slid off of the examination bed with a grin that had you flushing and looking over the contents of your clipboard simply for something to do with your eyes. "See you later, Doc."

Waving, you sent Leo off.

Over the course of the following week, Leo had found himself at the infirmary—during your shifts only—six more times.

Three smashed fingers from equipment you knew for a fact he knew how to handle properly. One cut to his arm from a piece of scrap metal. A paper cut.

On Thursday, he came in complaining of a serious burn.

"Doc, you'll never believe it. My whole arm caught on fire."

Will hadn't let him into the infirmary, claiming that Leo needed a better lie than that to come visit, since everyone already knew he was fireproof.

Leo came back fifteen minutes later with a second paper cut. Will took his break an hour early, claiming he needed to for his sanity.

But then you didn't so much as catch a glimpse of Leo for four straight days.

You felt more than a little pathetic, jumping every time the door to the infirmary opened, hoping against hope that it would be the curly haired son of Hephaestus you so adored.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, the door opened and you couldn't stop the way your body instinctively twisted around from where you words repacking first aide kits that were left in various locations around camp.

But it wasn't Leo standing at the door, but Piper.

You weren't the closest with her, but you were friendly. So you didn't think she was there for you, at first, until you saw her talking to your half-sister Stella and pointing towards you.

"Hey," Piper's voice had an edge of seriousness to it that snagged your attention, halting your efforts of resupplying. "I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you."

"Okay...?" You trailed off, not sure what she could have needed from you.

"Would you be willing to talk to Leo for me? He's in Bunker Nine, convinced he's going to make some big breakthrough on whatever machine he's currently working on." Piper explained and you nodded slowly, not seeing the problem. From your conversations with Leo, he always seemed to be in the middle of some big breakthrough. "He hadn't come out in four days. It's not healthy."

You frowned, trying to recall the last time you'd seen Leo at any of the meals. And when your mind came up blank, you settled on your answer to Piper's request.

"I'll talk to him."

You had never been to Bunker Nine.

As much as you talked to Leo, pretty much everyday, it was always in yours and shared spaces. The infirmary, mainly, but every once in a while at the dining pavilion or at the camp bonfires.

But you could barely focus on any one thing in the bunker. Half-finished projects littered the space, along with countless tools, scraps, and blueprints tacked haphazardly against walls and bulletin boards.

Since it was nearly dinner, the bunker had cleared out of all but one of its occupants. Perched over a table, working so diligently he didn't hear you approach, was none other than Leo Valdez.

Without thinking of the consequences, you dropped the canvas bag you had brought with you on his worktable, startling him so much he jumped in surprise and nearly sent his latest project clattering to the floor.

"Gods!" He shouted, wide eyed and hand pressed to his chest as if he could physically calm his racing heart. You couldn't help the way you grinned, a little lopsided, wholly endeared by him. "Sorry, were you trying to kill me? Because, if so, mission almost accomplished!"

"Actually, the opposite." With a confidence you didn't really possess, you leaned against the worktable next to him and started pulling tinfoil wrapped sandwiches out of the bag. "Everyone's convinced I'm your appointed caretaker, since you don't seem to do it yourself."

Leo had the good sense to seem chastised by the glare you sent him following your words. It wasn't like he could deny it, anyways. How many times had he ended up on your patient list?

"Did Jason put you up to this?"

"Piper," You confirmed, pushing a wrapped sandwich across the table towards him. Next out of the bag was a metal bowl, the bottom slightly charred and filled with paper scraps and twigs. "Light this for me, will you, please?"

"Well, when you ask so nicely," Leo grinned, a ball of flame forming in his palm and igniting the twigs in the bowl. Without needing to be told, Leo unwrapped his sandwich and ripped off a chunk to throw into the flames.

You copied his actions. And if you made a wordless prayer to Aphrodite to ask for a little assistance, that was no one's business but your own.

"I've..." You hesitated, darting a glance to Leo before focusing on your sandwich, biting down your declaration that you've missed him in the infirmary. He had already started eating, only further proof that he had been skipping meals while holed up in the bunker. "How come you're always getting hurt, Mr. Clumsy? I thought children of Hephaestus are supposed to be good in the forges."

You would have sworn you saw Leo blush, but your attention quickly darted away from him the moment he lifted his eyes to yours.

"You sure you wanna know the truth?" Leo asked his voice a kind of serious that was almost out of character for him. You nodded, slowly, and forced yourself to meet his eye. "I've been getting hurt on purpose."

"Leo Valdez!"

"Wait, let me finish!" Leo held up his hands to defend himself from your words and your glare, the healer in your absolutely hated the fact that Leo would have done anything to intentionally cause himself harm. "I did it because I got an excuse to see you."

"What?" For a child of Apollo, you sure didn't have a way with words. Distantly, you cursed the fact that you were a gifted healer and not a poet, because you knew what Leo's words meant and yet you couldn't get your own to function. "Wait—"

"I know this sounds stupid," Leo dragged a hand through the dark, disheveled curls atop his head. "But Will wouldn't let me in to see you if I wasn't hurt! So I... maybe... lied, a little bit."

You frowned, in thought. Thinking back, you couldn't remember Leo ever actually being hurt beyond the occasional cut or scrap. You'd always been so caught up in him and his visits to notice.

"I swear I'm not weird. I just really like you." Leo winced, no doubt taking your silence in a bad way.

And you weren't one of Apollo's poetically gifted children, so you simply pressed your lips against his and hoped he got the message.

It was a short kiss, a good first kiss, you noted with no small satisfaction. Your lips tingled and your fingertips were buzzing—and Leo looked like he had just won the lottery.

"You're sweet," You smiled, a thousand watt one that maybe Leo adored as much as your half-siblings did, and nudged his sandwich closer to him. "But you're banned from the infirmary unless you're actively dying. And for real!"

Leo paused, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to create a scenario that would get him past the barrier of your totally official and absolutely within rules ban.

"I can make that happen,"

"No, you can't," You tried to shoot him a discouraging look, but your smile was far too wide to deal any real damage. "Or else I'll go to tonight's bonfire with someone else."

"Nope!" He shook his head quickly, hair bouncing with the movement and expression light with an impish grin. "You kissed me, Doc. You're stuck with me, now."

You smiled, silently deciding you wouldn't mind being stuck with him.

"That's what I thought."

Leaning over to press a second kiss to the corner of his lips, you pretended not to notice the sparks dancing in his curls.

#leo valdez #pjo #rays of sun #Leo Valdez fic #Leo Valdez x reader #Leo Valdez fanfiction #pjo x reader

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radiance1 · 7 months

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Damian landed with a small thud in the alleyway, standing up and walking forward while unsheathing his blade. It drew an elegant arc in the air, before it tips was placed at another's throat, forcing them to tilt their head upwards to avoid injury. "What do you think you are doing here?"

Eyes were peeled open slowly, and the wheezy that filled the alleyway took on a more amused edge. "I don't know, why do you think I'm here," Danny tried to tilt his head, before stopping with a wince and a sharp intake. "Can't I just visit my big bro, from time to time?"

Damian tilted his head slightly, eyes roaming over the various wounds over his brother's body and the amount of ectoplasm on the ground around him, before leaving Danny with the most unimpressed look he could make. Danny chuckled wetly, before devolving into a coughing fit, then smiling wryly. "Heh, ya got me I guess."

"Tt." Damian lowered his blade, enough for Danny to no longer have to strain his head upwards. "What brought you to this state, Daniel? Those inventors you keep around are certainly brilliant, but incompetent." Damian's eyes narrowed. "So who."

"Yea, wasn't them. Can't really do that when you're blown to smitheries, right?" Danny chuckled humorlessly, before falling silent with a pained wheeze. His head threatened to fall downwards, and his eyelids drooped. A slight press against his neck snapped him back into the waking world. "Right, right. Okay so, would you believe me if I said that a," Danny swallowed. "A government branch is currently chasing me after they found out about my half-dead status?"

Damian stared silently, then sighed. "I'm not surprised, you always were an idiot." Danny puffed up his cheeks indignantly. "Hey! It wasn't my fault this time!"

"Whatever you say, Daniel." Damian pressed the tip of his sword further against Danny's throat. "That still does not explain why you came here, of all places."

"Amity Park's compromised for me, and well." Danny gave a half shrug, or at least tried too before wincing. "This is one of the last places they would look, and I'm too," Danny gesture to himself. "You know, to go for another fly."

Damian nodded. "I can see that." Damian dissected Danny with his eyes, taking in his injuries, his ruined outfit, the blood running down his face over one of his eyes.

Hm.

Damian let out an annoyed sigh, before twirling his sword away from Danny's neck and putting it back into its sheathe. He lifted the edge of his cape. "Get in before I regret this."

Danny blinked in surprised confusion. "What?"

Damian scowled. "Get. In." He flapped the edge of his cape for emphasis, and Danny blinked again, before suddenly being hit with a wave of understanding. "Oh, oh! Really?"

"I will not be repeating myself for a third time."

"Aw! I knew you cared about me!" Danny flew into Damian's cape, leaving a trail of ectoplasm behind in his flight that was quickly taken hold of by gravity and splattered against the ground.

Damian pulled a face, because he already felt like he regretted doing this.

"Robin, where are you?" His father's voice coming from his comm snapped him from his regret. He jumped onto a nearby pipe and flipped himself up onto one of the buildings, gritting his teeth in annoyance as Danny clapped with his cape. He glanced back at the alleyway, before turning.

"On my way, father." And just like that, he was out into the night with one extra (annoying) passenger.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #danny and damian are twins #Just stating this here that Lazarus Water and Ectoplasm isn't the same thing in this au #Teehee #Edit: Don't mind me rereading this and editing it lmao

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jaegersdevil · 7 months

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bloodsucker [satoru gojo]

Vampire!Satoru x Human!Fem!Reader summary: a game of cat and mouse in the woods turns into a bloody mess warnings: 18+ / mdni!, afab, vampire activities, mediocre writing of sex in a forest, bloodplay, biting by both parties, satoru chases you through the woods because its fun, fear play perhaps, overstimulation, no use of y/n w/c: 2.1k a/n: happy start of spooky season! let me know if i missed any warnings! enjoy :) masterlist

Keeping quiet while running for your life isn’t as easy as the movies make it out. It’s coughing when there’s so much mucus in your throat that you can’t breathe, and the sobs you try so hard to keep inside that force their way out when you hear the footsteps behind you get closer. It’s the methodical dodging of broken sticks and rocks you’ve seen in the shows that ultimately get forgotten once you enter a stage of full panic and just run to survive, not caring that you’re leading them right to you.

But this isn’t a movie, and the thing chasing you is something you would consider much more terrifying than your usual killer with a mask and a knife.

A deep, throaty chuckle rings out much closer than is comfortable, and flashes of white hair and pale skin seem everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. It’s too dark, but you see a squirrel run up a tree in front of you, squealing in fear when you speed past, adrenaline keeping you from slowing down. Your ragged breathing is all that can be heard in the quiet forest, save for your feet crunching the layer of dead leaves so thick you can’t see the dirt.

You thought the idea was fun initially, but maybe that was just his influence over you. He has an incredible way of making dangerous, stupid things look enticing.

Your name is called from behind you, sung in a low tone, with a giggle cutting through the middle.

“You know this is futile – running, that is.”

Wiping your sweaty forehead with the back of your hand, you glance over your shoulder, the man you love and hate the most standing perfectly still a half mile back. The hem of your short sundress dances behind you, and the sight draws him closer.

“Give up, darling!” His honey, saccharine voice taunts you, echoing in your head. “You know how this ends!”

Shaking your head, you endure.

But, upon returning to face the direction you’re running, you smack head-first into a tree and fall to the ground, a yelp leaving your lips. At least, that’s what you thought you ran into.

His chest is so solid you think he was created by the earth itself, and perhaps he was — though somewhere much deeper and hotter than your usual whimsical fairytales.

“I win,” He laughs at you. Dread pulses through your veins, your depleting adrenaline already kicking back in.

“Satoru—” You start, breath catching in your throat when you see his hand swinging his glasses. Your eyes widen when you look up at him, his bright eyes and cocky smirk visible through the darkness. He is so beautiful you wonder how he’d gotten cursed with such a thing, a disease the people in town call it.

“Well, I think it’s time for my prize…” His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, his fangs catching on his bottom lip. Your eyes flicker to them: sharp, terrifying, and oh-so attractive when he puts on those eyes in conjunction. The soft but piercing gaze that settles on you now.

“Aw, are you crying?” He tilts his head and crouches, empty hand caressing your cheek. “S’okay, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Flinching away from his hand, you go to stand, only to be pushed down by his hand on your shoulder. “Did you or did you not agree to the rules?”

You stamper. “I–I know the rules, Satoru. I just think I should get a second chance. You always win.”

“Huh,” He hums, nodding in contemplation, though you know he won’t let you have one. “Not today, sweetheart. Sorry.”

You nod, eyes downcast as you sit forward. Your hand resting on his neck, you lean to peck his lips. “No need to be sorry.”

Satoru smiles into the kiss, his fangs nipping at your bottom lip. He was always engrossed once you had him, which, in this instance, allowed you to formulate a plan. It’s not a smart nor fully laid out idea, but it’s the best you could do with your little time. Not giving him a chance to retaliate, you get up and run as fast as you can.

You hear him sigh in annoyance, but Satoru remains in his spot on the ground. He calls your name, haunting and rich.

“I’ll always find you, you know,” He yells, getting up and walking in your direction. “There’s a reason why I found you in the first place.”

You don’t listen to his words, having already known, chest heaving and eyes wild as you hide behind a thick oak tree. Holding your breath and frozen in your place, you watch as Satoru stalks past you. Whether it’s on purpose or because he’s so blinded by lust, you don’t know. You just hope it’s the latter.

“Darling, please,” You can hear the desperation in his voice, though it’s plagued by desire and a little malevolence. “I’ll be good.”

Rolling your eyes at his last comment, you inch to the right slightly, peering around the tree to ensure he hadn’t done a loop. But your stomach drops when those same bright eyes are dead set on you.

“I think it’s only fair that we go inside now. I’m getting chilly.”

Your heart rate increases tenfold, and you curse your fear for making it so much easier for him to find you. With a twinge of confidence, you only get when teasing him, you round the tree and stand before him.

“You don’t get cold. You don’t have a heart, Toru. You don’t even have a heart with the ability to love! You told me yourself.”

His cackle and a slap to the knee was his only reaction to your statement.

“Oh, you are the most divine human ever, sweetheart,” Satoru laughs. “My love for you runs deeper than the mythical heart! You are my soul and my entire being, my beloved.”

You inhale sharply, palms sweating at his words. You’ve heard them a thousand times, having been attached to him for the past 3 years, but hearing those words from his lips in the dead of night in the darkest forest awakens something inside you.

Doubt flashes in your eyes, and suddenly, Satoru’s hands are all over your body, squeezing and stroking. “I’ll show you I love you in the only way I know how if you allow me to.”

You’re breathless when he kisses you, lips trailing down your neck to the one place he knows best. His tongue flattens against the column of your throat, savouring the taste of your skin, salty from the sweat and warm from running. He groans, words barely discernable as he inhales you. Your blood is the sweetest he’s ever tasted, the richest and the most intoxicating.

Satoru’s hands move down to your ass, and he lifts you effortlessly, pushing you against the oak tree. The sharpness of the bark digging into your back is nothing compared to the piercing of his fangs into your flesh. He lets out a satisfying whine, ravenous and restless.

“'Toru,” You throw your head back, your ankles locking behind his hips. The initial cry of pain dwindles to a broken moan, and you grasp at the collar of his black dress shirt. Every nerve ending inside your body alights, your blood rushing to the spot on your neck where your lover feeds.

When you tug at his hair, Satoru reluctantly slows his sucking of your red essence into his mouth. His plush lips are stained red, and his breathing is rapid when he slowly pulls his fangs out of your rubied skin like he wants to prolong his pleasure, groaning when he sees the mess. Blood drips down his chin, his teeth are stained red when he grins lazily, and you moan at the sight.

A broken laugh falls from his mouth, and his eyes dart to your slackened mouth. Satoru puts his hand on the back of your head, his fingers dancing in your hair, and pulls your face to his, locking his lips with yours. The metallic taste of your blood on your lips is suffocating yet erotic, and you can’t help but grind down on his crotch. Crimson colours your mouth and chin, and Satrou releases an animalistic growl deep in his throat.

Between sloppy kisses, your hands find the waistband of his black dress pants. His hips buck subconsciously while you pull his pants down along with his briefs, and Satoru whines before you even touch him. His pupils are wide, and if he could blush, you bet your life he would be flushed.

Satoru can't stop inhaling the scent of your blood, pheromones, and sweet arousal in your underwear. Overwhelmed and impatient, he pushes his fingers towards your entrance, shoving your underwear to the side. You gasp at the sudden intrusion and the cold air of midnight.

“Ready?” He mumbles, peering at you through his fair lashes. You nod and inhale sharply at the feeling of his tip on the back of your thigh. He runs his cock through your folds, saccharine wetness covering his length.

Pumping himself a few times, Satoru lines himself up and pushes into you. The burning sensation only lasts a moment before the pleasure of being stretched takes over.

Satoru’s jaw goes slack as your walls squeeze him, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. He’s barely holding himself back as he lifts you up and almost drops you back down onto his cock. You let out a choked moan, and your eyes roll to the back of your head, the wound on your neck tingling as it heals.

“Oh, fuck,” Satoru pants, leaning his head down to your other shoulder. As he thrusts into you, he drags his teeth along your skin, not sinking his fangs in just yet. The sound of your blood pumping rapidly beneath is like a drug he could get high off for eternity.

The sounds you make spur him, and Satoru bites down, smirking into your skin as you yelp. The poison entering you for a second time makes the sensation all the more intense, and you find yourself smiling in euphoria.

The forest is silent, the only noises being the slapping of skin on skin and wicked groans from the devil himself.

The end approaches fast, too fast, when you feel the coil in your stomach tighten.

“I’m– c–close,” Your speech is broken, but he understands. Satoru goes harder, using his inhuman strength to bounce you faster. Your legs ache, and your arms go limp on his shoulders as Satoru grunts.

“That’s my fucking girl…”

Your orgasm rips through you violently, and you clench around him, throwing your head back in pleasure. Seeing stars, your head lolls to the side, observing Satoru watch where you connect, jaw slack with a feral look in his eye.

As you pulse around him, Satoru can't keep his composure any longer. And when his hips stutter, a sign he’s close, you lean up and graze your teeth along his jaw, nipping and drawing blood when he sighs. You bite down harder on the skin of his neck when you feel a second orgasm unravel, overstimulated and sensitive.

The dull breaking of his flesh pushes him over the edge. “Oh, oh, gonna– fuck–”

When he cums, it feels like the first time; it always does when he’s inside you. Hot ribbons shoot inside you, painting you with the seed of sin. It drips down the inside of your thigh, and the taste of Satoru’s blood in your mouth mixed with yours as he kisses you is unearthly.

He pulls out of you but doesn’t drop you. When you lean back from his face, you look at each other’s necks and chins, giggling at the crimson aftermath.

“That’s so hot,” Satoru mumbles, licking the residue around your mouth and moving down to tongue at your neck. He meets your eyes again, tongue swiping across his lips. You tilt your head and admire him, lifting the hem of your dress to his face to wipe the deep red from his chin. He playfully bites at the material, smiling when you roll your eyes.

“Put me down,” You snicker, unhooking your ankles. Satoru does just that, lowering you to the forest floor but keeping his hands on your waist.

“Can you walk?” He asks. And though you’re sure he’s serious, you roll your eyes again and swat him on the bicep.

“You’re good but not that good, Toru.”

Satoru’s tongue runs over his front teeth, scoffing. “You wound me.”

You shrug and step, faltering when your thighs shake under your weight.

Noticing your pause, Satoru’s expression turns smug. “Damn, guess I am that good,” He winks, scooping you into his arms.

You use your forefinger to collect a drop of blood from the underside of his jaw and stick it into your mouth. “The best.”

Satoru's eyes zero in on your finger between your lips, and he shakes his head, swearing under his breath.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, human.”

#guysssssss .........#i KNOW its september but that will not stop me from writing this #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #satoru smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo imagine #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen smut #vampire!satoru #vampire au #— ann writes!

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hollandorks · 4 months

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haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter thirteen

Summary: After the sudden deaths of her mother and grandmother, y/n is forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke her heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, she vows to get to the bottom of her former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what she’s expecting.

a/n: Sorry this took a hot minute to get posted! In my defense I wrote 4 chapters, hated them, deleted them, and then had to start over from what was last posted. Also, life just keeps happening. Anyways I have the next two chapters written already so I should be posting a few chapters over the holidays!

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.1k

“I’m okay,” she said, but she wasn’t sure she was.

Bruce hadn’t looked at y/n for pretty much the entirety of their little safety meeting.

By the time Gordon and Alfred deemed their security changes good enough, she was more mentally and physically exhausted than she had been since Alfred first knocked on her apartment door. And to think she had been almost excited at the start of the night.

She sat, staring vacantly at a knot in the ancient hardwood floors. She couldn’t have said what was decided in that meeting if a gun was held to her head. She bit back a wry smile at the irony of the thought.

When she lifted her eyes again, everyone was gone. Alfred was hovering in the doorway. Bruce was a step right inside, hands shoved deep inside his sweatpants. The two exchanged a glance, and then Alfred was gone.

She looked up at Bruce, her elbows on her knees, her head aching. She rubbed the space between her eyes with a wince. She probably looked awful with her clothes and hair mussed, blood on her head, her eyes half-wild.

She realized Bruce was staring at her–probably waiting on her to get up–so she stood and stretched.

Bruce was still standing there, watching her.

“I’m going straight to bed, don’t worry,” she said. Her tone was more flat than she intended. Things were going to be even worse. Bruce and Alfred had been dragged even further into her mess and Wayne Tower was about to be turned into a veritable fortress. And she definitely wouldn’t be able to leave now.

Y/n went to slip past Bruce but he held out a hand. He didn’t touch her so much as subtly block her way. She stopped and stared down the hallway. For some reason, her heart was pounding. If she looked at him–she didn’t know what would happen if she looked at him, but she couldn’t. She was too tired to hide anything, too tired to pretend.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a voice so soft it ripped something open inside her.

Tears filled her eyes. She nodded her head. Then she shook it.

The hand Bruce held out gently touched the small of her back. His other hand cupped her elbow. An embarrassing whimper slipped out of her mouth as he very slowly pulled her into his chest.

She stiffened reflexively as Bruce held her. Then, all at once, all of the tension melted away.

Her hands fisted in his well-worn shirt as she inhaled the scent of him. “I lost–everyone I loved all at once. And now I keep getting fucking shot at and a mob family wants me dead. I’m not sure I’ll ever be alright again.” She had missed him so much that a simple hug had her weak in the knees. At that moment, she didn’t care about the history between them. She didn’t care about the ragged edges of the heart he’d broken. He was there, he was holding her, and she felt more safe and whole than she had in a long time.

“You haven’t lost everyone,” Bruce murmured. “I’m still here.”

The words were a spark, her anger igniting in a burst.

Her fingers tightened for a moment before she forced herself to step away. For a moment, she wished he would pull her back into the safety of his arms, but the anger stirring in her chest wasn’t going to be ignored.

“I lost you three years ago, Bruce,” she said in a startlingly calm voice.

And he flinched.

It didn’t feel as good as she thought it would.

She turned away from him to take a deep, steadying breath. “It doesn’t matter,” she said when he remained silent. “I–I think I’m finally falling in love with someone else.” When she faced Bruce again, his mouth was open with shock. “I mean, I’m not in love with him,” she clarified, face flushing with heat. “But I could see it happening.” She hadn’t meant for those words to come out. But Batman had been on her mind a lot lately, more so since that moment in the alley, him protecting her, his bare hand gentle against the skin of her face.

Bruce recovered enough to say, “Who?”

“Why does it matter?” she asked, still angry. “Are you the only one allowed to–to move on?”

“No, I just–” He looked stunned by her anger, and that felt good. Hurting him hadn’t, but letting him see the extent to which he’d hurt her, how angry it made it, that felt good.

“It’s the Batman. Alright? I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like myself around him and I haven’t felt that way in years.” Three years, to be exact. She crossed her arms and turned away again. “And I don’t know if he even likes me at all or is just, you know, obligated to be around me. But someone like him is someone I could…see myself with. And I haven’t felt that way in…” In three years, she finished silently.

The silence lasted so long that she gave in and looked to see what Bruce’s face was doing. He was making a valiant effort to school his features, but he was failing at it. “What?” he finally said. There were several emotions warring on his face, all of which he was trying to hide.

Y/n grit her teeth so hard she thought she heard something crack. “Forget I said anything. I’m going to bed.”

She stepped past Bruce and again, he held out his hand to stop her. She smacked it away and muttered an angry-sounding goodnight.

She was so stupid, she thought as she shoved a few papers off of her bed. Telling Bruce that she might fall in love with the Batman? A man in a mask she barely knew? She grabbed her notepad with all of her article notes with a frustrated growl and made a single note: white knight syndrome.

–

For two more days, y/n stayed locked in Wayne Tower. She pestered Gordon and Martinez and even her vigilante friend for updates, only to receive little in response. The man’s face was plastered all over the news.

Finally, she had his name.

Frank Gallo.

Her luck was, honestly, the worst. Leave it to her to accidentally get involved with the mob.

Thankfully, at the very least, Martinez valiantly tried to keep her entertained. They texted almost constantly, Martinez mostly sending memes, but it was better than the godawful silence of the Wayne Tower residence. Bruce was almost always gone–flaunting his freedom, y/n felt, even though she knew that wasn’t what he was doing. And Alfred always hovered just out of sight, a suspicious lump at his side indicating he was now always armed.

Being cooped up was really making her insane, y/n thought as she stared at the row of coffee mugs on the shelf before her. She had been standing there for at least ten minutes, her mind entirely blank.

Her phone vibrated on the counter with another text from Martinez. This one was just a string of various tired emojis. It vibrated again with a GIF of a kid falling asleep at the table.

Y/n grinned. Poor Martinez. He didn’t really have any rank and so was constantly given the worst jobs–which now included patrolling the street around Wayne Tower with three other officers. He almost always got stuck with the midnight shift. That worked for y/n–she hadn’t been sleeping much, and Martinez’s texts were probably the only thing keeping her from flinging herself out of a window.

I’ll bring you some coffee, she texted in a split second decision. Meet me in the lobby.

She knew she wasn’t allowed outside–she didn’t want to get caught by a sniper, after all. Or have Martinez or any of the other officers or Wayne security get caught in the crossfire. But surely if she rode the elevator down and Martinez met her at its doors it would be safe enough. And it’d feel almost like being able to leave. Maybe a small taste of freedom was all she needed.

Y/n nodded once to herself and filled two mugs with fresh coffee.

She spilled a little over her hand, hissing in pain, as she hit the elevator button with her elbow. She hadn’t heard her phone vibrate with Martinez’s response yet, but she could always just wait in the elevator downstairs until he came inside.

The elevator doors slid open.

Y/n’s next inhale was a strangled gasp.

She stumbled back, both mugs dropping from her hands in her haste. They shattered against the floors, one after the other, hot liquid burning her feet and ankles.

On the back wall of the elevator, exactly at her eye level, was a picture.

It was dark and grainy, yet its subject was unmistakable.

It was her and Batman, his bare hand on her face, her eyes shining as she stared up at him. They were washed out by red and blue lights around them, caught in the shadows of the alley.

She knew exactly the moment it had been taken.

And she knew it meant two things: they knew who she was, and they knew where she was.

Her entire body went cold.

“What happened?” Alfred’s sharp voice barely registered. When she looked up, he was right beside her, handgun drawn and aimed into the elevator. It didn’t take long for him to notice the picture, even as the doors slid shut again after idling for too long.

“Stay here,” Alfred half-growled, mashing the button again to open the doors. He dialed a number on his phone with his free hand. The grip on his gun was unwavering.

“Security breach. Elevator.” was all he said into the phone as he stepped inside the elevator. Y/n had never seen Alfred look so…fierce. So imposing. Even when she’d been caught sneaking out as a teen, he’d never looked so scary.

She often forgot that he used to be in MI6.

It was as if y/n’s brain started working again all at once. The neurons started firing, her chaotic thoughts pulling together into a semblance of order one after the other after the other.

Martinez hadn’t answered her text.

There had been a security breach. Martinez had been stationed right outside the front doors.

And he hadn’t answered.

She leapt through the doors just as they closed.

Alfred reacted instantly. “No!” he snarled. She managed to catch his hand before it hit the override button, the one that would send her back inside.

“Martinez!” she said, as if that would explain everything. She turned wide, frightened eyes to Alfred, her hand still on his free one. The gun was still in a readied position, but aimed carefully away from her. “He’s my friend, Alfred. Please.”

She could see the hesitation in his eyes.

“Fine. Stay in here until I make sure it’s absolutely clear. If anything happens–” He proceeded to show her a hidden override panel that would enable security measures, turning the elevator into a panic room.

Her hands were shaking, but she ignored it. Maybe her forcing her way downstairs with Alfred was another thing in a long string of bad luck that would end with her actually dead this time. But she couldn’t wait upstairs, twiddling her thumbs, waiting to see if her friend was dead.

“Stand here,” Alfred said. He maneuvered her so she wouldn’t be seen when the doors opened. He took up position on the other side of the doors, both hands on his gun now.

The elevator jolted then stopped. Alfred met her eyes. She heard the unspoken order. Stay put.

When the doors slid open, Alfred burst into motion. She noted distantly that, despite his age and his limp, he was pretty spry.

It was silent outside the doors. No immediate shouting or gunfire, which had to be a good sign. Right?

It stretched on. Without any more buttons being pushed, the elevator doors closed again.

Y/n’s heart was about to fly out of her chest. Was Martinez dead? The anticipation and fear was going to kill her this time. It was so much worse when it was someone she cared about. Her own death looming over her head was bad, sure, but this…this was pure torture.

The doors opened again and she pressed herself tighter into her corner out of reflex.

“Come on out,” Alfred said. He had put his gun down, but not away.

“Martinez?” y/n immediately asked. But her answer was standing right before her, wringing his hat in his hands as he stared at the picture that now hung inside the elevator.

“Oh man,” Martinez groaned as his eyes flicked from Alfred, to her, to the picture, and back again. He gulped audibly. Next to him, Blake the security guard was white as a sheet. “Gordon’s gonna kill me.”

Next Chapter

taglist:

@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @warsaur @lachillona02 @crazyunsexycool @doetic @alexiris @that-girl-named-alex @harry-bowie-mercury @vaniasagitaa @widows-writings @missing-loki @exactlyelegantwizard @miriamnox @mavenmoon @eclipsedplanet @spencerrxids @giulia2372 @katara-is-a-goddess-changemymind @janezat @incorrectmarvelquotesss

#battinson x reader #the batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #the batman #the batman 2022 #battinson #bruce wayne

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fatale-distraction · 3 months

Note

If Barcus were an Origin companion/just a companion do you think he'd have any special interactions with any of the other companions?

Okay this one got the fuck away from me so I might have to do a series?????? Idk, let’s see how I feel this weekend.

For the time being, I hope this will suffice! Here’s how the companions would interact with Barcus after certain Act 3 events! (Minus Minthara, because I feel like he is probably so terrified of her that he’s just deadass faint if she acknowledged his existence.)

The companions offering to beat up Wulbren:

Gale: I could always set him on fire...?

B: No, that's alright.

G: Poison his food?

B: No.

G: Freeze his undergarments to his arse?

B: Really, it's—...Actually... ~

Astarion: I'd offer to exsanguinate him, but he probably tastes awful.

Barcus: I…appreciate the sentiment. I think.

Astarion: You’re QUITE welcome. Of course, turning him inside out might also be fun…

B: Please don’t turn ANYBODY inside out.

A: Even Wulbren?

B: Even Wulbren.

A: TSK. You’re no fun at ALL.

Shart: ...I know how to make people disappear. Just say the word, and Wulbren will find himself in Shar's embrace.

B: ...Are you a cleric or an assassin...?

S: Don’t worry about it. Just blink twice for yes.

B: No.

Lae’zel: Have you decided on a punishment for Wulbren?

B: A what???

Lae’zel: He has betrayed and insulted you. Such behavior must not be tolerated. Might I suggest a beheading?

B: N-no!! I don’t want him DEAD!

Lae’zel: ….A beating, then?

Wyll: I understand things are over between you and Wulbren? I am sorry to hear it. I had hoped for a better outcome for you.

B: It’s…well, not alright, but…I appreciate it. Thank you, Wyll.

Wyll: And should you ever feel the need to take Lae’zel up on her offer…well, The Blade stands ready.

B: not you, too…

Karlach: so…you’re SURE you don’t want me to punt him into the next century?

B: Quite sure.

Karlach: …damn. That would’ve been fun. Let me know if you change your mind. I’ve got a wicked good leg.

B: I don’t doubt it at all. Thank you, Karlach.

Halsin:

Barcus:

B: Please don’t offer to turn into a bear and eat Wulbren.

H: I wasn’t going to.

B: oh…well. Thank goodness for that.

H: -was absolutely going to-

Jaheira: I understand you probably don’t want to talk about Wulbren.

B: -SIGHS-

Jaheira: All I’m saying is that there have been some truly absurd suggestions being made.

B: Thank the stones. I completely agree, Jaheira, thank you for being so—

J: Obviously the best punishment would be to lash him to a windmill. It’s only fair that he should suffer as you once did!

B: -SIIIIIIIIIIGHS-

Minsc: Boo would like to offer his services in the getting of revenge upon Wulbren.

B: No. I already have everyone else offering, I don’t need help from a hamster.

M: Are you sure? He has suggested that the most suitable punishment would be to have a teeny tiny hole chewed in the toe of all of his left socks.

B: It’s not nece—actually…That’s not half bad. Of course the most sensible suggestion in this group of weirdos came from the hamster…

#barcus wroot #bg3 barcus #bg3 #party banter #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #lae'zel #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #shadowheart #jaheira #minsc and boo #halsin #karlach #writing down fatalities

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abiiors · 1 month

Text

the spring curse - ross x reader ˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧💌˚.⋆🌿

a/n: this is essentially a sickfic with so much yapping in there oh my god 🙄 yapping and yearning are the two things i operate on cw: brief suggestive content but no actual smut. being ill i suppose but it's very mild and fluffy. also pls we're going to suspend our disbelief here because i have no idea what being a florist entails. wc: 3.4k

they get together at the beginning of winter.

the last of the leaves are already a deep shade of orange, falling and falling everyday until the trees go barren and white snowflakes start fluttering all around. they’re already exclusive by the time the first proper snow of the season falls.

ross is a boyfriend. to the girl of his dreams. it makes him feel as giddy as a teenager every time he thinks about it; every time she gives him a sweet smile and an even sweeter kiss.

he always holds her hand just a little tighter, cuddles her closer just a little longer every time she has to go—he’s making up for the lost time, he thinks. all the time he’s wasted being stupid and a coward. and so whenever she stays over he stays near her, follows her around from room to room. she finds it infinitely amusing, so endearing that she can’t help but kiss him every two minutes for it.

a florist’s job is pretty slow in the winter. ross learns that quite early on in their relationship when he gets to take the slow days extra slow—cuddling on the sofa and dancing in the kitchen and every other cheesy thing he can think of.

he fucking adores the slow mornings after she stays over—loves waking up with her in his arms, loves the slow, lazy morning sex where she’s moaning and squirming and cumming on his cock barely awake, loves how she looks at him with sleepy eyes hooded with lust.

“‘s gonna be so awful when my job picks up again and the spring weddings start happening,” she says one morning while they’re in bed still, her head on his chest. ross hums. “you’ll be lucky if you see me two days in a row.”

he pouts. “it’s not that busy is it?”

“it is! so many new flowers coming into the shop and scott wants us to make sure each one of them is absolutely perfect. individually. fuck and the pollen—you’re not allergic to pollen are you? because i get so covered in it…”

ross racks his brain. maybe he does remember being a bit more sniffly in spring but nothing severe. it’s never been noteworthy. he shrugs and holds her tighter. “nah, don’t think so. it can’t be that bad though.”

she laughs mirthlessly. “you don’t know the half of it. my ex was so allergic i had to stay away for all of spring pretty much. like three months every year where i’d move back in with my parents because it was just that bad for him.”

he pretty much stops listening halfway through, stuck on the part where she had to stay away for three whole months. he can barely stay away half the week.

“don’t have to worry about that,” he strokes her hair, brushing off the silly unwanted thoughts.

and it turns out to be true—even when she stays in the shop longer, busy catering to new year’s parties and other events, ross hardly ever has a reaction to it. it’s blown out of proportion, he thinks. sure pollen allergies are real, but they must be incredibly rare.

what are the odds that he has it just as bad as her ex?

soon enough he forgets the conversation. everything is so blissful, so perfect that by the time valentine’s day rolls around, he’s already asked her to move in.

“are you serious?” she shrieks, giddy with excitement. it works great for them—for one, the floral shop she works at is so much closer to his house. and then just as an added bonus, he doesn’t have to compromise to seeing her only half the days of the week.

“yes. oh my god, yes! it’d be perfect…”

and he agrees. it would be perfect… until, well, it’s not.

spring arrives with a riot of colours—little weedy flowers grow in his backyard, daisies and buttercups cover grassy patches on the ground. even the dead trees start sprouting new leaves.

everything outside is cheery and pretty and colourful. in comparison, ross feels…weirdly tired. not that it’s an everyday thing but on days when he’s outside more, he’s way too fucking exhausted to do anything else. it’s only when the sneezing starts does the conversation come back to haunt him.

my ex was so allergic i had to stay away for all of spring pretty much…

ross shudders, thankful that it’s not that bad for him. it’s not! he’s certain about that. it’s only a scratchy throat and mildly itchy eyes that he could have gotten from eye strain too frankly, and maybe just a little case of the sniffles. it’s annoying, sure, but it’s not the end of the world. there’s no reason she needs to know about it and worry that she'll have to be away from him when she just moved in a week ago.

he can very easily chalk up all his symptoms to a plethora of other things.

and well, denial’s worked great for him—for one whole week, at least.

towards the end of her second week, ross feels more tired than usual. she’s been slightly more busy at work (there’s a big wedding coming up) and ross has taken it upon himself to do a deep clean of the house now that he has a bit more free time—spring cleaning, to get rid of the pollen that may or may not be there.

everytime there’s a persistent cough, he brushes it off. it’s dust—of course, that’s what’s making him cough and sneeze.

it’s all the cleaning—that’s why he’s so tired.

all of it melts away though when he hears the keys jingling and the door opening. there’s a bit of a shuffle, a door shutting softly and then he hears her.

“ross?”

he’s out the kitchen and walking towards her the next second, smiling huge. she looks like a fucking delight—hair a bit messy from the wind, surrounded by the smell of her perfume and a whole mix of flowers, plus something inexplicably green.

she grins when she sees him and almost tackles him into a hug.

“i love coming home to you…” the words are muffled by his t-shirt but his heart speeds up regardless. ross smiles and tucks his nose into her hair.

“hello, you. had a good day?”

she nods and stays exactly like she was. the bliss only lasts another second though. ross feels it only a second before it happens—the string of sneezes he lets out with only a split second’s warning from his body.

one, two, three, fifteen… until his eyes are watery and his throat stings from the effort. she looks at him with a bewildered expression on her face, slightly confused about…all of it.

he shakes his head. “shit, sorry! must have inhaled some pepper… i was just making dinner.”

which isn’t a lie. he was making dinner and yes he has got the pepper out on the table. she throws him one more skeptical look but doesn’t push it further.

ross takes her bag from her. “go wash up, i’ve got a movie picked out for us.”

she brightens instantly, and gives him a gorgeous smile, one that makes the tiny dimple by her lip appear. ross watches her nod and walk away from him, making her way to their bedroom. his smile is real for the most part until she finally shuts the door and he lets the cough he’s been holding in loose. he tries not to agitate his throat more, he tries to clear it so it would get rid of the itchy, sticky feeling.

pollen, the logical part of his brain tells him. there was a tonne of pollen in her hair. but ross stubbornly gulps a glass of water, sighing at the way it makes him feel better instantly. he splashes some water from the kitchen sink on his eyes to get rid of the stinging.

it’s only a bit of allergies, he’s not going to die from it. besides, once she showers, the pollen would be washed away…right?

the other delightful symptoms show up hours later when he’s in bed, tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. his head feels fucking heavy, like there’s suddenly a dumbbell placed on there. the itchy eyes won’t let him get comfortable and the constant urge to sneeze has him almost on the verge of fucking tears from how uncomfortable he is.

ross curses silently, staying as far away from her without falling off the bed—for one he wants to try limiting his exposure to pollen. and if there’s a slight chance that he’s coming down with something then it’s better that he stay a bit away from her anyway.

that just makes him even more miserable. all he wants to do is cuddle and fall asleep and not wake up until it’s at least 8 am the next morning but apparently he’s not afforded this luxury.

sighing, ross gets up and checks his phone. 1:03 am.

then he makes his way to the kitchen. maybe some tea might help… at least out of the bedroom he can finally sneeze into the crook of his elbow without worrying about waking her up.

ross stumbles into the kitchen, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion and frustration. he flicks on the dim light above the stove, wincing as it illuminates the small space. his head throbs with each heartbeat, and he reaches up to massage his temples, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure.

he tries not to be miffed about it—the fact that being out of the room instantly feels a bit better. it must the the honey in the tea, or the warm water. whatever it is, he refuses to admit it to himself that it may be her. that he’s been cocky about it this whole time only for it to bite him in the ass.

“ross?” he startles and whirls around.

despite the painful headache, his heart melts. she looks sleepy and soft—hair half out of the braid, his giant t-shirt drowning her a little, sliding off her shoulder. she squints her eyes against the light and rubs the sleep out of them.

“what are you doing, it’s—” she has to wait till the yawn passes “—so late. you alright?”

he nods, maybe a bit too quickly and fails to stifle a wince. the movement makes a twinge of pain slice through his head and her eyes train on him.

“you’re being weird… are you unwell?”

“‘m not being weird,” he tries to reassure her. ross walks up to her, placing a hand on her waist so he could gently steer her back to their bedroom. “i’m fine, love. my throat feels a bit dry so i thought tea would help.”

“your eyes are all red.”

“yeah, babe. i just woke up.” lie, lie, lie. “come on, you’ve got to be up early. go back to bed, i’ll join you in a sec.”

the skepticism on her face remains. “ross, if you’re ill—”

“i’m not ill, come on. would i do this if i were ill?” and then he kisses her. for a good thirty seconds.

predictably (and to his delight) she goes all loose in his arms, clinging to him as if the kiss is the only thing that matters. that convinces her though and once they break apart, she hmphs.

“fine, don’t be long.” and then she drags her feet back to the bedroom.

ross stays in the kitchen for a bit longers, massaging his aching temples and hoping the tea works as some magical cure. he even manages to convince himself a little that it’s working, and maybe it is!

finally, fifteen minutes later he gives up. he just wants to be in bed at this point. he’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.

ross wakes up alone to warm sunlight streaming in from the window, perhaps a bit too warm for an early spring day. everything feels weird and uncomfortable and stuffy, almost like he can barely breathe. exhaustion coats every cell in his body.

what the fuck…

he just woke up too, how is it possible to be this tired, this early in the morning. he stretches a little, trying to shake off the ickiness, until his eyes land on a post it stuck on the nightstand.

i don’t know if you remember me telling you i was leaving for work early so i thought i’d leave a note. you looked really tired and uncomfy :( call me if you need me xx

her neat handwriting stands stark against the paper. how did he miss her leaving for work? he has absolutely no memory of being even half-awake and he never sleeps in until this late. ross frowns and checks himself for a fever but his skin feels cool to the touch, normal.

allergies. a voice chimes in again. allergies to pollen and spring and. allergies to your girlfriend.

it’s incredibly childish to think of it that way, he knows it. but he also knows that if she knew her job was causing him this much discomfort, she’d be quite sad about it. so ross just shrugs it away and sends her a text

awake and feeling a lot better :)

thirty seconds later, his phone pings.

good, because i took half the day off to spend it with you ♡

despite himself, ross beams, feeling giddy like a teenager. it takes him some effort to get out of bed and shake off the fatigue. he should probably clean the room a bit before she comes back. his thoughts wander back to the last time—to him uncontrollably sneezing and coughing because of the pollen in her hair.

ross groans and tries to clear his throat again.

somehow he manages to pass the time, doing little things here and there, getting on his playstation to see if any of his friends are free for a game (the are, but only for a bit). he makes himself a lazy lunch, quick and easy tin ravioli that she would 100% wrinkle her nose at (“pasta should be fresh though!”) and then he waits, scrolling on his phone to pass the time.

he wakes up to an onslaught of kisses and a huge bouquet of daisies.

for a second ross wonders when he fell asleep. he didn’t even mean to fall asleep, the tiredness just dragged him under…

“there you are,” she grins at him and places another kiss on his nose. ross tries not to blush like a high school girl. instead, he pulls her into a quick kiss.

“i got you flowers!” the bouquet of daisies is thrust into his hands. the flowers are beautiful, each about the same size, white and fresh and pretty and she beams at him proudly. “made that one for you.”

“you are perfect…” he kisses her again and cradles the flowers closer. “any special occasion though?”

“nah, just thought you were a bit unwell and thought i’d get you flowers.”

ross brightens. he loves how thoughtful she is, loves that she made sure to get him flowers because she suspected he was sick.

all of it comes crashing the moment he feels the familiar itchy feeling build at the back of his throat, feels his eyes starting to water. he tries not to throw the flowers away as if they were made of fire but he has twist his body away from hers when he breaks out into a coughing fit. hacking and trying to get the flowers away from him.

“shit, you okay?” she sounds alarmed and rubs her hand up and down his back. it barely registers while ross struggles to breathe.

quickly she runs to the kitchen to get him some water. it takes him a bit to breathe and stop coughing so he can get some water down.

“i didn’t know you were this sick!”

“i’m not,” his voice sounds strained but she ignores him entirely and places the back of her hand against his forehead.

“no fever,” she frowns. “but you looked so run down before…”

“i haven’t caught a bug i promise!”

she opens her mouth again to argue, about to say something but stops halfway through the sentence, her eyes widening and ross watches in real time as the realisation dawns on her. the room goes drop dead silent.

“fuck…” she murmurs, “it’s hay fever, isn’t it.”

ross wants to deny it so desperately but all he can do is sit there and pout miserably. there’s nothing he can say that will undo it now.

“how long?”

“how long what?”

“how long have you been feeling it? itchy eyes, the sneezing, coughing. you know what i’m talking about.”

he does but he doesn’t want to admit it. quietly, she move the flowers as far away as possible. ross palms the back of his neck, sheepish. “two weeks.”

“you’ve been miserable for what–two weeks? because of me! and you didn’t even tell me.” her face falls more and more with each word and ross wants to point out that this is exactly why he didn’t tell her, and now she’s upset anyway. convincing herself that she’s the reason he’s been feeling so horrible.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

sheepishly, he spills everything—how he remembers the conversation about her ex, how he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s the one making him sick.

“and i didn’t want you moving away for three months! you just moved in”

he sounds so petulant and childish to his own ears, he sounds like a seven year old, not a fully grown man.

for a moment she says absolutely nothing. she only looks at him, bewildered and speechless.

“did–do—” then she has to pause to take a deep breath. “did you take any antihistamines?”

and that’s when it dawns on him. ross opens his mouth and closes it again, like a fish. antihistamines. allergy medicine. a miracle of modern science easily available to him over the counter. something he didn’t even bother thinking about.

“did you?”

“no.”

he hangs his head in shame, embarrassed that he didn’t think about it sooner until peals of her laughter jolt him back. she looks like she’s ready to collapse on the sofa, completely fucking floored by the giggles she can’t seem to suppress.

“you are so dramatic!” she shrieks, manages to even get the whole sentence out between gasps and giggles. “you’d think you caught the black death or something.”

“oi!” ross flicks her her on the nose but joins in on the laughter too. he has been a fucking idiot, of course he has. “you said you had to move away every spring! because your ex had it that bad!”

“yeah because he had asthma, you idiot.”

with every new piece of information she reveals, ross feels his face warm up more and more. okay yeah… he really has been fucking dramatic about all this.

“you really are an idiot, you know that?,” she catches her breath with a bit of effort and moves a bit closer to him. ross pretends to grumble but pulls her on his lap and holds her close.

“your idiot?”

“don’t try to be cute, you’re not living this down.” she sounds stern for about two seconds before bursting into another fit of giggles and burying her face in his shoulder.

“i’m not moving out the house just because you’re allergic to me, you know?” she teases once she’s sobered up enough. “you’ll be fine with some pills.”

he would be, now all he wants to do is make a mad dash to the pharmacy and buy whatever otc medication they have. it’s been hell as is, he just wants this feeling to go away.

i’m not moving out the house…

his heart leaps up to his throat and relief floods his body. ross feels like he can finally breathe again (figuratively, at least).

“i’m not allergic to you,” he counters, “i’m obsessed with you if anything.”

“flirting will not get you out of this!” but ross doesn’t miss the way her smile widens and she struggles to meet his eyes. if only he could stay like this forever…

he would have even, if not for another round of sneezes building up again. ross cringes, turning to the side.

“shit shit! still, radioactive, sorry.”

ross snorts, silently begging for the sneezes to go away.

“let me make a pharmacy run for you,” she declares, putting her shoes back on and shushing him with a look before he can even protest. it’s fine though, he thinks, it's only twenty minutes. she’s coming back home to him anyway.

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855@beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername@celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @humptyhoran @indierockgirrl @hanbiior @moreyoulove-moreyouknow @rossgirly @if-my-heart-bleeds @little-lovely-darling @abriefnirvana @renitypoem @sinarainbows @lady-may-targaryen @love4agesss @angrylittlebaldman @oneluckygirl @sinarainbows @starvchaser @noacfapologyst @abouttofillhisshoes @tbhnotthatfunny

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#spring fics #seasons #the 1975 #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #ross x reader #ross x you

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peachesofteal · 7 months

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Hello peach hope you're doing well!!

I want to say that I love your writing, i grow too attached to it especially dead disco, you have no idea how it represents my deepest weaknesses and things in me that i never seen written in details that hit the right way, the way that darling is loved and wanted and even cherished by them yet she's so drown in her "what ifs" and worst case scenarios... i don't know if you do requests but my birthday is coming by, and well my birthday aren't the happiest days so every year i act like a workaholic in grieve, so i thought what of darling is like this and both her lovers notice how gloomy and on edge she gets when her birthday approach, how she may fake her birthday dates and never really talk about it when it's one week away...i think it'll hurt good, thanks again! 🩷🤎

⛈️

Hi love! Sorry this is a bit late, if your birthday has already passed, I hope it was okay for you. I usually feel like there’s a raincloud following me around on my own birthday, so I can relate to not enjoying it so much. I hope you like this! 🖤

18+ MDNI brief mention of spanking and praise kink, angst, comfort, emotional issues, Simon is in charge, darling is her own tag-warning / no au / dead disco canon - early relationship

It started with a lie.

A lie you had told months ago, on the patio, glass of wine in your hand. You had been enjoying the summer sun, curled up in your underwear on Johnny's lap, Simon's fingers working circles into the balls of your feet.

"My birthday just passed, actually." Johnny startled underneath you.

"What? How come ye never told us?"

"I don't know..." you swallowed, hard. "We had just started hanging out, I didn't want to make a big deal." The lie is incredible. So many half truths, twisted into something so false.

The reality was, your birthday wasn't for another few months. And you usually didn't make it a big deal, had stopped celebrating it years ago. Once everything started to feel hollow. Once you started to feel like maybe, your birthday really wasn't something to be happy about. Maybe, if you just pretended it didn't exist, it would sting less. Hurt less, when others did too.

"I wish we had known, darling." Simon interrupts your thoughts, and you shrug.

"Next year."

"Is everything alright?” Simon’s hand squeezes yours, drawing your attention from where you’re staring at a book, but not really reading. He can tell. He always can tell. “You’ve been quiet today.”

Your jaw tenses and relaxes with one breath. “Yeah, I’m just tired.” In reality, you were fine. Everything was fine. Johnny was in the kitchen, you were half sprawled across Simon with your paperback. You had a full belly and two doting, loving, warm partners, home, together, in the flat. What more could you want?

It’s hard to explain, the feeling of your impending birthday. The doom spiral that it begins in your heart, the sucker punch that it will deliver the morning of.

The guys don’t even know it’s your birthday, they think it’s not for however long ahead the made up date was.

You can’t decide if it’s worse, or better that you lied. Probably worse.

Will they remember? You never gave them a definite date. Will they push you on it?

You sneak a glance at Simon and realize he’s watching you, studying your micro expressions and picking them apart.

Definitely worse.

You feel awful when you think about how disappointed they’ll be if they find out, how Johnny’s face with twist with sadness, confusion.

You mentally cross your fingers, and hope it never comes up.

Your hopes are drastically dashed the next day, when you come home to a silent flat, Simon sitting at the kitchen table with his hands folded.

“Hi?”

“How was your day?” He asks and you shrug.

“Fine.” You peer into the fridge, feigning interest to avoid whatever the fuck is happening at the kitchen table right now. “Where’s Johnny?”

“Out.” Out?

“Out where?”

“On an errand. Come here.” It’s a command, something you recognize now, and your mind goes on red alert, chest rattling with a shaky breath.

Your feet deliver you to him on auto pilot.

“You got something delivered today.” There’s a shiny piece of postcard barely peeking out from his palms, glinting in the kitchen light. “It’s from your dentist.”

“Oh.” You laugh, nervously, scratching your neck because you don’t know what else to do with your hands.

“They wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Since it’s on the fifteenth.”

Fuck.

Your brain splits in two. One half of you wants to double down and assure him it must be a mistake. The other half wants to say you’re sorry, burst into tears and crawl into his lap.

“Darling?”

“Yeah… I uh… it’s uh.” He raises an eyebrow and you trail off, eyes finding the floor, hot shame crawling up your spine to your cheeks.

“Why did you lie?” You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. No words, no lies, no rebuttals… just- a void. Nothing.

The walls feel like they’re ten feet closer to you, squeezing in on all sides, bearing down.

“Hey, hey.” His fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you closer into his body while you suck in a hurried breath.

You can’t do this. You can’t tell him. You don’t want them to know.

“I can’t.” You whisper to your feet, and he strokes a thumb across your pulse point.

“You can’t?” He pushes, like you knew he would. It doesn’t take much for you to fold, and when he squeezes you wrist encouragingly, you break.

“I… don’t like my birthday. So, I lied. I said it was a while ago so you guys didn’t know.”

“Why do you not like it?” You shrug.

“I don’t know. It just always seems so, empty. It makes me sad. When you’re a kid, birthdays are special you know? And then as you get older they just get… worse. It’s supposed to be a day to celebrate but I only ever feel alone. I feel like, I don’t know. Like it’s just sad. And not special.” Your lower lip trembles, but you swallow down the lump in your throat, unable to let yourself fall apart, unable to fall beneath the weight. “I can’t explain it but there’s always a pit in my stomach, the morning of, and I can never shake it. It’s not like my previous relationships even really went out of their way to do something, so I… I don’t know.” You cut yourself off from your ramble by biting the inside of your cheek, trying to ward off a tidal wave of emotion.

“I see.” He pauses, and then wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. “And you were worried you’d feel the same, with us?” You shrug again. “Did you think we’d disappoint you?”

“No!” You blurt. “No, I just- I didn’t want the expectation. I didn’t want-“

“To be let down.” You shake your head with a denial, but Simon only nods, face grave and serious. “You always feel alone on your birthday. Why should it be any different now?”

“Because-“

“Because you don’t trust this yet.”

“That’s not true.”

“You trust us, darling. I know that. Johnny knows that. But trauma is muscle memory. It takes more than a few months with a new relationship to heal the build up of the pain and experiences you’ve been carrying.”

You can feel yourself twisting on the hook of his words. It’s so hard… to believe. To know. To trust but… this. Him and Johnny- you know it’s real. You’re terrified it’s real. It gives you the sweetest dreams and the scariest nightmares.

“I’m sorry I lied.”

“That’s alright, love. I’m not angry.” He watching you closely, cradling your jaw when your lip picks back up with it’s quivering. “But I think you need to feel better. I think you’ve been bottling this up for weeks now, haven’t you?” You suck in a deep breath, ragged and raw. You’re buzzing now, feeling too big for your skin, your clothes, your nerve endings rattling inside your body. “Should we sort it out?”

You nod.

“Words, darling.”

“Yes, Simon.”

When Johnny waltzes through the front door an hour later with a cake and a dozen balloons, he’s half curious, half elated to see you over Simon’s knee with your pants around your ankles, wide palm smoothing the raw skin of your ass as he hums sweetly to you.

“Shhh, good girl. I know, I know. It’s alright. You did so good for me.” Simon calls over your sniffling. “Johnny, c’mere. I think our girl is ready for her first gift.”

#peaches asks #dead disco #ghost x soap x reader #john mactavish #simon riley

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wolfjackle-creates · 1 year

Text

Ghost!Robin Part 7

All right! Here's part 7. I hope you enjoy. I don't think I really have any opening notes to go over this time, so I'll just leave it there. Check out the ask game I posted yesterday if you're interested.

This week you get a bit more than usual at 1.6k words.

First, Previous

----------

“What was that you meant about me being Jazz’s second dead boyfriend?”

Over his surprised laughter, he heard Jazz’s groan from across the hall. Yeah, he really did like Jason more than Johnny.

“One of my former rogues, Johnny 13, pretended to be human and started dating Jazz for a period. He was trying to mold her body into a vessel for his equally dead girlfriend Kitty. He had a similar bad-boy vibe to you but was actually awful. We might be cool now, but I’m still pissed he did that.”

Jason blinked at him before a slow grin took over his face. “So Jazz has a history of bad choices, does she? She always acts like she’s always had it together.”

“Oh definitely not. No child raised by our parents could have it always together.”

“Jazz refuses to talk about your parents, will you tell me what they did?”

Before Danny could answer, Jazz shouted his name. “Danny! If you’re done apologizing to Jason, start helping me explain!”

Danny rolled his eyes to Jason. “Later, I suppose. Duty calls! Come on, you’ve got to have a lot of questions, dead boyfriend number two, and yours will get priority answers.”

Jason’s surprised laugh made him grin despite the deepening glares of the other Waynes.

Surprisingly, it was Duke who blurted out a question in a high, freaked-out voice first. “Why do you have a crown?”

Danny, who’d turned and took all of one step in the direction of the dining hall, paused and turned back around. “How can you see that?” And then he realized the ground was still littered with broken glass and ceramics. “Never mind. Later. Let me clean up the broken glass and stuff first. Least I can do.”

Bruce’s hand landed heavy on his shoulder. “No. You will answer our questions now.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no. Look, the short of it is that I died when I was fourteen because I was stupid. It didn’t take and now I’m only half dead. I have a ghost form and a human form and all the standard ghost powers. The main ones being invisibility”—he turned invisible for a moment—“intangibility”—Bruce’s hand fell through his shoulder—“and gravity manipulation.” He raised in the air until he was floating a foot above the floor. “I also have some more unique powers, such as ice.” With a wave of his hand, ice grew around the shards of glass.

Alfred and Duke quickly backed away from the mess, but once every piece of broken china was encased, the ice stopped growing.

“So, if you’ll just tell me where I can dispose of the shards, I’ll be happy to do it. And this way no one has to be at risk of hurting themselves cleaning broken glass. Plus I got up all the fine powder, too. No little bits that can barely be seen but will fuck up your vacuum cleaner.”

“A handy skill,” said Alfred before anyone else could speak. “I will lead you to the bins.” To the rest of the group, he said, “Jason, would you and Duke collect the desserts from the kitchen and set up the dining room? As it appears we are all allies here, there is no reason to have this conversation standing in a hallway when we could have it sitting down with good food.”

“Alfred—” started Bruce.

Only to be cut off by the butler. “Master Bruce, I will be quite safe with the young man, I am sure of it. Jason’s… ghost has explained a few things already.” Only the slight pause before the word ghost betrayed that the man wasn’t entirely at ease.

Tim stepped forward. “Let me come with you both, Alfred?”

With a put upon sigh, the man agreed. “Very well, Master Tim, if you must. Mr. Danny, please follow me.”

“Yes, sir.” Danny followed obediently, the ice floating along behind him with barely a thought.

“You don’t need to make any sort of gesture to control the ice?” asked Tim.

Danny shook his head. “Nah. It’s my ice. It’ll do what I want it to. Most ghost powers are based on thought and emotion, honestly.” They took another turn. His castle didn’t even have this many hallways.

“So when you said the ghosts in Amity, you meant that literally.” Tim acted like it was a revelation.

“Of course I did. Shortly after my accident, ghosts started attacking on a regular basis. Took years for me to get things under control and by that point I’d already failed out of high school.”

“But if it was so hard… why didn’t you call the Justice League?”

Danny threw back his head and gave a hysterical laugh. “And then have to fight an overshadowed Superman? Or, worse yet, speedster? No. No thank you. Never. A representative of Justice League Dark stopped by about six or eight months after I got my powers and I told him to keep everyone out of my haunt. He gave me a phone number in case I came across something I couldn’t handle. But I kept being able to handle it, so I never used the number.”

“Overshadowed?” asked Alfred, “I do not believe we know that term. Ah, here we are.” He opened a door that led outside to a drive where a collection of garbage bins sat. “That container there”—he pointed—“is for glass recycling. Will the ice leave the bin filled with water?”

“Not at all. It’ll be completely gone.” Danny had the ice hover over the bin and made it disappear slowly enough that the shards were released without any falling outside the container. No water remained to show how he had transported them.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Danny. Now, overshadowing?” he asked as he held the door open for the boys to precede him inside.

“Oh, um. It’s like possession. Ghosts can take over a living being’s body. But when we do, we don’t have access to memories or knowledge or anything. And after the ghost leaves, the human just doesn’t remember anything from the time they were overshadowed.”

“And is this another of those basic ghost powers you have?” Tim’s voice was hard.

“Yes,” Danny answered simply. “It feels gross, though, and I’ve only done it a handful of times. Ever. First on my dad to get out of some school trouble, but I kept making things worse. After that on my friends and Jazz, with permission, so we could document limitations and if it hurt humans. Far as we could tell, it doesn’t.”

“You sound like a very conscientious young man. I have no doubt you use your powers responsibly.”

Danny laughed. “I screwed up more than a few times before I found ghost mentors. And ghosts are always a little chaotic, so some messing around is not only expected but encouraged.”

Alfred smiled. “I’m sure we will love hearing some of those stories as we get to know you and Ms. Jasmine better.”

“I can’t… I can’t tell you everything. There’s far too much and so much of it just doesn’t matter on Earth that it’d be pointless to go into.”

Danny saw Tim open his mouth to speak, but Alfred cut him off before he could. “I only want to know one thing: will Jason be all right?”

Danny smiled in relief. “Yes. That I can promise. I don’t know for sure how best to help him, but I’ve some ideas and I’ll consult with my doctors. They’re the leading experts in human-ghost biology.”

“Then I am glad you came tonight and were able to notice something was wrong. Thank you.”

With a shrug, Danny just said, “It’s literally my job. This is what I do.” Up ahead, he could see the doorway back to the dining room.

“If it’s your job, how much do we owe you?” asked Tim.

That question brought Danny up short. “Owe me? What are you talking about?”

“If you’re doing this for work,” said Tim as they entered the dining room, “Then you need to be paid somehow. If not by us, then how?”

“What are you lying about now, Danny?” asked Jazz, shaking her head at Tim’s question.

“Nothing! Tim asked why I’m planning on helping Jason and, besides the fact that he’s dating you and I’ll obviously help, I just said it’s literally my job. You heard his reaction to that!”

Bruce grunted. “Then I suppose you know where your explanations should begin. What is your job? A full explanation this time, please.”

“Right, yes, I can totally do that. I’m so great at explaining things.”

Jazz snickered at that statement and Danny poked her as he sat down next to her. Tim and Alfred took their seats as well.

“Now, Mr. Fenton.”

Danny winced at the name. “Don’t call me that. I’m not allowed that name anymore.”

“Danny, your job,” repeated Bruce, face expressionless.

“Right. Um… Well, I do just kinda do whatever is necessary or find someone who can. Because, um, well, I’m… kinda the High King of the Infinite Realms? There’s a bunch more titles after that but I refuse to memorize them because ugh.”

Danny looked down at his plate, not wanting to see everyone’s reactions. Jazz must’ve made sure he got a piece of pie because it sat in front of him. It looked so good. Did they even know about the Infinite Realms? Justice League Dark members did, but did Batman? Jazz reached over and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

----------

Looks like Danny found another excuse to delay the interrogation! (I honestly forgot about the broken glass before Duke spoke up and asked about the crown. But I did always plan to have Danny clean it up.)

Tag List: I'm getting posting errors, so I'll be splitting the tag list in two.

@addie-lover-of-stories, @justwannabecat, @gin2212, @amercurio, @regonold, @overtherose, @readerzj, @sjrose1216, @echoednonny, @deeterzz, @blu-lilac, @number-one-jew, @rowanaway-fromthisbs, @vythika96, @tired-yet-awaken, @themirrorghost, @emeraldcorpral, @all-mights-asscheeks, @darkhinauniverse, @blep-23, @phandomhyperfixationblog, @larkcoe1, @thegatorsgoose, @job-ross-the-second, @britcision, @lenacraft, @bubblemixer, @androgynouslordofescapism, @purefrickingspite, @leftmiraclechaos, @lizisipancardo, @starlight-sparks

#dpxdc #danny fenton #alfred pennyworth #tim drake #bruce wayne #duke thomas #anger management #my writing #bruce does feel bad about calling danny 'fenton'#but he's awful about apologizing #and danny can't read him the way the other bats can #alfred is just happy that danny will be able to help jason #both of them #he wants his grandkids to be happy and healthy #and they too often arent

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