#& apparently it wasn’t even good enough for the commissioner

[amazingmsme]

Sorry for English. Hi, I love your Steddie fics. I've seen one anon ask abot a ritual and it sparked a creativity light in my head (because you said you're burnt out) : What if ritual would be named Hellfire and it'd be taken from secret notes made by Eddie? And what if all his D&D campaigns (and tickling sessions from other fanfics) were just a secret plan (a training) for this exact moment? And at the beginning of ritual Steve could say something like 'A song of your ribs shall now bring you back to us' (as a hint for laugh). I hope I helped 😉😊

No need to apologize, your English is fine! I really appreciate you going through the trouble to flesh out this scenario on my behalf, but I just haven’t felt inspired to write for stranger things for a while now. It’s nothing against y’all or the show itself, it’s just been so long in between seasons that the passion has fizzled out. & I’ve written fics for it in the past that I wasn’t really happy with or didn’t enjoy writing just to fill a prompt. I’ve said multiple times that I don’t feel like writing for this fandom right now, & that still stands & probably won’t change until after the new season drops

I’m sorry, but this just isn’t something I feel compelled to write. If anyone else feels inspired, please feel free to write it, & let me know if you do so I can share!

[justagalwhowrites]

Someone New: Part of For You - A Collection of Requests Benefitting Palestine

Joel is new to Jackson and his family is eager to play matchmaker.

Event Terms: Commissioners could choose to donate between $15 and $50 via Ko-Fi for one fic of 1-2k words. Payment due after completion of the fic. Donation with a match by the author paid to PCRF upon completion. Commissioners had the option to choose to keep a fic private and all fics may not be shared here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC Ashley (NOT a reader insert)

Warnings: Smut :D Unprotected P in V sex. Daddy kink. Age gap (Joel is 56, Ashley is 40.) Light Dom!Joel and Sub!FOC. No use of Y/N. 18+ Only MINORS DNI

Length: 3.6k

For You Masterlist | Full Masterlist | AO3

A/N: Written as a request by the lovely @ashleyfilm! She requested "Jackson era Joel from the tv show, so Pedro, and me (Ashley, plus size, I’m 40, I have black hair and glasses, my eyes are blue green with some hazel, I have tattoos, I’m short. A little goth, wear all black where it’s possible in an apocalypse haha) in this scenario I have a cool exterior and I’m independent by nature, but when you get to know me I’m funny and loving, but keep to myself. Joel and I would both like each other but have no clue, while Tommy, Maria and Ellie would all know and roll their eyes at us, try and talk sense into us. Eventually we come together and I’d love some smut. Some daddy soft dom Joel, I’m sub, the only time I want to be told what to do is during sex. I like giving pussies a pronoun so like she likes it and her if you know what I mean. And some fluff would be nice too." Shared with permission. I hope you all enjoy!!

Tommy was starting to drive Joel insane. 

It had taken some adjustment, coming to Jackson. 

There was the adjustment of being back around other people at all, for starters. There was the adjustment to being a father again. There was the adjustment of being in a place he cared about, one where he wanted to contribute instead of forced to to keep FEDRA’s boot off his neck. 

It had been a lot to swallow and, not that anyone was asking, he thought he’d done a damn good job of it. Ellie was happy, going to school every day and making friends. He had his ways to play his part in the community. 

So what if he was doing it all on his own? It’s not like it’s a crime to keep to yourself, he wasn’t sure why Tommy kept trying to push him further than he wanted to go. 

He doubted it was because Ashley was asking him to.

Ashley, the woman Tommy kept damn near throwing him toward at every opportunity. Ashley, who was years too young for him to even be thinking about the way he did. Ashley, whose plush curves and bright eyes had caught his attention from the moment he met her, even as she kept her distance from Joel and, it seemed, just about everyone else in Jackson. 

It didn’t matter how much Joel would enjoy things being different, that the little time he’d spent with her had been some of his favorite since coming here. She wasn’t interested - couldn’t be interested - and he wasn’t about to force it. 

Tommy, it seemed, had other ideas. 

“I’m not sure why you won’t just see if she wants to go,” Tommy said one night as they sat in the mess hall for dinner. “What’s the harm?” 

“Don’t particularly feel like gettin’ shot down,” Joel replied, taking a bite of his mashed potatoes. “Got enough goin’ on without worrying about that, too.” 

“Worrying about what?” Maria asked, taking her spot next to Tommy. Joel resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing he was about to be outnumbered. 

“Joel won’t ask Ashley to the dance on Saturday,” Tommy smirked a little. “He’s convinced she’d say no…” 

“Who would say no to what?” Ellie joined them, too, sitting next to Joel. 

“Ashley to Joel and the dance, apparently,” Maria said, giving Ellie a knowing look. 

“Oh shit,” Ellie’s eyes went a little wide. “They’d be so cute together, Joel pretending to be a person who actually does something besides be grumpy…” 

“OK you tryin’ to get yourself grounded?” Joel asked, brows raised. Ellie rolled her eyes. “Because it sure seems like it. And I don’t need y’all match making for me. I am doin’ just fine without worrying about all of that. Leave it.” 

Ellie and Maria gave each other a knowing look that Joel was about to call them on when Tommy distracted him. 

“You’re going to the dance Saturday anyway, right?” He asked. “Just because you’re too chicken shit to bring a date doesn’t mean you should sit it out. It’s a big party, the whole town will be there, you should at least come by for a few drinks. You’ll miss out if you don’t.” 

“Yeah, I want to go!” Ellie said, turning to Joel and pouting a little. “You’re really going to make me go all by myself?” 

“I’ll go to the dance,” Joel sighed before looking between the others and gesturing between them with the fork. “S’long as you three are done meddling.” 

“We’ll behave,” Ellie smirked a little. “I promise.” 

Joel shouldn’t have believed them. He should have known better. 

But that didn’t make him any less surprised when he showed up to the dance Saturday evening and looked for Tommy and Maria, only to find them sitting with Ashley, her dark hair styled to pair with the black dress that seemed like it was made to highlight her every soft curve, curves that Joel had spent hours dreaming about exploring with his hands and mouth. 

He was going to strangle Tommy. 

“Joel!” His brother called, waving him over, as if Joel would have missed him. “Over here!” 

“C’mon old man,” Ellie teased. “Stop being such a fucking coward.” 

“We’re talking about your language later,” he muttered, letting Ellie lead him to the table, hoping that no one had put too much pressure on Ashley to put her in this position. 

“Well look who decided to join the party,” Tommy smirked. Joel ground his teeth. “Ashley, you know my brother Joel.” 

“I do,” she gave him a cool, tight smile and took a sip of her drink, looking back out toward the dance floor. 

“Hi,” Joel said before feeling like a bit of an idiot and pulling his eyes from her to turn back to his brother. “How are you Tommy, Maria?” 

“Oh, we’re good,” Maria smiled a little, looking more like Tommy than Joel thought was appropriate. He wondered if married couples started looking alike before too long. 

“Just peachy,” Tommy said as a new song started. “Oh would you look at that, I need to dance with my wife. Maria?” 

He offered her his hand and she smiled wider before taking it, giving Joel a meaningful look before being led onto the dance floor by her husband. 

“Oh, I think I see Dina,” Ellie said before clapping Joel on the back and leaving him there, alone with Ashley, before he had the chance to argue. 

Joel just stood there, awkwardly, trying not to stare at her, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. 

“So,” he said eventually. “Um… that seat taken?” 

She looked at him, brows raised. 

“Just by your brother.” 

“Right,” he said, taking it anyway. She looked back toward the dance floor and Joel looked her over while he had the chance, how the darkness of her clothes seemed to suit her, the sharp intelligence behind her glasses, the beauty of the tattoos he could see on her exposed skin. He wondered what each of them meant, wondered what it would be like to take his time tracing over each one. 

“So,” she turned her attention back to Joel. “Liking Jackson so far? Been here… what, a few months now?” 

“Yeah,” Joel nodded. “S’good. Different than where I’ve been for a while but that’s a good thing. Ellie likes it, all that really matters.” 

She nodded slowly, taking another sip of her drink. 

“Seems like she’s a good kid,” she said. “Sure got a mouth on her, though.” 

“Yeah,” Joel laughed, leaning his elbows onto the table. “She’s somethin’ else. I tried telling her she needs to watch her language, this ain’t the QZ.” 

“That’s a hell of an adjustment,” she smiled a little and damn, Joel really liked to see her smile. More than he’d liked seeing a woman smile in… he wasn’t sure how long. “Trust me, I know.” 

“You spent some time in a QZ?” He asked, brows raised. 

She nodded, taking a final sip of her cocktail. 

“Portland,” she said. “I was there at the beginning. One night, I was sneaking liquor at industry night at my favorite club, the next it’s a war zone. Got used to it after a while, though. You were in Boston with Tommy, right?” 

“I was,” Joel nodded. “Took us a while to work our way there but found it eventually.” 

“And you both ended up all the way out here.” 

“Suppose so,” Joel said. He nodded to her empty glass. “Can I get you another?” 

“Yeah,” she smiled. “That’d be nice.” 

He went to the bar and got them both a drink before rejoining her at the table. 

Joel was surprised at how much he liked talking with her. For how much time he’d spent thinking about her and looking at her, he hadn’t spent much time actually talking with her. She wasn’t what he’d expected. 

Where he’d always known her to be a bit distant and cool, he was starting to realize that, as soon as he was past the caution she seemed to approach the world with, she was really very warm and loving, thoughtful and kind. They talked about music, about what they missed about before, the quirks of life in Jackson after living in a QZ. 

By the time Joel got her onto the dance floor, he was ready to get her home. And he was starting to think she wanted the same. 

“Can I walk you home?” Joel asked as the Tipsy Bison was almost empty and he wasn’t able to come up with any more excuses to stay. 

“You can,” she smiled. “But… I think I’d rather you walk me to yours.” 

He smiled back. 

“Think that can be arranged.” 

Joel draped his arm over her shoulders and the two of them walked slowly through the dark town, the streets quiet and the stars bright. 

“Well,” Joel said as they came to his front walk. “This is me. Still want to come in?” 

“Yeah,” Ashley nodded. “Yeah, I really do.” 

He smiled. 

“Good.” 

He took her hand and led her to his door. 

But things shifted as they made it inside. Joel tilted her face up, finding the right angle, thumb brushing her lips, waiting for her to make a move. 

But she didn’t. Her breaths got quicker, her eyes searched his and, after a moment, he felt like he couldn’t wait anymore. 

“I’m gonna kiss you,” he said. “Because it’s all I’ve been thinkin’ about doing for a while.” 

She just nodded quickly and he kissed her, covering her mouth with his. 

It had been a while since Joel had kissed anyone, even longer since it was a first kiss. But Joel could tell this was different, something special. It was like an electric current ran over his skin, sparking at where your lips met and shooting out through the rest of him. There was a sharp, sudden pang of need deep inside him, the drive to be closer to her, as close as he could reach. More than that, he wanted to know that she was safe, cared for. That she had what she needed and what she wanted because he was giving it to her. 

“Joel,” she breathed as they separated, just enough for him to look in those blue green eyes of hers. “Will you take me to bed?” 

“Yeah baby,” he said, want seeping into his voice. “Yeah, I will.” 

He kissed her again, his hands sliding down from her face to her arms to her waist, moving her toward the stairs as he did. He only pulled away from her when they needed to go up to his room, not wanting to stop touching her for even a few moments, his skin almost aching as he watched the round shape of her ass in her black skirt going upstairs ahead of him. 

Joel pulled her back against him at the top of the stairs, the few seconds she was apart from him too much. Her arms stretched up and went around his neck and his hands roamed over her back and sides, luxuriating in just how soft she felt, how he could find places on her that seemed made for him to hold. He guided her to his room, kicking the door shut behind him. He slid his hands back up her body over her arms, his callused fingers slipping over her soft skin. 

“You gonna let me make you feel good, pretty girl?” He asked, voice dark and low. “Because I want to touch every damn inch of you.” 

“Please, Joel,” she whispered, her fingers tightening desperately on his curls at the nape of his neck. “Please, I want you, I need you, I…” 

“Shhh,” he hushed her. “Don’t worry about a thing. Just let Daddy take care of you.” 

He kissed her again and found the zipper on her dress, sliding it down, down, down, until he could slide the straps down her arms and let the fabric fall to the floor. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes ranging over Ashley’s body, tracing over her curves and tattoos. “You are the most beautiful damn thing I’ve ever seen.” 

He reached around and unhooked her bra, sliding the straps down her arms and dropping it to the floor before cupping her breasts, the fullness of her so soft below his touch that he couldn’t help but groan. 

“You gonna let me take care of you, baby girl?” He asked, voice husky. “You need me to take care of you, don’t you?” 

He wasn’t entirely sure why he said it but something inside him just knew, he could sense it in her. That she wanted someone to guide her, someone she could trust to take charge and give her what she needed.

He could tell by the way she nodded that he was right. 

Joel guided her down onto the bed before pulling his shirt and casting it aside. His eyes ranged over her body as he took his jeans and underwear off, too, his cock already thick and achingly hard. He worked himself, not able to stop himself as he drank her in, memorizing her. 

“Want you to touch yourself for me,” he said, stepping closer to the bed. “Spread those pretty legs, put your hand in your panties, show me how you like to touch yourself.” 

She took a hesitant, shaky breath and slid her hand down her body before slipping them below the fabric, stretching it tight over her pussy for a moment before her hand dipped lower. He could see the outline of her fingers clearly, watched with his mouth watering as they stroked her pussy lips before slipping inside. 

“There you go, baby girl,” he groaned, stroking his cock in time with her fingers. “You just keep on doin’ that for me.” 

He moved to the bed and she frowned as he reached out, looping his fingers around the waistband of her panties to start tugging them down. His eyes moved from her face, down her body to where her pussy lay just below the fabric. Her fingers were still. 

“I tell you to stop?” He asked. She groaned and he saw her fingers start to move again. “That’s my good girl. Want your pussy all nice and wet and full when I see her the first time.” 

He pulled her underwear down slowly, revealing her wet slit with two of her fingers buried deep inside herself as he did.

“Oh, there she is,” he breathed, casting her panties aside. “Fuck, such a pretty little pussy ain’t she?” 

Ashley just moaned, thrusting her fingers deeper. Joel licked his lips, desperate for a taste of her. 

“Spread her open for me, baby,” he said, spreading her legs wide and settling between them. “Lemme see.” 

Her hands trembled as she slid her fingers from her dripping entrance and delicately opened herself to him. 

“Fuck me,” Joel groaned, taking a thumb and brushing it over her tight little hole before trailing it up to her swollen nub. “Gonna take a lot before she can take me. Don’t worry baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

He pressed his mouth to her entrance, just a kiss at first, a taste of her musky sweetness. His thumb stayed against her clit, rubbing her in slow and gentle circles as he dipped is tongue inside of her. 

Joel started slow, easing her into it. His tongue worked deeper, his thumb harder. Eventually, he added a finger, then two, starting to stretch her open as her hips canted up against his face, her legs squirming, delicious moans and gasps pouring from her lips. He looped an arm around her thigh to hold her still, pulling her leg against the side of his head and leaving his nose to work her clit as his hand splayed wide on her plush thigh. 

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” her back was arched, fingers wound tight in his quilt. “I’m coming, I’m coming Daddy, I’m coming!” 

He smiled against her as he ate her through her orgasm, pressing his aching cock down into the bed as he felt her pussy flutter over his tongue. 

When her climax eased, he pulled himself from her tight, wet heat and rose to his knees, stroking his dripping length as she came back down to earth. He nudged her legs apart and down, leaving her fully exposed to him. He ran his fingers over her slit, gathering her wetness and bringing it to his cock as she looked at him, her eyes a little wide. 

“Is…” she swallowed, hard. “Is that going to fit inside me? I don’t know if that’s going to fit…” 

“It’ll fit, baby girl,” he said, working himself as he lined himself up with her entrance. “You can take it, so nice and wet for me. You just relax and let me inside you.” 

He pressed his cock against her tight center, moaning and just how hot and wet and fucking soft she felt. He watched, almost obsessed, as she opened to take him, the stretch almost obscene as he saw himself start to disappear into her body. 

“See baby?” He panted as he sank just the first few inches of him into her cunt. “You can take it, taking it so good for me. She stretches so fuckin’ pretty for me, so goddamn pretty.” 

Her hands flew to his biceps as he leaned over her, pressing himself deeper, her fingers scrambling over his muscle as he worked her open. Joel fought to think of anything but the fact that he was almost fully inside the woman he’d been longing for for weeks now. He couldn’t come too quick, he couldn’t let this end now. He had to take his time, had to feel her come around him. 

And then he was buried inside her to the root, the entirety of him in the entirety of her, her walls stretching to hold him. 

“There you go,” he praised her. He splayed his hand wide over her thick, soft lower stomach, pressing into her skin as his thumb slid down to her clit and started stroking it. “Did so good, taking me so well. You ever been this stretched baby?” 

“No daddy,” her nails dug into his arm. “Feels so good…” 

“Good girl,” he said, working her clit a little harder. She moaned and rocked her hips against him. “Aw, does someone need to be fucked? Someone need me to make her come?” 

“Yes,” she pleaded. “Please, please, please Daddy, please, I need to come, I need…” 

“I’ve got you baby,” he said, leaning over her and kissing her deeply, the taste of her mouth mixing with the taste of her pussy that lingered on his tongue. “Gonna make you come so hard for me.” 

He pulled back before thrusting forward, hard and fast and making her gasp, her hands flying from his arms to his back. But he stopped her, taking hold of her arms and pinning them over her head with one of his large hands. 

“You can use those when I tell you,” he said. “Right now, need you focused on taking,” he pulled back and thrust back in quickly. “This.” He did it again, fucking into her hard and fast. “Cock.” He did it one last time before grinding himself deep. “Tell me when you’re about to come.” 

He picked up his pace then, fucking into her deep and firm, grinding his hips down against her clit, feeling how her breasts moved against him as he forced her walls apart with each heavy stroke. 

Joel didn’t let up, too lost in her and just how damn good she felt to do anything else. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been fucking her - just that it wasn’t long enough - when her breathy, desperate voice broke through the lust-driven haze of his mind. 

“I’m gonna come,” she keened, her pussy to tight around him that it almost hurt. “Gonna come, I’m gonna come Daddy, please…” 

He freed her hands then and she gasped, her fingers immediately finding the broad expanse of his back. Joel took her face in his hands and looked into those eyes of hers, unlike anything else he’d ever seen as he felt how her body took his. 

“Good girl,” he said, breathless and needy, too. “Come for me, come all over my cock, that’s it, so good for me…” 

The chorus of praise continued until she cried out, her whole body seizing as her channel gripped him so tight he was almost afraid it would force him out. But he held himself deep inside her, kissing her as she moaned into his mouth as she throbbed around him. His orgasm took hold, amazed for the half second he was aware enough to think that he’d been able to hold off this long, emptying himself deep inside of her. 

“Fuck,” she moaned, panting for breath as they both came down from their shared high. Joel had all but collapsed on top of her and he adjusted, pulling himself gently from her body and feeling their combined spend leaking from her as he did. He lay beside her and she turned to look at him. “That… I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like that.” 

He smiled a little. 

“Me either.” 

She smiled back. 

“I think we’ll have to do that again sometime,” she said. 

“Only if you let me take you out first,” Joel said. “Don’t think I can get enough of you in bed. Think I’m gonna need as much as you’ll let me have outside it, too.” 

Ashley reached out and carded her fingers through his thick, shaggy curls. 

“I think we can make that work.” 

[ddollipop]

THINK I WANNA FEEL LOVE. . . ! — ( THOMA. )

#. synopsis! — when ayato allows visiting nobles from other nations to stay at the kamisato estate, thoma finds himself very interested in one young woman in particular .

#. contains! — f!reader , explicitly nsfw content , oral sex , cunnilingus , cum swallowing , multiple positions , vaginal fingering , vaginal sex , thoma's a pervert , panty sniffing , caught masturbating , virginity , explicit first time sex , frequent usage of endearment terms (baby/angel) , vanilla sex , praise , thoma is really sweet .

#. word count! — 4.2k .

#. a/n! — happy kinktober, sluts ! let's see how many times i post this year, trying to break my previous year's record of three lmao (with one being three days late smh) .

If you ask about Thoma throughout Inazuma, you’ll likely get similar replies. They’ll comment on his willingness to help others, to be of service to those in need. Many will commonly note that he’s a hard worker, a diligent young man who loathes leaving any task incomplete. You might even hear that he’s a prime candidate for many young women in terms of romantic interest, —that he’s easy on the eyes and gentlemanly to boot. Such praise from not only the general public, but even the likes of Kamisato Ayato and Ayaka themselves, left you truly believing that you were in good hands with him.

Which. . . Is still accurate, you suppose; just not in the way you expected.

Coming from a sizable line of nobility, you were cordially invited to attend a week-long summit in Inazuma to discuss international relations between all the nations. Though it wasn’t quite your area of expertise, you readily accepted the offer and studied dutifully in order to make a positive impression. The Yashiro Commissioner was also kind enough to allow guests of high importance (of which you were apparently one) to board in the Kamisato estate for the duration of your stay.

Thus, their dearest housekeeper became yours for the week; in more ways than one. Just as the rumors had declared, —Thoma was warm, kind, and none too unattractive. He helped you carry your bags to the room you’d be staying in and made it clear that if you needed anything at all, you could come to him for help. You thanked him, but didn’t really expect to take him up on that. After all, you were quite used to taking care of most things yourself, and that background of independence and task-juggling has all but prepared you for the very worst.

Thoma was an unexpected storm though; —one you hadn’t a clue how to weather.

The meeting for the third day was pushed back a few hours due to a holdup of cargo ships blocking the entrance to Inazuma. Many of the needed officials were busy trying to sort through the mess of it all, and others were aboard the ships stuck in the harbor, unable to leave until the others had cleared off. When word of the delay reached you, you were the first one out the door, well on your way back to the Kamisato estate. The two prior gatherings had taken a lot out of you, and while it was clear that your studying had served you more than well, the social aspect was quite draining. Moreover, a few extra hours of rest before diving into the next one was hardly a sour idea.

It seemed that everyone else was using their time differently. You were met with a sea of empty rooms, not a single soul in sight as you made your way down the long hall. Halfway to your temporary space, however, you caught wind of soft, muffled sounds coming from your room through the ever-so-slightly cracked sliding door. Your footsteps became much lighter as you approached, peeking in through the small gap to see what was going on.

Your jaw dropped and you were hardly able to contain the gasp that nearly erupted from the back of your throat. Thoma was in your room, clothed back pressed against the wall, your worn panties from the day before stuffed against his face. You could hear him taking long, deep breaths, savoring the scent of your day-old musk. His half-hard cock rested in his hand, offering slow strokes to himself as he reveled in the aroma of your used, unwashed underwear.

Reflexively, you felt prickles of disgust stab at your innocent heart. Having been raised a noble, you were well beyond sheltered in many ways, and this was the first time you’d ever seen something so phallic in person. But you couldn’t deny the warmth spreading along your core, nor the way your pussy clenched ever so slightly at the sight of it all. Thoma was fairly long and certainly not lacking in girth. His lithe fingers encircled himself, sliding along his member with exactly the kind of precision you would expect from an experienced housekeeper.

In your haze of confusion, you let instinct take over, allowing your hand to travel between your thighs. Through your layered dress (proper attire for the important meeting you were supposed to be attending) you rubbed little circles against yourself, getting little jolts of friction that managed to hit just right in spite of the material in your way. Thoma kept his eyes closed, likely to focus his senses on the panties just a few strokes away from being stuffed in his jowls.

You watched from the hall as he stroked himself to the thin garment, thumb grazing the ever-reddening tip of his cock.

“Fuck, y/n.”

The sound of your name falling from his lips leaves your hand freezing in place, breath hitching in your throat as if you were the “bad guy” in this situation. You certainly weren’t the one doing the most wrong here, but the thought of Thoma (or anyone else, for that matter) catching you in such a shameful position. . . It was utterly humiliating.

With his eyes still closed, hand still pumping along his shaft in slow, deliberate flicks, you came to the conclusion that he hadn’t seen you and was simply. . . Fantasizing?

Still feeling largely conflicted, your hand returned to your side and you were set on just walking away and pretending that this had never happened. You figured it was the best course of action to avoid any confrontation, leave things as they had been, and return home soon enough. That is, until one wrong move left a creaky board just outside the sliding door ringing out, to which Thoma’s eyes abruptly shot open in panic. He could see your wide eyes and the soft lavender color of the dress you’d been donning as he saw you out not even two hours prior through the slim crack in the door. 

“My Lady, I—” he cut himself off, your panties falling ungracefully from his hand to the floor at his feet.

Thoma stuffed his hardened cock into his pants, a harsh blush present on his cheeks as he sought to straighten his back and apologize for defiling your space.

“I-I’m sorry,” you said reflexively, backing away from the door, “I didn’t mean to watch, I just—”

The words die in your throat. You don’t know how to finish that sentence, and you fear anything you could have uttered would have just made the situation that much more contentious. 

He pauses, his chest still heaving a bit. Shame crackles in his gut, but he couldn’t help but to take particular interest in the latter half of your apology. The same hand he’d been jacking himself off with reaches out, pulling the door further off to the side. 

“You. . . Were watching?” Thoma asks, a small glint of hope flashing through his shamrock eyes. 

Your heart hammers now, pounding against your chest like a drum. Though there’s distance between yourself and him, you wonder if he can hear it from where he stands.

“Not long,” you attempt to assure him, not quite catching the subtle implications he was throwing your way. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

“You understand, then,” his tone lowers as he reaches out to take your wrist into his grip, —the same grip that held your panties to his face mere moments prior. “You understand that. . . That sometimes it’s just too easy to come undone.”

“I. . .” you hesitate, but finish anyway: “I suppose I do.”

“Come a little closer,” he beckons, giving your arm a soft pull toward him.

You’ve no reason to really be distrustful of him, so you take a few tentative steps forward, all but melting into his embrace. Now standing in the guest room, Thoma slides the door shut (fully, this time) before putting all of his attention on you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells you, cupping your heated cheek in his warm hand. “Since I first saw you, I haven’t been able to get you off my mind.”

Thoma pushes your hair back and away from your neck, baring it for his access, leaning in closer to whisper in your ear.

“Can I kiss you?”

Soft tufts of heated air ghost against your skin. A shaky breath passes your lips. You’re nervous, but Thoma. . . He’s been nothing but kind to you, and after what you just saw of him, it’s hard to deny that you’re attracted. All at once, he feels like some semblance of your home whilst you’re so far away, yet he reminds you just as equally of unexplored lands that you’ve never set foot on. He’s tantalizing. 

You nod.

His kiss is enough to steal the air from your lungs, starting off slow and deliberate. The little noises you make stir the lustful beast that creeps just beneath his charming exterior. His lips are soft and maybe even delicate as they gradually become hungrier, finally drawing down your chin and sliding along your open jaw. The gentle hand on your cheek takes its place on your hip now as his mouth explores your neck. Quickly enough, you melt into him, —muscles loosening as you allow him to have his way. 

"Here," he whispers, quickly leading you over to the futon mattress that sits on the floor.

Thoma's nimble fingers travel around your back, pulling at certain ribbons here and there to loosen the waist of your dress. As it comes undone, the sleeves begin to slump off your shoulders, and he cranes his neck down to pepper some more kisses along the newly bared skin.

"If it's too much, just say so," he notes, all the while helping you slip out of your formal attire.

As expected of someone in his line of work, he's meticulous about not damaging the garment. No tearing, no pulling, no unnecessary theatrics, —just undressing you like a gentleman before setting your clothes aside. He even helped to maintain your balance as you stepped out of it.

"Lay back," he prompts, quickly adding, "—make yourself comfortable."

You do, resting your head atop one of the newly fluffed pillows while Thoma strips himself down to his tight-fitting boxers. It's hard not to stare at the prominent outline of his bulge, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip as if to sober yourself up, forcing your gaze back up to meet his eyes sheepishly. If he noticed the hunger, he didn’t mention it, but you’re sure he can feel the static in the air between him and yourself as it snaps and crackles like a roaring fire. 

He kneels at your feet, each of you clad only in undergarments. His hands rest against your knees, then slide down the tops of your thighs in tandem. When he extends forward, you spread them, allowing him to slit himself in the open space.

"You're stunning," he compliments, "I haven't been able to stop staring at you since I first saw you. Everything about you is so gorgeous, —it makes it so hard to control myself around you."

Thoma lays it on thick enough to drown in. Though your breathing hitches a bit in your throat, his words fill you with enough confidence to raise yourself off the futon and slink your arms around his neck. The kiss that follows is deep, accompanied by his hands fondling your chest through the fabric of your bra. Each of you is quick to decide the material is an annoyance for the moment, and it's gone not long after. He loves the way your sensitive nipples perk up at the first touch of open air, —then further relishes in the little gasp you let out as he takes one into his mouth, tongue flicking it over. He laps at it until he tires, leaving a sheen of his spit in his wake, before moving over to the other and repeating the process once more. It's the first time any man has ever touched you like this, and you think to yourself that you're glad it's someone so considerate and thorough such as Thoma.

He continues to mumble little words of praise as he kisses down your sternum, —gorgeous, once, beautiful, twice, stunning, thrice. His tongue lolls out around your naval, leaving a thin trail of saliva behind until his mouth rests at the top of your panties. Though he hooks two fingers, one on either side, just below the lacy fabric, he doesn't pull just yet. Instead, he rests the flat of his tongue against your panties, letting his spit seep into the material. You can feel the warmth of his mouth through the fabric, and it's driving you wild. He pulls ever so slightly at the garment, but stops just short of pulling it off, instead lapping at your lips through the material in long, deliberate strokes.

"Ah, Thoma," you vocalize, left hand coming up to softly rest over your mouth.

He pauses for a moment to let you know how much he likes it when you say his name like that. You don’t catch the full sentence through the newfound adrenaline rush, but it’s something about how pretty his name sounds when it comes from you.

Thoma takes a hand from your thigh and presses the tip of his middle finger against the wet stripe along your panties, a mixture of his spit and your arousal, rubbing at the slickness. Your mind is swimming. This is all so new, and it feels distinctly different to the times you’ve sat in your bedroom swirling your fingers around on your clit, leaking onto pristine sheets in the late hours of the night.

Another pause, but this time he decides to tug at your underwear, encouraging you to lift your hips so he can do away with them for the time being. You’re almost embarrassed by how quickly you react, but it’s hard to be ashamed of anything when Thoma seems so delighted to just be there between your legs. He tosses the last of your clothing to the side, kissing the top of your foot, then up your calf, along your inner thighs, and finally he lets his tongue fall past his lips to split yours apart.

It’s good enough to make your toes curl on instinct, the way he laps like a thirsty animal quenching himself with the folds of your pussy. You gasp at the feeling, swallowing a full moan. He drinks you in like nectar and it’s enough to make you dizzy. 

You feel one of his fingers prod inside you, just barely, pausing to give you time to tell him to stop if that’s what you really want. —It’s not, so after a few moments, he lays his tongue flat against your clit and lets one of his long, slim fingers sink inside you until the base of his hand presses against you as well.

“Feel good, baby?” He inquires, glancing up at you from between your thighs.

“Yeah,” you answer breathily, moving the hand over your mouth down to your breast, clutching at the flesh and feeling his leftover saliva squelch against your skin. “Feels good.”

He hums in acknowledgement, and you feel the vibration in your core. A whine escapes you when he pushes another finger inside just as tenderly as before, letting you adjust before sinking all the way to the palm. He holds your hip a little roughly when he begins pumping his digits in and out, starting off slower to avoid any discomfort on your part.

“You’re so pretty,” he compliments. “It’s all I’ve thought about since you arrived. . . How stunning you are, how good you must taste. . .”

Under any other circumstances, you’d have been burning up from the sheer weight of his praise alone, but as things stand, you fear it’s nigh impossible to be any hotter than you already are in this moment. Your brain isn’t working fast enough to muster up a reply, so you resign yourself to whining at his touch, hoping that will speak for you.

And does it ever. Thoma can practically feel himself throbbing at the noises you’re making. He loves every little sound, relishes in the bliss of having you clench around his fingers, buried so deep in your snatch that his fingers are drowning in your heat.

He watches carefully as your hands clutch at the fabric of the futon in the guest room, feeling your thighs quivery around his body.

“Close?” He inquires.

He doesn’t really get a response, per say, but your back arches a little, pressing yourself harder into his fingers, and that says just about all he needs to know. His tongue returns to your clit, lapping at it again, pushing you closer and closer to the edge until you’re left cumming on his fingers and against his mouth. He slows down as you sink your teeth into your own wrist, huffing through the orgasm.

There’s an empty sort of feeling by the time he pulls his digits out, sitting more upright to wipe the mixture of his spit and your arousal from his lips with his forearm. His mind is screaming by now, all things he wants to say, but isn’t sure how to put into words. You’re so stunning like this, that sheen of pure bliss emanating from every pour, —that starry-eyed look in your stare. He loves the way you’ve retained a little sense of humility from it all, but not enough to cover yourself up. He loves the way your wrist keeps the bitemarks of your teeth like a trophy when you let it fall away from your mouth.

The thought of asking you to suck him off crosses his mind, but the moment he looks between your thighs and sees the pretty wetness there, he decides against it.

“C’mere, angel,” he mumbles, encouraging you to sit up and gain your bearings in his arms.

You do, and he’s so gentle in the way he holds you, like he thinks you’re made of something fragile enough to break apart at a moment’s notice. He presses a few off-handed kisses to your temple, then grabs your bitten wrist and kisses there too, as if trying to soothe the dull ache you’d inflicted upon yourself.

You’re not sure what to say, so you say nothing, but Thoma doesn’t seem to mind the silence. He fills it with little gestures of affection, —brushing hair from your eyes, presses soft kisses to your forehead and your lips.

“First time?” He inquires, just guessing from your initial shock and the way it all seemed so novel to you. (Plus your noble status, as those from high-class bloodlines were known for their tendency to keep their children quite sheltered.)

You nod in reply, seeming sheepish about it, but he gives you a reassuring smile.

“I’m honored,” he says, and you get the sense that he really means it. 

“We don’t have to do anything else,” he adds. “Please don’t feel pressured.”

It’s then that you give the possibilities some real, clear, rational thought. When you return home in just a few day’s time, it’s unlikely you’ll have an opportunity like this again for quite some time. Moreover, there’s something so endearing about Thoma, especially like this, that has you itching for more. So you swallow, gathering the courage to crane your neck up and kiss him. He seems a little startled by the sudden boldness, but kisses back just as readily, placing a hand on the back of your head.

“I want to,” you tell him, whispering the words against his lips.

And who is he to deny you what you want?

He tugs his boxers off then moves to lie back, thinking it best to let you start the pace. He helps you straddle him, a knee on either side, your cunt hovering just above his length. There’s a jolt of something close to electricity through your veins as the head of his cock brushes against your clit, and you take a sharp breath in. It feels really vulnerable, this position, Thoma’s hands on your hips, holding you steady as his eyes roam over every inch of you that’s on display for him. You know he’s not judging, but it’s new, and you avoid his gaze on purpose as you do your best to line him up efficiently between your thighs.

He bites his lip to stop himself from smiling, not wanting to be mistaken for laughing at you in such an unguarded position. Thoma just thinks you’re cute, the way your hands tremble a little as you work to get him inside. Just the tip, and you gasp a little, so he releases the lip between his teeth and tightens the grasp on your body.

“Easy,” he murmurs, “take your time, baby.”

“Sorry,” you utter like a reflex, though you’re not even sure what you’re even apologizing for in the first place.

You sink down a little further, feeling more of him enter, and it makes you gasp. With your hands on his chest, he can feel the way your arms are starting to shake, so he coaxes you forward and wraps his arms around your back.

“Don’t say sorry,” he mumbles, holding you securly. “Take it slow, there’s no rush.”

It’s several moments before you move again, taking him in until he bottoms out, and you gasp again, this time against the skin of his neck. It doesn’t hurt so much as it’s just new and slightly uncomfortable at first go, a little too full in comparison to everything else you’ve ever had. He lets you adjust, drawing shapes along your bare shoulders, whispering compliments and encouragement. 

“That’s it, baby,” he says softly, “just like that.”

There’s a little seed of pride that sprouts the moment you hear his breathing hitch in his throat. It tells you that you’re doing something right here at the very least, and you let his hands guide your movements, starting off slower before speeding up slightly and feeling his fingers dig into the plush skin of your ass. You swallow down a few moans, letting one of your hands travel to his head, tugging at his hair.

“That’s it,” he drawls, “that’s my girl, just like that, —fuck.”

It’s almost startling to hear that word fall from Thoma’s lips again, but you’re a little too blissed out to be surprised. Instead, you give up on the idea of choking back your moans and let them spill past your lips, —breath ghosting against his neck where you’ve buried your face in the crook. He tests the waters, jolting up to meet your riding, making your grip on his strawberry blond strands tighten in the process.

“Thoma,” you choke out desperately, causing a grin to etch its way onto his pretty face, “—please.”

He’s not sure how he knew what that please really meant, but he just did. Thus he switches the position at your discretion and takes his place between his legs again, lining the tip of his cock up just right, then letting it dip inside. Somehow, it feels better in this position than it did in the previous one, and he watches with ample interest as you take your bottom lip between your teeth nearly roughly enough to draw blood as your eyes roll back a ways.

There’s something alluring about the way he moans above you, like he’s getting drunk on this feeling, on this time he’s spending buried deeply enough inside you to feel your walls pulling him in as if every part of you is as desperate for him as he is for you. It feels good to be wanted, he realizes, and even better to be wanted by you.

He slides in and out, eventually establishing a pace that feels good for the both of you, —nothing rough, but not quite soft, either. It’s somewhere in the middle, with just enough enticement to push your novice body to new heights without overwhelming your sensibilities. Through it all, he’s as gentlemanly as everyone told you he was, watching your movements like a hawk, attentive of your every whimper.

When he goes deeper and gets a little sloppy, you’re far enough along for it to not make much of a difference. He’s nearing the edge of a precipice when the knot in your gut comes undone, and you cum on his cock, clenching down on him. He spares a few more thrusts in before slipping himself out and leaning back to jack himself off to a finish.

Before he can do so by himself, you’ve moved through the haze of your orgasm to wrap your lips around him. You’re not quite sure what came over you, but in the moment, it felt so right that you couldn’t back down by the time he was stuffed down your throat. He really didn’t mean to be so rough with you, but he was so close to the high he’d been desperately searching for in your cunt that your mouth served as a pristine replacement.

“P-Pull off a bit, baby,” he says quickly, —having enough restraint to avoid pumping a load directly down your gullet.

You pull away, but keep the tip in your mouth, feeling him twitch against your tongue. The taste of his cum is a little bitter, but it’s warm, and you stay attached to him while he catches his breath. The hand on your head falls away, and he reaches for the hankerchief he always carries in his pocket to give you something to spit into.

His face falls a little when he goes to hand it to you and watches you swallow instead.

[afatlotofchance]

The Prince and the Sorcerer (part 1)

I had to split this commission in two given how long it was. This was a commission about the commissioner's OC, the spoiled, gluttonous and fat prince Tristan, meeting his just dessert at the hands of a recently hired court mage. Enjoy!

Evan wanted to check his appearance once more. Since he had no mirrors or polished metal nearby, he merely used his third sight.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never manage to find an appearance pleasant to his eyes. His ears were too big and sticking out too much. His brown hair formed a straight mop that, while not ugly, certainly wasn’t above the average. While being tall and gangly made his cheekbones more defined, giving him quite a good face, it still made him prone to insulting nicknames, like scarecrow or bony-witch. But at least he was clean, perfumed, wearing sumptuous robes. He hoped that would balance the rest.

He was tempted to use just a bit of glamour, but he had no time for that. He could already hear a guard coming. Evan closed his third sight as he heard a booming voice:

“Our Majesties are ready to receive you.”

Evan followed the guard. He was a bit nervous, actually. It wasn’t every day you met with the royal family, or were appointed at the court. Especially when you were of humble origins, like Evan.

Don’t be foolish, the young magician said to himself. You’ve fought monsters, dealt with familiars, chatted with elementals, and you would be nervous in front of humans, people just like you?

No, not just like him. These were high-born, blue-blooded, god-chosen humans. Royals. A king, a queen and a prince. Royals who apparently had enough means and powers to contact the great and powerful sorcerer Rummuel, the most renowned magician of all the continent, and to convince him to lend them one of his three faithful apprentices to become their own private court magician for a period of seven years!

“I’ll be up to the task, master!” Evan had claimed upon hearing the good news. “I’ll show them how worth I was of your teaching! I’ll blind them with the highest spheres of the Arcanas! I’ll…”

“How you go my boy!” Rummuel muttered. “You won’t need all that. You will merely be a court wizard. Doesn’t need much qualifications these days. Any apprentice like you can do that. You will merely be a consultant – advising the king – and a defender – protecting the royals. All you need is a bit of knowledge and some moves to fight. As long as you can clean curses, repel bad spirits and speak the old languages, everything should be alright. Oh, and don’t forget to be a show off. Kings usually like big, flashy, sparkling things. They’re not interested into real magic, they wouldn’t even recognize a black-flamed candle, they just want to show other people they have a magician and that he can do wonderful things. Not useful things. Just wonderful ones. It won’t improve your magic, but you’ll get to know more about how royalty and nobility works – a knowledge you clearly lack.”

Evan still grunted at the sour memory of his encounter with the King that Went Fishing.

But at least, he was chosen to be the one. Not Dyfan, not Aedan, him, the apprentice everyone just remembered for being young and clumsy. He was going to show them he could be as much of a good wizard as they were – and not because he was a nobleman’s son like Dyfan, not because he grew up with viziers and sultans like Aedan, but merely because he was a talented, genius, extraordinary magic user!  

Evan was taken out of his thoughts by the sounds of trumpets being blown and two huge doors being opened. He straightened himself, stood tall, puffed up his chest and walked proudly in there.

“Remember. Shine. Show them who’s powerful here.” he thought to himself.

The throne room was enormous, the size of a cathedral. Evan walked behind the guards on a red carpet the size of a road, between pillars of stone as enormous as the old oaks.

“Evan of Hastings, third apprentice of the great sorcerer Rummuel!”

He finally reached the end of the throne room, an enormous wall covered in gold. In this wall, in this gold, was carved the picture of a royal family: a king, a queen, a prince and a princess, with a knight standing by their side, hands on his sword. All were giants, and all had no faces, making the representation slightly disturbing. Ever since his adventures at the Blackworm Castle he had a bit of a hard time with things without faces.

Three big thrones, also made of pure gold, stood before him, one of them empty.

On the central throne rested King Ralston. He looked like a jolly and affable man – but not without an aura of strength and power. Evan was quite good at reading people’s auras, and despite the bright smile and courteous face, the king was clearly burling with frustrations and dissatisfactions. He seemed to be bearing a sense of guilt, burden and unfairness. His aura was that of a man about to hit something just to vent off his anger. And he certainly looked like he could hit something strong. He was a big man of thick built, muscular and portly all at once. Curls of long, sandy blond hair fell on each side of his round face – his cheeks and chin soft and fleshy, under a thin honey-colored bear. His fur-trimmed burgundy coat seemed ridiculously small compared to his sturdy body and flat but fleshy, almost padded belly. His orange and golden doublets stretched on his broad shoulders and enormous arms. Evan had seen none so big before – they were the size of hams! A big golden chain was also stretched tightly on his wide and prominent chest. The king was playing mindlessly with one of his rings, a big circle of gold with a pointy diamond, and as he did, Evan saw the muscles of his arm and chest bulge and flex under the tight cloth. But what struck the most Evan was the power of his cold, icy blue stare.

He bore a warm smile and opened his arms.

“Welcome, Evan of Hastings! We are honored to meet the apprentice of the great Rummuel!”

“The pleasure is equally shared, Majesty. I am honored to be in the presence of my King and his Heir.” Evan answered while kneeling.

“Queen Ermine is unfortunately at the castle of the Rogue River for the moment, but she should be back in a matter of months. Let me introduce you to my only son and heir: Prince Tristan!”

Evan stood up and looked at the throne on the far right – the largest of the three golden thrones. On it sat a boy of such girth that Evan thought his mind was playing tricks on him. But it wasn’t any illusion, the boy was indeed of that enormous size! Could he be sick? No, he seemed quite lively: in fact, he was devouring a big lamb leg, that he held by the bone like one would brandish a scepter or a magic wand.

Like his father, Tristan was blond in hair and blue of eyes with thin brows, but his curls were of a lighter, more golden shade, and his eyes of a deeper and darker blue. Outside of that, he bore little to no resemblance to his father. Beardless, lacking the king’s big nose, his features were much more delicate, almost feminine. An elegant and thin nose, almond-shaped eyes, a thin mouth with well-drawn lips…

But Tristan suffered from an enormous, indecent, incredible fatness. The boy was as big as an ogre could get – and not an ounce of muscle appeared in this flabby mass. His round belly spilled itself onto his lap, while bloated love handles hanged on each side of his body, his blue shirt tight on his excess of flesh. Instead of a manly chest, his was as feminine as his traits – two tremendous pectorals, reminding Evan of the plump breasts of these fertility idols he once saw in the dark woods. His face was even rounder and fuller than that of his father, to the point that it stopped being round and became rather pear-like in shape, his plump jowls and overgrown cheeks completely hiding his jaw under thick layers of flab, making his face like a mound of soft butter.

But the strangest thing, strangest above all, was just how beautiful Tristan looked. Surely one with a face that stretched, widened and exaggerated by the excess of flesh should have been hideous to look at. But here, it changed nothing to the delicateness of his traits, carved in the butter mound like one would carve a precious gem. Again, statues and idols came to the mind of Evan, but these time those of the beautiful, eternally young and perfectly muscled gods of the arts and of the light.

“Are you really a wizard, small boy?” the Prince asked. “You don’t look much like one to me.”

Evan guessed the “small” must have been about his own skinniness, for Tristan must have been around Evan’s age, even though it was hard to tell with all of his curves. The Prince’s aura was very faint, like if he had none at all, the wizard merely seeing some translucent blue light – but it could have been very well a simple trick of his eyes, due to his vivid blue shirt. It was like if this boy was barely feeling any emotion at all.

Yet, the look on his face was clearly one of disdain. Not an outright mockery, but a sly cruelty Evan knew too well.

“I can assure you, my lord, that I am the apprentice of the great magician Rummuel, who took me when I was twelve of age and has since raised me in his tower alongside his other apprentices, and taught me many things about spells, potions, magic and the other worlds.”

“Then, prove that you are indeed a boy of magic.” ordered Tristan while taking a bite of the lamb leg (which was so greasy and dripping with sauce that Evan was amazed that the prince had no stain on either his clothes or face). “Do a miracle.”

Evan got his body ready. It was now, the moment of truth, the display of his great powers. What would decide everything: how the royals saw him, how the court would see him, what the kingdom was going to see in him. Will he be admired, mocked or feared? No mistakes were allowed here.

Evan was pretty sure he could meet a lot of the prince’s expectations. Except raise the dead. Or create life. Or show him the true face of God. Or… Oh gosh, what if the prince asked him some levitation? He could do a mere object, but what if the Prince asked Evan to make him levitate? He couldn’t possibly raise such an enormous mass! At least not without ripping one of his muscles, or seriously damaging something in the room!

“Make your shadow dance.”

Evan sighed with relief. Then looked at the prince in his dark, disdaining eyes.

“What?”

“I read once the legend of a powerful magician on an island far away. He could fly and make people’s wish come true. He talked with fairies and was perpetually young. And he could make his shadow dance and act in his place. Can you make your shadow dance?”

Well, that was going to be easy. Just a bit of shadow puppetry. No need to sell your soul to pesky, annoying, manipulative, whore fairies to do so.

“It will be as easy as blinking, my lord.”

Well, almost. It was as easy as spilling some grains of a magic powder to make the shadow a material of its own, whispering some words to wake up and heat the shadow, and then moving your arms, hands and fingers around to move the shadow. Evan made it dance, jump, spin, go from one wall to another. It was merely playing with the lights, but in reverse, so that the people would be focused on the shadow, not the light. It was liking writing a word by darkening everything around it. He was there, all white and shining, but you technically hadn’t written it. You just made it appear. Same thing with the shadow.

Tristan was flabbergasted, eyes wide opened. He even forgot the half-eaten lamb leg, dropping it on the floor. Ralston’s smile had subtly shifted – it was now an uneasy, worried smile. But his eyes were shining like those of a child.

Evan put his shadow back into place and made a small reverence.

“Could you do mine?” the prince asked.

“Your shadow?”

“Yes, of course! Make my shadow dance!”

“I could… If your highness wouldn’t mind approaching me. I don’t want to catch the throne’s shadow with your own, that would be problematic.”

The prince grunted, but obliged. He got out of the throne and walked until he was right in front of Evan. He couldn’t get really close to him, because his belly was standing in the way, but he got close enough that Evan inadvertently sank the tip of his fingers into the prominent gullet. He immediately took them off, his face getting slightly sweaty because of such an impudent mistake, but Tristan simply showed a snarking smile.

Now that the Prince was so close to Evan, the young wizard realized just how impressive he really was. Despite him being shorter than Evan, probably of four or five inches, he still managed to have this feeling of… of bigness, this impression of… of roundness… he was like he was all over the place and you were just standing his way, taking up his space, no matter where you were… And Evan felt more like a beanpole or a twig than he ever did. The thought “I should put on some weight” even crossed his mind before he shook it off.

“Don’t get irrational or ridiculous now. Focus on the task.”

But it was hard to focus with Tristan looking at him. His face was indeed one of rare beauty, there was no mistake here. In fact, his facial features reminded him of those a fox spirit took once to seduce him, on a beach in a faraway island… by a blue night and a big moonlight… it was the hour of nightmares, and the sand was grey, and the sea was…

Evan shook his head. Get to work. Dust, words, arms. Magic.

The prince’s face beamed with glee upon seeing his rotund and massive shadow move around him.

“Make it jump!”

Evan obeyed.

“Make it run now! Faster! Make it leap! Make it walk on all fours! Like a dog! Good! Now make it dance! Make it do the wheel! Like a jester! Yes! More! Make it move! More! Faster! Again! Quick!”

Evan obeyed again and again as Tristan’s talking became pure barking. Evan disliked people who spoke too loudly.

“Perfect!” Tristan finally roared.

He turned towards the king.

“I’ll take him, father. He is to my taste! Now, all this running made me hungry! I’ll go the dining hall if official affairs need my attention.”

And thus Tristan left without a goodbye or a look to Evan, his gut jiggling and lifting itself with every step.

The King stood up. Despite being a big, strong and tall man, he certainly wasn’t giving off the same feelings of enormousness and massiveness that his son did. In fact, his size seemed now much more normal to Evan.

“Evan of Hastings, you are now officially our court’s new magician! I’ll have my son’s personal servant show you your quarters.”

“Already? I mean, huh… Don’t you want me to do something for you? I mean, you, the king? I could do things more… impressive. More useful. I could show you much more.”

“No need for that. You impressed my son. That was all that needed to be done. I have knights to meet. We will held a feast for your arrival tonight.”

Evan bowed down.

He was a bit surprised, if not worried, that he got the job so easily. So, master Rummuel was right, huh? Royals just wanted pretty things and show-off tricks. Not real magic. In fact, Aedan had said something in this vein… “It’s a king that’s interested in real magic that is to fear.”

Well, king Ralston certainly didn’t think of any real magic. Evan had unconsciously caught his last thought before he left the throne room – something any user of high magic could do when people were thinking really hard of one thing only.

He was wishing for a lot of good ale and a roasted pig. 

XXX

“Here are your quarters, sire. Our master’s room is at the end of the hallway. This bell will ring whenever he needs you.”

“I wasn’t expecting to live near to the king! I thought I would be with the knights, or the other court members!” Evan laughed.

The servant looked at him. That was certainly one tired servant, with bags under his eyes. His face twitched from time to time. His aura was full of worry and nervousness, all blurry and swarming, like a pack of worms. He must have been around Evan’s age, and he was as gangly as him. In fact, he looked a lot like Evan himself, minus the big ear. The most notable difference was their hair: his mop was the color of rust.

“I am talking about prince Tristan, sorcerer. Not the king.”

“The prince? But I am the court wizard – I answer to the king, not the prince.”

The servant started to nervously play with his callus-riddled fingers.

“That’s what they told you?”

“Well…”

“You are prince Tristan’s personal wizard, master Evan. That is why you were brought here. You are a court wizard, indeed, but of the prince’s court. The King merely wanted to please his son.”

“There must be a mistake here…”

“Braden!”

The scream boomed across the hallway. Authoritarian, merciless, hard as stone – but without mistake, that of the prince.

There was a weird gurgle, followed by:

“Come here! I need a belly massage!”

“Yes, my prince!”

The servant bolted towards the prince’s room, running like a terrified rabbit.

Evan looked at him go, then at the door to his quarters.

“No, I’m sure the King will need me. He will call me by his side soon.”

XXX

He never did. Not even after several weeks, nearly an entire month.

Evan finally had to admit the sad truth: he was merely a personal entertainer for Tristan. Only the prince was asking for his services – and always only for low, petty tricks, to amuse either him or his guests. Often nobles or knights, once a princess from a foreign land. There were rumors of an engagement, but she was clearly disgusted by the portly prince.

“Do these things with the cups and the coin!” “Make my shadow move once more!” “Can you change the color of these flowers?” “Can you make this chocolate cake taste like a blueberry cake?” “Make this cup disappear!”

Never a kind word, never a thank, never a please. Only orders, commands and barking. And thus, day after day, Evan was forced to do mere prestidigitation spells. Playing with lights, shadows and colors. Creating reflections out of smoke. Making objects disappear and reappear, which was merely moving them where Tristan couldn’t see them – the prince certainly wasn’t seeing the difference, so Evan wasn’t going to bother. Tristan wasn’t even interested in how Evan did it or to learn some magic basis – for him, seeing Evan do magic on his orders was just like if he did magic himself. Anyway, Evan did not dare to imagine what the boy could do with magic. He shivered at the image of the obese prince turning his servants into human-shaped chocolate cakes before devouring them.

Because the Prince was certainly the embodiment of gluttony. No wonder how he got to that enormous size of his: he was always eating, no matter what time of the day. Waking up, the first thing he asked for was food, in his bed. While taking his bath he ate apples, potatoes and melons – grapes and bread and butter and cheese while dressing up. When taking his princely lessons, he had several veals served to him. After each meal, no matter if it was pigs or boars, he had another meal, either muttons or cows. And when he was doing nothing and got bored, the first think he thought of, before asking for a jester or a musician or a juggler or Evan, was requesting pies and cakes and other sweets. And he devoured all of his food swiftly and quickly – but always with a strange grace, a weird elegance preventing any kind of stain to soil his face or his clothes. Evan kept wondering how the prince could eat so much without getting sick – himself was getting nausea just by watching his meals.

He also pitied Tristan’s young taster. Around the prince’s age, with weird strawberry blond, almost orange hair. Young but already plump and fat, with a prominent belly and an even more prominent stomach. No wonder given how much dishes he had to taste.

“Aren’t you tired of eating all day and following Tristan everywhere?” Evan had asked him.

The young taster – receiving a relaxing stomach massage by one of the lesser servants – answered that, no, he didn’t mind at all.

“I can live in a castle, wear fine clothes and eat my fill of luxurious food!” he said with a smile. “It’s more than I could ever hope for! I was merely a commoner, skinny and sick as a chicken carcass and now look at me!”

He slapped his belly.

“Fat as a goose, spoiled as a pig, healthy as a horse, serving the prince, living with noblemen’s sons! My parents would be proud if they were still alive!”

But he was clearly nauseous and tired. Pale in the face, with bags under the eyes like Braden. He knew the boy was prone to stomach aches. In fact, his belly seemed as hard as a stone and his flesh bore the bright red marks of a skin overstretched by a sudden gain of mass. Evan gave him soothing herbs, for his belly, and started preparing an ointment to repair his skin, but if this went on, he feared the young boy would only get weaker and sicker.

XXX

Evan tried to talk to the King, to attract his attention. Without any results. He talked to him about protecting with magic the royal bloodline from any curse, possession or evil spirit. Not interested. He asked to get a laboratory in order to work on healing potions. The prince wasn’t ill, so no. He brought up the subject of investigating and studying the supernatural and magical inhabitants of the kingdom. He was laughed at. The only time he ever got to have a real conversation with the King was when he asked about the Prince’s taster, either because the subject was more of interest, or because all the beer he had gulped had mellowed him out.

“How come a mere commoner is the prince’s taster? I heard usually the taster was the son of a rival or dubious member of the court, or the son of the chef himself.

King Ralston burped before answering.

“The head chief’s son is always Tristan’s first taster. But he current head chief’s son died when he choked in his sleep. He was so fat it weighed on his throat and crushed his chest. We did the children of all the cooks – all choked up or had their heart merely stop or explode. So then we put the children of the potential plotters and conspirators – they all died. Stomach exploding, poisoning or visceral abnormalities. And they kept lasting less and less… So now we take orphans from the gutter. Easy to raise, and easy to dispose of.”

The King must have noticed the disapproving look of Evan.

“But if you want, you could become my son’s taster! In this way, Tristan would have you at all time. And don’t worry you’ll be paid twice as much! Are you interested?”

XXX

Evan was tired. Tired not only of the petty tricks Tristan kept asking, not only of taking orders from this enormous, flabby mount of pudding that kept laughing like an overgrown baby at any silliness in sight, but also tired of the cruelty the prince was forcing him to perpetrate. For indeed, Tristan had taken a new interest in magic upon learning that it could be a very good way to punish his servants.

It happened when a nervous young man – as nervous and young as all the other servants of Tristan – had spilled some too-hot water on the prince’s fat body while he was taking his bath. The prince screamed and got out of the bath, still naked, looking for a whip to hit the young man. The servant had gotten on the floor, crying, pleading for mercy. Tristan shouted: “Yes, crawl on the floor, like a dog begging for scraps!” And then he stopped, and looked at Evan.

“Can you make him a dog?”

“I beg your pardon, your Majesty?”

“Could you turn him into a dog? That’s what witches and wizards do, isn’t it? Turn people into animals. Well, turn him into a dog!”

Evan was lucky to be quick of thought. He explained to Tristan that it would be hard for him to turn a human into a dog – due to the different of masses, of how he would need to store the excess organs somewhere, of how he should find additional hair to add to the body, how he could encourage the body to evolve into that of a dog but it would be far too slow for any enjoyment… All of which was true. Evan couldn’t turn this man into a dog. At least, not as a mere, humble wizard.

But Tristan was terribly unhappy with the situation. Evan could pick up his thoughts and his mood – the prince right now was frustrated. He thought Evan was without any use or purpose, lacked any talent or ace. He started to doubt the role of Evan here, thought of punishing him, banishing him, discarding him. So Evan had to find an alternative.

“However, my prince… It is possible, as easy as pie, to make him think he is a dog. Convince him that he is not human anymore, make him act like a pet animal. The spirit is easier to mold than the flesh. Of course, it won’t be permanent, but probably enough to fit your… enjoyment?”

Tristan nodded.

“It would be funny to watch. I’m a bit disappointed, because I wanted to eat some dog’s meat, but it could be a punishment humiliating enough. And he would beg for scraps?”

Ignoring the subtle reference to cannibalism, Evan answered:

“Indeed, he would beg for your scraps. “

“And he won’t bite back when I hit him?”

“I can make him into a dog that bites back if you want.”

“No. Make him my slave. Obedient, stupid, weak. Won’t be much work to do, he is already all of these things.”

Tristan got back into the bath, waiting for the magic to happen.

Evan worked on the poor scarred fellow – through whispers, and looks, and hand gestures. He had lie only on one point – he could make sure the hypnosis would be permanent. But he wasn’t going to let Tristan have this pleasure. He would undo it later and pretend it was the natural withering of the spell.

Soon the servant was barking, drooling and rolling on the floor, begging for scratches on his belly.

Tristan had his fun, laughed and applauded.

And soon he asked for Evan every time he needed to punish a servant. Sometimes he even decided to punish them for no real reason, just to see Evan work his magic. Sometimes he had to change the color of someone’s hair or skin. Other times it was making them act like beast, or making them grow too much hair. He had to torture them through petty illusions, like making them believe they had insects crawling all over them, or that the floor was melted lava.

But the real lava, the real burning fire, was in Evan’s heart, swelling up until… 

XXX

It happened during a great feast.

The taster got sick. Well, he was already sick before – it was hard not to notice it in the past weeks. His belly had gotten even rounder, his skin stretched over his quickly-adding excess fat. His skin had gotten a yellowish tint. He couldn’t stand the wearing of a belt, for it gave him strong gazes and pain – and his feet had begun to swell, making it harder for him to walk.

But this time, a sudden nausea had taken over him while in the middle of tasting Tristan’s meal. He was yellow and green in the face, his stomach even more bloated than usual. He groaned, whispering that he couldn’t take another bite, that he was too full. Tristan, munching on some bread, didn’t listened and simply ordered him to taste the soups that had just been served. The taster excused himself once more, explaining that one more gulp of anything would make him vomit. Tristan, without any sign of wrath, disdain or concern, merely said. “Don’t waste my precious food. If you can’t taste anymore, you’re of no use. Someone else will take your place. Guards, throw him out of the castle.”

The taster begged Tristan for one more chance. He got on his knees, crying and pleading, which was hard for him between the gurgling and moaning of his belly, ready to expulse whatever he had in him.

Tristan laughed. “You’re only good at eating! Beside that you don’t have any use! You’re wasting my time, and annoying me… My mercy has thinned, I don’t intend on letting you go like that. First give me back what you stole from me!”

Tristan turned his head towards Evan.

“Give me back my food!”

“My prince, what do you mean?”

“Take back my food from his belly! Move it into mine! You can move objects, right? Then do it!”

“My prince, it will be a bit…”

“Do it!” the prince shouted.

Everybody was looking at Evan. The court sorcerer had no choice.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered to the taster.

He could have teleported the food directly from one stomach to another, but it would have been too dangerous – there was a risk of putting it into the prince’s heart or lungs, Evan needed to see clearly where the object was and where it would end up. He had to take another option. A messier one.

Evan used all of his concentration to take the food out of the taster’s stomach, through his throat and mouth, flying into the hair, and then into Tristan’s mouth. Everybody looked with horror at the greasy and gleaming pieces of food, still dripping with saliva and stomach acid, as they flew to the prince’s face. Tristan wasn’t horrified. He smiled and opened his mouth wide – and in the food went! Tristan gulped and munched, his cheeks as stuffed as those of a squirrel, moaning with happiness. The taster was shedding tears – for it was a strange and uncomfortable feeling that to have one’s belly emptied.

Evan saw all of that. The disgust on the courtiers faces. The pain of the taster. The glee of Tristan. Evan got fed up. The fire in his heart busted like a bubble. His wrath took over his magic – and in the food went, quicker, faster, more and more food… Tristan tried to tell Evan to slow down, but he had no time, for the softened meat, the sweet bread, and the mush that was now the food just kept crushing and pushing itself through his teeth, by his lips, down his throat…

“Sorcerer, stop at once!”

King Ralston had shouted the order and Evan snapped out of his trance. For one moment he had to recall where he was, who he was and what he was doing. He saw the twisted face of the prince, red, his mouth dripping with food, spitting all of it out in a cough.

“You nearly killed me you incompetent… cough!” Tristan cried. “I couldn’t eat all of that at once! I was choking you dumb inbred incompetent idiot!”

“I’m… I’m deeply sorry, my prince. It wasn’t my intention. I… I lost control!”

“I saw that! We shouldn’t have asked for an oaf apprentice! We should have asked for a real magician! You’re not good at high magic, just good at petty entertaining tricks! Be gone, you’re making me lose my appetite!”

Evan swore it would be Tristan’s last insult.

Tristan was a pig – no, even pigs could be kind. Tristan was a big monster. A fat, cruel slob, unfit to rule a kingdom. A would-be tyrant. A spoiled, overgrown, cruel brat. A brat that needed to be taught a lesson. 

XXX

Master Rummuel had always told Evan that magic practitioners had the role of teachers towards mundane humans.

“To know, control and wield magic we have to know more about ourselves and other people than anyone will ever know. It opens our eyes and doors to other worlds, other gods, other perspectives. We learn so much… and through this knowledge we know how to act. We can be good, evil, both, of course we aren’t above moral. But we are aware of our own morals, and thus we can enlighten others. We can make them see how they are good, how they are bad. And reward them or punish them according.”

Now Evan understood what Master Rummuel meant. As he was looking through the old tome he brought with him, he understood.

For anyone not initiated to the high arts, this book was merely a collection of childish tales and nursery rhymes, with simple, crude illustrations. But it was much more. It was ancient. It was account of the deeds of old witches and fairies. It was filled with traditional spells, and folkloric rituals, and countryside common magic. And it was a testimony of wonders beyond human imagination.

Evan finally found the story he was looking for.

The tale of “The Boy Who Couldn’t Stop Eating His Soup”. Right next to it were illustrations. A sequence of illustrations, showing what happened to the boy, step by step until… he learned his lesson.

Evan closed the book with a smile on his face. It was the first time he smiled since he stepped into this damn castle.

It was time to play fairy tricks. 

XXX

“I wanted to apologize to you, my lord, for the incompetence I demonstrated during… the incident, at the last feast. I presumed too much of my own powers and put you in a great danger – something I will not forgive myself for. If you want to banish me, I would perfectly understand, but allow me first to offer you a gift of apology. A cake I baked myself. I am a poor baker, unfortunately, but I put my hands in the dough for I knew one of your favorite treats was the chocolate fudge cake. I hope you will like it.”

Tristan, sitting on his bed, a plate of dried meat resting on his fat belly, looked at the cake with bright eyes.

“It looks good… Indeed… But take a bite first. We haven’t found any taster replacement yet, and you know how it is, with poison and other things. Here, let me decide which bite you’ll have.”

Tristan took the fork by the side of the cake, took randomly a small part of the cake and handed it to Evan.

“Here, eat this.”

Evan obeyed, with a smile on his face. As soon as he gulped the cake down, the prince took the wizard’s face in his warm, plump hands.

“My prince? What are you doing?”

Tristan turned Evan’s face one way, another, before letting it go and sighing:

“You’re too bony. I can’t have such a skinny man near me, it feels like a personal insult and it ruins my whole outfit. It is dreadfully out of fashion. If you really want to be apologized, put on some pounds. At least get rid of those sunken cheeks.”

“I will, your majesty.”

“No, I don’t think you’ll do. You said it yourself, you are incompetent. I’ll have my personal meal planners put on your back and don’t try to run away from it. You’ll put on some pound or you’ll get kicked out.”

Tristan took the cake and started eating it.

“Oh, it would certainly sadden me to leave your court so soon.”

But Tristan wasn’t listening anymore. When the prince was eating, he only had eyes for his plates and ears for his cook, and all the rest could very well go to hell.

“It’s not very good, but it’s not bad at all. At least it’s decent. I can eat it. That’s already that.” The Prince said between gulps and munchings, as he was eating quickly and ferociously the dessert.

Evan waited until finally, Tristan took one of the mint leaves on top of the cake and ate it.

For the spell wasn’t in the cake. It was in the mint.

Evan clenched his first, looked deeply at the blubbery mass of the glutton, and muttered an innocent-looking little rhyme.

“Creosote and knuckles,

Frog for the ox,

Be the Wawel of Vistula.

Jester of the storm, make balloons of his gore.

The five winds be put in your bag.

You ate the house, be big as one.

If not for the gallows, be the waxing moon.

In the name of the cursed Halfling king.

Teach the moral, learn the lesson.

Become Sunday, and hatch my boy.”

Tristan stopped eating as his stomach emitted a loud growl. The Prince, briefly distraught, put a hand on his belly, and hearing no more, finished the cake, even licking the plate.

“Yeah. It wasn’t such a good… Burp. Such a good cake. Not a… It made me quite peckish, however. Servant! Bring me salted meat! I crave for some salty meat! With a lot of salt! And maybe… two, no, three apples!”

Evan smiled, bowed to his Prince and left.

Now, it was just a question of time.

[arianaofimladris]

Batman Whumptober 2024 entry

Fandom: Batman (Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy)

Prompts filled:

No. 22 Bleeding through bandages

"I think you've had enough, Mr Wayne." He grabbed Bruce by the elbow, carefully avoiding stains above. "How about getting some air?"

"What are you doing?" Bruce stumbled and his words sounded a bit slurred, but his eyes darted around. He clearly picked Gordon’s intentions and played along, but the commissioner wasn’t sure how much of his behaviour was an act.

"Saving you some embarrassment," Jim said loudly, his voice full of mild disappointment as he steered the younger man towards the exit. "And a lot of explaining," he hissed once they were alone at the corridor and Bruce suddenly swayed more. Not an act, then. "Unless you have a good reason to be bleeding through your tux."

Full story under the cut or in here:

A welcome distraction

Long shifts usually happened in the least appropriate moments, and if he were completely honest, Jim wouldn't have picked a party as his preferable way to spend the rest of the evening. Sadly, he had been invited as the Commissioner and the host was Bruce Wayne, so he needed to show up if for a short time. Wayne Manor had been rebuilt just before the end of the year, so the billionaire threw a house-warning party a week before Christmas. Jim knew Bruce loathed the idea as much as he did, but complied to Alfred's suggestion as a celebration like this was expected of him.

As it turned out, Jim wasn't the only one being late. Bruce Wayne was nowhere to be found, not that his guests seemed to mind. Jim wasn't really surprised. He had a strong suspicion Batman had been supporting the police operation without being seen. That terrorist group trying to take hostage people doing pre-Christmas shopping really had had the worst timing. 

Jim spotted Lucius Fox among the guests, one of the very few people he could actually talk to and soon they got engaged in a conversation about the latest order the police placed in Wayne Enterprises. They almost missed Bruce's arrival, but raised their glasses in a toast as the host welcomed them all, before his apparent date for the evening swept him away. Jim saw the billionaire mutter something to her and kiss her cheek before he literally left her to greet other socialites. Something was off. Bruce Wayne usually liked to show off his beautiful companions. He also seemed pale and a bit out of breath, which also confirmed Jim's suspicions about the nature of his lateness.

The party went on, hopefully uneventful. After the long day at work Jim wouldn't really mind if all the excitement of the evening was provided by excellent food and drink, with no drama or scandals. Lucius Fox had been a good company, but at some point he too left to join a few people Jim vaguely recognised as Wayne Enterprises board members. Since he himself wasn't exactly in the mood to discuss anything with any of them or any city officials he was doing his best to avoid, he found himself wandering aimlessly with a drink. He hoped for a normal conversation with Bruce, so when he finally spotted him relatively unoccupied, sipping at his champagne, Jim moved to join him.

Before he got there, someone bumped into the billionaire from behind, causing him to spill the rest of his drink.

Bruce yelped. He was quick to cover it with a smile and reassurance that everything was perfectly fine, but Jim was already making his way towards him. Something was most definitely not alright - neither in the strain in his smile, nor in the pain in his voice. Bruce called after the nearest waitress and asked her to wipe the floor, but as he turned to leave, he stumbled and reached for the wall to steady himself. Then Jim saw a wet stain on the black suit, a stain that certainly did not come from the champagne, and decided to intervene.

"I think you've had enough, Mr Wayne." He grabbed Bruce by the elbow, carefully avoiding stains above. "How about getting some air?"

"What are you doing?" Bruce stumbled and his words sounded a bit slurred, but his eyes darted around. He clearly picked Gordon’s intentions and played along, but the commissioner wasn’t sure how much of his behaviour was an act.

"Saving you some embarrassment," Jim said loudly, his voice full of mild disappointment as he steered the younger man towards the exit. "And a lot of explaining," he hissed once they were alone at the corridor and Bruce suddenly swayed more. Not an act, then. "Unless you have a good reason to be bleeding through your tux."

The billionaire looked at his left sleeve a little above the elbow. The word that left his mouth was very clearly a swearword, though Jim couldn't even begin to guess the language. It didn't matter. What they needed now was some private place and Jim realised he had no idea where to go.

Bruce seemed to pick his hesitation. "In here." He fished out a simple key and opened second door to the left.

It was a small storage room. Once Jim closed the doors behind them, Bruce leaned against the nearest cupboard and quietly slid down to sit on the floor.

"Thanks," he muttered and shifted to support his clearly injured arm. "Damn. Lock the door, please," he passed Jim the key and worked on taking off his jacket.

Jim complied without questioning, since there were too many eyes that should not see the host of the party bleeding like this. When he turned, he saw Bruce leaning forwards, head between his knees, swaying dangerously as he panted. His jacket hang awkwardly on his left wrist and he was pressing his good hand to the bloodied sleeve of his shirt. He swayed more and jerked, reaching out blindly trying to catch himself from falling.

"Hey, easy!" Jim knelt beside the younger man and held him steady. Bruce was blinking and taking quick, deep breaths, but all the colour seemed to have drained from his face. "Easy, son. Lie down, okay?"

Bruce didn't really object as Jim steered him and made sure he wouldn't hit his head. The commissioner really wished they had gone anywhere else. It was absurd, making the wounded lie on a cold floor when there were beds, couches and armchairs in the surrounding rooms. Sadly, so was a hundred guests or so.

"Hey, no, none of that. Don't close your eyes," Jim patted his cheek lightly as he lifted Bruce’s wounded arm to put it on his chest. "I need you with me, ok? How bad is it?"

"Stab wound," Bruce hissed as he reached to put pressure on his arm. "Deep. And damn fresh." He was still taking deliberately deep breaths and blinking. "No need for alarm." His voice was steady, though a bit strained.

"Mhm, sure," Jim snorted, but got what the younger man was trying to say. I’m not dying here. "Hey! Stay down for a bit." He objected when Bruce already tried to push himself back to a sitting position.

"It's better now."

"Yes, because you are lying down. Give it a few minutes, then we'll get you up."

"Alfred's gonna kill me," Bruce grunted, but complied. He stared awkwardly at the ceiling for a moment, then fished out his phone and hit a speed dial. "Yeah, a bit of a situation here," he admitted to what Jim assumed was Alfred's greeting. "I need a fresh shirt and jacket... Yeah, that too... In the pantry, with Jim. It's all under control."

Jim wasn't sure now convincing Bruce thought he sounded, but from what he had managed to observe about Alfred Pennyworth, he doubted the butler was in any way reassured. 

"Any chance I can find you something to drink here?" he asked, feeling a bit awkward crouching like this. He looked around, but most of the cupboards were closed.

"Probably," Bruce muttered. "Just wait for Alfred."

When Jim inquired about the locks in the doors, just to keep the wounded focused on something, Bruce explained that the pantry led to the kitchen Alfred used on daily basis. It was a private part of the manor and they didn't want guests or catering staff invading that space, so they installed a simple universal lock in several doors. This way Alfred could easily close areas they didn't wish strangers in, and in emergencies like this one, Bruce had a possibility for quick escape and a place to retreat to. Besides, Alfred absolutely loathed the idea of catering staff - or anyone else, Bruce included - messing with his kitchen.

They didn't wait long. 

"Oh dear." Alfred rushed in the moment he saw Bruce on the floor. "That bad?"

"It's okay now, Alfred," Bruce reassured him immediately and pushed himself to sit. Jim didn't stop him this time. "Just needed a moment, it's fine. Besides," he forced a grin, "you did tell me to lie down before."

The butler didn't seem amused. "Yes, and by that I meant in your bed, not dusting cobwebs in the pantry."

"You don't have cobwebs here," Bruce retorted and accepted Jim's help to get back on his feet. He leaned against a cupboard for a moment, but seemed steady. "See? All fine. Just need a clean shirt."

"You put it on that, you're just going to ruin it, sir," Alfred quipped and pointed at the bloodied bandages Bruce was still pressing on. "Let's get you sorted first, sir. Did you at least manage to drink or eat something?"

"Half a toast I couldn't skip," Bruce winced. "Half too much."

“Not what I meant, sir.”

They moved to the kitchen through the second door and Jim was struck by the difference. Unlike all the freshly rebuilt rooms he had a chance to see, this place actually looked like someone was using it. Jim understood what Bruce meant about keeping private parts private and he felt like an intruder, especially since the other two seemed to ignore his presence. Bruce sank heavily on a chair and accepted a rehydration drink Alfred passed him before removing the shirt to change the dressings. He tried to stay still, sipping at the drink, but when the butler got to the last layers of soaked bandages, he flinched and covered his mouth with his hand.

"Wait," he hissed, clearly fighting nausea.

"I'm sorry, master Wayne," Alfred stopped, until Bruce nodded for him to continue. "I can't just let you go back there like this."

"I know."

"Then perhaps next time try not to get butchered right before hosting a party," Alfred tutted and uncovered the wounded arm.

Jim winced in sympathy. Bruce said he had been stabbed, but whatever weapon caused it, it must have sliced his muscles open on the way back. Fresh sutures were barely holding swollen skin together and the deep stab wound was still oozing slightly. It must have bled heavily before, no wonder Bruce was dizzy after the initial adrenaline rush was over.

“I am trying.” Bruce leaned on the table as Alfred worked on redressing the wound and took another sip. "Sorry," he said to the commissioner. "That's not the kind of entertainment I promised. At least I hope the catering is good, I couldn't try it." He didn’t bother to hide his weariness from his voice.

"Never mind that," Jim shrugged him off. "The food is excellent and trust me, I really don't want to do any more business tonight."

"No?" Bruce looked up and offered a pained smile. "And here I was hoping talking business to you would be a good excuse for our absence now."

"If anyone cares to ask, sure."

“I would appreciate it if you could stick to just talking, master Wayne,” Alfred commented as he helped his employer with the fresh shirt and then the jacket. “I don’t think you need any more excitement today.

“Yeah.” Bruce ran his good hand through his hair, slipped the wounded one in the pocket of his trousers and Jim watched in amazement as he transformed back into the billionaire with an easy smile plastered to his face. “Well, Commissioner, I’m sure we can find some dreadfully boring topic to talk about.”

[komaedailoveyou]

Florist!Nagito x Reader — Like a flower craves for the light of the sun

#. — an unfinished fanfic so far, more chapters tba in the future!

#. contents! — f!reader , slight komahina, slight chiakixreader, angst with a happy ending, alternate universe, no deaths or violence, depictions of BPD, smut, but, a LOT further into the fic, slowburn, nagito is a florist, reader is socially inept.

#. word count! — 4k .

#. > . . . <

You looked down to your phone after you’d finally managed to do the finishing touches to your dresses, Peko had sent you a text, apparently, you might have a new neighbour, the news hadn’t really been all that exciting to you, people come and go from this place, it wasn’t some big deal that you needed to go and throw a party over, but, now that you’d been aware of the fact that someone had, now you felt somewhat obliged to do something for them.

You weren’t even sure what you could do, you had no idea who this mysterious person was. You couldn’t just show up and throw them some clothes, or anything stupid like that.

You put your phone down, standing up from your desk, you didn’t have the time to be thinking about stupid things like personal connections, they did no good to you in the long term, anyway.

You grabbed one of your variously sized mannequins and shuffled the outfit onto it. You’d thought you’d done a good job, like always. You wouldn’t have put the thing down if it hadn’t perfectly fit the vision which was in your head, you just wouldn’t be able to settle with it.

You picked up your camera, and shot some photos of it, these would be sent off to your commissioner, just to make sure all of the boxes were ticked, which, you knew they were already, but, hey, their creative intentions may not have aligned with yours, you did have a very particular designers’ eye.

After that was done, you could finally rest. This sure had been stressful, but it was worth it, to see the dress now Infront of you, if this was going to be what you were stuck with for the rest of your life, then you at least wanted to be good at it, as taxing as it could be sometimes.

You weren’t sure what you could actually do to rest, you weren’t feeling tired in the slightest, and sleeping didn’t come easy to you in the first place, so you couldn’t have taken a nap, you surely didn’t want to do anything else related to your work, and you weren’t feeling hungry, sometimes, your mind could be quite stubborn.

You chewed at your lip, trying to think up something to do, and you figured, maybe some fresh air could do at least a little something to brighten your spirit after such a hectic day beforehand.

You grabbed a fluffy coat from a hanger, and draped yourself in it, there was a light breeze from the sound of it, and you’d rather not be cold.

You slipped yourself into your shoes and opened the door to your apartment, and stepped out, locking the door behind you, walking down the dull corridor, you’d been so rushed yesterday you’d somehow forgotten that the elevator had broken, so, you were momentarily surprised;

You walked down the stairs, leaving the building and stepping outside, and you walked down the mainly empty street. It made sense, most adults were out working right now, this was the only thing your uncertain job was good for, you didn’t have to abide by the normal structure of the time that most people your age did, it so it meant you had a lesser chance of running into anybody, again.

You were still embarrassed over the fact you somehow managed to bump into somebody the other day, like a complete klutz. You weren’t even that clumsy in general, so, that made you look even stupider in your own mind, so now you were being extra careful to make sure of your surroundings before you walked into them.

You were going to go to one of your favourite places in town, which was weirdly enough, a milkshake shop. You knew one of the girls who worked there, you had been friends during your college years, you didn’t keep in touch all that much now, but it was nice seeing her around sometimes, it was good you had someone you at least knew close by, in the case of an emergency happening.

You entered the shop, it smelt like sweetness, like always. You hadn’t expected anything different, there was some upbeat song playing in the background as you made your way to the counter, smiling softly at Marika, your friend, or, the person you still considered a friend but you weren’t actually sure if she considered you as one back or not person. You waved to her before getting closer to her.

“ Y/N ! Would you like the same thing you normally have? “ She asked you, still seeming as happy as ever, she looked like the perfect person to be working such a job, a statement which could definitely not be used on you. Her blue hair bounced slightly as she spoke, she never fully remained still, a part of her was always moving, like usual.

“ I didn’t think you’d remember it...but, yes, please. “ you replied, it wasn’t as if you were some kind of regular, who frequented this place every week, it had been over a month since you’d came, so it was very surprising for you to hear that from her.

“ Of course I’d remember, I’d feel terrible if I didn’t! “She exclaimed, almost like she was offended at you for even implying it, and you let out a soft chuckle in response.

You paid, waiting for her to be finished, before going to sit down in one of the booths, even if you had been friends for such a long time, it didn’t help with your natural ability to make almost any conversation awkward. You felt a little guilty over it, you had presumed when you became an adult it would just magically go away, go to some other helpless teen, but that never did happen, you were just cursed to be a mess for your whole life.

You took a sip from the spiral patterned straw, you had quite a sweet tooth, which probably wasn’t something that would be assumed from someone’s first glance at you, so milkshakes were one of your favourite drinks to have, you could even say you liked them more than any hot drinks, because you’d accidentally burnt your tongue one too many times to drink them unless it was outside of keeping you awake for work.

As you drank, tuning out the…somewhat bad song playing, you thought, you didn’t normally have the time to sit and think, always being bothered by something or another, but right now, you felt pretty content, even if you also felt a little childish at the same time.

It was back in your first year of your courses, you were sat on your own table, the class was only made up of about nine people, there were two tables with two people on, and one with five, but you – just sat on your own. You liked it that way, it meant that you could just settle down and focus on actually doing the work instead of having to converse with people.

You had your headphones in, and were writing down the answers to a test on a sheet, it was a theory lesson, so this was all you’d be doing for two hours, you were a quick writer, that came at a cost, though. More often than not, whatever you wrote was completely illegible, and nobody other than you was able to read it, but you couldn’t just slow it down, you’d always been like that. It was natural to you.

For the whole lesson, you stayed silent unless you were asked a question by your teacher, and that was the way it always was.

You were finally dismissed from the class, stretching your arms out, and getting up from your seat, You left the room, getting ready to finally go home after the long day, six whole periods of class, what torture. You supposed it was better than sitting and home and just rotting in your room though, as much as you enjoyed that, you did sometimes wish there was more excitement in your life, just a little bit.

You were minding your own business, when you felt a force send you a few steps backward. Your eyes widened in shock, not being used to this happening, and you looked down cautiously, to find a girl scrambling to get herself away from you.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry, I have somewhere to be and just wasn’t looking where I was going! I didn’t mean to run into you! “She bowed her head so quickly you were worried the girl might injure herself again, you stepped away from her, wanting a bit more personal space, and you smiled. Not many people talked to you, because you never talked to them, so, this was nice.

“It’s all good, don’t worry. “ You replied to her, trying your best to provide any comfort that you could, you weren’t really versed with how to do such a thing in the first place.

She looked up at you, she was pretty small, and you were wearing shoes with heels on them. Fuck, maybe you were actually the same height, who knows.

“I’ll just go grab my stuff from the art room, and, I’ll be right back, let me…uh…. let me….Treat you to something, as an apology! “

She had run off into the building before you were even given an option in the matter, so that meant you’d be going somewhere…. with someone your age, that was pretty big for someone like you.

You stood outside, bag in hand, admiring the wind as it blew your hair, and the clouds as they parted for the sun in the sky, and for the first time in a while, you smiled earnestly.

As seconds slipped past you, without thinking, you waited.

After a short reminiscence of the past, you had finished drinking, you threw your cup into a recycling bin, and left, waving to Marika, and leaving. You had been outside for a little while, it was time for you to go back to your hermit ways, and go inside, to live out the amazing life of being an adult.

Not as if you could change it anyways, the world is a cruel woman.

You wandered back to your block of apartments, and started to walk up the stairs, normally, you wouldn’t run into anybody at this time, most people here were out working their office jobs, or wherever they worked, so you went at a brisk pace, you had to stop yourself from almost walking straight into the duo of people in front of you. You studied the backs of their heads, and their clothing styles, and you could swear, you recognised them, but, not enough to say that they lived there.

They were discussing something, you weren’t one to pry, so you zoned out their conversation, it was for the best for you to not have to many things to think about, or you’d overload, and die.

You couldn’t deny, your curiosity had been a little piqued by whoever these people were, so, you decided to actually start some form of conversation, oh how you’d grown.

“ Are you guys the new neighbours? “ You were straight to the point as you asked, not giving them any formalities, and they both looked back at you, internally you cursed, was that the wrong thing to do? Should you have just left them unbothered and unaware of your general existence?

The male spoke up, seeming like the more confident of the two. “ Ah, no. That would be our friend, He just left some of his belongings at mine, so, we’re bringing them to him. “ he replied to you, as you kept walking up the stairs as you spoke.

Just to be sure, you wanted to check this was the one Peko was referring to before, you asked

“ What floor? “

The guy replied again, and the girl just looked at you, kind of like a blank stare. This was incredibly awkward, and your conversational skills were not helping at all in that matter.

“ The fifth one. “ so, it was your neighbour, and now you had deduced he was a guy, so that was a step at least. You were glad that your mysterious new neighbour had such nice friends.

You were already past the fourth floor, so you were sure they would’ve figured it out by now, but you decided to fill In the silence with a short “ Me too. “ and then it was back to silence again.

You hoped you hadn’t came off as being unfriendly to them, but, it wasn’t like you to even speak up in the first place, so, it was actually incredibly friendly on your end.

You all walked down the corridor, and they weren’t stopping, so you just had to keep on walking behind them, slowing down your pace so that you wouldn’t end up being strangely close to them. What a thrilling day, talking to strangers and seeing a friend, you’d have to write about this one for the history books.

You passed 501, then 502, then 503, and even 504, and they still hadn’t stopped, until, they reached the apartment right next to yours.

Oh. You had a literal new neighbour.

You weren’t even sure of who actually lived there before, you’d never really gotten the chance to speak to them, or, even if you had, you didn’t take it.

As the man shifted around his pockets, looking for what you presumed would be a spare key, you walked past him and his other friend, to your apartment, 506, unlocking it and opening the door.

“…Say welcome, from me… Uh, Y/n. “ Your sentence hadn’t even made sense, but, it was already out there now, so, you couldn’t really do anything about it, that’s just how you were around strangers.

Instead of giving yourself a chance to embarrass yourself further, you stepped inside of your apartment and shut the door.

You decided, now was finally a good time to lay in bed and unwind after so much action.

Nagito could’ve sworn he remembers locking his door before he left for work, but, now it was…Unlocked? He panicked internally as he carefully slid the door open, peaking inside. God, his unluckiness really did follow him everywhere.

He didn’t see any vandalism, and the place wasn’t trashed, instead, his two friends were sat inside. He let out a sigh, a text warning would’ve been nice at least.

Nagito waved, their attention being drawn to him. “ Hello..I wasn’t expecting visitors today..” he addressed to them as he put his bag down, took his hair down, and hung his jacket up.

Chiaki looked down. “ Well, it wasn’t my idea to just barge in here…”

Nagitos gaze cast over to Hajime, who returned it.

“ Well, you left some stuff over, so, I thought it’d be a good idea to come and bring it to you, and Chiakis here because…..”

A pause

“ He didn’t want to come by himself…”

Nagito suddenly felt very bashful, had they really spent their time travelling over here just to give him his stuff..? They shouldn’t have gone through the effort, just for somebody like him, they should’ve just kept his belongings, they were more worthy of them than he was.

Nagito kept those sorts of thoughts inside, nodding, “ Thank you for bringing them here, I appreciate it! “ He smiled at them, he wasn’t sure what was in the air, but something felt wrong, like there was a strange tension, which was odd.

“ How was work? “ Hajime asked, looking a little jittery in his seat, as he watched Nagito picking up and setting some stuff around the apartment.

Nagito looked over his shoulder. “ It was good! I had a few customers, who were all lovely. “ He laughed to himself.

“ You still work alone? “ Chiaki asked, she had never really inquired much into his work, she just thought that was the kind of thing she may forget easily.

Hajime piped up, answering for him. “ Yep, he may just be the second least social person I know..” Chiaki playfully smacked his arm, it wasn’t her fault that she was too busy with more important things, such as socialising.

“ We’ll be off now so we don’t take up too much of your time, you must be a little tired. “ Hajime slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up, Chiaki following him, since she hadn’t been the one to decide to come here, she would just go when he did, her and Nagito didn’t hang out all that much 1 on 1 anyway.

“ Have a safe trip back! “ Nagito would’ve asked for them not to impose and scare him again, but, he didn’t see himself in a position to say such remarks to his friends, that was too much for somebody like him.

Chiaki and Hajime were at the door, Hajime opened it, stepping through, and Chiaki was about to step after him. “ Oh. The girl next door told us to say “ Welcome “ for her….” She avoided eye contact as she spoke, just looking at Nagitos strangely coloured shirt instead.

“…Y/N. “

She shut the door behind her, trailing down the hallway after her friend, not happy about having to walk down those long stairs again.

Nagito was now on his own, he had the TV switched on, and was sat eating as he watched it, he hadn’t actually seen anybody besides that grey-haired lady before, maybe she was the one living there who wanted to say hi to him, perhaps he should go and thank her if that was the case!

It was nearing 7PM though, he thought maybe it would be a little strange from him to randomly show up at a womans door.

He wasn’t sure though, he wasn’t really following the social norms to date, he also wasn’t sure which side the person lived on anyway, it would be even weirder if he showed up at someones apartment unprecedented, at 7PM.

Considering this person had gone out of their way to say such a kind thing to his friend, he was in their debt. He felt like he should make it up to them for having to acknowledge his existence.

Y/N , Y/N . . . He thought to himself, he thought that name was beautiful. To have someone with such a name even know of him . . . He had completely zoned out of whatever show he’d ended up putting on, and had stood up, he was pacing around his apartment to try and figure out what he would do.

If he kept thinking on this, and decided to try and find you at a later hour, that would become even weirder, so he knew he had to make his mind up now, even if that meant him going on impulse, something which he wouldn’t do often.

He grabbed the hibiscus flowers out from the vase which he’d propped them up in, straightened out his clothes and walked out of his door, looking to the left, and to the right of him. He had a fifty percent chance of being right, it was whether luck bended in his favour, or if it wanted to go horribly wrong.

He turned to his right, hoping that in turn, the decision would also end up being…right.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

Had broken you out of the immersion of trying to actually follow a cooking recipe, since, you weren’t the type to order a takeout all that often, even if you more often than not made something completely inedible.

You quickly went to check your phone, you had no texts, meaning that whoever was at your door, wasn’t Peko, the only person who would actually have a reason to come to you at this hour, so you were honestly confused. Maybe it was a relative? None of them knew where you lived though, so that couldn’t have been the case.

You stepped towards the door, slowly, what if it were the police, and you had committed some kind of crime and just forgotten about it, and now they were coming to put you in prison! Your mind immediately came up with the worst-case scenario, so that when that didn’t happen, you would feel immensely better about whoever actually was there.

When you’d finally opened the door up, your jaw practically hit the floor, you’d be damned. It must have been your lucky day. You tried to hide the initial shock on your face as you saw that heaven-sent angel right in front of you, you looked up at him, his hands were behind him, oh god, he could be a murderer or something!

“ Thank you for the welcome message…I, brought you these, as a gift for accepting me into your building. “ Nagito thrusted the flowers at you, and you weren’t exactly prepared on how to deal with such a situation, you slowly took the flowers from him, your fingers brushed over his temporarily, his hands were cold, or, a lot colder than yours at least. You held the flowers, cocking your head to the side.

“ I mean…I’m not really in control of who can and can’t move in but…uh…Thank you for the flowers!” You laughed, hiding your face behind them, you just couldn’t get over how nice he looked, and he just brought you flowers too? Were you dreaming? If so, you wished you were in a coma.

It seemed your voice had caused Nagito to realise who you were, he looked surprised now.

“ Wait- You’re- The girl! “

“ ….Yeah, it’s funny how fate spins things, isn’t it? “ You replied to him, the worlds rolling out more naturally than yours ever seemed to when you attempted to talk, you had only just met him, well, properly, but it didn’t feel like it to you, you weren’t sure what it meant, but, you actually wouldn’t mind his company.

“About last time—” You were speaking, and he was weirdly quick to cut you off, it wasn’t typical for Nagito to do, but he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else apologising to him, even if you were a stranger.

“ It’s alright! I was the one who wasn’t looking where I was going, you haven’t done anything wrong.” He spoke quickly, just wanting to get his thoughts out there. Something about the urgency in his eyes made you not want to argue with him.

If it hadn’t been so late, you would’ve invited him in for a drink or something, or, that’s what you think you would’ve done, you probably wouldn’t have even been able to ask, so you relied on the excuse of time.

What was up with you, though. People had never been your cup of tea, so you weren’t at all sure why this one was, something had came over you, maybe you had the flu.

“ I…should go and find somewhere to put these…” you decided you should probably leave now, before you say something stupid to him. “ Thank you…these are lovely. “ you looked down at the flowers in hand, then back to him.

Nagito was glad, you shouldn’t spend too much time around him, you weren’t deserving of such a punishment.

“ Well, have a good rest of the night, neighbour. “ He shot you a smile, before going back to 505.

You clutched the flowers happily, what an actual pleasant interaction, where, it hadn’t felt completely awkward the whole time, maybe you were getting better at this.

You put them inside of your bedroom, on top of your set of drawers, just standing and smiling at them, they had a note, which read,

“ TO: Y/N , FROM: NAGITO. “

So, Nagito was his name. It fit him, you thought, and you were going to think a little more, before you were interrupted by the ringing of your phone.

You looked down at it, to see that there was no caller ID, you declined the call, but the caller just kept on calling you back, so you decided to give it a listen, before blocking whoever it was.

“ Hello? Hello? Oh, you finally picked up Y/N! It’s me, You know, your sister? Now, don’t hang up please. I really wanted to talk to you about---”

Maybe today wasn’t all that lucky for you afterall.

[j0kers-light]

His Lighthouse: Until Next Time (Male!reader x fem!Joker)

Until Next Time - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER UPDATE!

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The next shift at work was chaotic to say the least. Everyone was dying to know what happened after Joker and her goons stormed the place. 

Of course, HR had to do their spiel, offering you counseling, support, and blah blah blah. You were a witness to murder on top of being held hostage, not a charity cause. Unfortunately, it was mandatory whether you liked it or not. Management also encouraged you to sign an NDA, which you refused. For all intent purposes, nothing happened. You wanted to forget and move on. That in of itself was an NDA. 

No one else respected your attempts at forgetting.  

Jim Gordon cleared you of any legal liability and you took the suggested week off from work to ‘clear your head.’  

The commissioner claimed that you needed some time to purge The Joker from your head.  

Initially you brushed off his concern, she was just one woman, but after the second night of restless sleep, you had to admit defeat. She was everywhere. You could feel her hands roaming your body— feel her soft weight resting on your chest once more.  

You imagined her lithe form lying underneath your sheets and saw her long hair; mere innocent strands turn into venomous snakes in the dark. The color green held new meaning and that laugh of hers… f__k.  

It bounced off the walls of your apartment and drove you even more insane. You’ve been a bachelor for years. The thought of another being in your apartment was ludicrous and yet feeling her warm body collide with your back, felt right. 

“I'm boooooored Y/n.. pay attention to meee.”   

You willed your body not to turn around but you had no control here. There she was wearing one of your t-shirts—hair all askew, looking like a dream. Then you reminded yourself, this was a dream. 

‘She isn’t real!’ you told yourself.   

This was an illusion, yet her eyes sucked you in despite the alarms blaring in your head to run. Did you really want to escape and why should you? 

Joker was so petite compared to you. It baffled you that she was capable of destruction on such a massive scale. It must’ve been so hard to be a woman surrounded by alpha males in the crime world. You had an urge to protect her, to love...   

Joker smiled sensing that you wanted to give her a kiss and stood on her tippy toes to meet you halfway. 

Only for your lips to meet thin air.  

You shot up out of bed a sweaty, panting mess. It wasn’t real, so why did you want it to be?  

Enough was enough. Screw being off for a week, you needed to go back to work. You couldn’t last another second cooped up indoors with your demented mind playing tricks on you. That dream felt too real.  

You clocked into work that same night, ignoring the multiple stares you received. 

Apparently no one expected you to bounce back on your feet so quickly. It did take you a while to get back into the swing of things and you found yourself missing Jazz drowning on in your ear during the night. That wasn’t a problem. Others soon replaced the silent void you longed for.  

A guy you hardly knew from your team rushed up to you during a line rush.  

“Yo dude! You’re alive!” He scanned a barcode before hefting a package onto the conveyor belt, “It’s been what? Three days? Are you sure you good bro?” 

You tried not to let your annoyance show. This was Gotham. People witnessed crime all the time and went about their daily lives just fine afterwards. Why was everyone treating you like a baby?  

They didn’t need to know that you were slowly losing your grip on reality. You were fine if you didn’t think about her.   

“I’m fine.” You stressed.  

The parcel in your hand landed roughly on the loading pallet but you didn’t care. You wanted the monotony of work to erase Joker from your mind and talking about her in conversation was counterproductive. You squeezed your eyes shut and counted to twenty. 

The random worker must’ve read the room. “Aight, Y/n. Just ah, take it easy ya know?”  

You thought that would be the end of things. Far from it.  

It hadn’t been a full hour since you clocked in and people that you never talked to decided to bother you for a crumb of gossip.  

“What’s she really like? C’mon tell me!” 

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s f___king crazy but uh.. I’d still hit ya know what I’m sayin? Did.. did you tap that?”  

When you didn’t respond and roll your eyes, it didn’t help the situation.  

“Haha! Y/n my man! You did! I didn’t know you had it in ya!” 

You were getting irritated from all these questions. Didn’t they have work to do? The line sure was getting backed up. 

Where was Frost to break up distractive chatter when you needed him? Your shift manager was notorious for yelling at his team to get back to work. He was nowhere to be found which left you with no escape from your vulture-like employees.  

Why couldn’t they understand that you weren’t saying anything on the matter? What happened was over and done with and you weren’t one for gossip anyways.  

Finally your lunch hour had come, and you were heading to lunch when another guy approached you. The frustration was building all night, but this poor guy would receive it all. Not your problem, you were past your breaking point.  

“I’m not answering s__t, so f__k off.” You slammed your metal locker shut in anger.  

The force rattled some things inside however your fellow employee wasn’t scared away. He simply blinked in shock and stood his ground. He was persistent, you’d give him that much.  

The guy held up his hands as a show of peace.  

“I wasn’t gonna.. Look, I was a close friend of Jazz.” You paused in your retreat and that was a cue for him to continue. “I know y’all were partners on the line and I just. I wanted to ask if you were okay?”  

He scratched the back of his head, cringing to himself. Hopefully that sounded sincere. Men weren’t usually in tune with their emotions much less to check up on one another.  

You on the other hand took the attempt in stride. It was the first time someone asked how you were feeling and meant it.  

You honestly don’t know what to say. “Uh, yeah I guess. I mean.. I miss having Jazz as a spotter. No one can carry a 1070 backwards like him.” You joked.  

The guy seemed to get your way of coping and laughed along. “Yeah, it's like he had eyes in the back of his head or somethin’.”  

The two of you walked to the mess hall reminiscing all the crazy feats Jazz did while at work. He was an idiot, but he was reliable at the day’s end. Before you knew it, lunch came and went, and you were still chatting with Thomas.  

He worked on Line A, the one that packaged the goods for your line to move onto loading bays. Even though Thomas was in a completely different sector, you slowly formed a friendship with him. He was quiet, well educated in his job function, and a cool guy to chat with. 

The two of you were about to head back to the floor when he stopped you by hitting your bicep. “Hey Y/n. Some of the guys from line A and I are planning on going to O’Brian’s after work. You down?”  

He scanned his ID on the security panel and opened the door to enter. You let it close properly before gaining your own access.  

The one minute delay gave you time to mull over the invite. O’Brian’s was a popular eatery open for third shift workers but more importantly, it was located in the heart of Joker’s territory.  

Any other time you would’ve jumped at the opportunity, but something didn’t settle well with you to accept. Perhaps the fact you met the owner and knew nothing good would ever come from being in the same vicinity.  

Just thinking about the murderous businesswoman made your head begin to ache.  

“Nah I’ll pass but thanks for offerin, man.” You replied.  

Thomas nodded and the two of you went separate ways to finish up the night shift. Thankfully no redacted pallets passed your line upon your return. You weren’t ready to move any illegal goods anytime soon.  

The rest of your shift flew by uneventfully. With it, the sunrise blinded you as you returned home. You were beat and wanted to grab a quick breakfast before crawling into bed.  

You were lucky that Frost appeared after your lunch hour and made it his priority to yell at anyone who dared to talk to you. It was a busy night, no time to gossip— and for that, you were grateful. Your headache only seemed to worsen the closer the inevitable hot hour arrived.  

Between the hours of one am and four, the likelihood of illegal items being on the line reached as high as eighty percent. It left a bitter taste in your mouth to move something that triggered the events that only happened three days prior.  

You started to regret coming back to work so early. Your shoulder throbbed in agreement.  

But that was over and done with and now you were back home.  

You carried yourself through the front door and made it to the fridge for a drink. You were downing your second glass of orange juice when a voice behind you spoke. “How was work?”  

You inwardly sighed. The hallucinations were back.  

It was best to just go with the flow as you were too tired to question your sanity or argue. You scanned the fridge and found a jar of overnight oats mixed with fruit in the back.  

“Tiring, I think I made a friend tho. He’s aight I guess.”  

A soft hum was the only response you received for a length of time. Then you heard a, “That’s good Y/n. It’s good to have... friends. Lefthand drawer.” 

You were struggling to find your spoon drawer, that’s how exhausted you were. You tossed an appreciation over your shoulder only to freeze up in hindsight.  

Something about her tone was off—it sounded too sentient, and it made you turn around to face your delusions.  

At least you thought it was.  

“Holy s__t!” Much to your horror you locked eyes with The Joker seated at your island counter, watching your every move. She looked so at ease, as if she belonged there that it gave you whiplash.  

“W-What the.. WHY ARE YOU HERE?! HOW DID YOU—?!” 

“Nghh. Too loud.” She groaned and adjusted the bag of frozen peas better on her head. It made you pause and look at her more closely. Her usual pristine suit was disheveled and there was blood on her collar. The sight made your stomach do flip flops.  

You set your breakfast down and asked. “Did you get into a fight?”  

She snorted and didn’t reply. Her gaze shifted out the window. If you weren’t paying close attention, you would have missed the glassy look in her eye. 

Okay, now you were concerned. Joker was a female and entitled to mood swings, but then again, she was tough as nails. Batman hit her vehicle with an RPG just three days ago and she walked away just fine— so to see her so defeated today was jarring.  

You had to play this carefully or it could end ugly.  

For some unknown reason you weren’t terrified that The Joker was in your apartment. Witnessing her so vulnerable tossed all common sense out the window.  

Your exhaustion made you emboldened enough to crack a joke. “Let me guess. You didn’t wear a seatbelt again?” You nodded at her injury.  

A brief smirk appeared on her disfigured face. So she remembered. “Tch, he always aims for my head. Stupid jerk.”  

You were at a loss. “Who?” 

She rolled her eyes, the color of fresh spearmint, and sent you a ‘keep up, will you?’ look. “If you must know.... Bats and I had a fight. It’s whatever. H-he’s always like this. Hurting me n’ all..”  

Joker let out a shaky breath and focused intently on your kitchen counter. In that moment she looked so... small. You couldn’t lower your guard however. She was a monster, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.  

“That doesn’t explain why you’re in my apartment.” You added. That earned you an eye roll.   

“I was close n’ it felt safe. I wanted..” she let out an airy chuckle, “For once, I wanted to feel safe where someone wouldn't hurt me.”  

Her words punched you right in the gut. All this time you feared the woman with the reputation, not once thinking about the woman behind the scars. She was human just like you with feelings and desires.  

Speaking of, your gaze dropped down to her lips.  

Her signature lipstick was smudged around the edges but you could see the bottom lip was split with dried blood in the corner. Her and Bats had quite some fight and it was apparent that she lost. Joker looked like crap.  

You wanted to offer her aid but your sleep deprived mind blurted out the first thing it could think of. “You think my place is safe?”  

The thought made you snort. Your place was amazing, and rent was reasonable, but the locale was not great. You were in the rougher side of Chinatown being the closest residential area to the Dixon shipping docks where you worked. You wouldn’t necessarily call it safe.   

In Joker’s eyes, your place was a Mecca.  

“You promised not to hurt me Y/n, don’t tell me you’re a liar too?” She tried to shake her head but groaning in pain when it became unbearable.  

You rushed over to help reposition the bag of peas on her head. She noticeably flinched at your touch although you didn’t notice. Being this close to Joker after spending so many nights with just her phantom was refreshing. Perhaps later you would think back and cringe— right now you spun Joker’s chair around so she could lean her head on your chest.  

That addicting blend of roses and lighter fluid seeped into your senses. She was like a balm for your weary bones.  

And when her heart shaped face looked up at you, you waited with bated breath to hear what she had to say.  

“I like your eyes. There’s so.. kind.” She whispered in awe.  

“Kind?” You echoed. 

She reached up and caressed your cheekbones. You noticed her nails were painted pitch black today yet your focus shifted to her own eyes. Her sooty lashes fluttered a mile a minute. “Yeah.. safe.”   

“Jo—” You sighed when she slumped forward. Great. You were left holding an unconscious criminal in your arms with no clue on what to do next.  

This was not on your bingo card for today or any day for that matter. You had plenty of Joker exposure from three days ago to last you a lifetime, but it would be rude if you kicked her out in her current state.  

You didn’t know anyone to call (except the police) so you resigned yourself to fate. She came to you in her time of need; you wouldn’t abuse the trust she bestowed upon you.  

Without thinking, you scooped Joker up bridal style and headed to bed.  

You woke up well rested a little bit after one pm. A con of being on third shift; a completely different sleeping schedule than normal.  

You were about to climb out of bed when your body seized up and remembered the events earlier this morning. The Joker was in your apartment! The two of you talked before she.. 

You glanced over to your right, only to be thoroughly disappointed to find the bed empty. She was gone, as if she was never there to begin with. Was she? Your mind wasn’t thinking straight these days.. 

If she was, it shouldn’t have bothered you but it did.  

You carried her to bed, you removed her shoes— red bottoms to match her lethal body count, and tucked her in. You’d wash the sheets later since her heavy makeup ruined them.  

It took you ages to fall asleep, although you weren’t complaining. Having Joker in your bed stroked your male ego. She was a sight you could get used to even if she was a walking red flag. You were thinking with your dick at this point.  

Her long green hair called out to you and you played with the ends of it to help you nod off. This tiny wisp of a girl drove you insane with little effort on her part.  

She did something to your head that night. It made you gravitate towards her; it made you protective when you had absolutely no right to do so.  

She made you realize just how lonely you were and watching her brow furrow in distress, perhaps she was too.  

Pulling Joker into the safety of your arms immediately calmed her down even if the price to pay was her nails digging into your skin. She could sink her claws as deep as she liked, you weren’t letting her go. You were hooked.   

Obviously you did let go, given the fact that she was gone.  

You flopped back on the bed, groaning to yourself until something made contact with your arm. It was smooth to the touch and felt harmless so you rolled over to investigate.  

How could you have missed this? A deck of cards was scattered on your bed with the most important one, the Joker, being on top. You picked it up with shaky hands to read the note inscribed in blood red ink.   

Until next time.   

She even kissed the card wearing her jet black lipstick.  

You read the promise over and over and committed her flowery handwriting to memory. It became your new obsession.  

Good thing Joker didn’t keep you waiting for long.   

An odd arrangement formed between you and Joker. Four days after the dubbed pillow incident, she barged into your living room with a box of assorted doughnuts and watched you play video games all night. You were both terrified and turned on by her play-by-play skills that led to many wins.  

Another night, she crashed through your bedroom window and broke her stilettos heel in the process.  

You made her blueberry pancakes to feel better and you learned Joker had quite the appetite.  

Another random day, you were preparing for work and walked in on her soaking in your bathtub. You tried not to look— really you did, but the temptation was too great. You took in her wet body at a loss for words. The scent of roses swirled in the confined space and made your head swim.  

Sickly sweet, just like her.  

You were tongue tied when she asked if you wanted to “join her.” The vixen even blew red tinted bubbles your way to entice you!  

You foolishly went to work with a hard on.  

However other times Joker wasn’t alone when she dropped by. She would storm into your apartment grumbling to herself with a shadow right behind her.  

“Uh Joker? Who’s this?” You pointed to the creepy male who was giving you the death glare.  

Joker flipped her hair over shoulder while bending down looking for something in your living room, “Does it matter? Whaddya doing tonight, Y/n. I’m booored.”  

She said it nearly identical like in your dream weeks back. You walked closer to her, your gaze never leaving the blond watching your every move.  

“It’s my night off, you know that.” You chided her.  

You used some of your accumulated days off for an extended staycation. You told her about it the last time she came over but apparently things went through one ear and out the other.  

Her eyes lit up in delight when she found what she was looking for. You missed her tossing it to her goon since she threw you a question simultaneously. “Oh! Can I stay ov~errrr then?” 

“You never asked for permission before.” You fired back.  

Your comment earned you a grunt from Joker’s bodyguard and like a flash of lightening, her entire mood shifted. She spun around and held a knife to his throat before you could even blink. Where she kept it wearing that skintight outfit, you didn’t want to know.  

“Is there a uh.. problem, Blondie?”  

You felt like an outsider watching the altercation unfold. You got to see the real Joker, cold, vindictive, and cutthroat interact with anyone who opposed her. Her angelic voice made her threats even more chilling. In the end Joker giggled and let the guy go who breathed a sigh of relief— but not without giving you the stink eye as he walked out.  

Why did it feel awkward all of a sudden? Joker thankfully cleared the air with her next statement.  

“Now that’s all settled..” she sauntered over to you and flashed you a sultry smile. “Ya wanna go out with me?” 

Y/n.exe has stopped working. You were speechless. She wanted to do what?!  

“Out? W-With you?” You managed to say.  

Your response made Joker’s grotesque smile falter, though you hardly noticed. “Yes! We can um.. rob Gotham Merchant Bank and go shopping or or! bomb the GCPD headquarters with glitter! No, I got it! We can assassinate the mayor!”  

Oh boy this woman was insane. She was practically shaking with excitement.  

You smiled softly at Joker while pushing her away. It pained you to see her crestfallen face. How dare you say no to her? 

You had to correct your mistake in order to stay alive.  

“Or.. we could stay in and watch a movie.” You guided her to sit down on the couch with you.  

Joker eyed you in silence as you turned on your tv and opened a streaming service. She didn’t know what to do from here and you could hear the vulnerability in her voice.  

“A m-movie?” 

Seeing that she was struggling, you selected a good war period film and sat back. It should entertain her bloodlust at least. The opening title appeared and you took Joker by surprise when you pulled her down to cuddle with you.  

It may have been super smooth to an outsider but your heart was beating out of your chest.  

You were in a lover’s embrace with Gotham City’s deadliest criminal. You didn’t dare move. Joker’s body was like a poised cobra on top of you. If you didn’t feel her steady breathing, she would’ve been a statue.  

Gunfire from the movie stole her attention and with each body that fell, you could feel her slowly relaxing into your hold.  

Why were you attracted to the crazy ones? 

Joker was thinking the same thing. It was ridiculous how quickly she caved in to your request. You didn’t give her a chance to argue, you simply got comfortable and brought her along for the ride.  

It was different and overwhelming. Instead of fast-paced heists and the thrill of running away, she was subjected to the calm rhythm of your heart and the dumb acting onscreen. A bright scene lit up the room and it was then Joker took the time to take you in.  

You were obviously handsome with a boy next door charm that rotted her teeth. Mama raised you to respect women and not once did you try to make a move on Joker.  

The sad part, she wanted you to. You worked out and it showed with your toned arms and rough hands.  

She’d seen you lift boxes twice her size with ease and it made her grow wet with possibilities.  

What were you like in bed? Were you still a gentleman? A dom? Or a fun combination of both? Ahhh! She needed to know but moments like this were a rarity.  

She couldn’t remember the last time someone held her close and just existed. Your eyes were focused on the movie while your hand was busy rubbing soothing circles on her back. You made her feel normal, just a girl hanging out with her boyfriend.  

Her minty eyes widened. Were you her boyfriend? The idea kinda excited her.  

It was settled. You were her boyfriend whether you liked it or not.  

The movie became irrelevant to Joker, your scent, clean with a hint of pine had her eyes falling half-mast and your subdued strength, in the way you held her tight with just one arm, to your heart beating rhythmically in her ear. Safe.  

You were safe to Joker and that meant the world to her. In your arms no one could hurt her, not even Bats.  

She hoped that she wasn’t too heavy because about twenty minutes into the movie, she was out. You followed her not too long after thinking the same sentiments.  

Joker was crazy but you would protect her at all costs.  

[twototwotoo]

Google Forum about art produced during the topic

The first cover was well received by those who viewed it, averaging around a 9, a near perfect score for me as 10 is an impossible goal as it means to be without flaw, and while one did tick 10, that is more likely due to our views on scores differing majorly. I threw another variant of the cover, one removing colour other than the eerie purple shadows, I asked if they liked it more or not, half saying no, while the rest didn't put it above or below, I liked the colourless version, but it’s apparent that might be a personal bias. Mostly, people favoured the detailing and look, there were points about readability and the area, but others said there was nothing to quote on. I also prompted if the art would make them curious about the album, where some said they would look into the project if they saw it in the wild, what is a good quality to have. Overall, most agreed that I had finished what was stated of me, except for one of the 6 who viewed it.

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The second cover was also well received by the audience that saw it and seems to be the more preferred cover as seen at the end of the form even if it does have a few stranglers in the middling community, but this could just be due to them not seeing it as, “Galaxy” enough, what makes later questions weirder later on. Averaging around a ten, what is impossible in my eyes due to my personal views on the 1/10 structure of reviewing media, It seems the most liked aspect is controversial, all of the reviewers gave different choices, such as the text and solar flares and the cracks, what isn't bad at all, but could lead to the piece being very all over and that its hard to concentrate, but that’s just an assumption. The most hated aspect followed the same trend, one hated the bottom right of the picture, saying it looked out of place, another referred to the red outlining of, “Lies” what I agree with, but was a personal change made by the commissioners, so I have nothing to explain further. However, while it had higher scores than the first cover, less people seemingly would be interested in buying it, at least two of the 6 wouldn't go further into looking into the product, what is weird but fair. Only one participant thought it did not follow the brief correctly, but this question was copy and pasted as I had no further info on what to make other than being told to make it, so I had no way to change to prompt I was given other than adhering to the original idea given.

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This piece is probably one of the more controversial and weird of the pieces that were reviewed. I actually has a high score of 8.5, but many thought it did not follow the original prompt, which makes fair as the piece is more abstract and it could have been cause that they did’t understand the background which was supposed to imitate a planet and sun. I also had a second cover in this slide, one without shadow, I added this as I wonder if the would preferred it over the shaded version as it gives it a far more cartoon and vibrant feeling, however it was not as well received as the original. The most liked part was the details, and the overall loom portrayed. The most hated aspect was that it wasn't space themed enough even though I based it on cosmic horror, what either wasn’t clear or not picked up on by the reviewers. Overall, some would look into it and some would even buy it if they saw it was good. Two also though it didn’t adhere to the prompt, but yet again I was told to make this one so I have no quarrys.

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By the end, art piece 2 was the overall victor, followed by art piece 3 then 1. This was not my overall expectation, I did think the second one would be liked but I would have never thought it would be over the other two as it is the most simple one of the bunch as the most generic, but I was proven wrong. It is quite annoying, as it was also the quickest to produce and make the other two feel like I should have finished them quicker. Overall, from this form I have learnt that it is good to get reviews and feedback from others that sadly was not that prevalent in my work due, once again, to their poor communication overall, but by the end of the day, at least it all came out well and that they’re happy.

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden: Booklet 8

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. By all means, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases. If anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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Back when we first met, she was a doll that didn’t talk.

It made me want to kick her and ask if she was alive. The way she was at that time, she probably wouldn’t have reacted even if she did get kicked.

The world after the war was vividly colored. And yet, it was as if she were living by herself in a grey realm. As if she were trapped in a room where taste and scent didn’t exist. She acted like she were intently enduring unstoppable pain.

——Being with her is boring.

But I couldn’t get my eyes off her.

——Why’s she doing this?

She should’ve used her head. If she thought about it just a little bit, she could’ve figured things out.

——Such a pain in the ass.

She shouldn’t live life wearing her heart on her sleeve. She should be fake, put up a front.

——Protect yourself a little.

All Violet could say about life was that it was hard.

She could do more than twice as many things as an ordinary person could. Yet she was insufferably incapable of doing anything that she was bad at. She also wasn’t good at getting by, couldn’t tell lies and never ran away when she was supposed to.

Most likely, she’d never fought back. As to whom, it was probably against destiny. And probably against the guy called God. She just tamely obeyed them.

It different from person to person, but sure enough, there were people who shouldered mostly hurtful fates. Even when they thought it was over, they’d get involved in painful conflicts again. There was no salvation for people born under that kind of star. Even if they themselves didn’t wish for it, that was what would happen to them. The circumstances would bring it to them. Bring misfortune.

God must’ve been beating her up over and over.

Maybe Violet didn’t like that at first. It might’ve made her cry. But, well, once you got used to it, even violence could become a part of everyday life.

——Isn’t that right, Violet?

God definitely hated you.

   Benedict Blue’s Violet

   ——There’s a doll making noises in this dark room.

The thing in the shape of a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl was earnestly playing a melody. The way her mechanical arms operated the machine made her look almost like a piano accompanist. The ticking typewriter sounds flowed endlessly, practically like music. Slow at first, gradually growing faster. Strong, strong, strong, gentle.

The conversation between machines finished quietly in the room. There was no praise or applause.

The way she simply typed the letters down as if offering a prayer made her look like a pilgrim. Of course, the doll was neither a musician nor a pilgrim. She was a lonely artist.

The doll’s occupation was of Auto-Memories Doll. A profession that had existed since before the war, but the nice old-fashioned job had become active exactly because the war was over. Those who didn’t know the gist of it very well would say that it was a temporary job for women before getting married to rich men. But that actually wasn’t the case.

Since this profession combined physical and brain labor, there were some people who stood out for making a name for themselves in the industry. If anything, the most demanded girls traveled around a lot. The fact that she had been left behind while the others had gone out and was writing down documents spoke volumes about her lack of popularity.

I knew why she was alone in this room right now.

She had gone on a ghostwriting business trip, but was rejected and came back. Apparently, the client had told her that he didn’t want a woman with prosthetic arms, who had marks of the war engraved into her body, ghostwriting for him.

The commissioner of the letter had lost his wife in the war. For the sake of the infant children that had been left to him, he had been searching for a new wife and finally managed to remarry. And so, he was looking for someone to write the wedding invitations. He probably wanted everyone to celebrate it. Like, “Congratulations; hope you’ll be happy together”. People from all over the world.

Of course he’d be disheartened if a girl like that turned up and showed her prosthetics during such a time. It must’ve felt like she was throwing cold water on his happiness. Something might have happened that reminded him of his late wife.

——Like I care, stupid. That ain’t something you can take out on her.

Cattleya went in her stead and got angry, saying he was a nasty man.

People who were hated by God had it hard, I thought.

   ——There’s a doll standing in front of the entrance, gentle wind blowing by her.

Having come back from a delivery, I found her on stand-by with a tight posture. When this woman was silent, she really was just like a doll.

Had she gone to a client’s house and been turned away again? Or had they told her that they wanted a different girl next time?

Auto-Memories Dolls were something else. I liked just sending deliveries better. I refused to bow subserviently to people who acted conceited. If it were me, I’d have long quit.

But Violet came to work every day.

——She’s got more guts than some.

I was lost as to whether or not I should talk to her. I couldn’t tell someone from a different line of work what they should do. “Cheer up; don’t let it get to you” – I didn’t know if this kind of line would have any effect on her. I had the feeling that she had no need for other people in the first place.

Still, in times like these, the guy that had taken us in would talk to her. “Little Violet, there’s always a next time. You can take it slow,” he’d say.

Before I went to talk to her, she spotted me and nodded in greeting.

“Violet.”

The name that sounded so pretty when it rolled out of my mouth was the one of a flower.

“Did you get turned away again? Hodgins won’t be mad at you. Let’s go in.”

Violet’s eyes blinked repeatedly. “No, I was not turned away today.”

A violet was a flower that bloomed with purple petals.

“Therefore, President Hodgins said we should have a meal as a celebration...”

No matter how many times it was stepped on, this flower never stopped living.

“I see; isn’t that great?”

For some reason, I was relieved, as if I had just confirmed that the chick I had been protecting was okay.

“Yes.”

“Make a happier face, would you... no, forget that. Don’t try to do it physically. Stop using your hands to make yourself smile.”

What a weirdo. She made me feel strange.

   ——There’s a doll walking around town dyed in the colors of sunset.

A Prussian-blue jacket. A snow-white ribbon-tie dress. An emerald brooch on the chest. A pair of cocoa-brown high-laced boots that made clicking sounds resound from the brick-paved road.

I was used to seeing that doll. To be more precise, she was a girl with the appearance of a doll.

Someone was bound to stand out if they were loitering on a bridge and staring at a map while everyone else was going home. She was in the way of traffic and just her get-up was already conspicuous enough.

The reason why I happened to easily spot her in an unfamiliar town at sunset – a time of the day when one’s vision would begin to worsen – wasn’t that I naturally paid conscious attention to her or anything of the sort. I was just in the middle of a delivery to somewhere a bit far on that day. It was two hours away from the capital Leiden going by motorcycle.

“We deliver to wherever our clients desire.”

That was my job. So it was generally similar to the work of that blond-haired, blue-eyed girl in front of my eyes. In her case, it was “we rush to wherever our clients desire”.

We used to meet in the office building often when work had just started, but lately, we didn’t see each other at all. Her number of commissions had likely increased. Things seemed to be going well for her. It looked like she was having some sort of problem, but she’d probably be okay even if I left her there.

——She gonna be fine, right?

Dressed in an outfit that seemed to pop straight out of a fairy tale, the girl continued glaring at the map.

——Hey, you gonna be fine, ain’t you, Violet?

She was a mysterious Auto-Memories Doll – so beautiful it was uncanny, yet with a somewhat wild aspect.

Some time had passed ever since our boss introduced her to us out of nowhere. We were told that she was an ex-soldier, but we didn’t know the details of her circumstances.

Several of the CH Postal Company’s staff members were unique fellows. A former girl soldier was quite a rare thing, but in any case, our president, Claudia Hodgins, was a former high-ranking soldier himself. Many of us were the kind to dash away without leaning on anyone, despite each having their own burden.

Probably because the president was also like that.

Therefore, well, even if she was younger than me, we were both independent people, so my personal opinion was that I should keep enough distance to watch over her growth rather than meddle in her business.

——She’s dicey...

I stayed like that and watched her walk for a while. Violet Evergarden never spoke up about being in trouble when she was in trouble, so the people around her just passed her by. As she avoided the flow of people while staring intently at the map all by herself, her figure was that of a lonely traveler.

——If you don’t know where to go, ask someone.

I wasn’t nice enough to call out to someone I wasn’t close to. But it wasn’t like we were strangers, either.

I suddenly heard a habitual voice, “Haah? So you ignored Little Violet when she was in a pinch? How insensitive can you be? You’re gonna leave a girl on her own even though it’s about to get dark? You’re a disgrace as a gentleman. Why won’t you talk to her? Are you being shy? Self-conscious? Is that it, Benedict?”

A scene that couldn’t be described as anything but “noisy” surfaced in my head. Tediously lectured by the man inside my brain, I started getting the feeling that I indeed should help her out.

Without any other choice, I concentrated my strength on my stomach and called her name as if yelling in anger, “VIOLET!”

She who was loved by the president like a princess reacted by perking up like a rabbit and then looked my way. When I waved at her to come over, she rushed towards me in a sprint. “Benedict, is something the matter?” That was the first thing she said, dealing me an under-shoulder swing-down.

“Don’t ask me if something’s the matter. What’s up with you...?”

“I have finished my ghostwriting business trip here, so I am about to go back to the company. I was informed by the townspeople that it should take about six hours on foot, so I was attempting to confirm the direction.”

“‘Walking’, you say...? How’d you get here?”

“By train up to a nearby area. I took an omnibus from there... however, as the ghostwriting took more time than the expected, I wound up missing the last ride.”

“You could just spend the night at an inn, y’know?”

“This is a distance that I can conquest by marching, so that would be a waste of time and funds.”

When I heard the word “marching”, I almost let out a sigh. As expected, it seemed she still couldn’t get over her soldier spirit.

“I’ll let you ride behind me... so let’s go back together.”

“Is that all right?”

“Obviously, since we’re going in the same direction. But even if you were going a different way, well, I’d still give you a lift.”

“I am heavy; will you be able to handle it...?”

I looked at her slender waist and neck, wondering what she meant by that, but then concluded she was talking about her prosthetics. Once she hopped on the motorcycle, its running speed undeniably slowed down. We had issues going through unpaved roads, as the tires mired in.

“Perhaps I should run behind you?”

About this girl’s stupid side, she always decided to sacrifice herself.

“No, there’s no meaning in that.”

Whenever I was with her, I understood why Hodgins had told me to take care of her.

“We can arrive together.”

“You dumb or what? This thing normally carries baggage much heavier than you, so it’s gonna be fine.”

“An excellent soldier it is.”

“You mean ‘an excellent motorcycle’.”

Inwardly, I was thinking, “I’m screwed.”

“Benedict.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you very much, Benedict.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“I shall pay you back somehow.”

“I get it already.”

“I cannot give you a fixed date for it at the moment, but... I will give you some sort of monetary compensation.”

“No need.”

“But...”

“I said I don’t need it.”

“Then can I count on you again another time?”

“You’re so cheeky all of a sudden.”

“Taking work efficiency into consideration, being given a ride by one of our company’s postmen is extremely helpful.”

“Aah, so that’s what this is about.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll do it if I feel like it.”

“Shoot,” I thought.

I was weak to stray dogs and cats that didn’t get too attached to people.

   ——There was a doll walking in the rain.

Leiden was on a shortage of rain lately, so this shower was literally a blessing. But for a postman carrying materials and letters that shouldn’t get wet by any means, it was nothing but a visitation of misfortune.

I decided it’d be best to have the lunch that I had missed rather than force myself to carry out the deliveries and fall off the motorcycle. When I walked into a café that I was well-acquainted with, I found a number of people that had taken shelter just like me.

——Good job at work, I whispered in my head to all the workers present.

I ordered a warm beverage and meal set first-thing and then went to take a seat. It wasn’t by my own request that I got a seat by the window. The waiter was the one who took the hint.

——All I have left to do is go back to the company after three more deliveries and then list the remaining ones.

Coffee was a delicious thing to drink while listening to the sound of gently falling rain.

——Speaking of which, I also gotta order the equipment that broke.

Thinking about work even when on break wasn’t a very good thing to do, but it couldn’t be helped considering the line of work of postmen. We were always pressed for time and even if we had a lot to do in one day, the amount of stuff we could handle was limited. I felt that even more keenly because I could sense from experience that my position was gradually rising within the company.

——I’ve got a lot to do. And after that... after that...

While thinking about this, I found something odd in the cityscape.

The view of Leiden was picturesque under rain. I myself liked the rain when I didn’t have to work. But no, that wasn’t it – I had spotted Violet running amidst the rain. She was holding a bag, which probably had letters in it, tight against her chest so that it wouldn’t get soaked.

I stood up from the chair without thinking. Albeit through glass, when Violet passed in front of my eyes, she also took notice of me and stopped.

Ever since I’d started giving her rides on my motorcycle, we came to a mutual understanding. That being said, she didn’t talk much, so I often called to her one-sidedly. I found out that she’d properly speak once spoken to.

“How ‘bout you take a break too?” I gesticulated.

“No, I will return to the company,” Violet replied by gesticulating too.

“That so? Thanks for the hard work.”

“Thank you for your hard work.”

When I waved, Violet waved back a little. With no facial expression, she waved her hand.

Violet’s figure then quickly disappeared from sight, and I felt that the coffee I drank after this had kind of changed in flavor. I had the feeling that it gained a strange aftertaste.

——So she can wave her hand and stuff like that.

She probably wouldn’t have done that at first. I didn’t do it either. ‘Cause, like, it was the Violet Evergarden. The girl who tried to physically lift her cheeks when Hodgins told her to “stop the deadpan in front of the customers”, and then reported that it didn’t work. The girl who described walking a distance for hours as “marching”. The girl who took action as if she’d forgotten her emotions somewhere. The girl who was always looking only at her emerald brooch, as if she had nothing else that was close to her.

A girl who didn’t seem to have a single friend.

——And yet, she waved at me.

Maybe that moment just now was a crystallization of the time Violet and I had spent together until we got to this point? That fact tickled my heart in a sort-of mushy spot. For whatever reason, I felt that this I flavor, which I had never tasted before, was coming from the coffee. The feeling wasn’t as easy to understand as what I felt for other women... Rather, it was embarrassing to say it aloud, but this was the innocent kind of deep affection that you’d feel for a fellow human being.

——Guess it’s really the kind of happiness that you feel when a stray dog starts getting attached to you.

If a woman that I was having a crush on were drenched in rain, it would’ve probably sprouted ulterior motives in me. No, if I had to pick, she was more like an underling to me, wasn’t she?

Not understanding anything about this feeling, all I could do was worry about her catching a cold.

——I’m getting soft.

Aah, as I had thought, I was screwed. Pretty screwed.

   ——A doll brought a little kid over and is asking for the impossible.

“I would like to go looking for Lady Isabella York.”

I was wondering if she’d started to take notice of her own charm lately. How should I put it? No, she probably hadn’t noticed it. Rather, I was the one who had taken notice of it, hence why I’d find myself thinking that.

“Please...”

Hearing her ask for a favor felt quite ticklish.

I want you to consider this. Suppose there’s a stray dog or cat that you weren’t too close to and just started getting along with, what would you think if it started crying “meow, meow” at you?

“She is my friend.”

What would you think? It’d thug the strings of your heart, wouldn’t it?

“Benedict, can I count on you?”

Our president, who had caught this disease first, immediately threw this proposal at me.

——His rationality’s faltering. Deal with it a bit more like an adult.

Hodgins was head-over-heels for Violet. No, not in a weird sense. He really looked after her as if she were his own family. Age-wise, she was too big to be a child, but since she was so childish on the inside, he wound up treating her like a daughter.

When Violet said “please” with her blue eyes staring at him, he generally couldn’t refuse. Plus, whenever she asked for a favor, it was often in situations that had quite some urgency to them, which she really couldn’t do anything about on her own and she needed help for, so denying it would be inhumane. She normally didn’t rely on anyone, which made turning her down even nastier.

——Stop; don’t look at me. Don’t turn those wet eyes towards me.

“Benedict...”

——That ain’t fair. Taylor, don’t give me that same look either.

In the end, I accepted the job, but it was a pretty daunting one.

   ——There’s a doll knocking on the door at three in the afternoon.

The apartment I’d been renting ever since I started living in Leidenschaftlich was sordid. One could see to some extent what kind of life a person was living if they visited said person’s room, but everything in my room made it look like a temporary home. It didn’t feel like a bedroom.

Probably because I didn’t think I’d keep on working as a postman.

All the furnishings were stuff I’d picked up, so their colors were fading away and some part of them was always dusty even if I cleaned it up. The scarce sunlight was also a bad thing. There was only one window and the curtains were always shut, so it was easy to accumulate dust.

I used to keep them properly open before, but after coming across a suspicious person in the middle of the night, I began shutting them. Not for my sake. It was for the perpetrator who might target my window again one day.

Not only did I push him off the window, I also gave chase, held him down, got on all fours to beat him to a pulp and then took him to the military police, where he had to immediately be sent to a doctor and they told me that what I had done was “overuse of self-defense”. Why was I the one who had to be told off? Honestly, this city was peaceful only in people’s heads. That wouldn’t bother my past self, but I kindly led him to the military police because I was a postman now.

To top it off, annoyingly enough, the perpetrator that I had put in critical condition apparently thought I was a woman. I certainly didn’t have bad looks, but that was a stretch, yeah? He should’ve taken a look at my shoulder width.

“Benedict.”

Anyway, well, this apartment wasn’t very good. I had nothing to worry about if I were attacked, but the memory that I kinda got scared and stayed in Hodgins’s apartment for a while remained with me.

“Benedict, it is past the arranged time.”

So there was no helping that I had no idea what time it was now. I kept my curtains shut, after all. I couldn’t tell if it was sunny or dark outside.

“It is past midday. Already three o’clock.”

The day after I got wasted was a holiday, so there was no helping that I couldn’t wake up. Right?

“Benedict, may I break the door in order to check for your life signals?”

Being asked for drastic measures, I jumped from my bed and headed to the front door. When I opened it, what I saw was a woman with golden hair that shone more than mine, like the Full Moon, and blue eyes of a shade deeper than my own.

“Violet...”

Violet Evergarden. She was an Auto-Memories Doll from the same company as myself.

We sometimes interacted at work, but her visiting my home was a first. It was pretty sunny outside and Violet looked like she could be turned into a beautiful painting with such a stunning afternoon scenery behind her.

She didn’t have bad looks either, just like me.

“What’re you doing?” I asked with my face flushed from drinking and my voice a bit hoarse, causing the slightest bit of chance to Violet’s lack of facial expression. She frowned a little.

“We had an arrangement.”

“What kind?”

“Choosing a gift for President Hodgins.”

“Is it his birthday?”

“No. Had we not decided to give him a gift during the banquet that will be held on the anniversary of the CH Postal Company?”

We might have. When she said that, I had the feeling we did.

I fell silent for a moment and dug up my memories. Violet patiently waited for me while I stayed quiet.

“Wait, I really can’t remember. What kind of promise did I make about this?”

Violet’s eyebrows curved downward this time. Having spent some time with her, I could tell that this was Violet’s “sad”. Moreover, she definitely would never say that she was sad, so the feeling would just be absorbed inside of her without her ever speaking up about it. Crying like a pipe wasn’t her character. She wouldn’t whine, either. That was exactly why she stimulated my sense of guilt.

After a short interval, Violet opened her mouth, “Yesterday, we spent dinnertime together.”

“Now that you mentioned it, we were. We rarely do that. I have the feeling I was the one who invited you.”

“Yes. It was just dinnertime, after all... We went to a place that served alcoholic beverages, but I accompanied you because one can both drink and eat there.”

“I feel that we... ordered a spicy seafood soup together.”

“It was fiery.”

“While we were eating... that’s right, I was drinking.”

“You were. According to the owner of the establishment, the amount that you drank was too large for an adult to consume in one day.”

“You didn’t have to add that.”

With her long, golden eyelashes bending down, Violet said, “Albeit with slurred speech, Benedict, you were talking about how grateful you were for every single day.”

My brows furrowed at the statement of the woman in front of me.

“You were grateful to President Hodgins for taking you in as a postman. I am grateful to him in a similar way. Most likely... what people call ‘companionship’... happened between us for a moment... and we discussed about the two of us giving him a present on the upcoming anniversary.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It is true.”

“You and me? Gratitude? Companionship?”

If anyone else were telling me this, I’d be sure that it was made up.

“Gratitude and companionship towards President Hodgins.”

But this woman was the one saying it with her skylark voice, so I could do nothing but believe it. Because there weren’t many people in my life – and most likely in all of Leidenschaftlich – who were as diligent and straight-laced as her.

——They say there are people who can’t live if not like this.

There were bound to be easier ways to live, but she couldn’t manage them. Therefore, she also couldn’t lie.

I urged her to continue with a “go on”.

“I asked you what would be good as a gift for President Hodgins. You receive a salary, thus something compatible with it would be in order. But Benedict, you said you were running out of money.”

“Sounds like something I’d say.”

“I then suggested a compromise plan, in which both of us would give money and buy something together. We also settled on a time to meet. Three o’clock on the next day... literally this very moment. Benedict, you drank quite a lot, so I brought you over to this residence once we left the bar.”

“You brought me here?!” my voice came out alarmed.

Violet was making a face that seemed to ask if there was a problem with that. I was an adult man.

“I did. Compared to heavy weaponry, you are as light as a feather.”

This former girl soldier’s prosthetic arms and tough body were terrifying.

“However, leaving aside the fact that I carried you, Benedict, when I saw you languidly stretched out like a snake, I expressed concern that you might not manage to get up the next day. You confirmed my concerns and said that you wanted me to come fetch you. I acknowledged this, put it to action, and now here we are.”

In that moment, I had a sudden thought.

“Haha.” When I realized it, I found myself laughing.

“Benedict, this is not the time to laugh.”

“No, I gotta.”

“This is not the time to laugh.”

——No, I gotta laugh, Violet. We’ve gotten really close.

   We spent time together day after day. Each of those times, my emotions would gush forth.

“Violet, you’ve been coming back home through some weird road again, haven’t you?”

“Violet, don’t report my fails to Hodgins.”

“Violet, you know why Cattleya’s pissed?”

“Violet, look, it’s my new motorcycle.”

“Violet, put on a coat when if you get cold.”

“Violet, why do you make decisions without asking anyone’s opinion?”

“Violet, help me clean the desk.”

“Violet, that’s inefficient. Take the routes I taught you.”

“Violet, that’s unfair.”

“Violet, I had a weird dream yesterday. Do you dream?”

“Violet, I’m gonna take a nap, so wake me up when Cattleya arrives.”

“Violet, I found an umbrella repair shop. I’ll take you there so hop on.”

“Violet, did you hear? Looks like that bakery’s gone out of business.”

“Violet, you didn’t get a souvenir for me?”

“Violet, if you got anything that’s troubling you, just say it. Count on me.”

“Violet, Violet, Violet.”

   “Violet.”

——There’s a dool looking at herself in the entrance hall’s gigantic mirror.

Leidenschaftlich’s national flower was the bougainvillea. White, pink, colorful bougainvilleas bloomed under the clear sky, tinting the city in a myriad of hues. She was repeatedly putting on and taking off a hat that had said flowers as patterns.

“You ready?”

When I spoke to her, Violet turned around. “Yes.”

Having grown up considerably from the time we had first met, she couldn’t be called a girl anymore. Still, the Violet who used to be helplessly lonely would stay in my heart forever and ever. The Violet who kept on living despite being at loss. The Violet who hopelessly chased after just one person, like an idiot. I was watching her the whole time. Watching from the side.

“Isn’t it fine that way?”

When I said this, Violet nodded in agreement and put the hat back on.

We were about to go to a wedding ceremony now. A very happy one at that – a marriage between our co-workers from the CH Postal Company.

The romance between one of the receptionists and my junior postman was something that took quite some time and had its detours. They kept failing to see each other, so the people around them had given up, thinking it wouldn’t be possible...

But the guy found his resolve and held up the woman.

I’d also been watching over the progress of their love for pretty long, so I was sincerely glad that it had bloomed. The one who thought so most keenly was probably Hodgins. As proof of that, all posts had ceased service at three o’clock today. We all headed to one of Leiden’s luxury hotels to hold a feast.

Hodgins seemed moved by the fact that a couple had been born at the company he had built and by today’s event, in which they were even going to get married. Therefore, everyone was to participate. Adjusting the schedules was a hassle.

We were the only ones left in the office till the last minute. After closing the front doors and hanging a “closed for today” sign, we had to get ready to go.

No riding the motorcycle today. There was a carriage waiting for us outside.

Dressing up to attend a wedding with her and stuff like that...

——Now it feels just right.

I no longer had that hesitation from the beginning and taking care of her completely fulfilled my reason for living. As for Violet, her way of dealing with me became cruder with each year.

“How do you escort someone again?”

“Bend your arm. I will place my arm around it.”

“Can’t we just hold hands?”

“We should not incite misunderstandings.”

“That wouldn’t happen with you and me. C’mon, let’s hold hands just to test it out.”

“Why?”

“‘S fine, ‘s fine.”

The two of us stood tentatively in front of the enormous mirror. And then we held hands. The pair of blue-eyed blondes were side by side harmoniously.

“Whoa.”

“What do you mean by ‘whoa’?”

“We really do look like siblings when we’re next to each other, huh.”

Golden hair and blue irises. Different shades, but still similar.

At first, it was someone who mentioned it, and after they had said it, I thought it could be true.

“You probably think so because our hair and eye colors are alike. Is this enough? I am letting go,” Violet said, but I squeezed her hand even tighter.

Don’t know why but I wanted to do so.

“Benedict.”

“This doesn’t mean anything weird.”

There was something I was thinking about today. A statement I wanted to make.

“Violet.”

——You remember how many times we rode on my motorcycle? I don’t remember anymore. First times keep piling up little by little, to the point where they stop being special and turn into an everyday thing. When these things are part of daily life, they’re so in our face that we don’t realize it, but in a corner of my head, I’m at least aware that they’re not gonna last forever. We’re just co-workers at a company. I’m a man and you’re a woman. But it’s not like we’re in love. It’s not like we can be a family, either.

“Hey, if you ever get married, make sure to give me a proper heads-up.”

——But don’t simply start acting like I never existed.

“Why...?”

“It’s fine, ain’t it? Got nothing to lose by that.”

——Even if that time comes for you and you disappear from my sight one day, don’t act like I was never there.

“I merely do not think this would ever happen...”

“You can’t know for sure, yeah?”

——I’m actually not the kind of guy who concerns himself so much with someone else. I’m a guy who doesn’t warm up. I ain’t bad at looking after people, but to tell the truth, I’m not sympathetic. I’m not Hodgins. Basically, my top priority is myself. You changed me. I used to have no interest in you. You didn’t matter to me. For me, you were no more than one of the characters who turned up in my life. But you make a difference. A lot of difference. That’s probably why I changed, but it’s so stupid. Nowadays, if fate ever happens to beat you up or if there’s ever a time when God knocks you out, I don’t mind stepping forward and getting hit by either of them in your place. Violet. It wasn’t fun seeing you looking miserable and hanging your head low. It wasn’t fun hearing the details about your past. It wasn’t fun watching you get jerked around by the ghost of just one person. It wasn’t fun when you tried to be an adult while staying an unhappy child. There might be people like you around the world. Yet you were especially boring. God hated you. But now you’re the most amusing fellow ever, who managed to change herself. Your actions definitely changed people, one by one. I saw it all. I was proper witness to it, Violet Evergarden.

“You did your best. So when there’s an important event in your life, I’m gonna see it through no matter what.”

I thought Violet was going to be quiet like usual, but she was staring intently at me. Her silence wasn’t painful anymore.

I could feel her hand, which I was grabbing one-sidedly, grasping mine back. The pain of it was a proof of trust.

——Your prosthetics are strong.

“All right...” Violet whispered nothing but that.

But just that was enough.

“It is... about time we take our leave.”

“True.”

In the end, we forgot about the escorting and walked off still holding hands. After we locked the door, everything was closed.

The carriage’s cab was waiting reverently. Hodgins’s thoughtfulness could be go too far at times, but this was just perfect.

“Hum, I have been thinking.”

“About what?”

“We cannot know... what the future has in store...”

“Yeah.”

“So, Benedict, will you also report to me when you marry?”

“Nah, it’d be too much work, so maybe I wouldn’t tell you anything.”

“Why...? Did you not say that there was nothing to lose from it?”

“Oh, you got complaints?”

“I do not. I merely pointed out a contradiction in the conversation.”

“Lies. You do. It’s written on your face.”

“I am merely pointing out a contradiction in the conversation.”

“Like me lots, don’t ya?”

“I am merely pointing out a contradiction in the conversation.”

“You being shy?”

“I am not.”

“Are too. Don’t hide it.”

——God, even if You hate her, she’s so dear to me that I can’t help myself. Leave her alone.

[ragingbookdragon]

And I Will Still Be Here Stargazing PT. 2

A Batsis x Batfamily Story!

Word Count: 1.4K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Past Assault

Author's Note: Gotta start it slow and get into it! Hope y'all are enjoying so far! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

You’ve been missing for an entire week.

That entire statement had her ushered into a side room of GCPD while Gordon called her family, and all she could to was let the officers poke and prod at her whilst asking her questions about what happened to her all week. Expect she had no idea how to respond. She hadn’t been missing for a week, at least that’s what she believed.

When the officer checking her out showed her their phone, she was flabbergasted at the fact that sure enough, an entire week had passed between that night and now. She couldn’t wrap her head around it and she could tell some of the officers were getting annoyed with her lack of explanation.

“Probably out getting bent in a high riser all week. We should test her for cocaine and ecstasy.”

Her head shot up and she glowered at the two officers snickering just outside the door. “I wasn’t doing drugs, you assholes.” They stopped laughing and gaped at her, and suddenly she realized that she’d heard their whispering from that far. Her cheeks warmed and she looked back down to avoid their stares.

“Miss (Y/N), we should get you to the hospital to do a rape kit.”

She glanced at the officer beside her. “I wasn’t assaulted, ma’am.”

“You never know,” she explained. “It’s always better to be safe than—”

(Y/N) reached out and put her hand on her arm. “I wasn’t assaulted. I don’t know what—” something flashed across her mind, a memory, or a nightmare rather, the same officer before her, drowsy and helpless, locked in a room with a coworker. She yanked her hand away, understanding why; swallowing thickly, she murmured, “I’m fine. I just need to talk to my family.���

“Are you sure?” the officer asked, concern evident all over her face. “There’s no shame in asking for help.”

“Yeah, I’m fi—”

“(Y/N)!”

She looked up, seeing her family running towards her; (Y/N) was on her feet in seconds, colliding with her dad, arms wrapping around his waist as he placed one on the back of her head, holding her close. Her brothers and sister crowded around her, all holding tight to their missing sister.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered harshly, unshed tears in his voice. “We’ve been so worried about you.”

Tears gathered in her eyes at the fear in his voice and she swallowed thickly. “I don’t know what’s going on, dad. I’ve been missing for a week?”

“You don’t remember?” Dick questioned lowly in her ear so no one could hear, and she shook her head.

“No. All I remember is seeing the comet that night and then…I was waking up the next morning.” She turned her head so she could see her eldest brother’s face. “A week has apparently passed but I don’t know how.”

Bruce hummed, pulling away from her and he took her face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll talk about it at home,” he assured and stood back, glancing at Gordon. “Thank you for finding her, Commissioner.”

Gordon huffed and ran a hand through his hair. “We didn’t. She found us.”

(Y/N) smiled awkwardly. “Am I free to go home, Commissioner Gordon?”

“You were never not allowed, Miss (Y/N).” He stepped close and rested a hand on her shoulder as he murmured, “But I do think you should go to the hospital.”

“But I’m not—”

“We’ll have Doctor Leslie come to the manor for a personal check up.” Bruce interrupted and she internally thanked her father.

“Of course, Mister Wayne.” Gordon said. “Drive safely.”

Bruce rested his hand on her shoulders and ushered her out of the building and into the car.

***

What was she missing? Obviously, the entire week between then and now, but God, what was it? What had happened between then and now? Had she slept through an entire week? It wasn’t possible. Her family would’ve found her and brought her back. So, what really happened to her? Maybe she had been abducted or something? But her dad would’ve known the second something had entered Gotham. He always did. So, what—

“(Y/N).”

The firm call of her name shook her from her thoughts and she jerked up, looking at the rear-view mirror and into her dad’s eyes. “Yes sir?”

“We’re home.”

(Y/N) took a moment to gaze at her surroundings, and sure enough, the car was parked in the garage. It was just her and him, so the others must’ve gone inside. “Oh…I guess we are.”

“Come up here a minute.” He said and she crawled into the front seat, resting back against the cushions, eyes directed to the wall before her. “Are you alright? And I mean really alright?”

She didn’t even know at that point; she was so stunned trying to process everything, and she gestured vaguely. “I don’t know, dad.” (Y/N) glanced at him. “I’m not lying to you when I say that I have no idea what happened.”

“What do you remember?” he asked, eyes narrowed in that way that told her he was calculating every word for every scenario possible; that it wasn’t her dad looking for answers, but Batman instead. When she opened her mouth, nothing came out and he reached over, placing a hand over hers, squeezing tightly. “Close your eyes. Start from the very beginning. From the last thing you remember to now.”

(Y/N) nodded and took a deep breath, shutting her eyes. “I remember Alfred dropping me off in the field around seven. The sun was still out, and I had enough time to set up the telescope on the tripod.”

“Keep going. You’re doing good. What did it smell and sound like around you?”

She made a face. “Like a farm. But fresher air. I could hear the cicadas and crickets around. The occasional tractor equipment.” (Y/N)’s eyes shifted beneath her eyelids. “I got bored waiting, so I got on my phone until the sun went down. When the stars came out, I went between looking at the sky through the scope and out of it.”

“Then I called you. Do you remember that?”

“I do,” she nodded. “I talked to you and then I saw the comet.” That’s when things started to fall apart, and she shook her head. “I remember pulling away from the lens but then…the next thing I remember is coming to in the field.” (Y/N) opened her eyes and gazed at her hands. “I must’ve fallen asleep, but I don’t remember getting into my sleeping bag. And I certainly don’t remember sleeping for a week straight.”

Bruce merely stared at her, sighing, “We’ll give it time. Maybe something will come to you the longer you’re awake.”

She shrugged and reached for the door-handle, but when she grabbed it, it curled under her grip, and she froze.

“What was that?” he questioned, and her eyes went wide as she hurriedly bent the handle back.

“Nothing!” (Y/N) clambered out of the car and didn’t even close the car door behind her, running up the steps and into the kitchen where she was met by her siblings who pulled her into another hug that she was helpless to escape from. And she was fairly sure that Dick was sobbing on her shoulder.

***

Leslie frowned at the young woman across the room, gesturing for Bruce to follow her into the kitchen. “You’re not going to like the news.”

“What happened?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Blood and urinalysis are both clean. So is the assault kit.” Leslie stared at him. “It’s almost like she really slept for an entire week.”

“It’s not possible,” Bruce argued. “We scoured that field and all of Gotham with help from every superhero alive.” He sighed. “Something happened to her. She dropped completely off the grid and suddenly reappeared back on.”

Leslie shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Bruce. I don’t have an explanation for this. She’s healthy as a horse.” She placed a hand on his arm. “But if anything changes, give me a call and I’ll come back.”

He nodded, seeing her out. “Thank you, Leslie.” Bruce closed the door and wandered back into the living room, and though he felt such an inner turmoil over his daughter, the sight of her asleep and sandwiched between all her siblings, being protected by them, made him smile.

[chemicalpink]

Only Good Vibes ♡ Min Yoongi

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Genre: smut, a futile attempt at comedy, strangers to friends to lovers au.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: If Yoongi was being honest, the last thing he had expected to inherit from his father was a sex toy manufactures, even more so, the last thing he expected from being there was to fall in love. Or let someone peg him, but you know, potato potatoe

Warnings/Tags: mentions of minor character death, Yoongi is bisexual, Yoongi’s father is homophobic, kinda sub!Yoongi, pegging, chaebol!Yoongi, family exclusion, YN is somewhere on the queer spectrum, YN has no filter whatsoever, they drink but they aren’t drunk does that make sense?, Yoongi and YN are soooo awkward istg it pains me, masturbation (female and male), mutual masturbation, use of sex toys, slight edging, fingering (male and female receiving), overstimulation (female and male), squirting, slight dirty talk, kinda voyeurism (do i even write something that’s not voyeurism by now?), Yoongi’s suit gets ruined, anal plugs (male), cock ring, electrode vibrator, use of lube.

A/N: Gotta say, this one took a lot to get done BUT SHE IS HERE. Huge thanks to @birbdae for the banner, I know you did it quite a while ago and since then this fic evolved into this so- yeah I hope that you guys enjoy this one.

Yoongi walks the pristine halls once he enters the building, it smells like a mix of freshly brewed coffee and sanitizer, his shoes somewhat squeaking on the floor with each step he takes, the starched collar of the white shirt he was practically obliged to dress in has started to itch his skin from not being used to the whole put together look. It had been a few weeks since his father died, nobody really seemed phased by it, being that the man had passed away after a long battle on a hospital bed. No one had cried during the funeral, not even his mother. Truth be told, they were all instructed not to do so, something along the lines of being the most deserving family in the country or some bullshit like that. Of course the man would be missed, not for his grandeur as a human being, but more for the millions he made day by day. And that’s where Yoongi comes in. Dressed up head to toe in a way that he hadn’t done ever since his father practically threw him into the streets. As much as he disliked it and had grown out of it, he couldn’t help but compromise, eyes on the grand prize: the family fortune.

So what if his siblings and a few cousins would get something out the old man’s will too, the Min’s fortune, both in money and enterprises, was huge; after his grandfather had passed away, and his father, being the youngest child, absorbed every single part of the fortune as his siblings weren’t fitted anymore to run their part, the newest Min generation had turned to resemble a bunch of vultures waiting to feed. So as long as he got his fair share for having to put up with the man for so long, he would be okay with it.

Everybody was already sitting on the large wooden table by the time he arrived, the commissioner signaling for him to take a seat before he began the lecture. An almost three hour long preface that had Yoongi dozing off multiple times, getting a side eye from most of the other people present, before the distribution began. Min Enterprises consultant branch for Daejun, Min Enterprises technology branch for Hada… and last but not least, Min Enterprises recreative branch for Yoongi.

“HA! TAKE THAT YOU HOMOPHOBIC FUCK! I KNEW I’D GET SOMETHING!” all eyes turned to him as he stood up from his seat, some shocked at the word choice, although it was no secret he had a rough relationship with his father, most of them just snickering at him, like they knew something he didn’t.

And man did they know.

“So he just had to keep being a homophobe even as he’s buried six feet under the ground and give me the dildo factory” Yoongi sighed as he frantically paced around the room

“Eh” his friend shrugged as he munched on a small bag of pretzels “The snacks are nice”

“What the fuck am I supposed to know about dildos! I don’t have a vagina!” Yoongi’s face was redder than ever, throwing a fit on his very first day at the office he inherited just a few days ago– not before going through a lot of papers and signatures and approvals– and learning that apparently amongst the whole business emporium his family had built, there was a sex toys manufacturer. And his father had decided to be his funny homophobic self even after death, by letting his bisexual son run it.

Namjoon had laughed for a good five minutes on the phone before he decided to come over and help his best friend out of what was surely about to be an existential crisis. Leaning against the couch that was placed on what would now be his office, he added distractedly “You don’t need to have a vagina to use a dildo tho”

“Well-true” he seemed to ponder it for a while, before shaking himself from the thought “either way I wouldn’t know a thing about it”

“Remember back in college summer 2013?”

Yoongi turned to his friend, stopping dead in his tracks and squinting his infamous cat-like squint at the younger, gritting his teeth “We DON’T talk about summer 2013”

Namjoon lets out a whole body laugh at both his friend and the memory, when you make your way into his office in order to deliver some of the papers you needed him to sign “What happened in summer 2013?”

“We don’t talk about that” you couldn’t help but smile at him, grumpily making his way to his desk, rubbing his temples as he let out an exasperated groan. Not everyone really knew a thing or two about the new boss, never been the one to be acquainted with his late father’s business, or family, for that matter and it really showed, the poor guy didn’t even know where to begin with before he was savagely thrown into an already clock-work organisation. People were starting to talk as soon as he set foot inside the building, gossips going around about how he wasn’t fitted for the position and how he was the outcast of the family, yet you thought he could use a friendly face if he ultimately decided to take the job. His friend was still absentmindedly laughing before his eyes caught something on his phone screen.

“Well this has being fun, I’m gonna head out” he started getting up from the couch before the elder interrupted his wave towards you

“What am I supposed to do Namjoon?!”

“Just- give me a call once you figure out if you get an employee’s discount, okay?”

“Wha-” Yoongi was quick to throw a pen that had been lying on top of his desk at his retrieving friend, the object falling to the ground as it hit the doorframe, completely missing the other man, whose laugh could still be heard as he walked away.

He slumped against his desk chair once again, eyeing the stack of documents you had brought in for a brief moment before groaning and hanging his head low. There were a lot of rumours going around, with the Min family being as successful as they were, and although you had decided not to trust them, you couldn’t help but feel your heart ache if what people said about Min Yoongi were true. A prodigal son fallen from his father’s grace, truly one –if not the most– prepared person out of the whole family, with a lot of curriculum to back him up, everyone rooting for him to be the head of the whole Min emporium, only to be casted away in a rush of headlines, front pages of magazines and online bashing as he was seen leaving a bar that was known to be one of the few LGBTQIA+ friendly ones around and it all went downhill from there, never to be seen around his own family again except for the big events and now, here.”I could help you figure out your way around if you’d like”

He didn’t even bother to turn your way when he answered “I don’t even know where to begin”

“That’s alright, come on” you tapped his arm in an attempt to have him follow you outside. Although the methods seemed quite unorthodox for an enterprise carrying the Min’s family name, Yoongi didn’t seem the type to take offence on a lack of traditional manners, plus, the whole workplace had always been quite different from the rest of the Enterprises. “My name’s Y/N, I’m the head director of a sister brand, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me around”

“So…” he turned to face you as you two made your way out of his office “dildos?”

“Kinda- we run the LGBTQIA+ focused brand” he almost missed a step as soon as the words were processed inside his mind and you couldn’t help but smile at him

“I never knew my father had an inclusive line in his business”

“Oh he didn’t” you couldn’t help but find it cute when he made a confused gesture with his face as you both stopped at one of the doors that led to the designing part of the building “You see, we tend to do things differently around here, and there’s a lot of space to work with”

The room is, admittedly, not at all what Yoongi had expected it to be –not like he had a precise image in mind about a dildo manufacturer. But the room he was brought in was almost surgical, men and women alike are all dressed up with white laboratory coats and all, one of them approaching both of you with a smile on his face.

“Y/N! What brings you here? It’s been a while since we’ve seen you!” Yoongi can’t help but steal a glance at your smile, the heavy air that he was accustomed to feel every time he came close to one of his family’s business nowhere to be found, the whole room was breathable enough.

“Work’s keeping me busy, anyway, this is Min Yoongi, he’s taking over” for a second Yoongi felt like suffocating, you having to introduce him as if he wasn’t quite literally your boss, as if he was a new employee “I’m showing him around, see how he finds the place”

“Oh the infamous Min Yoongi” and he could feel his heart race- even in such a place, only god knows how much of his family disaster the people could hear of, the flashbacks to being outcasted and laughed at for his downfall all coming back to him “It’s nice to have you man, I’m Hoseok”

You turned his way and smiled at him, in an attempt to let him know that it was fine. There really wasn’t much to fear inside the building– except for when they had to deal with executive meetings– things were different around here. Yoongi’s gaze seemed to fixate on one of the computers where another man in a white coat was sitting, albeit still quite awkward, he approached him “Is there a program for that?”

The guy, one of your best designers ever since he joined an internship a few years back, Jungkook, turned to look at Yoongi with wide eyes and sort of shy at the stranger “Oh yeah” when Yoongi didn’t seem to break out of his fascination on watching a 3D modelling program run with a sculptured cock being designed on it he added with a small chuckle “Drawing penises by hand only gets you so far”

He watches you chat away with both men and can’t help but feel at peace, as weird as the thought of it could be. Min Yoongi, with a MBA and a Business Administration Doctorate, feels at peace in a dildo factory. But the teamwork seems like something he had never seen before, the line of production is almost text-book like. He can’t help but wonder, even if headless, things seem to run smoothly, where exactly does he fit in? “So what exactly am I supposed to do in a dildo factory?”

You laugh at his choice of words, before Hoseok steps in somewhat offended by them “We don’t just make dildos” and although it didn’t help his case, he throws one squiggly silicone penis his way, to which he has no other option but catch “We are in charge of designing, planning and manufacturing recreational tools in aid for people’s mental health, self indulgence and lifestyle” he then loses his whole offended facade as he takes a small ring between his fingers and shrugs before smiling brightly “At least that what we tell the big boss”

The younger man in a white coat speaks up from his place in front of the computer “Except he’s now the big boss”

Hoseok’s eyes grow as wide as saucers as he realises “Oh god did I fucked up?” You can’t stop yourself from smiling at his antiques, hand coming up to shut his mouth as he realises his slip in vocabulary “Oh shit” Jungkook rolls his eyes at him before returning to his work and Yoongi can’t help but feel endeared as the whole scene develops “Sorry boss”

Gratefully, you step to his side, waving a goodbye to both of them, Hoseok returning it with a smile and a bow towards him, and he realises his question still hasn’t been answered “So really, where am I supposed to fit in?”

You seem to ponder the question before responding “You could take over the white collar meetings, we all hate them” Yoongi groans at that “or” you take the silicone penis from him with a mischievous smile on your face as you shake it around on his face “you could be Jungkook’s test subject”

“I-no. Despite what you heard from Namjoon I don’t- I” your body almost doubled over in laughter at the face he pulled, an honest horror face and hey, the man is quite attractive, that much could be seen from miles away, and it had been a few too many months since the last time you got laid, technically he wasn’t even your boss, as you held the same position for a different product line.

“Eh- you could always try them on me” Yoongi’s eyes widened in surprise before they took on something darker in them, almost amused at your advances “...if you let me try my products on you”

“Deal”

“Hyung what the fuck”

Yoongi started playing with a stress ball you had given him the day before after all introductions and tours were said and done, and now of course, after texting in the groupchat at night, both Namjoon and Seokjin wanted to hear all about what Jin named– very proudly– the deal-do “What could be worse than dildos?”

“Strap ons?”

Seokjin placed a hand on Yoongi’s back and sighed, already knowing the answer yet forcing himself to ask “Did you even read the papers you signed? The product lines of your company?”

“Oh”

“So you’re not going to keep the whole Min Yoongi doesn’t bottom facade any more?” Namjoon asked, knowing that although it was quite fun to watch the whole scenario unfold, his friend was the one going through it all

“I don’t bottom, that’s a fact”

“Hello boys, having fun on company time?” you crossed the door to his office the way you did the day before, dropping on top of his desk a stack of documents, only now noticing a new face on the couch, turning to greet him as he does the same before standing up, signalling Yoongi’s other friend, Namjoon to do the same.

“Well Yoongi-ah, this has been nice and all but it looks like you’ve got work to do” although he was trying to keep a straight face, the snickering of both men could be heard as they left the room. Yoongi really has to tell them that the walls are paper thin.

“So…”

“So…”

“Was the whole deal thing a thing? or should I just pretend it never happened and get stuck on reviewing whatever papers I’m supposed to review?” A short laugh escaped your lips as you looked at him, still kinda awkward about the whole ordeal.

“Oh it is a thing” you grabbed one of the folders on top of the stack, pressing the paper against him “We like to be very particular on our quality”

His eyes travelled along his feet for a few seconds, no word spoken about it.

“Yoongi, you do know you can say no right?” it was something you should have addressed way earlier, knowing beforehand that the work ethics around branched out into almost non existent territory, and the man was fresh out of a big family outcasting, getting thrown back in it to take over the least coordinated side of the enterprise “Look, I won’t lie, there’s a lot of talk going around, but you seem like a nice man, and I find you very attractive, you came in here as the boss and I was trying to get you entertained with the whole dildo factory idea, I know it must have been tough being designated here, especially since we tend to be...a little too much to handle, so just know that you can opt out of this one, I can just get Jungkook and his girlfriend to try these ones out, as they always have”

“That’s- that’s a lot to process”

“Then take your time and let me know okay? just thought you could have a nice laugh at the whole situation”

It took Yoongi three days and a half to get back to you on the offer, three days and a half in which, although he wouldn’t admit to it, you had wormed your way into his heart, having you deliver documents each morning, bantering along with his friends before you had to go back to whatever it is that you did around the company. You had also started to smile more at Yoongi’s antiques as he slowly but surely made himself more comfortable around the company, handling small white collar tasks and getting less squeamish at every prototype Jungkook or Hoseok handed him without previous notice.

“You really invited me to dinner beforehand” Along with the responsibilities of being a head of management, came work trips, which were initially a you thing until Yoongi came along and now had to take responsibility as well, so naturally you had suggested to him–after a lot of rain checks on your deal– that this work trip would be perfect for you two to give the new toys a try.

“I’m a true gentleman, Y/N I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Min Yoongi you’re about to absolutely ravage me after this”

“Y/N” his cheeks coloured a pretty pink as he tried to stifle a giggle by taking a sip out of his wine.

Even though it was hard to tell from first glance just what type of lifestyle Yoongi was accustomed to, it certainly became very visible as he navigated effortlessly through the menu with all the french names on it, swiftly ordering for both of you and being delighted at your reactions when the hors d'oeuvre came out, a soft smile on his face the whole time. Whether it was the soft buzz of two cups of red wine over dinner or having the chance of relaxing after a particularly busy week, it made you start gravitating towards Yoongi more than usual. It really was no secret that you found him attractive–you had even told the man yourself. And although you two had somewhat friendzoned each other, the awkward glances, blushing smiles and lingering touches certainly held more than what any of you two could express after barely a month of knowing each other.

Getting Yoongi to your hotel room was the easiest part, a faint blush on the apples of his cheeks as he gazed longingly at your held hands while you dragged him along after leaving the elevator. The kiss was unexpected but certainly welcomed, the way that Yoongi– the man that you had come to know for always being adamant on trying new things– looked so out of his element yet was willing to give it a try instead of running away like many times you had seen him do at work. The kiss was brief, a bit shy and probably out of all the built up tension in the room, your heart swelling at the gesture before you leaned in and captured his lips once more.

“Well this is certainly the first time someone has dined me, wined me and courted me before fucking me into next week”

A laugh escapes his lips, nothing like before, his eyes turning something dark within them as he lowers his voice and his fingers play with the strap on your shoulder, letting it fall down before his lips latch on the base of your jaw “Well what type of assholes have you let fuck you into next week”

A breathy moan escapes your lips as his mouth travels down your jaw to your clavicule, pressing you against him where you could feel his cock hardening, your hand coming down to trace the clothed length as he sharply breathes in “You know, maybe if you end up being good with the toys I’ll let you fuck me with this instead”

He groans loudly, head hitting the wall as you grip him inside his pants “Just fucking give me the dildos already so we can get on with it”

You both move to the bed, losing your dress in the way and positioning yourself nicely as you take out the box engraved with the company’s name on it before he trails behind you, feeling his cock twitch at the image he was greeted by, legs spread open, head against the pillows as your right hand leisurely strokes your already wet folds for him to see.

Yoongi tries his best to take deep breaths as he takes a look into the box, not recognising most of its contents “You really gotta walk me through these”

He can hear you laugh the way you always did when you noticed him being awkward in the slightest at work “Look, I’ll get the part going okay?” your hand stopped stroking your folds, fingers coming up to your mouth, licking them clean before going to grab a small bullet vibrator from the box– a classic you had become well acquainted with during your time working at the company.

The small object comes to life with a practiced twist on its body, buzzing against the air a few seconds before tracing the tip all over your folds before settling it on your clit, a gasped moan escaping your lips as you blindly fetch the glass dildo inside the box, cold surface sending a thrill down your spine as you slowly begin to insert it messily from being focused on not loosening your grip on the small vibrator. Warm hands remove your own from the clear object as you feel warm breath against your exposed skin, the tip of Yoongi’s tongue circling around your right nipple, capturing it between his teeth as he brings the tip of the glass penis inside and out of your cunt playfully a few times before deciding to bottom it out, earning a moan from you. Pumping the dildo a few times, his weight is suddenly shifted from the bed, movements halting and you prop yourself onto your elbows just to throw your head back in pleasure as you feel Yoongi’s mouth on your cunt, tongue lapping up your juices before he inserted the dildo once again, lewd sounds taking over the small room as he continues to fuck you and eat you out at the same time, you feel your thighs start shaking when he stops his movements, smirking at your surprised face, gaze fixated on you as he takes out both a set of ben wa balls and a rabbit vibrator, prompting yourself to explain both of the toys when he cuts your off “Oh I do recognise these two from the lab”

He quickly turns the rabbit vibrator on, wasting no time in fucking you with it as deep as its second vibrating tip allowed him to, the design effectively sending a wave of pleasure against your already worked up clit. Yoongi positions himself comfortably on your side, still fully clothed, hand at a slightly awkward angle so that he can reach down all while having open access to nibble at your skin, having you gasping and moaning under him

“Y-Yoongi I-!’m-” he throws a wink your way as you clench around nothing, impending orgasm long gone “You fucker”

He’s about to pick up the ben wa balls placed carelessly on the bed when he discards them in favour of a small silicone gadget that catches his eye “You were very much eager to try all of these tho” turning to you, all red faced and fucked out “What is this?”

You have half a mind to answer him “It’s a finger vibrator you just place it on your fingers like a glove”

There’s a brief glint in his eyes before he lowers himself again on the floor, easily manhandling you so that he had full access to your already dripping cunt, leveled to his face, cleaning you up with his hot tongue before he experimentally inserts his fingers inside you, vibrations making you instinctevely try and close your legs, to which he only chuckles and playfully bites the inside of your thigh. He quickly starts scissoring his fingers, gentle nibbles to your clit scattered between pumps, working you towards your previously cut short orgasm at a fast speed, walls clenching around his fingers as he separates himself from your core in favour of replacing his tongue for a mechanical sucking motion that you don’t even need to look down to know that he had reached for yet another toy inside the box “Yoongi- oh God- Yoongi p-please I’m-”

You moan loudly, pretty sure that if the rooms in your vicinity were occupied, they were most likely already filing a noise complaint, as you feel your whole body spasming by the force of your orgasm, feeling wetness around yourself, out of the corner of your eye you can see Yoongi smirking at you, the upper part of his sleeves wet from working you until you squirted on him. You can’t even begin to process the situation or really come down from your high as you feel Yoongi’s fingers carefully inserting what could only be the last toy. Your cunt seems to gape before clenching yet again as he works each of the rounded toys inside you, a mix of feeling too much yet not enough, dabbing between pleasure and feeling uncomfortable from the overstimulation taking over you for as long as Yoongi took his time inserting them all “God I can’t wait to see if you’d take my cock as well as you take these balls Y/N”

You’re about to respond with something snarky when he starts to slowly pull at the string of the toy, the ben wa balls coming out one by one, stretching you deliciously, a moan escaping your lips before Yoongi proceeds to start the ritual all over again. A sensation in your lower tummy aching for your climax buildup again and you could already tell it was going to be a long night.

Falling back into a comfortable, bantering routine was easy enough, if anything, that fated sleepless night followed by small giggles from Yoongi everytime you shifted uncomfortably on your seat at the meeting the next day, served the purpose of shifting your relationship towards a more relaxed sexual tension between the two, instead of the awkward one from before, lewd jokes thrown around as well as shameless flirting around the office when you thought no one was watching.

“Look what Jungkook just came up with” you said as you barged into his office a Monday morning, Yoongi almost choked on his coffee as you threw the artifact his way

“And I seriously hope this is a you thing”

You rolled your eyes at him, a smile stretching on your face as the sweet idea of revenge took over your thoughts “It’s an us thing”

His eyes seemed to want to escape their sockets at that “You gotta take me for dinner before you even plan on using that on me”

“Tell you what, I’ll feed you afterwards”

“Deal”

The office usually went quiet and lonely at around a quarter to seven, people from all sectors filtering out after a day’s worth of work, with you being the only human left on the building afterwards, that is, until Yoongi started working there, the man tended to stay for even longer than you did, the lights inside his office filtering to the otherwise dark place. You knock three times on the wooden door before entering Yoongi’s office, finding him hunched over his desk, some document open on his desk as he stares intently at it. You make your way towards him, hands kneading his shoulders to relieve tension, a pleasured groan escaping his lips as your lips bite teasingly his earlobe.

“The ever so romantic Y/N about to fuck me in my own office”

Your hands travel down to the expanse of his chest until they reach his belt, where you struggle a bit to get it undone. “I really just couldn’t wait any longer, could you blame me?”

Yoongi is quick to capture your mouth with his in a heated yet chaste kiss. He rolls his chair out of its original position to allow you to place yourself in between his legs, hips coming up just a few inches to allow you to bring his suit pants down to his ankles, half hard cock twitching in the cool air, your hand wrapping around it and pumping it a few times, to which Yoongi groans loudly, head thrown back as you lick a strip all the way from the base to the tip.

“Oh god Y/N” he can almost feel himself twitch in pleasure as he gazes down just in time to watch you slip him insid eyour mouth, lips wrapped prettily around him as you bob your head a few times before taking him out and giving his tip a few kitten licks “Oh-Oh I swear to fucking god you’ll be the death of me”

You take more of his length in your mouth, ravishing in the way that Yoongi responds, hand coming down to rest on your head, guiding you, yet not forcefully enough as you take a small set of rings from your bag laying around as soon as you feel him tense. You expertly maneuver the toy so that it is wrapped around his cock, him looking down and shivering at the cold metal touching him, constricting his cock to stand proudly as you move to straddle him, moving around a little so that his exposed cock grazes your clothed core under your skirt “I think you should stand up for me”

Yoongi does as he is told, not a word coming out of his mouth as he braces himself against his desk, one of your hands works on his cock as the other one comes down to his asshole, surprised enough to come across a bejewelled toy nestled inside it. You experimentally tug at it, Yoongi hanging his head low with a moan before you tease him a little with it, repeating the motion “So you prepped yourself for me”

He inhales sharply at your ongoing movements, biting down on his lips to keep a much louder noise from coming out “Shut up”

“No I think it's hot" you finally take the plug out, taking a few too many seconds to place the strap on you had thrown his way earlier on before moving to squirt some lube on it as well as on Yoongi’s hole before you tease it with the tip of the dildo, a broken moan coming from Yoongi’s mouth at the feeling, although it had been years– and he really wasn’t about to admit he was looking forward to having you fuck him ever since that sleepless night at your hotel room.

Your hips meet his in a faint and comfortable rhythm, Yoongi clutches his fists tighter every time you graze his prostate, cock leaking in front of him as he feels his orgasm building at a rapid pace before you completely remove yourself from him, bending down to put his pants in place, hand fumbling with the zipper so as to have his still ringed up cock standing still through the pants, forcing him onto his chair as you smile wickedly at him, a small set of electrodes being placed along his length, thin cables leading up to a small device you held in between your fingers.

He gasps as soon as he feels the electrodes vibrating against his cock, his faded climax coming back tenfold, something between a groan and a moan coming out from the back of his throat as you refrain yourself to just continue to watch him curiously “Look at you, such a pretty baby”

Yoongi’s moans keep getting louder by the second as you increase the level on the toy, and you certainly have to thank the universe for the whole office building being completely empty as you clearly see his cock twitch a few times before he cums all over his pants, Yoongi’s breath is ragged as his cock is unable to go soft, discomfort blending into pleasure once again as you keep the toy on for good measure, until you see his eyes watering, to which you hastily make your way to him, as he almost dissolves against the chair.

“It’s- it’s fine, I’ll clean myself” his voice is raspy and kind of quiet as you make sure to clean him the best that you could after removing the toys and running to his private bathroom for some towels.

“Yoongi, I’m not about to leave you after splitting your ass open and overstimulating you into oblivion, you’re not even sitting properly”

He makes a go at inhaling sharply before coming to fix himself on the chair “No it’s okay, I’ve had worse”

“Yoongi” you chastise, fixing him a glare

“Summer 2013”

You chuckle at that–the very much recurring inside joke of his. “What even happened in summer 2013?” He barely opens his eyes just to send an irritated glare your way “Yeah Yeah, we don’t talk about summer 2013”

Carefully selected dates under the pretense of trying out whatever new gadget Jungkook and Hoseok came up with during the month soon turned into weekly meetups, meetups turned into staying the night that soon enough turned things as official as they could be– if Human Resources were the ones asking, Yoongi and you were just really great friends, end of the story. Out of all the ways that Yoongi had initially thought this scenario could play out, it certainly wasn’t this one.

“I’ll see you at home once the meeting is over then?” you say after placing a kiss on Yoongi’s adorable pouty lips, gathering your documents and thoughts for the meeting you were supposed to already be at. He nods right as your knees buckle, feeling the small device inside you pick up in speed, turning to the culprit only to find him smirking at you “Yoongi”

“Love you!” the little shit is quick to pretend like he hadn’t done a thing, eyes quickly fixated on whatever that was showing up on his screen as he watched you leave his office. Guess you’ll just have to get revenge on that one.

[januaryembrs]

CLIPPED WINGS | 2

CHPT 2. WOLF IN DOVE’S CLOTHING

Laszlo Kreizler x female!reader series [SEASON ONE ONLY]

description: Laszlo needs to walk the dark path of the sick person murdering all the young boys. In order to catch their killer he must enlist the help of one.

length: 3.5k+

main masterlist clipped wings masterlist

ꜝ Trigger warnings for this chapter only ꜝ this chapter is rated MATURE/17+ as it will include, VIOLENCE & MURDER OF A CHILD, mentions of minor prostitiuion - canon to ‘the alienist’, depictions of injury, blood, foul language, drug use/drugging, death, murder etc. Please only read if you’re comfortable with the mature/gory/explicit themes present in Alienist, which is rated 17+. OUTDATED VIEWS/TERMS TO DESCRIBE MENTAL ILLNESS.

As promised, Laszlo was ready well before Sara even arrived. The curiosity bug had been gnawing away at his brain well into the night and by the time morning rolled around, he was practically shaking at the thought of someone like you being open for him to analyse silently the way he did best.

You were latched well into his brain at this point. He felt almost as if he had a new muse, a new project to delve into, and he couldn’t be more excited in the most taboo, almost forbidden way possible considering you were a murderer after all.

But it near fizzled out when he realised they were not headed towards Nightingale Women’s institution, and instead towards the prison on the other side of town. Seeing the confusion written clear on his face, Sara decided in the midst of their small talk to relieve him of his troubles. Knowing Laszlo, he would have soon begun asking her the questions she could sense were bursting their way out of his chest.

“I wrote to the warden at the asylum about speaking to her in person concerning her crimes,” The woman’s voice hesitated after the last word, almost as if she had just admitted it to herself that was exactly what you had done, “They said they’d allow such a thing is under the condition we had the protection of guards and a fortified room. The only ones they were happy for us to use are in the penitentiary.”

“Are there no guards at the institution?” Laszlo asked, mind racing at the new information. He had no idea if you were stable or not, but he didn’t need to be the expert alienist he was to hazard a guess that a men’s prison would not be good for your wellbeing.

“Some, but not enough apparently,” Sara said bitterly, crossing her hand into her lap and staring out the window of the carriage. She shared the same thought as he did, Laszlo deduced from her tone.

“She is a criminal, Sara.” He reminded her, watching her face for any reaction that gave hint to how she felt knowing her seemingly good friend since she was young had slaughtered so many grown men. The woman said nothing and Laszlo didn’t push her for an answer. He had probably struck a nerve, but it was a necessary warning she needed to heed if they were to enter a confined space with someone like you; someone so vicious.

The two rode in silence after that and it wasn’t long before the huge concrete building came into view and the carriage began slowing down. It was certainly different to Nightingale, Laszlo mused to himself, and again he found his thoughts leading back to you. How would you feel coming from an almost quaint manor home to this hunk of rock which housed some of the worst criminals New York had come across? High off opiate or not, the Nightingale Institution seemed like a breath of fresh air compared to this.

He didn’t have long to dwell on his thoughts however as Sara’s footman soon opened the door and waited politely to escort them out, though there were clear nerves in his eyes as he dared a look at the huge jail they stood outside. Sara thanked him and led the way to the front entrance where a burly, red-faced man in a guard uniform stood with the newly appointed Commissioner Roosevelt, who seemed solemn as the two approached.

“Theodore?” Laszlo asked, slightly taken aback that the man was there. He had been under the interpretation it would be just he and Sara visiting you today, though he supposed a serial killer being transported to his prison for questioning wouldn’t go unnoticed by someone as highly ranked as Roosevelt. He also, upon contemplation, guessed Sara would have had to contact the Commissioner to help her pull some strings in order for this inquisition to even be possible.

“Laszlo. Miss Howard.” The Commissioner greeted the two with a low tone and a nod respectively. “I trust you understand the gravity of what it is you’re doing today,”

The warning mixed with something close to anxiety was clear in Theodore’s timbre and he looked between the two as if to search for any hesitation. This was dangerous and his reputation hung in the balance if anything were to happen to either of them or, even worse if you were to escape, so he sure hoped they knew exactly what it was they were proposing.

“I’m quite sure of this, Commissioner Roosevelt. I have faith in your men to keep us safe,” Sara said, the compliment clearly a way to ease the man’s nerves. Theodore nodded, still uncertain, but opened the door for them to enter the penitentiary nonetheless.

There was a lobby area that seemed pleasant almost, certainly cleaner than Laszlo had been expecting of a prison. The walls were bright, the stone floor mopped, though the place still had a bitter coldness to it that had Sara bundling her hands under her coat.

They followed Theodore past the front desk, through a large set of double doors and down a short row of steep, concrete stairs where the temperature only dropped even further and darkness swallowed them. As the steps levelled off and Theodore unlocked another set of heavy doors for them to pass through, Laszlo realised this was where they kept the inmates.

That was when the smell hit. The damp, almost mouldy scent mixed with human urine nearly made Laszlo retch. He saw Sara choke a swallow and raise her scarf over her nose in a menial attempt of covering it. Some of the prisoners in their cells began shouting and banging against their bars to get their attention, one of them yelling such vile things about Sara that his guards began beating him with their batons and ordering him to watch his mouth.

They could tell Theodore was rushing to get them out of the room with the criminals as he picked up his pace, walking around the outskirts of the cells and to the exit that seemed to mask the putrid odour the second they passed through it. Then came the final corridor. Being half underground, there was very little means of lighting other than a few torches and two tiny rectangular windows high on the left wall, yet even they were so covered in mud and moss that they did a very poor job of letting the sunshine in. It left the hallway looking like something from a nightmare, as though every step they took to the doorway on the other side had them closing in on a monster.

When they’d reached the heavy wooden entrance, armed with enough bolts to keep a wild animal at bay, Theodore used the thick metal knocker once and a loud boom reverberated from its drum against the door. A small panel at eye height slid open from the other side and, with one look at the Commissioner’s face, the door was opened.

He led them into the room which seemed to be simply four stone walls, damp and smelling just as muggy as the rest of the building had. There was a single wooden table in the middle, thick oak which seemed to be a partial source of the horrid smell as it was clear the wood was rotting from the slimy, green algae sprouting in between the joints. There was one guard standing against the back wall and the other, who had opened the door, stationed next to it. Both straightened upright in attention as their superior entered. Three chairs sat on the side closest to them, clearly prepared for their arrival, and on the other side sat a woman. You.

Arms crossed over your chest, you seemed to have been wrestled into a leather jacket of some sorts that fastened your hands behind your back. Your face was freshly dirtied on one cheek, telling Laszlo you had at one point been pinned to either the wall or the floor of the filthy building they stood in, seeing as Nightingale Institute had been nothing but pristine when they had visited. His eyes trailed from your arms, over your face to where your lip seemed to have been split and was bleeding slightly.

It was then he saw your eyes and he almost drew back. He had seen the eyes of the deranged and mentally ill. He had looked into the face of people who had no concept of their own actions no matter how twisted they may be. He had seen a boy just that morning who had killed his family dog and his eyes held nothing but childlike innocence, a boy who needed to be taught right from wrong.

But you looked at him with a coldness that he knew was the murderer in you. The thing that made you capable of slaughtering those men; it was in you and it was staring right at him.

The crying, drugged woman was gone and what remained was akin to a starving wolf staring down a wounded lamb.

He was surprised to see Commissioner Roosevelt actually joining them, assumingly who the third chair had been for. Sara sat in the middle, leaving him and Theodore to occupy her sides.

It seemed every person in the room had inquiries perched on their lips. It impregnated the air; questions both from them but also you no doubt wondering what the hell you were doing here. It was Sara and you who broke the silence, seemingly at the same time.

“What happened to your face?” Sara asked as you said:

“I took the plea deal.”

You both went quiet for a moment, taking in the words that had overlapped your own. You opened your mouth to answer her question when the guard stationed behind you responded for you.

“She refused to be put in the jacket. We had to use the necessary means.” His gruff voice sounded and the three people sitting opposite you watched you scoff, turning to look over your shoulder at the man. Laszlo saw the fresh bruise mawing the back of your neck as you did so.

“I’d hardly call four grown men against a little woman ‘necessary means’” You snapped and it was then your eyes moved to Theodore, “I took the plea deal, just like you said. You can’t execute me now that I’ve been pardoned for reasons of insanity.”

“Well, are you?” Roosevelt asked and Laszlo noted that he kept his distance from you, leaning back in his chair and taking the one closest to the door. It wouldn’t surprise him if he was afraid of you, Laszlo himself had his reservations. Seeing the seemingly new woman in front of him that was so different to the trapped bird he had envisioned not the day before made his stomach flip, and yet he had a million of his own questions practically knocking against his teeth. “Are you insane, Miss L/N?”

You smiled wryly and both men noted how Sara straightened at that look. You were not the girl she remembered. The girl she remembered, so happy and sweet to every living creature you came across, wouldn’t have killed seventeen men and mutilated their bodies so violently as you had. A sly look like that didn’t do anything except remind her of the sinister nature you could behold.

“What do you think I am, Commissioner?” You taunted, almost too comfortable to be in the situation you were in. You, a prisoner with a life sentence and supposed madwoman, were taunting the almost Captain of the entire New York Police Department.

Laszlo was stunned.

But he hadn’t missed the almost desperate undertone you’d held when you had spoken to Roosevelt. The way you had the smallest, blink-and-you’d-miss-it, flicker of fear in those cold eyes told Laszlo everything he needed to know. You were scared you were being sent back to the hangman’s noose. It told him there was still feeling in that cold demeanour of yours, still humanity. And just like that, the questions that lingered around you mounted up even further.

“I think you’re of perfectly sound mind, Miss L/N, though I’d argue Doctor Kreizler here could deduce that to a much more professional degree than I could. I believe you were when you killed those men.” Theodore said, clearing his throat slightly and looking at Sara. The pair of them had a silent conversation, where Sara nodded her head for him to continue.

What came out of his mouth next shocked you, that much was evident by the look of unfiltered surprise your expression contorted to.

“It is because I believe you’re of sound mind that the three of us have agreed you’re a huge asset to this case.”

You had only heard rumours of the person terrorizing New York while you were inside the Nightingale Asylum. In your opiated state of mind, you had only caught the bits and pieces of the nurses’ conversations as they had been trying to force-feed you soup of some bland sort. Little boy murdered. You had heard. Something about a bridge or a tower of some sorts, you couldn’t quite remember seeing as the whole thing had been in-between moments where the sleep overcame you and you were dragged into slumber once more. The nurses had sounded close to tears, though, that much you knew.

“What do you mean?” Your voice sounded small, the confusion evident. You were sure when they had dragged you to this awful smelling, cold penitentiary that you were set for death. But now suddenly, you were needed on a murder case. The irony didn’t add up.

“Sara informs me you had a nightly job at the brothel, is that correct?” Roosevelt questioned you, and your eyes narrowed at the woman who looked almost sheepish to have been speaking about you to the Captain of the police. Laszlo himself drew back at the revelation. That had been missed from your file, for obvious reasons.

“I worked behind the bar, if that’s what you mean,” You corrected him with a steely voice, knowing how his comment must have had other interpretations to the other man you guessed to be the Doctor that Roosevelt had been talking about. He was no doubt here to assess your mental state, seeing if you could be trusted to give them accurate information.

But something about those brown eyes, the way they softened yet searched your face with intrigue was so familiar, as though you had dreamed of him not so long ago. He had a soft face. You remembered him, from where you weren’t quite sure, but you knew that softness.

“What has that got to do with the case?” You pressed, confused as to how you seemed to be involved considering you’d been as good as locked up for the past year and a half since you’d been caught. There was no way it could have been you, nor would it have been, even if you were on the other side of the Institute's walls.

“The victim murdered worked in the brothel, a boy named Georgio Santorelli. Perhaps you knew him?” Laszlo spoke up, and it was then your attention was fully on him. He seemed much less confrontational, accusational, than Roosevelt and didn’t behave like he was walking on eggshells like Sara. His presence was calming in fact, as was his voice.

“Georgio?” You echoed sadly. Obviously you had known Georgio, or Gloria. He was one of the smallest boys there, and for that you’d always found yourself watching over him from afar. The men that came in were always so brutish, so aggressive, and you hated the sight of every single one of them. Knowing he had been the one who was murdered stung in a way you hadn’t felt in a while.

“You knew him?” Laszlo’s controlled tone was back, and an essence of pity lingered in his three short words. Empathy and understanding was something you had long since been forbidden, seeing as you now were branded with the title of a serial killer so the world didn’t wish to give you any comfort.

But he imparted it to you anyway and you could only wonder why.

“Of course I knew him,” You spat, but Laszlo sensed it was from sadness not resentment towards him, “I brought him breakfast every morning because his mother was struggling. I would have never hurt Georgio, never even dream of hurting any of them.”

“We don’t think you are the one responsible for this killing, Miss L/N,” Laszlo started, and he looked at his companions as if to confirm with them he was along the right track, “We simply wish for your insight into how someone is driven to killing another the way you did. Georgio’s murderer seemed to have replicated, either knowingly or unknowingly, how you disposed of your victims.”

You laughed, which startled the three people facing you and Laszlo’s brows furrowed at the sight of the coldness returning to your eyes when he’d mentioned your crimes. That seemed to be a raw nerve, he noted. “I can assure you Doctor Kreizler, my motives would be very different to this new murderer on the loose.”

“Do you care to elaborate?” Sara stepped in, and there was a newfound bitterness to her tone that made your eyes narrow on her. The men watched you stare at one another, sensing the tension in the air as you tilted your head in challenge.

“No, Miss Howard. I don’t. I wish to say nothing more to you, infact.” You snapped. Leaning back in your chair, arms beginning to ache from where they had been bound in place for so long. The three visitors seemed to sigh at the same time, realising you were now uncooperative to their proposal. It was at this dejected sound that a spark lit in your eyes, and you observed each one delicately. 

Your eyes moved from Laszlo, who was already staring at you with the intrigue that had been there since he stepped into that damp-smelling room, to Sara who was looking at her lap gloomily, and finally to Roosevelt who was signaling to the guard behind you that this session was over.

Just as the guard had moved to lift you out of your seat, your legs unsurprisingly weak considering you had been drugged on a bed for the past week, your voice grabbed the attention of the trio once more.

“Wait.” You commanded, and for a moment everyone stopped, the guard included. You were left half dangling from how heavy handed the huge man behind you was and, as Roosevelt gave a dismissing wave of his hand, you were unceremoniously dropped back into the seat with a short bleat of ache at the impact. “You want my help catching this murderer, yes? You want to know what it is that makes someone do the things I did?” The three of them nodded almost synchronously, hooked on your every word as you looked back at them earnestly, “Get me out of this cell, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Better yet, release me and I’ll help you catch the sick bastard myself.”

With your proposition, the room went so silent a single hair dropping to the floor could have been heard.

--------

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@clints-lucky-arrow @lol-im-done

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So our girl is bargaining herself out of jail. as. she. should. 

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Trapped

Word Count: 3.2k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Oikawa/Reader.

Synopsis: Oikawa isn’t the first stalker you’ve caught the interest of, and you really, really didn’t think he’d be the last. Now that you’re in trapped in his arms permanently, you’re forced to make the best of his smothering obsession. 

TW: Non-Con, F. Reader, Non-Consensual Touching, Overstimulation, Bondage, Knife-Play, Blood, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Stalking, Imprisonment, Gaslighting, Mindbreak, Flashbacks and Implied PSTD.

Part One.

It'd always been the adrenaline, for you.

You liked the danger, too, and the satisfaction of knowing you’d beat a stalker at their own game. You liked being able to smile as you crushed a hidden camera under your heel, to laugh as you lost the poorly-disguised ‘stranger’ in a festering crowd, to feel utterly, entirely contented as you pictured Oikawa’s expression while he watched you rip another one of his hand-written, stumbling, rambling letters into shreds after reading the first nonsensical line. The rush was the best part, though. The frayed nerves, the blurry vision, the way your heart threatened to give out every time you woke up somewhere you didn’t remember falling asleep, a rope wrapped sloppily around your wrists and your own panties shoved in your mouth because someone hadn’t thought to buy a gag before you started screaming. It was fun. There wasn’t a better way to say it. It was fun.

It’d been fun back then, too. But, that’d been different. You’d gotten out in time. You’d assume Oikawa would be as easy to read as he was, and that was your mistake. You thought you had more time. If you were being honest, you were starting to think Oikawa’d gotten predictable. You were starting to think he’d gotten boring.

Huh.

It makes you sound like the creep, when you put it like that.

There was nothing exciting about laying on a bare mattress, stripped of your clothes and weapons and dignity, blindfolded and restrained as your captor, your actual captor, did something on the other side of the basement, assessing the small amount of damage you’d caused before you were caught and captured in earnest. You hadn’t fought back, not really, not after you realized you wouldn’t be able to escape without breaking down the door. 

You’d been in a stupor, but now that your pulse was beginning to slow and the panic was slowly turning into solidified, gnawing terror, you were starting to regret reacting so calmly. You thought he’d go easier on you, if you went along peacefully. You were used to the lead-up. You weren’t sure what to do, now that you were working out the aftermath.

You were in Oikawa’s territory, now, his fantasy.

All you could do was bite your tongue and hope he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge.

But, that didn’t mean you could stop yourself from flinching when you heard him take a step towards you, the noise jarring compared to the quiet tension you’d adjusted to. There was a light chuckle, breathy and non-committal, punctuated by a gentle, sympathetic hum as he crouched by your side, the sound of skin scraping against concrete and a subtle dip in the mattress underneath you serving as your only hint at his position. He didn’t touch you, not at first, but it might’ve been better if he had. At least then, you wouldn’t have to wait for it. If he lashed out, you wouldn’t have to spend so long wondering where he was going to strike first. “I’ve been dreaming about this, cutie,” He stated, the words almost a sigh. Contented, fulfilled. As if he might let you go again, just to see how good it’d feel to snatch you back up. “You kept me waiting for forever, you know that. Wanna guess how long?”

You thought it was rhetorical. This was his long-winded, villainous monologue, and you were the damsel in distress, forced to listen. Your assumption was corrected with a flick to your forehead, the gesture playful, but still startling enough to make you recoil. “Answer when I ask a question, brat.”

You remembered the day, but not the date. He’d tried to get your number in a bar, then when you politely declined, he’d tried to slip something into your drink and you’d splashed it over his chest, staining the nicest shirt you’d ever seen. You’d been so proud of yourself, you’d let yourself buy coffee from the most expensive shop in town every morning for the next week. “Seven months?” You guessed, your voice coming out meeker than you meant for it to be. “I... I’m not really sure.”

Another laugh, this one punctuated by a tap to your cheek. “You really don’t think much of me, huh? Can’t say I’m not offended, (Y/n).” There was a slight lull, and when he went on, his tone dropped, lowering just enough for the change to be noticeable. Just enough to make his touch seem dangerous, as he took you by the jaw. “Two years. We’ve been playing this game for two fucking years, and apparently, you didn’t even notice. It would’ve been one thing if you rejected me, but I don’t like being ignored. I spent so much time watching, so much time nudging you in the right direction, but you’ve always been the oblivious type, haven’t you?” There was another sigh, this one labored, heavy. Tired, but not as regretful as it should’ve been. “Oblivious and energetic. But, we’ll plenty of time to take care of that together, won’t we?”

It was a numb sort of shock. A realization you should’ve seen coming, an injury that phased through your skin and struck your chest without a buffer to cushion the blow. “Bastard,” You spat, before you could think better of it. It was more frustration than anything - hot, overwhelming frustration. Suddenly, you wish he’d been kind enough to gag you, too. You wouldn’t be able to make things worse for yourself, that way. “You were following me for years, and your first move was to drug me? You must be even crazier than I thought--”

He was gracious enough not to let you dig your own grave any deeper. Without warning, two fingers forced themselves into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and making you lurch forward, only for Oikawa to catch your shoulder. “We’ll have to work on that too, but don’t worry.”

He paused, leaning forward, pressing a kiss into your forehead, one so light and so sweet, you could almost ignore the bared teeth, lingering underneath it.

“Your boyfriend’s gonna take care of everything, from now on.”

~

It was a small mercy that he’d gotten rid of the mattress.

He must’ve gotten tired of it, of giving you the luxury of being able to squirm and lean away from his touch and pull at the tether he’d repurposed when you got too brave, for his taste. Its replacement had been simple - a wooden chair, metal fetters keeping your wrists bond to its arms and your ankles to its legs. You’d say you didn’t see the point in the latter pair, but it would’ve been impossible to ignore Oikawa’s intentions, this far into your captivity.

You’d tried biting at him. You’d tried worming your way out of your restraints and finding weak-points in your shackles and, the few times you’d been able to, attacking him out-right, but Oikawa was an Olympic athlete and you were sore and stiff and drained, and there was nothing you could do to stop him as he draped himself over your shoulders, a knife in one hand and the other preoccupied, playing with your pussy and getting a little more impatient every time you growled or shrunk into yourself or gave him an exuse to do something reckless and heartless. It was humiliating. It was risky, moreso than it had to be. It was…

It wasn’t your last admirer would’ve done. Not while you knew him. Not before you left. Not before he became one of two hellish options.

“Still awake, angel?” It was more of a purr than a question, finished off by a tilt of his blade, the sharpened edge pressing into the flesh of your throat. A rational, logical part of you knew he’d never do it. If he wanted to kill you, he’d already had plenty of time to, and while Oikawa was a pervert and a kidnapper and a psychopath, he didn’t seem like the type to get his hands that dirty. Part of you knew that, a part of you was so sure of that, but that sensible minority seemed to grow fainter every time his thumb prodded at your clit, pushing messy circles around the sensitive nub, every time lithe fingers traced over your slit, collecting slick and playing with the idea of fucking genuinely fucking into you. Playing with it, just playing with it. Touching you enough to make your mind fog over and tears form in the corner of your eyes, but not enough to let you forget where you were or, more troublingly, who was touching you. “I don’t know how far I can push you, after this morning,” He went on, casually. “I mean, when you passed out, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I never thought you’d have anything against blood.”

Blood. That reminded you of something, something older than the open wounds still littered over your hips and spotted across your back. A broken nose, an ex-boyfriend complaining about your ‘over-protective friend’. Dirty alleys and pieces of glass. Bloody knuckles, scraped and raw, but not Oikawa’s.

The blindfold was gone, but you clenched your eyes shut regardless. You didn’t want to think about that. Oikawa’s sadism was easier to lean into, in comparison, more welcoming, although not nearly as hospitable as the dark, repressed recesses of your mind. It wasn’t like he would’ve let you drift off, anyway. The moment he noticed your attention start to shift, two digits were forced through your tight entrance, making you jerk forward just enough for his blade to draw a thin, red line in your throat, warm blood just beginning to drip from the corners by the time he pulled away. It didn’t hurt. Hell, it barely stung, but suddenly, your heart was racing, your pulse beating in your ears, and Oikawa’s laugh ringing out like chapel bells on the morning of an execution.

It wasn’t adrenaline. It wasn’t panic suppressed by practicality. The only thing you felt in that moment was white, hot fear. For your safety, your well-being, your life. For all the things Oikawa could so easily take away, if he wanted to.

He was just as merciless in this facet as he was in any other, chasing after his own entertainment rather than your satisfaction. He didn’t try to hide it, either. You could feel his smirk bite into your scalp as he pushed a fleeting, affectionate kiss into the top of your head, as he curled his fingers and spread them apart, giving your aching cunt everything it’d been dying for. It was cruel, really, how you could barely buck your hips, every little movement only putting you closer to his knife, to the thing that could end you with a slip of his wrist or a switch in his mood, but there wasn’t anything you could do. You were beginning to think that was what Oikawa wanted. To push you into a defeatist mindset. To prove that trying to resist was useless, now that he’d gained the upper hand. To make you see that he’d already won, and he wasn’t going to indulge you with a second round.

There wasn’t anything you could do. Not anymore.

You’d already lost.

~

The first time he fucked you, it’d been in his own bed.

Or, you think it was his bed, at least. He’d taken you out of the basement the same afternoon, and when you didn’t try to run the first time he turned his back, he’d nodded approvingly and cuffed your wrists to his headboard as a well-earned precaution. There was a jersey mounted on the wall with colors you didn’t recognize, but it wasn’t like you’d ever been his biggest fan. Gold and silver trophies were arranged half-hazardly along a shelf on the far wall, but he might’ve just liked to show off. He liked to show off. Above all things, you knew he loved to show off.

That was why he’d waited so long, until you could barely think and your whole body ached and you’d been willing to do anything to sleep in a real bed, rather than on a cement floor with little more than ropes and chains for company. You really couldn’t think, could you? You’d been focused on the ceiling since he first forced himself into you, your cunt already wet from too much foreplay and too little pay off, but even that was blurry, now, a blend of beige and white with nothing to interrupt it. Oikawa was talking again, but you didn’t want to listen. You couldn’t be sure of how long you’d been here, but it was long enough to know things were easier, when you didn’t listen to him.

A few words made it through the haze, though, once your gaze drifted to his face and you saw his lips moving. “So pretty,” He muttered, his voice low, just quiet enough not to be affected by the way he thrust into you, measured and erratic, at the same time. There was a spark of pain in your hips, strain in your thighs, and you realized he was holding your legs, one thrown over his shoulder and a thigh pressed into his side, his nails biting into your skin. It hurt, but in a distant sort of way. The pain was cold, like a knife cutting dead meat. Something that elicited a feeling similar enough to be recognized, but missed the mark and landed somewhere alien, instead. “My pretty little girl, my stubborn sweetheart, mine,” He went on, almost incoherently. He didn’t think you were listening, and to his credit, you really wished you weren’t. “Mine, mine, mine. Perfect and beautiful and mine.”

His hips slotted against yours, his cock hitting something soft and spongy inside of you, and you couldn’t seem to smother the shudder that worked its way through your body, that dull electricity that had your nerves standing on-edge, your back arching, a pitch whine snaking out of your throat that would’ve been painful to swallow down. It was less of a reaction and more of an impulse, something you were too worn-down to fight off, but Oikawa’s lazy grin still widened as he leaned down, nipping at your jugular. “Like that?” He asked, the words nearly muffled by your skin. “Does she wanna be mine?”

You didn’t deny it. You didn’t have time to try. His lips were on yours before your could, the collision sudden and messy and harsh. You pulled at your restraints, but Oikawa’s only response was to groan against your mouth, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek, to clamp down around your jaw and hold you in place as he raked his tongue over yours. It was the first time he’d kissed you, beyond chaste pecks and bites that spoke more to his bloodlust than his fondness.

It was the first time he’d kissed you, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him, you could hardly bring yourself to think about Oikawa. All you could do was remember the last time someone had kissed you like this.

All you could do was remember him.

It was a flood of information, too much to process at once. The house you grew up in, back in Japan, and a boy sitting on your bed with pretty eyes and a stern scowl and the lightest blush painted across his pale skin. How he’d tasted, the way he’d way he kissed you - shyly but fiercely, like you were the only thing that mattered to him, the only thing he was willing to dig his nails into and keep. The phone calls at midnight, the afternoons you spent on the bleacher’s of your high school’s gym, the friends that avoided you and the arm that was constantly wrapped around your waist, holding you just tightly enough to make breathing a little harder than it should’ve been.

The ring he’d tried to give you, after graduation, the one you’d never gotten a chance to wear. How he pushed his bangs away from his face as he tried to shove his way into your apartment, yours, not the one you’d shared with him and fled from, the first time he'd lost his temper. The restraining order that never stopped him, and the feeling of his hands around your neck, everything. Everything you’d tried to think of as an accomplishment. Everything you wanted so badly to think you were in control of, even as you bought a plane ticket and packed your bags and ran, just to get away from it. Everything you’d been stupid enough to think you could avoid, with Oikawa.

You couldn’t be sure when you started crying, but you must’ve. There was a cracked sob before you started talking, and then something you could only barely recognize as your own voice. “Tobio,” You gasped, flinching into yourself. There weren’t tears, but your eyes were wide, burning. You didn’t want Kageyama to touch you. Someone was touching you, and you didn’t want Kageyama to touch you. “Please, Tobio, it hurts, it-- I can’t-- I can’t breath--”

Finally, Oikawa stilled, pulling back just enough for his confused expression to be visible. He didn’t try to hide it, bewilderment mixing with offense before he put the pieces together, before uncertainty turned to realization and realization turned to anger. He didn’t hit you, but for a moment, you thought he was going to. It looked like he wanted to, but he didn’t.

Just as quickly, his features softened, and he broke out into a wide, forgiving smile. As if you’d only ever imagined his frown.

His next kiss was gentle, barely a shadow of his first. Soothing, in a way. It might’ve been comforting, if you weren’t so distraught. “Why didn’t you say something, angel?” It was a question, but he didn’t bother waiting for an answer. You were almost relieved. You probably wouldn’t have known what to say. “If I’d known you were scared of big, bad Tobio all this time, I would’ve done something. He’s so mean, isn’t he? Did he put his hands on you?” There was a hint of resentment in his tone, but it was easily lost under the faux empathy, the sweetness. So layered on, you might’ve believed it was genuine. You could’ve, if you tried to. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore, not while I’m here.”

“I don’t…” You tried to respond, it was a weak attempt. Now, the tears came, but Oikawa didn’t seem to have a problem brushing them away, cooing as he swiped his thumb over your cheek. “You won’t--”

“I want to keep you safe,” He corrected, before you could convince yourself he didn’t. “From Tobio, from everyone. And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you, princess?”

You wanted to feel safe. You wanted so desperately to feel safe. Running away from Kageyama hadn’t worked, not when it just led you to Oikawa, and it’d been so pointless to act like you were ever in control. You wanted to be protected. You wanted to be safe, and Oikawa seemed so sure of himself, as he started to fuck into you again, his pace considerstate and his touch loving. So loving, it was easy to think he might actually love you. More than Kageyama did, anyway, towards the end.

Maybe you would let him.

Maybe you’d try, just to see what it was like.

[pl-panda]

The vines that bind us - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 || Previous || NEXT

Elevator took her all the way to the highest floor. When she exited, the floor was back to perfect condition and several more plants were awaiting her. She promised them silently to check on them soon and went to the main office. She knocked several times on the doors, but nobody answered. Hesitantly, she pushed the doors open, but no one was in the office. After double-checking with security, it turned out that Tim Drake did not show to work. She sighed. Looks like more work for her… Just like Nathalie said.

“Didn’t you cause enough drama…” Lila never got a chance to end that sentence, because Mari delivered a straight one strong enough to send her flying several feet back before she came crashing down. Blood pouring from her nose.

The girl was about to launch herself at the liar and pound her into the ground when two strong arms grabbed her. She noticed the characteristic spikes on the sides of black gloves and stated to trash around. “Let me go you overgrown furry!” She screamed. “I will mix her face with the concrete until it’s nice and even!”

She tried to wiggle herself out of his grip. Most of the class surrounded Lila and were trying to help her. It only served to irate Mari more. She kicked her leg back, hitting Batman’s shin. It was finally enough to let her go. The girl fell down... right into the embrace of Chloe and Adrien who managed to get to her on time. The two blondes hugged her tightly. 

“There. It’s alright Goldie. You got her good. Rest.” The girl cooed and pressed her best friend to her chest, muffling the sobbing. Adrien was just silently there and hugged them both. When Batman tried to approach again, the boy sent him an angry glare. The warning was clear and the vigilante didn’t really need anything from the girl right now. 

After a bit, Mari fell asleep in their embrace. The stress finally caught up to her and she couldn’t hold exhaustion at bay any longer. Chloe easily picked her up and started to walk toward a taxi that was conveniently parked nearby, waiting for them. 

“What!?” Angry Alya looked from Lila who was now being cared for by a pair of paramedics. She turned to Commissioner Gordon who was discussing something with Batman. “You!” 

The policeman looked at her curiously. Alya continued her shouting. “You’re letting her go just like that? She just assaulted Lila! She might’ve ruined her modeling career! Arrest her!”

“Miss.” Gordon shook his head. “These are some of the braves men and women in Gotham, but I doubt any of them would dare to try and arrest her right now. They don’t get paid enough.”

“What?!” Several kids started to protest, but Gordon just ignored them and directed Harvey to start taking statements. He wasn’t paid enough to deal with these brats. 

--------

Bruce sighed as he exited the Batmobile. Almost immediately, he was swarmed by the rest of his family. Jason and Dick practically carried him, still in the suit, to the movie room. 

“Now, Ladies and Gents, we have some of the greatest shows for you. We call it… The Demon Trashing!”

What followed was a clip taken from monitoring in the anteroom of the CEO office in Wayne Tower. He watched as Damian, dressed in civilian clothing, and carrying a simple ninjato on his back entered the room. He walked around for a moment before knocking on the main office doors, but whatever answer he got seemed to have irritated him given the scowl that formed on his face. He walked over to the PA’s desk that stood there, but no one was here. After a short moment, one could see the elevator doors open again and a small girl in a smart outfit walked in. Damian dashed to the shadows before she had a chance to notice him. 

Bruce resisted the urge to facepalm. He could already see where this was going. 

When the girl started to walk to the desk, his son suddenly reappeared with the sword drawn. He pressed the blade to her neck. From the angle, it was impossible to see either of them expressions. The man did not expect his son to kill a civilian for trespassing, but the amount of glee on Jason’s and Dick’s faces was suggesting that his headache hadn’t really started.

The girl suddenly grabbed the blade and pushed it away. Damian, probably acting on instinct, tried to cut her, but she just walked out of the way and disarmed his son before knocking him out. There was a short skip to when Jason and Dick entered the room. The small girl was clearly very much irritated with them from the start and when she reached her limits, she used a pencil as a projectile to open the elevator doors. 

A small smirk made its way to Bruce’s face when he saw her storm past his three sons, carrying the ninjato through a tissue. The video ended with Damian waking up.

“And that’s how Drake’s new PA trashed a certain Demon Spawn. I swear, she could probably give Luthor’s bodyguard a run for her money when it comes to being a badass” Jason commented on the silent video in his typical fashion. 

“Tt. She stole my sword.” Damian huffed.

“You mean the sword she later used to stab Riddler’s man before disarming him?”

“I still consider the best part of today when she called B. an overgrown furry,” Dick said trying to hold back on laugher.

“Wait. I have a new personal assistant?” Tim asked half-awake. 

“Yeah. She was supposed to be an intern, but apparently, Sarah hired her on the spot and quit.”

“Oh… Cool.” Tim said and took a swing from his gargantuan cup. 

“Did you manage to pull the video of her taking down Riddler?” Bruce asked.

“The cameras malfunctioned before she even entered.”

“It was me,” Tim confessed. “I was still in my office when the alarm sounded. I keep a separate copy of my suit in a hidden compartment. To save time I dressed there, but I had to disable the CCTV…”

“Yeah yeah. Whatever.” Jason shut him up. “I also got the part when Damian’s eyes roll back as my new screensaver.”

“Tt. You’re lucky I don’t have my sword.”

“Don’t think you’re getting it back any time soon,” Bruce said in a stern tone and sighed. “What exactly do we know about her?”

“She is from Gotham, but she lives in Paris for some years. She said she was practicing martial arts since she was five.” Dick started

“She is also one bada…”

Jason was interrupted by Alfred, who entered the room with a plate full of cookies and tea. “A young woman just called. She asked me to forward a message to young master Damian.”

“Tt. What is it?”

“I quote. ‘Good luck getting your sword back now. Police took it as evidence. Suck it, Wayne.’ I believe the woman was young miss Chloe Bourgeoise.”

Dick, Jason, and Tim were literally rolling on the floor laughing. Bruce just facepalmed.

“No, you can’t break into the evidence room. You might jeopardize the whole investigation if you taint the evidence.” Bruce said in an exasperated tone. 

----------

It was late after midnight (or even early morning, depends on your definition) when the vigilantes returned from the patrol, only to meet Tim and Barbara working on something on Batcomputer in tandem. Whatever it was, they were completely devoted to it since neither realized they had company until Bruce made a coughing sound.

“Not now.” 

“What exactly are you doing?” The father inside Bruce resisted the urge to force-feed Tim some sleeping meds. 

“We’re doing the background check,” Barbara said while typing frantically.

“On my new personal assistant.” The boy supplied.

“oh?” Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Like… from what we found she is either the worst bitch on the block or strongest badass around.”

“Langauge master Tim.” Alfred scolded him. 

“Sorry. But like seriously! There are so many contradictions.”

“Check this out.” She pulled out a scan of a letter. It was largely creased, but still perfectly readable. “Her adopted parents one day disappeared, leaving her everything they owed sans some of their clothes. It was like they packed and left.”

“You suspect a foul play?”

“I’m not sure. The investigation was a joke and so was the follow-up proceeding. The interesting part is the custody battle that followed.” 

“Jagged freaking Stone and Parisian Mayor.” Tim interrupted Babs. “It ended with a compromise that Jagged was lawfully named her uncle and Mayor became her guardian. She was the one who suggested it.”

“How can one be lawfully named someone’s uncle?”

“Apparently one can in France. Or they just made some concessions to a celebrity. Seen weirder things.” He shrugged. “She was also his designer for years now. You remember that mysterious MDC?”

“The one you used to fawn over?” Bruce asked.

“She is brilliant so sue me.” The boy huffed. “Also, it stands for Marigold Désign et Création. She runs an internet boutique where she takes commissions from both commoners and celebrities.”

“What does it have to do with anything?” 

“I’m getting to that. Gee.” 

“Maybe I will get there?” Babs tried to take over. “She’s been working part-time as a babysitter to get funds to buy materials for new clothes and received nothing but praise. She also became a class representative. A successful one at that. She also holds the national championship in U-17 Mechastrike.”

“How is that important exactly?” 

“You wanted to know everything about her B., so we are giving you everything.” Tim sassed

“Just… get to the important parts.” He shook his head. What did he do to deserve this?

“Fine. Her school records are a mess. Skipping that they wouldn’t hold to any official inspection, they straight-up contradict each other.” Tim waved his hand in some undefined gesture. “On one hand, she receives nothing but praise from the teachers, but at the same time, there are multiple bullying reports and even several assaults in here. Most of them were met with harsh punishments.” Tim opened a separate file. “Too harsh according to the school charter.”

“It didn’t help that the letter from her parents also mentioned these kinds of things.” Babs chimed in, trying to regain control of the tale. Bruce just gave an exasperated sigh. He just gave up and allowed them to solve it, mentally already cataloging the information. 

“Except! There were statements from several people that contradicted this. Especially Chloe Bourgeois. She said, ‘Puh-lease! Mari is the kindest doormat in the world. I was mean to her for years and she still welcomed me back with open arms.’ Given her track record, I’m inclined to believe it.” 

“There was also this Drama, capital ‘D’, with MDC stealing designs. Several tabloids caught the wind of it and it even led to the police investigation. Only after Jagged Stone intervened, the thing quickly shut up.”

“Now onto the juicy parts!” Babs smiled. 

“And that was what? An introduction?”

“Yup. She has a certified black belt in two different martial arts, is a master gymnast, has an IQ of over 130 and owns two separate businesses in Paris.” She quickly read. “As we mentioned, she is the honorary lawful niece of Jagged Stone, but also designed for Clara Nightingale, Nadia Chamack, worked with Gabriel Agreste, was offered an internship from Audrey Bourgeois before she became her ward. She was seen hanging out with Kagami Tsurugi, world-renowned fencer, and Luka Couffaine, the rising star under Jagged Stone’s tutelage.”

“That was fast.” Tim summarised. 

“Yeah. Also, she was adopted some nine years ago. She originally comes from Gotham.”

“Do we know her biological parents?” Bruce asked, getting serious.

“That’s where it gets juicy. When I tried to pull out her adoption files, the computer shut down to avoid detection. There is some serious encryption on it. Probably due to who her father is. We got some of it. She described her mother as ‘wearing an outfit that showed more skin than her beachwear’, so we suspect she was a prostitute.”

“Hm… It’s not unheard of. You say she was with her mother until she was eight?”

“Between seven and nine the file said.”

“Hm… Do you think she is a threat?”

“No. But I have a different question. Why didn’t the league investigate Paris’ supervillain?”

“We were made aware of him only recently, after what our satellites mistook for Poison Ivy attack,” Batman said in an irritated tone. The fact that there was a supervillain running around for close to four years completely undetected grated on his nerves. “Diana Prince has been investigating for some time now. She has it under control.”

“The only problem I see is that she is only sixteen,” Barbara pointed.

“I mean I’m barely seventeen and I ran this company for two years now. And don’t act high and mighty. You started playing Batgirl at fifteen.”

“Played?!” She screamed. 

“You wore a hoodie and carnival mask at first.”

This quickly developed into an insults contest until Bruce finally had enough. He just shook his head and left. Alfred silently followed him, carrying a plate of sandwiches. 

-----

The next morning, Mari woke up in her bed, with Chloe and her curled together in a mess of limbs and clothes. Of course, she panicked and jumped up, waking the blonde.

“Honestly, Goldie, five more minutes. I need my beauty sleep!” She murmured.

“Um… Why are we in one bed?”

“Because you fell asleep hugging me yesterday and refused to let go at any point. I swear I wanted to get a crowbar. Ridiculous!”

“Sorry…” Mari gave her a sheepish smile.

“None of that! You ruined Lila’s face in one punch. Adrien texted me that in the end she lost seven teeth and will require plastic surgery for her nose not to look like a mashed potato.”

“No…!” Her eyes widened. 

“Yup.” Chloe grinned, popping the ‘p’. 

“That’s awful! I can already imagine how much the class will hate me now! And the employees that saw this! There were cameras there!”

“Some people actually applauded you. It could be also because you called Batman an overgrown Furry though…” Chloe’s voice wandered off. Mari collapsed onto the bed, head buried in the pillows.

“Kill me…”

“Can I kill you with hugs?”

“Fine…”

When the panicking bluenette finally calmed down, Chloe got her to sit down and showed her the headlines.

Brave WE employee saves dozens of lives!

A hero without a suit!

Civilian stopped Riddler!

Personal Assistant takes down a dangerous criminal!

They were all overly positive and showed much support. Only one tried to vilify her based on Lila’s comment and her being punched, but it quoted Ladyblog as a reliable source, so it was dismissed. The majority of the comments were also positive. The ‘overgrown Furry’ was already trending too. 

Only one of the articles contained the list of names of people killed in the attack.

Ted Black - a security guard, put himself between the bullet and another employee Sigfried Osborne - a security guard, died when he tried to stop them from entering Molly Bishop - a PR specialist, called the police when she thought the guards were busy Heidi Dickson - a security guard, killed in crossfire Craig Lloyd - an HR employee, wrestled the gun from one of the henchmen before he was shot in the back. Ethel Arson - A lawyer, killed in crossfire Christian Thorn - a security guard, shot two of the riddler’s henchmen in defense of a group of hostages.

Their room had several live plants on the rail. Mari walked to them and allowed her powers to flow. Slowly, the flowers bloomed. She picked seven beautiful flowers and put them on the table.

“Mari… I’m sure they will understand if you don’t come to work today…” Chloe placed a hand on her best friend’s shoulder.

“No… No. I won’t be scared into hiding by Riddler of all people.” She said with determination and some coldness in her voice. She stood up and walked to her suitcase. From there, she gathered a different outfit. Now she would wear a red shirt, a black blazer with the Ladybug logo on her right breast, a black pencil skirt, and black leather ballet shoes (she still hated heels). But the greatest change was her hair and eyes. She let go of her twin pigtails and allowed her wavy hair to run free. It was no longer black, instead turning dark blue with purple highlights. Her eyes also changed. Her bluebell eyes also changed. The iridescent green she used to suppress was now mixed with the normal eye color, giving an entrancing effect that was hard to stop looking at.

“It’s time to rock this place.” She smiled at her best friend.

------- (Play ‘Confident’ by Demi Lovato) --------

Marigold and Chloe entered the Wayne Enterprises in full stride. Flashing her pass, she got them through control without the queue or checking, much to the shock of the class (who still had no idea Mari was now technically their boss). Adrien showed the girls thumbs up. Lila was seething, but neither Chloe nor Marigold paid her any mind and guards didn’t let her follow them and straight-up kicked her to the back of the queue. 

Mari gave a nod to the receptionist, but they didn’t slow down. Elevator was about to close, but one of the employees held it for her. Once they entered, she quickly checked her tablet and the to-do list she had for that day. First stop: PR. Chloe was going to HR to receive a new mentor after… the previous day.

When she entered the Public Relations department, Mari didn’t stop to chat with the employee that looked at her in awe. Her goal was the department’s head office and that’s where she would go. Gently knocking on the doors before entering, she pushed the doors. While she was smiling kindly, her whole posture screamed professional. 

“Hello. Mr. Drake will need the Friday press conference plan adjusted in response to what happened yesterday. There needs to be a mention of the event, as we won’t want to sound too detached. The press would tear us apart. Some gesture to show the public that we care…”

“Maybe a memory board in the lobby? And perhaps schedule Mr. Drake to visit each of the families somewhere next week?”

“I think it will be okay…” For a short moment, Mari allowed her confidence to drop, but she quickly gathered herself and made a note in her calendar. 

“If that’s all…”

“I will also need a press statement no later than by lunch.” She said quickly. “Make it a priority and forward it to me to read before you post it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The man smiled. Mari was about to leave when he spoke again. “And thank you for yesterday. Many people owe you their lives.”

She stopped in her tracks, unable to say a word. Finally, she regained her composure. “Thank you. I… I’m coping.” 

As she left the office toward the elevator, Lila and Alya, who were interning in that department, tried to speak with her, but she didn’t even spare them a glance. Alya tried to grab her, but she was stopped by one of the older employees. As the elevator doors closed, Mari could see the girls receive a serious scolding. A grin made its way onto her face. Lila and Alya would have a really hard life for the next two months. Especially if she had anything to say about it. 

Her next stop was the security office. She entered it with a neutral expression, but it lasted only maybe five steps from the elevator. She didn’t tear up. She was a Gothamite inside. Right as one walked out of the elevator, there was a small bar, behind which a board was filled with pictures. Some looked really old, black and white or even sepia, while some others were high-quality and new. Roughly half of them were the clean pictures one would attach to a resume. The other half were profile pictures from social media. Or a photo that was taken in the forest. One was even a detailed drawing of a person. There were maybe fifty of them in total.

“It’s a reminder. Guards who lost their lives since the founding of WE” An older man said. “Silas Wayne started the tradition after he served in the Great War. You’re here for something miss?”

“Oh… Yes. The security on Friday press conference. We must increase it by about fifty percent. And make sure that only those with invites can enter.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her.

“Um…” Mari suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable. 

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault.” He said in a comforting voice.

“Thank you, sir.” She allowed a weak smile to enter her face before she left. Only two more stops. 

The elevator next took her to the Legal Department. She had many things that needed to be done here. Chloe met her as soon as she exited the elevator. Mari managed to regain her professional posture and once more emanated the aura of confidence. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up, but she was determined to show that she was okay. 

“I already forwarded your requests. At first, Madame McKinsley was reluctant, but apparently, our entrance is already the top corporate gossip. Good job Mari-bear.”

“Good. Thanks, Chlo. Now get back to work before someone sees me get friendly with an intern. I have a plan.” Before they separated, Marigold let a smile ghost her face. “One more thing. You’re free to unleash the foxes of war.”

Chloe lit up at that. Her whole demeanor changed to almost beaming light. She immediately started planning. Mari left her to the devious scheming and instead went to McKinsley office. The head of the Legal Department was a middle-aged woman with short, slightly graying brown hair and no-nonsense composure.

“Miss Bourgeoise informed me of your visit. I already had several documents prepared, but I will need clarification on several things.” She offered the young PA a chair, but Mari refused with a shake of her head. She opened her tablet and started to go through the list.

“First of all, the video that caused the attack was leaked by an intern. What actions exactly can be undertaken in response?”

“There are several options. We could terminate their contract entirely, but as it’s their first offense, it could’ve been seen as too harsh. It would also require to terminate all internships.” The woman was clearly unamused by the situation. Mari just raised her eyebrow and gave her a quizzing look.

“I’m not sure who in their right mind wrote their contracts, but when I track them down they are gonna get their ass demoted to toilet cleaner. It’s one big mess.”

“Don’t I know it…” Mari deadpanned. “So, other options?”

“We can move them between departments, so having them demoted to Toilet cleaners could also work, but it’s not exactly a legal punishment. The fact that it was Riddler really threw a wrench in any legal proceeding as he is clinically insane and the video was not directly calling him out and only speaking about him. I could give you the legal mumbo-jumbo, but the gist is that they are somewhat protected.”

“What about revoking their privileges?”

“Take that to HR.” 

“Will do. Now, about the next matter.”

“It was much easier. She can’t do anything to you, not even forward the bill. You were in shock and there are several recordings showing her taunting you. If she pushes it, she will lose. You’re a public hero right now. Good job by the way.”

“I was only doing what had to be done.” Mari brushed it, doing her best to keep a professional face. 

“Sure…” It was clear that McKinsley did not believe her.

“Now about the last thing?”

“Ah. The slander. I already directed it to our French and Italian departments, but it’s slow-going. That witch made it an international case. It will definitely bite her, but we have to be patient.”

“Brilliant. Thank you for your time.” Mari left the room with a grin on her face. Now onto the HR.

As she strode through the floor, people turned their heads to look at her. In the killing outfit, she looked older than she was and the aura of confidence and professionalism made her seem like a powerful woman. They had no idea just how powerful she was, but the way she carried herself was enough to make them shake in their shoes. 

----

When the doors of the elevator opened, Juleka and Rose were waiting for her. Both looked furious. Before either got a chance to say anything though, Marigold silenced them with a murderous glare that took away their voice. She strode past them looking fabulous. Any other employee removed themselves from her path to avoid her ire. The rumors were already circulating and the fact that she took down Riddler before Batman even arrived did wonder to her image. 

“Hello. I had an appointment.” She said when she entered the head of the department office. 

“Yes. Miss Dupain-Cheng. I was told you forwarded a list of topics, but an intern lost it.”

“Was this intern from my class?” She asked in a cold voice.

“Um… Yes actually.” The woman said after checking a small post-it.

“Then it was probably sabotage.” Mari spat the words. “I asked to have a list of possible punishments in regards to the newest intern group prepared. Two of them were responsible for the leak. Sadly, as one of them is the class representative, she is quite popular.”

“Ah. Well…”

“First of all, both Alya Cesaire and Lila Rossi are to have all possible privileges revoked for breaking the rules. They leaked or were involved in the leak of video. Neither of them is to be handed anything more important than refilling a stapler or bringing someone coffee, to ensure they are no further threat to this company. They will also receive an official warning and an entry to their acts. They are also restricted to the lower floors. If possible, I want their access to electronic devices restricted. Maybe assign them a pager each so it doesn’t negatively impact their work.”

“Hm… I will see what can be done, Ma’am.” The woman replied, already going through her notes.

“Good. Onto the next business, while it pains me to do it so fast, we need to hire more security as soon as possible. But make sure to triple check their backgrounds.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And the last thing. Why was Damian Wayne allowed to bring a ninjato into the building?”

“There is actually no restriction on bringing swords ma’am. We’re trying to fix it, but we’ve been blocked at every turn even when Mr. Wayne was the CEO.”

“And whose permission is needed?” Mari allowed a small grin.

“Yours would do. Sarah was always too stuck up to even leave her desk unless forced so she didn’t care that much.”

“Consider my permission granted. Forward the paperwork to me.”

“And if Mr. Drake disagrees?”

“He can try.” She said coldly, remembering how close she came to being cut in half.

“Oh…”

“Last thing. When is the top floor scheduled for repairs?”

“It should be done already. It was made to withstand an assault from a much larger force, so we only had to replace the furniture. Following the instructions that were left, we repotted the plants into bigger and more decorative pots. As per your request, we added some more plants.”

“Thank you. Plants always calm me down.”

“I prefer cat pictures.” She pointed at the wall where a cheesy calendar with a cat giving her thumbs-up was hanged. It took all of Marigold’s willpower not to burst into laugher at the image of Chat Noir posing for such a calendar.

“Good. Thank you.” With that, she left. This time, Rose and Juleka did not try anything. They were too terrified of her. 

Elevator took her all the way to the highest floor. When she exited, the floor was back to perfect condition and several more plants were awaiting her. She promised them silently to check on them soon and went to the main office. She knocked several times on the doors, but nobody answered. Hesitantly, she pushed the doors open, but no one was in the office. After double-checking with security, it turned out that Tim Drake did not show to work. She sighed. Looks like more work for her… Just like Nathalie said.

----

NEXT

[ellana-ravenwood]

“I wish I knew how to help you” - Batsis x Batfamily

Synopsis : Everyone has tough times at some point in their lives. Bruce Wayne most definitely knows that. But when his own daughter is going through a really rough patch, he finds himself not really knowing how to fix things...

This particular subject has been requested so many times (the earliest request dating from August 2018....mmmm..), so watch me butcher it with bad writing. I thought, given how I feel lately, it was the perfect time to finally write it. I hope you will like it (runs away to hide) : 

TW : Anxiety, depression, mention of suicide. 

My Masterlist : @ella-ravenwood-archives. 

__________________________________________________

There hasn’t been a lot of time in his life where Bruce Wayne felt so completely lost. Of course, he would be lying if he was saying he never got confused, or if sometimes, he wasn’t quite sure what to do, what to say...

But if there was one thing he was great at, it was problem solving. 

Even in desperate situations, he could always trust his analytical and collected mind to help him out.

In fact, Bruce Wayne could count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times he felt utterly lost, defenseless, and couldn't figure out a solution to his troubles. Not even a questionable one, like bottling up all of his feelings and pretending he doesn’t care while he’s screaming and dying inside. 

He recollected exactly five times of such an event occurring in his life :

The day his parents died. 

The day he realized he couldn’t save everyone. 

The day Dick came to live at the Manor, and Bruce realized he had no idea how to raise a child. 

The day Jason died. 

The day he saw Damian kill. 

And now, spilling onto another hand : 

...The day he realized he had no idea how to help his daughter, you, with her mental health struggles. 

Each time he had been completely lost, there was someone to help him. 

For his parents’ death, it was Alfred. 

For the day he realized even as Batman he would never be able to save everyone ? It was Commissioner Gordon, and his years of being a cop in a city like Gotham. 

Dick himself, and Alfred of course, quickly helped Bruce to understand what it meant to be a father. 

Tim’s arrival helped him grieve Jason. 

And all his children, from Dick to Cass, and the experience he acquired trying to raise them helped him manage Damian’s problems. It was a plus for sure, that the boy wanted to be helped.

But with you...Any attempt of his trying to breach the subject would result in you brushing his concerns off, getting frustrated, or sighing “I’m fine” and leaving to isolate yourself in your room. 

Sometimes, it felt like you really wanted to talk to him. Like you wanted to vent, and tell him what was wrong. But you always seemed to decide against it, maybe in fear of bothering him ? 

Most of the time, it felt like you were living with your anxiety in peace. Like you greeted it like a good friend. Bruce had always known you were a rather stressed individual, but you always held yourself up so well ? 

Most of the time, it felt like you were perfectly fine. How could he have known ? How could he have known you weren’t ? Ah...but maybe the signs were all there all along...

And Bruce just didn’t know how to help, when even you, didn’t seem to want the help...But maybe that was the trick ? To keep trying no matter what ?

At first, it didn’t seem to him like this would be an issue that could render him absolutely lost like this. And he hated the fact that he thought that. 

Because it stemmed from one pervasive thought that made him despise himself : “Her fight with her own mind aren’t as bad as Damian’s, Cass’s, or Jason’s trauma. Aren’t like what Dick went through. It will be easier to fix.” And maybe you felt that, maybe that’s why you wouldn’t let him help ?

Why would it be easier anyway ? 

Because you had a calmer childhood. Of course, being Batman’s daughter meant you definitely went through things most children will never experience. But compared to your siblings, you had a somewhat normal childhood. 

The biggest trauma of it being the fact your mother, Selina Kyle (author’s note : I’m not particularly talking biological child here by the way, just to make sure y’all can all identify to this. Thought I’d mention it), decided to leave you in your dad’s care and had a very little part in your upbringing up until you turned 12 or so, which is the time she came back. You never seemed to even be mad about this. It always felt like you knew your mom had her own battles to win, that she wasn’t quite ready to have a child, and you forgave her as soon as she came back into your life. 

But maybe that was the problem ? The fact Bruce always thought you were strong enough to handle things ? You always seemed to hold your own. You’d always been fiercely independent. Like you never needed help.

When Dick had fits of anger, you’d just stay quiet and withhold it. 

When Jason was sometimes overzealous, you’d just stay calm and collected. 

When Tim had massive freak outs at times because he felt he wasn’t enough, you’d just reassure him and stay grounded. 

When Cass would have nightmare at night and be so scared she couldn’t find her voice again, you’d stay up with her and make sure to soothe her back to sleep, even if it meant not sleeping yourself. 

When Damian would realize how much he missed out in life, in his childhood, and how little he knew about the real world...You’d be there, holding his hand while explaining in details why he felt the way he felt. 

Even Duke, who arguably was the “sanest” of them all, had times where things were too much for him, and you’d magically appear by his side to help him through it. 

You always seemed to be the one everyone relied on. 

The one that has it all figured out, that has it together. The one most like Bruce, able to control her emotions. But the one even better than him, because you could also help others understand how they felt. 

And that was why Bruce never really noticed your every day struggles. 

Come to think of it, the fact you were always so on point and great in your explanations as to why someone felt the way they did, probably meant you felt like them before... 

Oh god. God, Bruce hated this. Hated himself, even. 

Hated the fact that he thought your fights with your own mind weren’t as bad as what Damian or Dick went through, as bad as Cass or Jason’s traumas.  As bad as Duke witnessing what happened to his parents, because you...Well you still had both of them. And they were on good terms, now.

He hated the fact that it took you almost dying for him to realize you had a real problem too. For him to realize your apparent “I can handle my own” attitude was all a fragile facade that could break any time. 

He hated the fact that he had to witness you almost letting yourself die, to realize this...The scene kept replaying in his mind. 

A night out as vigilantes. Part of a building collapsing. You pushing a woman out of its way, but then just staring up at the crumbling wall that would crush you, not moving. And the state of daze you were in, when you found yourself in your father’s arms as he saved you in extremis from a certain death that you were clearly letting happen. 

You later said it was a mistake. It was a simple mistake. 

But Bruce, from that point and on, knew better. There had been a time, not long after his parents’ death, where he wondered what even was the point in living anymore. Where he found himself in a similar situation too, where he could save himself and yet stayed in front of the death threat. Alfred saved him at the time, gave him a good scolding which Bruce didn’t even register. 

He recognize that look in your eyes. 

Because he had the same one, many years ago, before he had a chance at having a family again. Before you, Dick, Jason, Cass, Tim, Damian...It was a look that meant : “What if I just let it happen, what if I end the pain by ending it all ?”.

And Bruce hated the fact that it took him witnessing this look in your eyes for him to finally realize you needed help. It tore his heart apart.

He hated the fact it took him so long to finally act upon it, to finally do something for you. No matter how lost he was as to where to even begin. 

And so here he was, on a calm night in Gotham, sitting on a roof and researching on the internet what can be done to help people riddled with anxiety and such. He knew you enough to know you’d never accept to go see a therapist. But maybe...maybe he could help just as good ?

He knew how he got rid of his own anxiety. 

The same way he got rid of many other things...He submitted himself to a strict training allowing him to control all of his emotions, shutting some away when needed. 

But he couldn’t even imagine making you go through the things he made himself do. Not his daughter. Not any of his children. 

There was a reason, the training he gave all of you wasn’t even 10% of what he used to do. Because he had nothing to live for except becoming strong enough to bring back justice to Gotham. Because he had nothing to look forward to except the fact that he was going to make sure no kid in that god forsaken city would go through what he went through ever again... 

He gave himself the ability to turn into a machine. To shun all feelings away. Because he had a mission. 

He would never, ever want any of his children to feel like this. Even if he managed to, in appearance, make himself feel nothing...It would always cause him tremendous pain. He knew how this felt, to force yourself to control everything. 

No. His method was most definitely not fit for his daughter. He did not want her to become like him. And so, scrolling through forums, websites and blogs, he tried to find the best way he could to help his kiddo. It seems like there was almost like a “list” of things every person suffering from anxiety went through every day...  

Wondering if your loved ones are upset with you.

“Are you mad at me ?” 

Is the text you send to your oldest brother, Dick, immediately regretting it. 

Because now, you were sure he’d find you annoying, pushy or anything of the like. Of course, Dick would never. But your mind was telling you he would. 

He hadn’t responded to your text in a day, while he would usually be very reactive, and you didn’t need more to think he hated you, now. 

Knowing there is no reason for you to feel that way. 

Knowing for Dick to be “mad” at his little siblings, it would take a lot (you weren’t even sure you’ve ever seem him mad at any of you, except maybe the times you put yourselves in danger while he’s your team leader, but then it’s more a problem of being mad at himself than really at you. 

Yet you cannot control it. You cannot. You are sure now, that he hates you. 

Your father doesn’t understand why you’re so morose that day, and why you snap at everyone. He doesn’t understand, and you don’t tell him. And Bruce just ends up thinking you’re in a bad mood and leave you alone, while you desperately want to talk. 

You want to tell him that you think Dick hates you. You want to hear him reassure you, even if technically, there is no need for reassurance. Of course your brother doesn’t hate you, he’s probably just busy, he just started his new job in Bludhaven, and moved in a new apartment and...Yes. 

Rationally, of course you knew your brother, who has always been there and never shied away from saying he cared about you and love you, doesn’t hate you. 

Yet you cannot help but think you did something wrong. You cannot help but think maybe he does. And you want to tell your dad, and have him reassure you, even if you don’t need to. 

But instead, you snap at him. Instead, you push him away. Because you couldn’t handle your dad too thinking your annoying. Of course, he would think you’re annoying, a nuisance, if you told him you think Dick hates you...because obviously he doesn’t. 

It was a vicious circle. So instead of possibly-but-probably-not-but-still-maybe be hurt, you pushed the one person you wanted close away, snapping at him and isolating yourself in your room. 

TING ! Your phone, it’s ringing ! Oh please god, please be Dick ! 

It is your brother. He answered ! 

“Of course not ! Why would you think that ?” 

You analyze every single word, and how he didn’t use an emoji, while he always does ! And the way he said “why would you think that ?”...he’s for sure mad at you now, and he thinks you’re the most obnoxious little sister that ever walked this Earth. 

But you answer : 

“Oh no reason lol. Hey wanna binge watch Gilmore Girls with me this week end ? Only you understand how a true masterpiece this show is.” 

He doesn’t reply that day, and you think about it the entire night. He doesn’t come at the patrol of course, as again, he just settled in Bludhaven. And it starts. The spiraling of overwhelming feelings, the impossibility to let go of something. 

You cannot think of anything else but sending another text to ask if he’s really not mad at you. You decide against it, because you don’t want him to think you’re annoying. Because you understand he has his own life now. Now that he moved from the Manor. 

You understand he must be busy. That he has to settle in. That he doesn’t have to be available whenever you want, and that the fact he had always been up until now proved he was the best big brother anyone could ask for. 

But you can’t help it. You think it must be you. That he’s not answering because it’s you. 

And all of a sudden, you question every relationship you have. What if none of your siblings love you, and are just polite ? What if they’re lying because you’re really the only sibling out of all of you they don’t like and they’re just too nice to...Oh god. Your dad must hate you too. 

Because you keep needing him to reassure you about stuffs. Ah yes, today you shunned him away, but sometimes, you guilt trip him so he says he cares about you. Or so he tells you nice things. 

And suddenly, one of your biggest fear, the one where you ask for too much out of the people you love is back. And you cry. You cry all night. Because you have too many mood swings. You isolate yourself too much. But you don’t know, you don’t know how to make them see your fear of not being cared for...

And so you cry. Wondering over and over again “why am I like this ????” as you think all of your loved one are upset with you, and will never want to talk to you again. 

Later in the day, Dick answers that he would love to watch GG with you, and there’s an emoji this time. Ah. So maybe he doesn’t hate you...

So many people wouldn’t even think this was a big deal, but for you...for you, it was...

Every small decision feels like it has life or death consequences. 

You want to tell them. You want to tell them that’s why  you couldn't choose what you wanted at the drive through fast enough. Why you stumbled on your words, and ended up blurting out : “Whatever Jason took !” because your taste in food was the closest to his. 

You want to tell them, that even such a small issue, in your head, took a huge place. That you rehearsed what you were going to say when it would be your turn to speak to the waiter. That you got all tangled up, and didn’t ask what you actually wanted. 

You want to tell them that sometimes, even the smallest “yes or no” question haunts you for days. That “what ifs” won’t let you alone. 

You want to tell them, but instead you take the meal you didn’t really want, and eat it in silence, listening to everyone talking and enjoying this family moment. You stay quiet, your mind focus on how clumsy, dumb and useless you are. 

Just because you couldn’t order something at the drive through. 

You stay quiet, but your mind is racing about how much you suck. How you should get out of everyone’s way. Because you can’t even order food properly. 

You feel guilty, because this is one rare family moment when you’re all together, and your siblings all have fun teasing each others, laughing and talking, while you just nod sometimes, smile, and die inside. 

Just because you couldn’t order something at the drive through. 

You think you’re absolutely insane. That you should be checked in in Arkham. You-

Bruce notices you’re quieter than usual. He notices you didn’t take your favorite burger. He wonders why, because he knows you really REALLY like that burger. Sometimes, he goes out of his way to go get you guys’ favorite food, and he knows that this burger is one of yours...

But he doesn’t dwell on it. Maybe you just wanted to change for once (which wasn’t much like you but oh well). And the fact you’re quiet ? Maybe you’re just lost in your own thoughts and day dreaming. After all, you do like to have some quiet and alone time, and this family dinner is happening on this time. 

So Bruce doesn’t say anything, even if his guts tell him something is wrong. 

Overthinking. Fearing something could go wrong.

You are in constant fear of what's going to happen if and when something happens to your dad ! Or your siblings ! What if you become homeless for some reasons ? What if you have no friends or family to return to ? What if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if...

Intrusive thoughts, they call them. And they don’t want to leave for sure. They’re persistant. They stay up until you overthink them to the point nothing makes sense anymore. To the dissociation.

And it makes your every day life a living nightmare. 

Bruce, as he reads this part of an article on the internet, about how people suffering from anxiety are in a constant state of worry, feels his heart tighten at the mere idea you are going through this. 

He knows you are. And he hates the fact it took him so long to realize because...

Not being able to control what's happening now or in the future.

Bruce could recollect so many times where, even as a child, you’d ask him questions like : “What happens after you die ?”, “What will happen to me when I get old ?” etc etc. 

At the time, of course, he dismissed it as questions every kid asks. Wondering about the world around them. He never saw how much those questions would haunt you, how much sometimes, you couldn’t let go of things you perfectly knew you had no control over... 

The signs were all there though. 

You weren’t lost in day dreams, you were lost in nightmarish scenarios about what could possibly happen in the near future. 

You were, every minute of every day, worrying about something that was currently happening, something that happened recently, or something that might happen in the next few moment, later the same day or in the future.

It was something you had to live with, and it never been just a child curiosity. As you grow up you stopped asking those questions out loud, didn’t mean they weren’t haunting you... 

Making a mistake that will result in someone judging you.

You always had to be irreproachable. 

You were a perfectionist. 

A lot of time, people passed it as : “like father, like daughter.” 

And Bruce should’ve known better...Why was he like this ? This part of him certainly didn’t stem from anything good. Yet he ignored the fact you acted exactly like him. The fact you were turning into him, on that front...

My brain is a TV and someone else has the remote.

... ... ... ...

************

Bruce had enough. He knew. He knew how you felt, and why you acted the way you did sometimes. And it was time. It was time to finally take action. 

But he couldn’t do it alone. And he wouldn’t. In fact, they’d all be so mad, if he executed this plan on his own...

Because you. You were their precious sister. 

They loved you, so much. And it would kill them, if they knew you really meant it, when you asked if they were mad at you. If they hated you. If they...

They always think you’re joking, or that you’re tired or something. That you have “mood swings”. 

You don’t. 

For you, all those issues are very real. But they don’t understand, because you’re always there to catch them, and they never expected you needed to be caught. 

So when their father expose to them what he thinks is going on with them, and when they realize he’s right...

They feel crushed. 

How ? How could they not notice their beloved sister was suffering so much ? 

And so that day, they all swear that they are going to do everything in their power to help you. No matter what. 

They will never give up on you. 

No matter what..

************

“Why am I like this ? Why am I like this ? Why am I like this ?” You repeat to yourself, over and over again, as you feel your heart beat like crazy while it has no reason to. 

While your chest hurt, and you feel the weight of anxiety on your shoulder, without even knowing why. 

You keep telling yourself you suck, you keep being too harsh on yourself, and oh, oh if you only knew that your entire family right now, was plotting to help you feel better. 

Unfortunately...

************

Dick’s antics soothe you for a bit, but as soon as he’s gone your heart goes wild again, refusing to stop, and your mind repeats bad thoughts to you. 

The next day, Dick planned the PERFECT sister/brother day. Planning things to spend time with you, just like when you were little and it was just you and him. 

It’s a perfect day indeed. Everything makes you forget your anxiety. You smile, for the first time in months since this weird extreme anxious state started. 

Dick always knew how to make you laugh, and how to tease you just enough so that you wanted to show him what you were made of !

But once you’re home...

And Dick can try, try and try again, but no matter his effort, he can only relieve your pain when he’s around, and unfortunately, he isn’t always around. 

************

Jason is patient, with you. 

He listens, he empathizes and does not patronizes. 

He’s there when you need him. He celebrates every small victory from you (like finally being able to order the burger you want). He encourages you, gives you all the hope he can. And it means a lot, coming from him. 

Because Jason suffered a lot. He went through a lot. His death, and his traumatic return...

He tries to keep you hopeful. He is patient. Available. But he does things too well. You’re afraid he spends too much time with you, and forgets his own mental health. You know he loves to meditate, but haven’t seen him do it in ages. 

Because he’s also keeping an eye on you. Your father probably told him the crumbling building debacle...And now he makes sure you’re ok. 

But to the detriment of his own mental well being ?

You feel like you’re weighting him down. And slowly, he notices you’re avoiding him. And he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to push you, or force you to do anything...

************

It has always been easy, to talk to Tim. 

Your brother is the only one in the family that did not become a Robin for personal reasons. Sure, he was struck with tragedy later in life (or he would never be your brother now...), but at the core of it...He was just a kid who wanted to help. 

He was a fan of Batman, who really REALLY wanted to make himself useful. He became Robin, not because of any personal motivation but because he was just that selfless. 

And so, it has always been easy to talk to Tim. 

Which is why he’s surprised, when he realizes you’ve never told him about your anxiety. About your depressed thoughts. You vent a lot to him, but about small things. About things you can both laugh about. 

It has always been easy to talk to Tim, and the fact you cannot address your anxiety problems tells him all the extent of it. 

Tells him you’re truly suffering, and that he needs to get better. 

To become an even better listener, for you. And as you witness him, just like Jason, sort of forgetting about his own well being, you cannot help but feel even worst...

They mean well. They mean so well. But you cannot stand them putting their own health on the line just for you. After all, you’re just a loser who doesn’t deserve any of those wonderful brothers and sister...

************

Duke tries to help you “temper your thoughts”. 

His mom used to do that to him, as a child. He was always rather active, suffering from ADHD and such. In a lot of ways, his trouble resembled the ones you had with anxiety. 

And he thought that maybe, helping you tempering your thoughts would be the best. 

What does that even mean ? Well. Whenever he felt like you were anxious about something, scared or stressed, he would ask you if you were alright up until you’d finally tell him what was making you anxious. 

And then he’d ask you the series of question his mom asked : “What’s the worst that can happen ? What’s the best that can happen ? What’s most realistic, or likely ?”...At first you didn’t really understand the point. 

But soon enough, you got it. This was helping you turning your intrusive thoughts against themselves. Helping you see the good sides of things. 

Unfortunately, just like with Dick’s technique of making you laugh and such, when Duke wasn’t around to remind you to consider the best, worst and most likely option...you forgot that trick. 

************

"Let’s go to a quieter place, or go for a walk.” 

Cassandra tells you, whenever she sees you get overwhelmed by something. And it works. It does. 

You two just walk in silence, hand in hand. 

Your sister’s presence reassuring, and warm. Her care for you sipping out of her very being, from her hand to yours. 

“Let’s go to a quieter place, or for a walk.” 

You go outside, and you don’t speak. She’s just here for you. 

But she can’t always be around, can she ? She can’t always just magically appear next to you in moments of need, and say :

“Let’s go to a quieter place, or for a walk.” 

But when she can. She does. 

She knows when you get overwhelmed by sounds, by smells, by anything. And she brings you to places that makes you feel at peace. 

Cassandra was never one to speak a lot, but she always understood.

************

Damian can’t help but feel sad that he, and the rest of the family, aren’t enough for you to feel better. That they can’t win against your depression and anxiety, no matter how hard they try. 

And Damian. Oh Damian tries. 

He makes sure you have everything you need. He makes sure to be there when it feels like you’re not feeling well, he follows you like a shadow and...

You both get more and more frustrated. 

Damian puts a lot of effort into making you feel better, and you keep snapping at him, or pushing him away. 

It’s because YOU’RE the big sister. YOU’RE the one who’s supposed to take care of him. But it seems like lately, Damian is obsessed with your well being, and he doesn’t even let you tuck him in anymore...He’s the one that comes tuck you in. 

And deep down, you feel like it’s exactly what you need. You want to let your baby brother take care of you. And his worries are so sweet, and makes you feel all warm inside by how adorable this kid can be. How far he came back from. 

Deep down. 

But you’re not ready to admit you need help. Especially not from your 11 years old brother. No. He’s the one that needs the cuddles and the reassuring words. He’s the one that had it way tougher than you. And him taking care of you, although it feels nice, doesn’t feel right. 

And it hurts, to see your little brother get sad because he can’t help you like he wants to. Because he thinks he’s not enough for you, and that’s why you’re feeling the way you are...

************

Nothing goes how they think it was going to go. 

You do not get better right away. It doesn’t even feel like you’re getting better at all. On the contrary. 

It feels like you push them away even more, that you become even more irritable, that...that...that you go further and further away from them. 

And they don’t understand. 

Even you, don’t understand. 

Why do you feel so bad ? So Sad ? So anxious all the time ? 

You don’t know. You don’t know. You don’t know. 

“Why am I like this ? Why am I like this ? Why am I like this ?!” 

You repeat this to yourself every day, without being able to find an answer. 

And Bruce...Oh, your father came to the conclusion that the last and only option is that you need to go to therapy, you need professional help. 

************

“What ? Why ? I’m fine dad !” 

You say, anger pointing in your voice, as he tells you that. 

“No you’re not, (Y/N). We can all see it. And there’s so much we can do we...I...”

There’s a silence. A heavy one. And it breaks Bruce’s heart, to see tears welling up at the corner of your eyes : 

“It’s fine. I get it. I’m too much, aren’t I ? That’s why right ? I ruin you guys’ life ? You know, I noticed a shift not long ago. I know you’re trying to make me feel better, and I know you all get frustrated because you can’t. I swear I try dad. I swear I try to not get those bad thoughts. To not think you don’t love me, for whatever reason. To not think like I’m a burden. I swear I try to not be anxious. I try to not worry, about every little thing. I try so hard ok ?! But it doesn’t work ! And I know it’s wearing all of you down. I know it. But...I’m...It’ll be fine ! IT’LL BE FINE !!” 

You scream those last few words, and a silence installs itself between you and your father. 

Bruce just looks at you, and you cannot stand the pained look in his eyes. You never wanted your burden to transfer on your family like that...why ? Why did you get worst and made them notice you weren’t ok ? Why ? 

Maybe it would’ve been better, if your dad didn’t see you about to get crush by this building, and hadn’t saved you. They’d have a-

“I won’t stop trying.” 

Your father’s voice cuts your terrible thought, and you look up at him. He walked slowly to you, carefully, as if afraid to scare you. As if afraid you’re gonna “tt” him, and run to lock yourself in your room. 

But for some reason, you don’t move. And you let him come close. 

He brushes a few fingers on your cheek, as he used to when you were a child and unable to sleep. Him softly humming to you and brushing your cheeks slowly always made you fall right asleep...

“Until you feel better. And I will tell you over and over again that I love you and that I am here for you, if it’s what you need. I am your dad. I am here for you.” 

And he understands your pain oh too well. It’s not because he managed to be able to shut his own mental health problems out, that he never feels them. 

You are your father’s daughter. Unfortunately in that case. 

Oh. Oh he wishes he could take on your pain. He could take on his shoulders your entire burden. He wishes it was only him, that felt that way. That you would never, ever feel anxiety, or depression again. 

He knows it is not that easy. He understands. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Something breaks inside you. Something that was on the verge of shattering for years, but snapped only now. 

“I just...I just wish I could help you. I just wish I knew how. I am trying too, (Y/N). And I won’t give up on you. No matter what you think. I will never give up on you.” 

Those words. Those were so simple. Yet what you needed to hear for so long.  

Because no matter your siblings’ effort, or Alfred’s, or your dad’s. Your friends at the Young Justice. Anyone you ever cared for...You always were afraid that one day, you’d be too much for them. 

That one day, all your mood swings, pushing them away, venting and complaining often...would be too much. And that they’d leave you. 

Alone forever. 

“I’m not giving up on you.” 

Coming from your dad. You knew he said the truth. You knew. 

There’s a short silence. You look at your father, and even Queen Anxiety couldn’t make you think he wasn’t being genuine. 

“You...That’s...I...”

Getting chocked up, you weren’t able to say anything, but he understood. 

And he was there to catch you. You went right into his arms, and he held you tight, trying to convey to you all the unconditional love he has and will always have for you, no matter what. 

No matter how much you push him away, how broken you get, how much you hate yourself and think you don’t deserve any kind of love...he’d always, ALWAYS love you. And would never give up. 

“I’m here. I’m here. I will always be here.” 

His voice was soothing. It has always been soothing. And he was there. 

He was there. 

“Thank you...”

You manage to whimper out, as he holds you against his heart. 

And, finding it hard to reign his own emotions in (his children have always been the only ones who could cross all his walls and find the vulnerable Bruce who feels everything), Bruce repeated as much as you needed to hear that he was here. 

He would always be here for you. 

Always..

And the path to your recovery was now open.

__________________________________________________

Here we are. I am sorry if this is sort of...bluargh. Or not what you wanted. But I do hope you liked it. Haha I feel like this story is so ridiculous...I guess this feeling is in the theme eh..........Maybe it’s also because as usual, I wrote very late into the night, and sleep deprivation always make me feel like I do stupid things. Write terrible stuffs. 

Reblogs and feedbacks are always welcomed ?

Haha. Convincing. 

See you soon with another story, much lighter than this one for sure haha... 

[maxwell-grant]

Struck by an amusing mental image of The Shadow seeing through Clark Kent's disguise five minutes after seeing him in both identities and spending the next fifty years more impressed by Superman's ability to maintain a secret identity without even wearing a MASK than he is by 'mere' superhuman powers (I'd like to think at least one of the agents sometimes thinks Clark just HAS to covering up for the REAL Superman - Bruce Wayne! - in sheer disbelief at such audacity).

spending the next fifty years more impressed by Superman's ability to maintain a secret identity without even wearing a MASK than he is by 'mere' superhuman powers

I think he'd be more impressed upfront that Superman somehow managed to create the world's most foolproof disguise just by a casual change of hair and wardrobe and posture, when he's known people who could shapeshift much more drastically (himself included) to try and do so. And I think he'd chuckle at the irony that even he, of all people, couldn't create a disguise as rock-solid as Clark Kent, that he's been bested at something he's unbeatable as, which is apparently common when you're a human dealing with Superman.

Maaaybe just a wee bit jealous, even. One of my favorite personality traits of The Shadow that rarely comes up (for good reason, mind you), is that sometimes he can be petty and humorous in a pretty undignified way, as a character flaw mostly played for comedy.

Sometimes it takes the form of him delighting in making fun of Commissioner Weston's ignorance, or playing mild pranks on Cardona like swiping evidence or sending him tips written in dissappearing ink that vanish the second he tries showing them to anyone else, or the sequence below where he's pursuing a man who knocked him out cold earlier in the story:

He wanted to take Kerford suddenly, when the man was unaware, and deprive him of the gun he carried.

Kerford was desperate, and might do considerable damage if pursuers tried to take him openly. His testimony, too, would prove important, and couldn't be spoken by a dead man.

Moreover, The Shadow had a personal score that wasn't fully settled with Kerford. He wanted the elusive lawyer to experience the sensation of having someone bob up from behind him and supply a sincere blow with a chunk of metal

The Shadow intended to do it more neatly than Kerford had. One clean tap from an automatic would daze Kerford lightly, but still allow him to retain his senses, thereby appreciating the fact that he had been outguessed - The Book of Death

I think you could get some pretty great mileage out of playing The Shadow and Superman's interactions slightly for comedy.

I'd like to think at least one of the agents sometimes thinks Clark just HAS to covering up for the REAL Superman - Bruce Wayne! - in sheer disbelief at such audacity

I'm definitely thinking this has to be Clyde, because regardless of whether or not the Agents are in on the secret, if anyone was going to learn it on their own and know Clark personally enough to make that assumption, it would be Clyde. He'd be incredibly on-point towards many of his assumptions regarding how Superman's secret identity works and the cracks in Bruce Wayne's public façade, but as an impetous thrill-seeker with a taste for adventure who's grown used to writing about the dirty dealings and secrets of the city's richest or most upstanding folks (and started off his career as an agent being attacked by one of them), he'd leap to the assumption that Bruce Wayne has to be Superman, and that this is something only The Shadow is supposed to know.

And then one day Moe would bring up that, yeah, of course he knows who Supes is, it's Clark Kent and he's known about it for years now, he picked up the Kents for a drive downtown one day and made chat with them, and when he looked at their kid another day, he just kinda picked up the rest of the story along the way later, but he swore on his honor as a cabbie to never say a peep to nobody.

And then Clyde calls him an idiot who's been reading too many comics again, and decides he's gonna go on foot again.