#“ivy's neck save me”

[sleepanonymous]

[muntitled]

Virginity Files: Enha Edition

▪︎ Summary: how Hyung Line would respond to finding out you're a virgin

▪︎ Cw: Established Relationship, nsfw, virginity kink, Heeseung's part is a little unethical, +18, Minors dni

Heeseung | 희승

Abstinence had never really been a major factor in Heeseung's philosophy. In fact, he believed quite the opposite. Always choosing to forgo self control, in favour of being passionate, hedonistic and sometimes even borderline lecherous in your relationship.

Discussions of sex would plague you early on in your relationship because sexual gratification is something Heeseung refuses to compromise on- and you look too fucking gorgeous in nothing but a simple bathrobe for him to be expected to have pure thoughts.

He kisses up the side of your neck first, with his arms encircling your waist from behind like ivy creeping along the sides of an archaic mansion. You tilt your neck, welcoming his kisses as you rub the rest of your lotion along your forearms, the smell of cocoa butter having dire effects on Heeseung's restraint.

"I could fucking eat you alive," he whispers drunkenly in your ear, causing the sharpest of gasps to leave your throat when you feel his hardened length push up against your ass.

'It's happening' you think idly to yourself as Heeseung's hands crawl up your front until they're dipping into the opening of the robe.

When his fingers make contact with your breasts you freeze and Heeseung groans as he dips his head between your neck and shoulder.

He squeezes and tweaks your nipple, his cock growing impossibly harder when he feels your nipples turn to hardened peaks.

"Fuck-" he whispers before dragging you down onto the bed. Your body is limp and unresponsive when Heeseung hovers over you, your back pressed against the comforter as he inspects the expanse of your body with his large domineering hands.

You should've known what you were getting into with a guy like Heeseung.

He lives, eats and breathes sex.

How could you ever be so dumb?

"I need to touch you," he whispers, undoing the belt of your robe.

"You'll be good for me?" He asks- but his movements stop when your hand on his, stops all movements.

"I haven't had sex yet-"

Heeseung only blinks once before flashing you that dazzling smile. "Well obviously we haven't had sex yet- that's what I'm trying to correct."

"Ever. Heeseung." You release a shaky breath. "I mean ever."

It only takes a maximum of 15 infuriating seconds before Heeseung continues to slowly undo the knot of your belt as he says, "Would it be unethical if I said I'm more hard now than I've ever been?”

Jay | 제이

The idea of sex comes pretty early on in the relationship because it's all Jay could ever think about in your presence. Sex had never been anything monumental in his previous relationships- it had always been exceedingly casual, like a mutual business transaction with both parties guaranteed to step away from the venture wholly satisfied.

But here Jay is, on his knees in front of you like a martyr at the altar.

The blazer he had worn is discarded somewhere around him but all that plagues his mind is evil, diabolical thoughts of you. He looks completely wrecked as he kisses up the sides of your legs, his dress shirt half unbuttoned with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. At the start of the evening he had looked dapper, not a single hair out of place and not a single wrinkle on the prada shirt. Ready to meet your patent.

But for you… here, he's a mess.

"What has gotten i-into you?"

You dig your hands into his hair, urging him to stand up but all he does is groan and nuzzle his face further between your thighs.

"You know how beautiful you looked tonight?” he breathes, lifting the fabric to reach more skin, “It was torture having to save face for your parents but secretly wanting to eat you out the whole the night-"

Jay punctuates his mind numbing confession by lifting the ends of your dress and ducking underneath. He hooks his fingers into the sides of your lace underwear and he pulls-

"Jay, stop-"

"Why?" His voice cracks under the weight of his own desire, and he peaks up from under your dress to look up at you with pleading eyes. "Baby, just let me taste you." Your heart shatters. "I know we haven't done anything, and that's fair- maybe you don't trust me yet- I don't know-" as Jay speaks all you can do is shake your head, "But I'm fucking attracted to my girlfriend- I need to be inside of you, I need to taste you and fuck you and hold you-"

"I'm a virgin."

Jay's rambling dissolves into complete and utter silence and you're left to watch as he sits back on his haunches, completely mystified.

"What?"

"That's why we haven't done anything- I-"

Your words of embarrassment completely dissolve in your throat once Jay ducks under the skirts of your dress once more, sending your heart into complete overdrive.

"Tonight's the night then,"

Is all he says with the mission of eating you out with absolute ardour.

Jake | 제이크

Being in a relationship with a boy made of literal prince tendencies meant there were a lot of lecherous acts that you had to coax out of him. When you and Jake first shared your first kiss under New Year's fireworks he had tenderly placed his hand on your cheek as if your skin was forged of porcelain and he muttered, "Is this okay?” Those three words haunted your relationship to the point that you feared your boyfriend saw you as less of a girlfriend, and more a fragile, precious thing he coveted.

These thoughts spin in your head as Jake rubs circles on your inner thigh through the duration of your Friday-night movie.

You couldn't focus on Toy Story 2 because Jake's large hand and its glorious callouses left nothing but goosebumps in their wake, and you're completely and utterly brimming with energy when you pause the movie to gain his attention.

"Can we kiss?" You ask.

You're not sure why you ask but this running theme of always seeking for consent I'd a habit that is difficult to shake off.

"Fuck, if I wasn't thinking about it for the passed hour," he replies before scooping you into his arms. "Get over here."

You're straddling his hips and his mouth crashes against yours, eliciting an unsteady moan from the confines of your throat.

Jake is such an eager kisser. Always eager to please.

Always eager to do good for you. It's like he was purposely trying to kiss away every other guy you may have come into contact with.

If only he knew how embarrassingly small that list really is.

"Woah- Bunny, what're you doing?" Jake's hands are still on the soft sides of your hips when you grind down against his length. You're both fully clothed but the intention of your actions is very much clear. He curls his arms around you as if urging you to stop, but his steadily hardening cock gives him away.

"F-Fuck," he curses under his breath finally relenting and choosing to lean back against the couch as you grinded down against him. He watches you with hooded eyes. "This is how you're feeling tonight, yeah?"

Your bottom lip clamps between your teeth, "Yeah..." and it completely erupts a wave of arousal in the pits of Jake's stomach.

"You want Jake to take care of you?" It's the way in which he says it, like every word had to be meticulously asked in order for you to understand the severity of the situation. It made you feel silly, and juvenile and so incredibly blissful.

"P-please," you whine, locking your arms behind the back of his neck as you grind down harder against the bulge in his pants. "I'm ready."

"What- like ready, ready." Instead of admiring how cute your boyfriend is, all you're able to do is bury your face in the crook of his neck.

"I'll take good care of you." He says eventually, with his large hand rubbing soft circles into your back. "Jake'll take good care of you..."

You need him to make you feel good and that alone has him soaring along the silver lined clouds.

Sunghoon | 성훈

Unlike the rest of Sunghoon's meticulously planned life, falling helplessly in love with you- and then your body- had been something to hit him quite unsuspectingly.

You stormed into his life, and shook up every aspect of his fully functional brain, making him question just how good of an idea it was to invite you to live with him. Seeing as you two were quickly becoming a serious ensemble, Sunghoon knew the time to solidify the relationship was quickly approaching, still, it caught him wholly by surprise when you admitted your inexperience under the soft glow of his overhead light. Wine intermixed with saliva lay on both your lips due to the sweet, drunken kisses you've exchanged on the couch. Sunghoon didn't mean to get handsy. He rarely does.

In fact, Sunghoon prides himself on his restraint when it comes to you. Seeing you, however, in this space, amongst his things, as if you were a part of his property... he lowered the wine glass onto the coffee table to swoop you into his arms.

"D-Did you hear what I said?" You felt embarrassed to have to admit to being a virgin but somehow you felt that consent was needed. Perhaps he may not be completely comfortable being made subject to the daunting task of being someone's 'first'.

"W-We don't have to do this?" You try to whisper. You try to push him away by his chest but his teeth sink into the crook of your neck drawing a heightened gasp out of the confines of your throat.

"We should get you ready first," he whispers instead, knocking all the air out of your lungs in one fell swoop. His hands glide down over your silk pyjamas until he's cupping your sex- the most private, most vulnerable parts of you. "We'll go slow." Sunghoon said with his nose still buried in your neck as he snuck his hand down your pants. You were a gasping mess, so unused to the feeling of it being someone else's hand on that particular spot.

"Just relax, Baby,"

"Sunghoon-"

"Right here," he whispered, drinking in your gasps like they were the finishing remains of crimson red wine. "I'm right here,"

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Hey, Neighbor

Masterlist

Pairing: Jason Todd x (f) Reader

Tags: NSFW, mystery, smut, oral (f receiving), sex pollen, Ivy's toxin, pwp, incorrect science (im so sorry to women in S.T.EM.), morally ambiguous Jason Todd, neighbors, nerdy reader, smoking

Chapter 4:

Jason returned home after a long evening of searching Elizabeth Islington's apartment, a sinking feeling in his gut from what he found. The most difficult thought was that he was going to have to leave you one mentor short. As he opened the door to his loft, he was met with an unexpected sight. You, one of your scarves neatly tied around your eyes, eagerly awaiting him in your pink nighty, a bright smile on your face.

"Hey..." he said cautiously, noticing the odd happiness radiating from you. "What’s with the blindfold?"

You sighed dreamily, a sound catching him him off guard. "I’ve been thinking about something, and it requires you not to wear your mask."

Jason raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He indulged, amused by your demeanor. "Alright," he said, removing his helmet and setting it aside.

Your heart raced when you heard him take afew steps towards you.

I want to kiss him. I've wanted to kiss him since the day he stepped in to save me two years ago. Being close to him these past days has been so difficult, trying to keep it together when all I wanted was to be in his arms.

You stood, taking a tentative step toward him, trying to navigate the room in your blindfold. Jason quickly closed the distance, placing a steadying hand on your arm to prevent you from bumping into the kitchen island.

You smiled up at him, your voice breathless. "I've wanted to do this for a long, long time." You whispered before wrapping your hand around his nape and pulling him down for a kiss.

The unexpectedness of your action surprised Jason, his grip on you tightening. He let himself be kissed by you. A small, sweet kiss on his lips. You laid kisses on his cheek, along the stubble on his jaw and down to his neck, running your fingers through his silky hair as he let out a gasp above you. Jason noted how your kisses were filled with the pent-up emotions, I made him eager to return the gesture.

Your hands clung to him, desperate and needy, making Jason's mind race. The softness of your lips, the desperation with which you pressed against him, was the most tempting drug. For now, he let himself be kissed, growing more passionate and urgent. The feel of your lips on his neck, the softness of your arms around him, it was everything he had imagined for the past couple of days. "What brought this on?" he let the question out in a chuckle, his voice low and rough.

You bit your lip, grasping the bottom of his shirt and hiking it up to place kisses on his abdominal muscles. "I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, Red." You said, licking his skin, unable to resist him. On your exploration, you felt places where the skin was raised, signaling his scars. Your need to know who he was behind the mask overwhelmed you. "Being close to you, to my hero, it's been so hard not to. I just... couldn't hold back anymore."

Your words faded away as his vision slowed down suddenly. The drug, the kiss, the sudden turn of events. It all rendered him powerless against the primal hunger that surged inside him.

Oh god.

He was an idiot. He was drugged. You were drugged. But that meant… had Ivy been in here? How did she get in? How did she drug... Fuck... your lips... your lips on his skin... what had he been thinking about?

He pulled you close, his lips engulfing yours, Groaning, he pulled away for a breath, leaving you whimpering at the loss of his touch. "We can't..." he said weakly, his restraint waning.

"Hmm?" You asked behind the blindfold. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, the need to touch him, to feel his body, muscles, scars, was urgent, mixing with the pounding of your heart.

Jason was forgetting what he was resisting when you licked his nipple. “Mhmm," he groaned, the sound sending a spark of electricity to your core. "Y/n, we can't -"

You blinked behind the blindfold, utterly confused. "Why not?"

"You... hmm, I don't know..." His words were slurred though he sounded genuinely concerned as he continued. "I think... we're not... I... things."

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion behind the blindfold. Then you let out a giggle. "You're funny, Red."

"Im not. Trust... me..." Jason gasped, closing his eyes before dropping his forehead to yours.

The heat in your core mingled with the fog in your mind. All you knew was you needed him. It was a primal, animalistic need, fueled by the pheromone-laden kiss.

She's a minx, a vixen, Jason thought. Against his better judgment, it excited him. He pulled you flush against him and finally allowed himself to kiss you back. You responded eagerly, hips moving as instinctively as your heart, giving into the primal hunger that had been building up within you for such a long time. His hands roamed over your body, mirroring your own. Your breath came out in short pants, as the world around you fell away in the face of his lips meeting yours, claiming you with a certainty that left you breathless.

Jason's grip on you tightened, and he lifted you onto the kitchen countertop with ease. You gasped when you felt the blindfold being lifted from your eyes. Your vision swam, adjusting to the dim light coming in from the afternoon rainclouds outside as his eyes met yours.

Deep, dark blues that you recognized right away looked at you drunkily. They consumed you. You looked into his eyes, into the eyes of the Red Hood. The eyes of your neighbor, Jason.

As his eyes bore into yours, the surprise and confusion you felt began to wither away, replaced by an undeniable realisation. It was him: the man who had been haunting Gotham with a vigilant fervour; the man who had single-handedly turned the tide of crime in favour of the residents; the man who, try as you might, had captured your imagination every night in a new fantasy.

Was this real? You wondered, your heart racing. Can this be happening?

“Jason?” You breathed, your voice trembling as his name left your lips.

You needed confirmation that the man whose lips you so desperately craved was indeed the city's guardian. "Jason?" You asked again, voice shaking with a mix of excitement and confusion as you processed the situation.

He nodded

Oh god.

It was so much to take in. Your heart was racing; you couldn't think. "Jason, oh god,"

This whole time, it's been him. He was the one. The one who saved you. More than once. The one that took you in. Who acted like he didn't know you. Who drove you insane with his touch and words these past few days.

"Oh god, please, Jason," Your whispered words burned through his mind, making him clench his teeth as his control slipped further away. He looked at you, the hunger and desire etched deeply on his face.

He moaned your name. You couldn't express how good it felt to hear it on his lips. Lowering his lips in a trail of kisses down your throat. You gripped the countertop, arching your back as a moan escaped your lips. It was like all the pieces were finally falling into place. He was your hero and savior. Your Jason.

He pulled down the top of your dress, exposing your breasts. Your nipples pebbled immediately in the cool air of the room. His lips claimed one of them flicking at its twin with his finger. Your hands gripped his hair. The toxin you were both affected by made every sensation heightened, overwhelming. Your nipples felt like two live wires, electricity coursing through them and into your core. Every flick of his skilled fingers made you moan and arch into his touch.

You've read studies about some people’s ability to reach orgasm from just nipple stimulation. But nothing could have prepared you for the way your entire body seemed to shiver at Jason's touch.

The feeling was exquisite, almost painfully so. It was as if your nipples had been directly linked to your clit, the sweet sensation of pleasure travelling down with every flick and touch of Jason's fingers and lips.

You cried out again, gripping his shoulders as you arched further against his touch.

He knew exactly what you wanted, but the need to hear you plead for him was like an aphrodisiac. He felt himself harden further, his erection straining against his underwear.

He pinched your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch up into him. The pain mingled with the pleasure of his lips on your skin, and your hands grasped at his shoulders desperately. You tried to speak once more, but it was more of a breathless gasp than anything coherent. You felt a familiar feeling as your body began to shake. "Jason, please... don't stop."

You moaned, desperately trying to grind your aching core against him. The pulsating heat and growing wetness between your thighs seemed to be a never-ending source of discomfort and need. Your hips moved instinctively, seeking relief against him. But Jason held back, placing his hands on your hips to still you. His forehead dropped to yours, and he took deep breaths, trying to regain control.

Jason nuzzled into your neck. You opened your mouth to speak, but Jason captured your lips in a searing kiss, effectively silencing you. He deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth to tangle with yours. "Fuck, baby. Ever since I saw you on that porch..." he muttered against your lips.

"That night you moved in?" you slurred in a wisper.

"Mhmm." He nodded. "You wore the cutest little skirt. When you sat up, I could see your pink panties." His hand went under your dress. The feeling of him touching you there through your soaked underwear was too much. You bit your lower lip.

He groaned, clenching his jaw at the intensity of his want. Crouching down before you, he tugged up your silk dress. The cold air of the room ghosted over your wetness, making you shiver. Feeling his gaze locked on your exposed sex, you looked down to see him staring at you with a primal hunger that seemed to steal your breath away.

"Please..." you whispered softly, raising a hand to touch his cheek. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing as though savoring the sensation. When he opened them again, his expression was harder than ever.

Without warning, his tongue flicked out and tasted your entrance. You gasped, and your hands flew to his hair as he devoured you with hunger. Your heart raced as he held you in place, his tongue sliding against your slit. Taste of your arousal on his tongue was like a drug he couldn't get enough of. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer to him as he delved deeper into the folds of your sex.

You gasped, shuddering as raw need pulsed through you. The intensity of Jason's touch was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, and your body responded instinctively. You arched your back, pressing against his mouth as your fingers tangled in his hair. When he began to lick rough circles around your clit, your body began to shake and your back arched as your orgasm took over your senses.

Carried away by the sensation, you wrapped your arms around Jason's neck, pulling him closer.

Jason gripped you tightly, breathing you in through your climax as if he never wanted to let go.

The sensation you felt was warm, desperate, and full of the pent-up emotions that had built up between the two of you.

Only... only you began to feel odd. Oddly good... like, so, so, good. You wanted to fall asleep.

Jason wouldn't have thought anything of it, he's had plenty of women falling asleep after he'd given them orgasms, and yours was an intense one at that. Only... your lips... we're turning green. A beautiful, mesmerizing shade of green. He didn't want to look away... until one voice in the back of his mind kept repeating the word "poison".

Jason sat up. He picked you up and stumbled as he carried you to the couch, laying you down. "Oh fuck, fuck!"

He rummaged through his kitchen, looking for the antidote Batman and Alfred had created for Ivy's toxin that all of the Wayne's had stored in case of emergencies.

When he finally found the vial, he first took one sip of it, knowing he'd needed it first if he was going to take care of you. Then he stumbled back to you, gently tilting the antidote into your lips. "It's okay, baby. You're okay, you're alright," He wispered as you moaned, disoriented and sleepy against him.

Since it hasn't been too long since he had been affected by the poison, the antidote took effect quickly enough. But for you, it took some more time. So Jason stayed on the couch, wrapping his arms around you as you came down from the toxin. The entire time, all that was on his mind was a hope that you'd be okay.

[r0ugesun]

Can you write about a witch reader × aemond? Like he was lost after a battle of God eyes in the wood and then he found the reader, and then she help him with his wounds?

Thank you so much for your request. I apologize for the delay, and I appreciate your patience. I hope this meets your expectations :>

(Also shout out @moonstruksandco for helping me with this she’s my irl wife my moon and muse❤️)

Witch!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

No warnings

Synopsis: After a fierce battle above the gods eye, a wounded Aemond finds refuge with Y/N, a reclusive witch, who offers healing in exchange for something that will help guard the forest. They find solace amid the chaos of the ongoing war.

“You have lived too long uncle”

“On that much we agree.”

The battle above the God’s Eye was a clash of beasts, dragons roaring fiercely at their riders’ command. Smoke and flames thickened the air, war cries echoing across the sky like distant thunder.

Vhagar expertly maneuvered around Caraxes, their talons intertwining in a deadly dance. Though old, Vhagar's experience in combat was undeniable, but she struggled against the agile younger dragon. In a swift moment, Caraxes snapped his jaws onto Vhagar’s neck, giving Daemon the chance to leap from his saddle, Dark Sister aimed at Aemond.

But Aemond’s death did not come however, Vhagar twisted and writhed in caraxes grasp until her fire engulfed Daemon, sending him and caraxes into the depths of the lake.

The forest beyond was a twisted labyrinth, ancient trees clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The aftermath of the battle left the land charred, a silent witness to horror. Bloodied and broken, Aemond staggered through the underbrush, pain eclipsed only by the grief in his heart. His mighty dragon vhagar lay dead below the water, her sacrifice weighing heavily on him.

As darkness threatened to consume him, a soft, ethereal glow broke through the shadows. Driven by instinct, Aemond forced himself toward the light.

He stumbled into a secluded glade, where a dilapidated stone house covered in ivy stood, a beacon amid the gloom. The air was infused with the scent of incense and flowers, a sharp contrast to the stench of sulfur and burnt flesh he’d left behind. A lone figure, cloaked in black, tended to a moonlit garden. She turned, her eyes reflecting the light like constellations.

“Who goes there?” Her voice was a haunting melody stern, yet oddly soothing.

Aemond collapsed at the edge of the clearing, vision fading. “...help…me,” he gasped.

The woman crossed her arms, her expression one of clear annoyance. “The spirits always send me their messes to clean up.” she muttered under her breath.

Without a word, she stepped aside and helped him in, though her demeanor was far from welcoming. Aemond staggered into the warmth of the cottage, the scent of herbs and something unidentifiable filling his senses. The woman guided him to a wooden table, but her touch was far from gentle.

“My name is Aemond,” he managed, though his vision was blurring.

She rolled her eyes. “I know who you are, Prince Aemond. I am Y/N. Sit still and don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Aemond watched as she moved around the room, gathering supplies with quick, irritated motions. She mixed herbs with practiced ease, creating a paste that she applied to his cuts and bruises. Her touch, though skilled, was brusque, and the pain began to ebb away under her care despite her apparent displeasure.

Then darkness took him. When he awoke, he found himself in a dim room, shelves lined with mysterious vials and tomes in a language he didn’t recognize. The woman was beside him, applying a green salve. It stung at first but soon numbed his pain.

“You saved me” Aemond rasped.

Her nod was slight, her gaze steady. “Your wounds are grave, but you will not join the Stranger yet. I will heal you.”

He studied her intricate symbols etched into her tunic, her skin shimmering like silver in candlelight. “Who are you? Why are you alone in these woods?”

“I am y/n” she said, her voice edged with irritation. “I tend to the animals. They need me.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed. “You tend to the beasts of the forest? You’re not just a healer, are you? You’re a witch.”

She she looked at him sharply “That’s one name for it. I am whoever the forest needs me to be sometimes a healer, sometimes a protector. And sometimes, something more.”

His expression softened as she unfastened his tunic, revealing deep, angry wounds across his muscular torso.

“These wounds run deep. Can you truly treat them?”

“Trust me” she said, fingers hovering over his scars, her voice unwavering. “The magic flows through me, but it requires something in return.”

Taking a deep breath, he felt the weight of his decision. “Very well. Do what you must.”

Y/n’s fingers grazed his skin, warmth radiating from her touch. “Close your eyes. Breath deep.”

As he obeyed, a surge of energy enveloped him in q blend of warmth and power flowing from her into his wounds. He sensed the whispers of the forest, and for the first time, he allowed himself to believe in something beyond mere survival.

When the healing was done, she stepped back, her eyes searching his. “I need a scale from your dragon” she said, her tone more serious.

His eye snapped open, suspicion and curiosity mingling. “For what purpose?”

“There’s an ancient spell I need to complete” she explained. “One that requires the essence of a dragon. With it, I can enhance my powers and protect this land from the dark forces encroaching upon it.”

He hesitated, the pain of his dragon’s loss still raw. “Vhagar lays at the bottom of the lake, I fear I won’t be able to reach her.”

"Not a problem, I can brew a potion that will grant you the breath of the sea, allowing you to reach her without pause." she replied. “Will you do it?”

Aemond’s jaw clenched as he nodded, the weight of her request heavy on his heart. “I will……I thank you for your help.”

“Come” she said, she gathered her ingredients with practiced grace. the air thick with the scent of herbs and salt Wisps of smoke curled from a small cauldron as she kindled the flame beneath it, the fire dancing in rhythm with her murmured incantations.

She crushed silvery seaweed between her fingers, releasing a shimmer of iridescent essence, and added it to the bubbling brew. Next, she sprinkled in powdered pearls, their luminescence casting a soft glow around the room. As she stirred with a carved wooden ladle, the liquid transformed into a deep azure, swirling like the depths of the lake.

With a final flourish, she dropped in a glimmering shard of moonstone, causing the potion to shimmer and pulse with an ethereal light. “Drink this by the lake, and you shall breathe as easily as the currents flow”

As he left her hut, determination and sorrow fueled his steps. The scale of his recently fallen dragon, an ancient spell, and a witch’s power, this journey was far from over.

With a steady hand, Aemond raised the shimmering potion to his lips, the cool liquid gliding down his throat like a gentle wave. Instantly, a rush of warmth enveloped him, filling his lungs with a strange, invigorating energy.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped toward the water’s edge, the moonlight reflecting off the surface like scattered diamonds. He plunged into the lake, the cool water wrapping around him like a cloak. As he descended, he felt the potion working, granting him the ability to hold his breath as he swam deeper, propelled by determination and the promise of what awaited him below.

As Aemond descended further into the lake’s depths, the water grew darker, illuminated only by the faint glimmer of bioluminescent creatures. Suddenly, he spotted Vhagar, her massive form resting peacefully on the silty bottom, surrounded by a tranquil stillness. Beside her lay his uncle, the visage of his former glory entwined with the majestic shape of Caraxes, their bond transcending even death.

A heavy heart weighed on Aemond as he approached, the sight of Vhagar once a fierce and fearsome beast now appearing serene in eternal slumber. He felt a bittersweet pang of longing, knowing the dragon had once soared the skies with him.

With a quiet determination, he swam closer, carefully reaching out to take a few scales from Vhagar’s side, each one a testament to their shared history. As his fingers brushed against her scales, a profound sense of reverence washed over him, mingling with grief and the echoes of lost love.

Hours later, Aemond returned, a scale from Vhagar in his hand. The witch y/n took it reverently, her eyes softening. “This will do,” she murmured.

Together, they ventured into the heart of the forest, where Y/n began her incantations. The air thickened with magic as she worked, the scale glowing with an otherworldly light. Aemond watched, his heart heavy yet hopeful.

As the spell reached its climax, the forest seemed to come alive. The trees swayed as if in reverence, and a deep, echoing roar filled the air. Vhagar’s spirit emerged, majestic and powerful, her essence blending with the forest. She became its guardian, a spectral presence that would protect the land.

Aemond felt a profound sense of peace. Vhagar was gone, but her spirit lived on, safeguarding the forest. He turned to y/n, gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you” he said softly.

She looked up at him, her stern expression softening. “Vhagars sacrifice will not be forgotten. This land is safe now, thanks to both of you.”

Days turned into weeks as Aemond recovered under Y/N’s care. Her initial annoyance with him faded, replaced by a grudging respect and something more tender. They spoke of many things of dragons and magic, of loss and hope. Aemond found himself drawn to her strength and independence, while she began to see the depth of his pain and the vulnerability beneath his warrior exterior.

One evening, as they sat by the fire, Aemond reached for her hand. “You’ve done so much for me… I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

She met his gaze, her eyes soft but still guarded. “You owe me nothing. I did this for the forest….And perhaps, for you as well.”

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper. “Y/N, I’ve come to care for you deeply. More than I ever thought possible.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. “Aemond…our lives are so different. I am bound to my duty to the forest, to its magic. And you… you are a prince, with duties the war isn’t over”

“There’s nothing left for me there” he said, his hand gently cupping her face. “What matters to me is here, with you.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. The fire crackled softly beside them, mirroring the flame igniting their love. “Then stay” she whispered. “With me.”

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, the spirits of the forest their only witnesses to their new bond. Despite the chaos of the world outside, they found each other, a love as fierce and enduring as the magic that surrounded them.

For the first time in a long time, Aemond felt truly happy.

[sozila]

convalescence. (sukuna x reader)

synopsis: convalescence noun. time spent recovering from an illness or medical treatment; recuperation. ryomen s. itadori was a disease that infected every part of your life, and you didn’t notice until it was too late.

pairing: best friend's older brother!ryomen s. itadori x pre-med uni student!fem reader.

warnings: explicit content eventually, mdni. mentions of underage drinking, descriptive sexual activities. masterlist | previous | next

you are on: incubation. (part one) a/n:

hello!! my name is sozila, and this is my first ever work on tumblr/ao3 so bear with me if my writing seems a little elementary :,) let me know what you think, esp if it's constructive feedback! i've been a huge fic reader since i was 11, if that's any solace <3 (i'm in my second year of college now lmao) this piece really just came to me because i craved older brother sukuna and breezed through every fic with him in it. also, i wanted to incorporate parts of my college experience and hence the allegory to infectious diseases, i promise i'll hash it out adequately soon haha <3 also to note: i'm aware this chapter is rather short, but i intend to make longer chapters as the story continues! until then, here's a little bit of what i have :) enjoy!

ao3 link here.

incubation. (part one) you were 2 years into being best friends with yuuji itadori before you saw him. an idea of him was created in your head through a web of yuuji’s descriptions, megumi’s mild irritations. nobara’s hot-cold opinion that “he’s an insufferable asshole, but those tattoos do numbers on girls”. some part of you felt allured by the mystery of his identity, even though you knew exactly who he was. at least, as much as you could from the near-empty instagram account and pictures from yuuji’s childhood littering the apartment.

it was odd you didn’t meet until now, but university had other plans for you. it made sense though— as a pre-med student, you didn’t have much time to hang out or go to frat parties, as much as nobara complained about your lack of thrill for wilding out. you digressed, but promised as soon as you secured an internship you’d maybe allow a bottle of vodka on you, in the comfort of your shared apartment. yuuji and megumi never held your busy schedule against you; which you genuinely appreciated. you loved that whenever you did get to see them, things picked up right where you left off.

which is why you were surprised at the very least to be met with someone you knew yet were so unfamiliar with standing before you when you knocked on yuuji’s door.

“you one of yuu’s new leeches or what?”

your brows furrowed a little more at the jab on your character, but you utter nothing as you take in the fact ryomen itadori isn’t a mythical brother your best friend made up. he looks exactly like the lockscreen picture on yuuji’s phone, save for a couple new tattoos on his face and arms. his hair was a mix between a mean undercut and ivy league, sporting the same pink hue of his younger brother’s. a simple silver chain hung on his neck which drew you downwards to his chest. he was definitely built much bigger and wider than yuuji. coarse, and just.. raw. you register you’ve been staring at this man clad only in a wife pleaser and joggers for an inappropriately long time and clear your throat, straightening, holding your bag a little closer as if it was going to disappear with a glance of his sanguine eyes.

“you gonna stand there all day, or should i close the door on ya?”

his gruff voice now laced with irritation led you to match his demeanor. you give him a wry, plastered smile and push past him. he lets you, surprisingly.

“can’t really go in with you blocking the entire entryway, asshole.”

he doesn’t acknowledge the blatant insult and walks towards the kitchen. your nose catches it first- he was cooking something really good. suddenly, he yells over his shoulder while he stirs the pot.

“yuuji c’mon, i’m not babysitting for your ass!”

the thomp-thomp-thomps of yuuji’s footsteps follow with him hurrying down the stairs and he flashes a dorky smile to you. “sorry, sorry! you met my lovely best friend then, aniki?”

he grunts without turning around. you didn’t even consider this a conservation, but yuuji seemed unphased by his wet-blanket personality. guess older brotherhood looked like this. yuuji flits around the stove where he’s working to stick a finger in the pot and steal a taste, which sukuna smacked him upside the head for.

rubbing the back of head, yuuji then turns and faces you to give your arms a little squeeze. “megs is running a little late from swim team practice, but he’ll be here soon. ryo made dinner for us though!” he quips brightly.

with a whip of his head and a withering look, you deduced sukuna wasn’t aware of this information, but grumbled to himself. you made out a “motherfucker” and “freeloader” in his long curse.

you pull your happy-go-lucky friend a little out of earshot and bring him to your level to whisper harshly. “yuu, i don’t want to inconvenience your brother.. he already seems pissed i exist,” you murmur. your gaze returns to the giant man in the kitchen and something tickles in your chest. immediately he slaps your shoulder and chortles, as if you told him something outlandish. “don’t even worry! he acts like that all the time, he just doesn’t know you well enough yet.”

you weren’t sure you even wanted him to.

it was 7:30 when you heard the ring of the doorbell and your head lifts from the snug placement you took on the couch. sukuna had already slipped away upstairs so yuuji answers this time, much to your dismay. you lament internally that megumi wouldn’t face the same frosty welcome as you did. you hear two voices instead of just the one you expected and crane over to see a certain red headed girl you knew. she beams upon noticing your peeking form. “you’re here early, miss i-have-no-time-for-my-beloved-friends,” quicker than you could react, she was already beelining to jump on you with a smothering hug.

you try to muster a clear response but get muffled by her puffy knit sweatshirt. “if you checked your phone you’d know i told you!” you push your computer out of reach so it wouldn’t be swept in the tornado that was nobara kugisaki.

megumi had already taken a seat on the rug beside yuuji, deep in conversation about winter finals. however, it became evident it was more megumi lecturing yuuji on course material and the latter looking more confused and stressed by the second.

you move nobara enough to clap your hands and catch their attention.

“if you guys utter the word ‘exams’ one more time, i swear will explode.”

nobara snorts above you and knocks on your head. “look who’s talking. is your memory shot to hell or do you not remember all the times you bring it up yourself?”

“she literally did this afternoon,” yuuji mumbles with a pout. you throw a decorative pillow at him.

“hey! don’t forget i literally made your study schedule for you. and even the studious want a little break,” you defend with a huff. nobara d’awws and squishes your cheeks. “my poor little baby! however did you survive.”

“you guys suck. i deserve nothing but love and affection.”

yuuji rolls his eyes and whines. “oh my goood, yes we love you and appreciate you, hugs kisses rainbows blah blah— i wanna watch a movie already!”

you giggle at his antics as nobara pushes off you, walking to the unabashedly large TV and starts filing through yuuji’s big movie bookshelf. “what are we feeling tonight? fast and furious, ladybird, jigsaw..”

after a couple minutes you all agree on midsommar, which you protested but lost in a 3 to 1 vote (democracy is a joke). you could never sleep properly after a good horror movie, hence you always watched them during the daytime. but because your friends were evil, namely nobara, you had to endure some at night and ended up sleepless and jumpy. “if you can’t sleep, just slip in with me tonight,” nobara counters with a dismissive wave. while you knew neither nobara nor her girlfriend, maki, would bat an eye because of their long friendship with you, you worried for your own well-being. nobara was a huge kicker in her sleep (she denies this profusely). too many times after a night out you’d wake up on the floor with bruises on your side while nobara dozed peacefully, starfish-ed on the bed. you sigh and accept your fate.

the movie ends up being just as if not more unsettling than you expected. you knew nobara clocked out much earlier than you thought when you heard no reaction to the bear scene (never getting that image out of your brain, you fear). you stretch your neck to assess who’s out. beyond the dirty plates on the coffee table from the dinner sukuna “made” for you all, you can make out yuuji cradled into megumi’s chest, snoring lightly. the urchin haired boy didn’t stir much either, so you peel from nobara’s vice-like grip on you to throw a blanket over the two of them. out of the corner of your eye, you see yuuji cuddle into megumi a little more, a small smile on his dozing face. god, you eagerly await the day they could be honest about their feelings. you step back around quietly to adjust nobara on the couch into a more comfortable position.

to navigate out with a better light you fish your jeans for your phone but to your dismay, are met with empty pockets. it didn’t help that your nerves on high alert and the living room was lit only by the glow from the tv. something straight out of a horror movie. genuinely fuck my life. you frown as you crouch down to feel around underneath the couch. after a few minutes of helpless padding later, the task seemed fruitless and you began to retreat to yuuji’s room. nothing could prepare you to feel a big, cold hand palm your shoulder. you freeze, your spine going icy. is this how i’m going to die? swiveling faster than your mind could compute you almost let out a bloodcurdling shriek, only to be met with the same cold hand pressing your mouth shut.

“are you fuckin’ mental?”

sanguine eyes bore back into yours and you fight the urge to bite the hand pressing on you. the audacity of this guy was baffling, really.

you shove him off and glare pointedly.

“me? i’m mental? says the dick who decided to sneak up on someone and grab them like a fucking serial killer!”

you jab a finger on his chest, seething in a whisper. his chest, in reality, was much harder than you anticipated and your finger probably hurt more than the attack on him.

a step. he’s closer to you and now in possession of said finger.

“i lightly tapped you. the rest was damage control, sweetheart.”

“sweetheart?”

“i can’t call you that?”

“how about you don’t call me anything, ever? thanks.”

“makes sense that i can’t call you. got your phone, and all.”

your mouth drops a little. “what?” he snickers. “if you weren’t so busy trying to curse me into the next domain, you’d realize i’ve had your phone in my hand this whole time. fuckin’ idiot.”

lo and behold, your phone was nestled in his raised hand, looking much smaller than you remembered. or was it that his hand was just that large in comparison? how big was this guy, really? part of you wanted to stop everything and just ask him to hold different objects and compare how they perceived in his grasp. but reality struck and you recall this is the same guy who just scared the living daylights out of you.

you yank it out of his stupid mammoth hand, ripping his grasp on you in the process and take a step back. you were awfully close to one another upon closer inspection.

“not an idiot, by the way. 4.0 gpa doesn’t exactly scream stupid.”

“idiocy applies to everyone, sweetheart. regardless of how much you dick ride your textbooks.”

every word that left his mouth had a lilt to it. the laughter in his eyes, his head cocked to the side.. he was messing with you and relished it. that pissed you off. who the fuck was he to decide who you were? what you stood for? you had barely known this imaginary-but-actually-real brother for a couple hours, and here he was insulting and teasing you all in one gift-wrapped present. what gave him the confidence to be so insufferable? and better yet, what could you do to stomp it out?

“go to hell, sukuna.”

you were unwilling to stay in his irritating presence for a moment more. your face was stony and unrelenting, your foot tapping incessantly in impatience. you wanted to slap his face off, but thankfully for him, your best friends were in dreamland just a few feet away.

“goodnight, idiot.”

your feet padded angrily up the stairs and you could still feel those dark sanguine eyes boring into your skull and all over your body. you decided that imaginary or not, yuuji itadori's older brother was the most pompous asshole you've ever had the displeasure of meeting. you didn’t get hit with your skin radiating heat until you closed the door of yuujii’s bedroom behind you. question is, was it anger or arousal?

... she never told me her name.

omg light banter... guys i really love slowburn so sexy time isn't guaranteed soon :( once i've outlined it i'll add specific explicit warnings and maybe you'll get a glimpse of what i envision for you and sukuna aaaaa :) for tumblr, i'll have a navi/masterlist up in a little!

peace luv bathtub!!!

© sozila 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other mediums or sites. cross-posted on ao3 and tumblr under same alias.

[eepwriting]

One More ✶ IV x GN! Reader

Warnings: nsfw, smut, thigh riding, overstim, fingering, intercourse

To the anon who requested thigh riding, praise + overstim with ivy: I was in the middle of writing this and accidentally posted it instead of saving it to my drafts…so I had to delete that shit lol I’m so sorry. Anyway, this is for youuu! I hope you can still find it + thank you for the request 🤍

!! mdni !!

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“Hop on. You can help yourself.”

It took you a second to register what he just said.

“You can pretend I’m not even here. Hm, how about that?” He reaches for your hand, his covered mouth pressing to the back of your hand, leaving gentle kisses. When you don’t answer he looks at you with impatient eyes and taps his thigh. “C’mon.”

You shift in your seat before standing to remove your bottoms. One leg bends and comes to sit in between his thighs, the other resting beside him, his thigh now caged between your legs. “See? That’s wasn’t so hard was it?” His hands grip your hips. “Now, I’ll sit here, and you do whatever you want.” His eyes are relaxed as he lets his head fall against the couch cushions.

You blush. The way he’s speaking to you, demanding yet calm. The way his hands are ever so slightly guiding your hips back and forth over his thigh. All of it makes your brain fuzzy.

You take a deep breath before firmly pressing down on his thigh, your hips slowly rolling forward then rocking back. You can’t help but let out a whine, the friction feeling like a reward after the yearning you’d felt all day. Your pace quickens slightly.

“Mm, that feel good?” His hands grip tighter as he flexes his thigh. You give him a weak nod. “Oh yeah? You look so pretty up there using my thigh like that.” You whine out at his words, one hand landing on his shoulder, the other gripping the back of his neck. You lean over him, your lower half, having developed a mind of its own. Hips snapping back and forth, your own thighs, closing and opening as you push yourself harder down on his leg.

IV’s hand shoots up to pull his mask up and over his chin and mouth before he grips your jaw, bringing your mouth to his. He kisses you, deep and slow. You moan into his open mouth and grip the back of his neck tighter. He pulls away slightly “Tell me how you feel baby. You like riding my thigh like this?” He’s bouncing his leg now, looking up at you through his lashes, his hands gripping your hips even tighter.

You let out a breathy yes and a quick nod. “You feel so good baby. So good.” You moan out, your eyes squeezing shut. Your release is so close you can almost taste it. You take notice of the way iv’s hips slightly buck up towards you, the way his hard cock is straining the denim of his black jeans. Everything combines into the perfect mixture, aiding that knot in your lower half to finally unravel. Your head rolls back, a cool flash starts at the top of your head, crashing down your body before settling between your legs.

“There you go baby. Always so good for me, aren’t you?” He says with a slight groan as he watches you. IV’s hands run up and down your sides as your hips slowly come to a stop. Another whine leaves your mouth as you lean into him, your head on his shoulder. He lets you stay that way for a short while, before wrapping his arms around you, standing up slightly and laying you down on the couch.

He’s standing over you now, his hands making quick work of his belt. “You gonna let me fuck you now? You’ve been asking all day.” He shifts you over on the cushions before straddling your hips, his head coming down to kiss you. His hands roam your neck and chest as he licks into your mouth. Soon his hand finds its way in between your thighs, his fingers lightly rubbing and teasing you.

Your teeth come down on iv’s bottom lip as a whine crawls up from your throat. “Hmmm, easy.” You make a poor effort in shifting yourself away from his hand.

“Shhh, I know baby.” He moves to leave open mouth kisses on your jaw. “You can give me another, can’t you? You asked for this, remember?” His other hand pushing down on your hips, keeping you still.

You let out a guttural moan because he’s right. You have wanted this all day but you’re already so sensitive. You know it’ll take little to no time before you cum again. You can already feel yourself reaching that peak. IV pulls away to sit up, his hand still moving between your legs, faster now. He looks down at you and grabs your hand. “Be good for me baby. Make a mess on my hand, c’mon.”

Your pleasure catches up to you and you feel that familiar feeling again. You can’t help the almost silent cry that leaves you. IV works you through your second orgasm, one hand still working you, the other still gripping your hand. “Oh, good job baby.” He lets out a chuckle as he leans back down to capture your mouth in a sloppy kiss.

His mouth travels down your neck. “One more.” He sits up again, his hand reaching into his boxers, pulling his cock out. He gathers some spit in his hand, pumping himself a few times.

You don’t know if you have another in you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him off. Deep down you want this just as much as he does.

He teases, the head of his cock just barely entering you before he pulls away. He does this multiple times until he finally pushes his full length into you. You moan out, basically on the verge again, having just finished mere minutes ago. “Wait. Wait, just sit there for a second.” You breathe out, your hands gripping his forearms. IV listens, his hips still while his hands rub comforing circles on your hips and stomach.

You give him a slight nod when you’re ready. He pulls out until just his tip is still in you, before burying himself again. A low but long moan leaves him, his head thrown back. “Shit baby. Feels so good when you’re wrapped around me.” He lets out a huff before bringing his hips back and snapping them forward.

Tears prick your eyes, everything feeling overwhelming and sensitive. IV notices and leans down to rest his forehead against yours. He coos at you, peppering kisses on your cheeks and mouth. “You can take it can’t you? You’re doing so good for me.” His thrusts are somewhat harsh and quick, but you can tell he’s loosing himself with the way his breath stutters.

Arms on either side of your head, he picks up his pace. His cock pummeling in and out of you. His whines and moans are gruff and constant.

His hips falter and his breathing becomes shallow and quick. “Where do you want me?” He whimpers. You wrap your legs around his waist, arms around his back and bring him down to you. Your mouth attaches to his in a hungry kiss, occasionally interrupted by moans from both of you. IV’s hips stop when you feel him twitch and release into you.

With him, his sounds and your overall sensitivity, another orgasm washes over you, smaller and weaker this time. Your whole body shudders as you moan out a weak cry into his mouth. You have zero energy left.

You hear a groan from IV before he pulls away from you. “Hm, you okay?” He’s breathless as he cups your face. You nod, on the verge of sleep.

He pulls out of you, before leaving the room in search for a wet cloth. He’s back a short time later, gently cleaning you and himself up. When he’s done he squeezes your hand before slotting himself behind you on the couch. He drapes a blanket over the two of you before wrapping his arms around your waist. “You did such a good job baby, thank you. I knew you could give me one more.” You feel him kiss the side of your face before your heavy eyes close.

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This was so fun to write y’all! Sorry if the ending kinda sucks :/

If you want to see anything in particular, feel free to request.

K. Bye bye.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Make a mess of me

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 9

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: SMUT. YES FULL P IN V SMUT. (don't get too excited y'all, the pining isn't over yet.) swearing, slight degradation, underage drinking

a/n: The biggest shout out to @gracethyomen for ghostwriting the sexy parts because my asexual ass had no idea what I was doing. This was the first time I ever attempted smut so I hope you all like it. As always, comments and reblogs help encourage me to write more!

w/c: 3.1k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT:

The floorboards beneath Matt’s feet trembled as the throbbing bass boomed throughout the bar. Around him, groups of students screamed along to the lyrics of the pop song blaring through the DJ's speakers. Gripping the neck of his lukewarm beer, he lifted the bottle to his mouth—met with more resistance than he was expecting when the ancient remnants of spilled drinks on the tabletop clung to the glass. He tried not to scrunch his nose as his finger drifted across a patch of an unidentified sticky substance on the surface in front of him.

Shoving thoughts of the unpleasant sensation aside, Matt chugged the rest of his bottle, relishing in the warm current rippling through his veins as his past few drinks finally started to take effect. Breathing deeply, his lips twitched up. Despite the stifling heat of bodies grinding against each other and the acrid smell of vomit coating the place, he felt wildly at ease. His senses were still overactive, but he could feel them dulling as his brain grew fuzzy. Face slackening as his cheeks turned rosy, his mouth broke into a full grin.

“Are you feelin' it, Murdock?” Foggy laughed, clapping him on the back clumsily. His roommate's breath, which reeked of bottom shelf vodka, clouded against Matt's cheek as he patted the other man's back.

Smiling dopily, Matt leaned into the arm Foggy had around him. “Not at all,” His sentence broke off into a laugh he didn't recognize. Had that come from him?

“Oh he's feelin' it.” Foggy cackled gleefully, tossing a proud look to the girl across the table from the two. “I told ya: the cheap stuff works faster.”

“I'll have to agree with you there, buddy.” Matt snorted, rolling his loosening shoulders.

“I'm still not convinced.” The girl giggled. Her dangling earrings clinked on their chains as she shook her head.Matt hid a knowing smile behind the lip of his now-empty bottle as he felt her and Foggy flush with warmth in tandem, their pulses sprinting like jackrabbits.

"Oh Foggy would know. It's not his first time here." Matt squeezed his friend’s knee, shoving it towards the girl in what he hoped was an obvious gesture. "Did he tell you how he met the bouncer?"

Puffing out his chest, Foggy beamed. Launching into a rather embellished story of how he'd met the senior by saving his younger sister from being mugged. Nothing had happened really, he'd yelled at the guy (who had promptly scurried off), but Matt kept his mouth shut. Who was he to deny Foggy a connection with this girl he was clearly into?

If only he could tell Foggy that she was equally into him, that he didn't need to try so hard. Keeping his senses a secret from his best friend was nearly impossible when alcohol lowered his guard.

His face must have fallen because Foggy scoffed at him. "What did I say, Murdock?"

"Nothing, I just realized it's my turn to buy a round." Matt gave an exaggerated grimace, his body flooding with relief when Foggy and his admirer laughed in response.

"Buy another three shots," Foggy requested, turning back to his admirer. "I'm not done trying to convince Miss Stahl here that she's going about this 'drinking' thing all wrong."

"Trying to get me drunk, Nelson?" The girl responded smugly, tilting her head at him.

"Hey, we'll see where the night takes us," Foggy stated emphatically, spreading his arms wide.

Matt smirked, shoving his chair away from the table and heading to the bar. Squeezing his way through the crowd of his inebriated classmates, he gripped the sticky bartop to cement his place in line. Hearing the bartender drift towards him, he threw up a hand and called out the request.

“Sure thing, man. It'll be a minute.” The bartender called back, busying himself with the plate of cocktails he seemed to be making for the gaggle of sorority girls off to Matt's left.

Matt nodded politely, leaning his weight against the sturdy wood planks of the bar. The air around him shifted as the scantily-clad girls split off towards an open table, one staying behind to bring the drinks. The hair on his neck prickled as her attention turned toward him. He couldn't help but smile as he felt her heart rate speed up, her limbs flooding with renewed warmth. Stepping closer to him cautiously, her hair rustled as she tucked it behind her ear.

“Matthew Murdock, right?” She asked, taking a seat on the stool next to Matt's hip.

“Who wants to know?” He asked with a cocky grin, tilting his head at her.

She giggled in response, her chin tipping towards her chest for a moment before she held out a clammy hand. “Shelby Norton. Um, I'm holding out my hand and I now realize you can't see that.”

With a soft laugh of his own, he held out his own hand. “I'm Matt. Nice to meet you, Shelby.” She clasped her small hand around his, shaking once before withdrawing her arm.

“Nice to meet you too. We had Torts together, last semester, I think.”

“Did we? I'm sorry, I'm not great with faces.” He joked, taking a step closer to her when she laughed.

“That's alright. I was always too shy to speak up, but I loved your comments on the cases we read. Especially when we discussed MacPherson.”

Matt felt his ego glow with pride. She'd clearly had her eyes on him for some time then. A slight blush crept up his neck and across his cheeks. “You're too sweet, thank you. Did your friends also force you to buy them a round?"

"Uh sort of," She snorted, twisting her hands around each other. "I'm trying to rush a sorority next month so a friend of mine invited me out to 'get to know' some of the girls. They told me freshmen had to pay."

"Mmm that's a shit deal." Matt sympathized, pouting a bit to express his distaste of the hazing. "I could split the cost with you, if it would help."

"Oh you don't have to do that!" Shelby protested, but Matt held up a hand and plastered on his most convincing smile.

"Well, how else would I be able to buy you a drink?" He slid the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip as she giggled in response. His heart was strumming in tandem with hers, arousal growing as he picked up the scent of hers being carried on the stale bar air. Slipping a bill from the stack on his pocket, he pressed them into her palm.

“That's really sweet of you, Matt. How can I repay you?" Shelby chuckled sweetly, perching on the edge of her seat as she traced his forearm with a single finger. As she drew a line over his skin, goosebumps rose in the wake of her touch. She didn’t have long nails, he realized when he could feel the warmth from the pad of her finger when she touched him. He could hear her heart beating just a tiny bit faster at the contact, making him smile minutely. Eager. He didn’t mind it.

“Do you always proposition people when they offer you drinks?” He teased, “If so, what would a beer get me?”

He heard the soft sound of her lips separating as she smiled at his joke, leaning in to brush her lips across the shell of his ear before she whispered breathily. “Forget the beer.” With that same finger that had run the length of his lower arm she turned his chin just a bit to better align their mouths, pecking him gently on the lips to test the waters.

He took the bait, molding his mouth to hers with a soft sigh, near-empty beer bottle forgotten- somewhere? He didn’t care enough to worry where he’d left it, prepared to lose himself in the warm body currently wrapping a toned leg around his calf.

“Is your roommate here with you?” Shelby murmured against his mouth, stroking her other hand down the front of his threadbare shirt to the button on his worn-out jeans.

“He’s not coming back later.” He reassured her, winding fingers through her hair to the back of her neck. “Something tells me he got lucky.”

“Not as lucky as you’re about to be.” She cooed, nipping lightly at his jawline.

“What about the group you came with? Won’t they miss you?” Matt asked, a bit breathlessly.

“Let them.” Shelby answered, tangling her fingers with his and tugging him towards the open door at the back of the bar.

"That was so good babe," Everett groaned, setting his fork down with a clink.

“It's boxed macaroni, don’t get too ahead of yourself.” You chided, laughing lightly as you plopped the cardboard container on top of the teetering stack of empty beer cans in the recycling bin. “Okay what are we watching?”

“I’m still kinda hungry.” Everett confessed with a knowing smirk, leaning towards you across the small couch as you took your seat.

“You want me to put another pot on?” You asked, moving to stand again to make more macaroni.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” He growled, tugging you into his lap with one quick movement. Yelping in surprise, the sound quickly morphed into a pleased hum as his lips landed on yours.

“Ah, I see. This was your plan all along.” You murmured between heated pecks. “Praise my work in the kitchen so I'd take you to the bedroom.”

“This is a studio apartment, babe. This is the bedroom.” Everett noted, jerking his head towards the full bed in the other corner of the room. Sliding a large palm between your shoulder blades, he held you steady as you arched into his touch, smashing your lips to his again. His free hand roamed over your body, sliding over your thigh before gripping it gently. As his thumb continued to swipe from side to side, you sighed appreciatively, rocking your hips into his in response.

“So worked up already?” He laughed, bringing his mouth to your jawline and pressing a line of open-mouthed kisses towards your pulse point. “Slow down, babe. We've got all the time in the world.”

Anticipation fading slightly, you nodded, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Sorry.” You tried to push away the feeling of being scolded, especially with Ev’s hands being where they were. You wanted to enjoy this as much as he always seemed to.

Smiling with a small chuckle, Everett didn't answer, simply locking his lips with yours again.

Cupping her neck gently, Matt rested his forehead against hers—breaking their lips to allow her to come up for air.

“You doin' ok?” He panted, heat flaring in his gut as her soft hands continued to draw patterns over the skin of his waist despite his interruption.

Nodding against him, she gulped in a breath. “Oh yah.”

Smiling hungrily, Matt pulled her back to him once more. “Glad to hear it, beautiful.”

Touching his lips to hers once again, Matt relished in the feeling of her body responding to his; a simple kiss throwing her off balance enough that he was practically keeping her upright. Swiping his tongue over her bottom lip, he grinned into the kiss when she moaned in response.

Stumbling backwards until his calves touched his mattress, he planted himself on it, lifting her onto his lap without breaking the kiss. Her arms released his hips, flattening on the bed as she pressed her chest into his. Following her lead, Matt collapsed against the stack of pillows, threading his hand into her soft hair.

Unlatching her mouth from his, she grinned against his lips, taking a moment to catch her breath. “Sorry, I got winded.”

Chuckling, Matt rubbed his thumb over her scalp comfortingly. “That's alright. Take your time, sweetheart.”

Her rounded nails dragged down his chest as she admired him for a moment. “Wanna take this off?”

“Happy to.” Matt pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor as she did the same with hers.

Straightening his posture as the brisk air pummeled his exposed chest, Matt felt a smug grin creep onto his face as her heart rate spiked, her eyes trailing down toward the button of his jeans. “Like what you see?” He teased, trailing a finger over her arm and towards her jawline.

“Mmhmm.” She nearly whimpered, digging her fingers into his biceps as she dove into him for another heated kiss. “You're gorgeous, Matt.”

He chuckled into her mouth, tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth as he cupped one of her covered breasts. “Can I take this off?”

“Please.” She whined, fumbling with the button of his pants.

Tightening one fist around the bottom of the headboard, you rutted your hips further onto the head of Ev’s cock, hissing with pleasure as it stretched your cunt. He continued to slam his dick into you, the slow, delicate rhythm quickly boring your libido. The orgasm you craved began floating further and further from your desperate reach.

Moaning his name, you cupped his ass with your free hand, shoving his hips closer to your own. The twinge of wonderful pain made your vision flicker, and your optimism returned--only to be quickly snuffed out when the building hazy sensation receded once again.

“Fuck!” You cried out, gritting your teeth in frustration as the shaft of your boyfriend's cock pumped in and out of you. Digging your nails into his flesh, you dropped your hand from the headboard, trailing it over your stomach before running a finger over your own clit.

Your hips bucked with pleasure, a moan slipping through your parted lips.

“You close, sweetie?” Everett asked, between pants.

“Yah,” You nodded, drawing circles over your sensitive bud and grinning as orgasm once again descended upon you. Your pulse jumped, blood rushing from your heart towards your slick thighs. Pleasure began to crest over you, it's fantastic cloud slowly wafting up and—

With a ferocious movement, Everett slammed his cock into you, knocking your head into the bed frame with the force. Great. Bubble popped, you traced circles over your clit with renewed urgency as Everett began to moan.

Sliding his tongue back into her, Matt smiled against her entrance as Shelby arched her spine with a moan. Gripping her shuddering thighs with vigor, he pulled back, perching over her with a smirk. Her arousal clung to his nose and stubbled chin. Letting his hand drift back down to her thighs, he traced delicate swirls up and down them as she caught her breath.

“Fuck, Matt. That was—”

“Good?” He asked loftily, as if he couldn't read her body like a braille essay.

She chuckled, grabbing his neck and yanking him down for a kiss. Her tongue slid into his mouth readily, mixing the taste of stale alcohol with the arousal coating his tongue. Shifting one knee in between her legs, he hummed happily as she began grinding her hips over his leg.

Nudging her face with his own, he licked a stripe over her neck, kissing the tender skin there before sinking his teeth in carefully.

“Matt!” Shelby cried, hands grappling for his waist as he continued to bruise her neck.

Cupping one of her breasts in his hand, he circled her nipple with his thumb before dragging his fingertip over the stiff bud as she bucked her hips with a whimper. His stiff cock stretched the fabric of his boxers as the noises continued to fall from her lips without pause. Ridding himself of his final piece of clothing, he traced a finger through her dripping folds.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Matt, please!” She begged, heart pounding in her chest as she chased another orgasm. 

Readying his cock in front of her entrance, he slowly lowered his hips until the head was inside of her, giving her a moment to adjust to the stretch. Gasping in a breath, her hands—still grasping his waist—contracted, hauling him closer to her.

Smiling wildly, Matt rutted forward, groaning in pleasure as her walls squeezed his dick. She was quivering beneath him, whining his name as climax rapidly approached.  

“Oh fuck, yes. Yes!” Everett growled. 

He was close. And if you were planning on not faking your own climax, you needed to speed this process up.

Wetting your lips, you let your mind flood with images of Everett kissing you, marking your neck with his perfect teeth, tugging your hair—things he hadn't done since the first month or so of your relationship. The way droplets of sweat would creep down his torso after he worked out. The way he kissed you after you got an answer right in a tutoring session. Clasping your neck in his large palm as if you were the most precious thing in the world. Because you were. You were his girl.

Whimpering as your body leaned into the growing thrill, you bit your lip to keep from screaming as a voice echoed in your mind.

“That's it sweetheart, just like that. So good for me.” The familiar rumble was delectable, drawing you in like a moth to the flame. You moaned softly, keening upwards with desire. The voice hanging over you chuckled smugly. “You like when I praise you, hm?”

“Yes,” You responded, letting your eyes fly open as orgasm finally reached you. Hovering above you, was the source of the voice. Blank hazel eyes, customary devilish smirk, gorgeous dark hair—all staring back at you as you shook with orgasm.

Not Everett. 

Matt.

His low voice looped in your ears as you rode out your high. “So good for me, sweetheart. So good.” 

Letting your eyes flutter shut with a massive exhale, you sagged against the mattress as the muscular body on top of you went rigid. A different voice—Everett's voice—groaning with delight as he came. “Fuck, that's it! Yes, yes, yes!”

Opening your eyes again, your brain went blank. All you could do was lay there and heave in breaths, your body still sparking with the remnants of an electric climax. Everett planted a sloppy kiss on your mouth, collapsing against the mattress beside you.

“Damn, babe. Talk about an ego boost. I don't think I've ever heard you make sounds like that.”

Chuckling nervously, you tipped your head to grant him access as he pressed his rough lips against your pulse point. “Yah, yah it was good.”

Snorting, Everett tucked you against his side, your sweaty skin pulling slightly as it dragged against his. “That might've been the best I've ever had, seriously.”

“Yah, me too.” You murmured, reality and dread settling in your chest like dead weight.

Taglist: @eugene-emt-roe @abbyhaslongshorts @mrs-bellingham @abucketofweird @yeonalie @jadeunstablexx @spider-murdock @0ctober-writes @danzer8705 @mattmurdockstateofmind @supervoldejaygent @dorothleah @zomtart @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @rev-glut @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002 @blue-devil-of-the-lord @pigeonmama @daisy-arien0 @yarrystyleeza

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Request??? Plsss

Pony makes a new friend with the reader and they instantly click and Pony knows the readers home life isn't great so he tells her their door is always open if she needs to get away. She takes him up on that offer but uses the window and climbs into pony's room during the night and crawls into his bed (they are very platonic touch happy people) she cuddles him trying to stop her tears but it's not actually Pony but is Soda?

Summary: Late at night, on a whim, you decide to seek out your bestfriend Pony for comfort, however the person comforting you isn't Pony but his brother.

Warnings: mentions of bad home life, mentions of vomiting

Author's Note: none

You and Pony had been such an inseperable pair since the day you first met. He was your best friend, and you were his. Your friendship was genuine and beautiful. He promised that when he grew up and saved up enough money, he'd take you away from Tulsa, from your family, anything that weighed you down and bring you somewhere carefree. Your care for each other blossomed like ivy, infectiously climbing at every wall, even if the results were anything but an infection.

But still, despite the golden sun that shone before you, there was still a grating darkness that followed you like a shadow. Something that peeled away at your layers of calluses, skin, and eventually stripping you until you were just a pile of bones. Your life at home made you feel vulnerable, constantly fighting for something you could never have. Everything around you seemed to be sucked into the vortex of your family, the one relationship that you should treasure like a special gemstone.

Pony was there, every time, like a savior, a drop of water in the desert.

"I'll always be there for you," He once offered, his hand outstretched to yours. The hand of Mitus which was said to turn things into gold, had truly nothing on the feeling that enveloped you as Pony clasped your hand into his, turning your tears into gold as it reflected the sunset which matched the movie-like scenario.

But, you couldn't stay away from your house forever. They called you often when you were out, feigning worry, as if they wouldn't bury you in a cardboard box if you passed. Several times, the police would turn up at your location, insisting that your mother was worried that you needed to get home. The drive to your 'home' in the back of a cop car always leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You truly felt like a fugitive.

Often, you took to sneaking out of your house, desperately clawing at the walls that kept you in, jumping over the garden walls to taste freedom, even when it was pitch black.

Today was no different, except the moon was full, spilling silver across the streets of Tulsa, like jewlery being melted under severe heat. You felt the hair rise on the back of your neck but bravely pressed on. The streetlights flickered, but it did not frighten you, the low hum of the lights making you almost drowsy as you trekked to Pony's house.

"If you ever need to find me, just come to my window," The fleeting converation crossed your mind. It was the day before you collapsed from the mental exhaustion of your family. The day before... today. The sheer thought of being back in that moment brought tears to your eyes. Your mind overflows with grief as you thrust your head into the bend of your elbow, drying your tears with little grace. Your legs felt like lead by the time you arrived. There was one light on, right in the living room. You could hear the nonsense chatter of the television, a luxury you could only indulge in once and a while. You yearned to peep through the window and see what they were watching, but you slipped around the corner under Ponyboy's window.

Usually, at this time, he would be in bed. You replayed possible situations that could happen when you enter through the window, a habit you'd taken to after having such irreversible trauma bestowed onto you. You clung to the idea of just climbing through, finding Pony half-asleep, and letting him hold you while you cry. You grit your teeth as you stepped back, trying to find a way up the window. It wasn't too tall, but the wood foundation that raised the house up by a meter or so made it impossible for you to just jump and pull yourself up due to your weak state.

Slowly, you fixated your thoughts on an overturned plant pot, pulling it towards the window. You jumped from the pot to the sill, like an agile cat, and pushed the curtains over. You slipped into the room. It was dark with the curtain open and darker with it closed. You felt your way around the room until your foot hit the mattress on the floor. You could faintly make out the line of a person, Ponyboy. You nearly sobbed at the familiar sight of your best friend. The steady breathing of his slumber calming your racing heart. You nudged him away.

"Pony?" You asked, listening for the faint sound of his acknowledgment. It came in a hummed sound akin to a 'Hm?' You scooted closer, wrapping your arms around him, daring the tears not to fall.

"I'm sorry to bother you." Your speech was mangled with sobs and hiccups, "You said I could come when I needed to," you croaked. His hand wrapped around the to the small of your back. Something pricked the back of your mind. Something that bloomed into fear, making goosebumps form over your arms. The realization floated to you like a paper boat on water.

This wasn't Pony.

Just like that, the light flicked on, golden beams hurting your eyes until you squinted. You were face to face and arm in arm with Sodapop, Pony's brother.

You could've smacked yourself for being so dumb. His hand was too large to be Pony's. And his mannerisms, Pony held you tightly even when tired, Soda's hand was losely wrapped around you. You felt genuine embarrassment bubble in your stomach and you had to stop yourself from vomiting.

"I'm sorry, do you want me to get Ponyboy for you?" His arm retracted to his chest, like he was pulling into himself as if he was scared of you, or of hurting you.

You had always taken Sodapop for a no-nonsense guy, it probably was because of your lack of interactions but there was little you knew about him. He was laying on his side, face slightly pinched together because of the bright light but you felt perhaps a connection to him. Possibly because you were so close with his brother but maybe for a different reason too.

"Oh, no. I'm sorry. I can leave." You said, drawing your hands that were also loosely draped around him back. His eyes flicked to your red puffy eyes and he shook his head.

"Uhm, you can stay here for a little while," he said, "or whenever you want to leave," he rushed to fix his mistake. You stared at him, starry eyed and happy.

"Thank you," You whispered, he reached for the light switching it off and closed the curtain, before dropping his head back onto his pillow listlessly, dead asleep.

You, however, didn't sleep. You stared at the ceiling even if it was pitch black. You bit your knuckle to stop your wide smile in case Soda could still see you before cozying yourself up into the mattress.

[onsunnyside]

ok so i've been trying to come up with a mafia trope for this ask by the bestie @bimbofawn: now this isn't a full-blown mob fic, but it has a few elements

The Camerons have all the wealth, influence and success anyone can dream of. They come from a long lineage of fame and riches, now running the parent company of many subsidiaries with power all across the country. It's no surprise they're involved in a few shady businesses, yet it's all kept tightly under wraps.

As the heir to a vast dynasty, Rafe grew up under a lot of pressure to be the best in what he does, and his ego is proof of that. He's in the tabloids, the ivy league graduate by day and the wild bachelor by night, landing himself in more scandals than ass-kissing articles.

The Camerons are known for their prestige and (heavily manufactured) picture-perfect image. So Rafe's sleazy, immature behaviour just won't do. Although he's doing good with the shady side of the family business (bc ofc he's into violence and drug trafficking/manufacturing), he needs to do better with the public side. To give his son a motive for cleaning up his act, he gives him an ultimatum: lose it all and get disowned or settle down.

Now, he has a few months to find someone, but his ego won't let him settle for just anyone. The headlines aren't any comfort either: Pleasure Over Business: Is Rafe Cameron responsible for the fall of the Cameron dynasty?

This is very off-to-the-races coded: you drift into his sector on his friend's arm one night. He shrugs you off, expecting there to be a different girl the next time they go to the clubs (because there always is) but nope, you show up again and again.

It’s hard for him to ignore someone so kindhearted and naturally alluring. He can’t look away from you sipping on the straw, your calm gaze locked on his, making him stumble over his words like a teenager with a crush. He dreams of you every time he falls asleep, your pretty face burned on the inside of his eyelids as if you belonged there.

But one night his friend shows up with a different girl.

"Her rates got too high, and my folks were getting suspicious so I had to let her go, unfortunately." He exhales, his arm around the other woman kissing up his neck.

Now, did he predict you were an escort? Not at all. It catches him off guard and he almost spits up his drink. "You paid her to date you?"

Topper glares, "you don't have to say it like that. We did more than just make appearances together if that's what you're asking. All consensual, of course, but you do have to pay extra for private um... sessions."

me senses... a sugar-baby proposition: "I'll take care of everything, all expenses, your rent, and an allowance on top of that. Anything you want you can have."

You're still apprehensive, you've taken clients who've heard of you from word of mouth before, but this was new. They were best friends who routinely saw each other, you'd hate to stir the pot. "Won't it be weird?"

"You with Top was just business and so is what I'm offering." Perhaps that was a little white lie, but you didn't need to know that. "No harm, no foul. In my hands, you could live better than this."

"I like my home." You mutter, hugging a pillow to your chest, it was one of the many mismatched cushions that littered your old couch. "I worked hard to get it this way."

He nudges the wobbly table by the door, the picture frames rattling on the surface. "For thousands of dollars a night, I would've expected some sense of luxury, or a stove with actual knobs." He says and quirks a brow, "where'd all that money go?"

"Oh... I had to give my boss his cut."

"How much is that?"

"80 percent." You admit, ducking away when Rafe frowns, "I know, I know... It wasn't my fault, my daddy—" Your voice cracks, "My daddy got involved with a bad man after he gambled away all our savings and my college fund. And he still couldn't stop after my mama left. I had to—I had to help somehow."

You still remember returning from campus to see him bruised and battered on the living room floor, crying for your mother who was halfway across the world, now a happily divorced woman. The memory brings tears to your eyes and they stream down your cheeks.

Rafe bites his tongue, rethinking his decision to show up here in the first place. Your unlucky life only made you more perfect, and as terrible as it sounded, he knows he won't find anyone more fitting for his circumstances.

He refused to leave until you agreed.

"What's his name?"

You don't hear him over your sniffles and rub your nose into your pillow, "huh?"

He crouches by your feet, placing a hand on your thigh. "What's the big bad man's name, sweetie?"

"Why—Why are you asking..."

The blue in his eyes seems darker, but it could just be the dim lightbulbs you haven’t changed yet. He blinks up at you with thick lashes, a slow smile crawling onto his face.

"I'm going to prove to you that when you're with me, you've got nothing to worry about."

And the next night, he shows up at your door with a fresh bouquet of flowers and bruised knuckles. You don’t get one word out before drops a heavy duffel bag on the floor, “here’s the money you deserve for your work, and extra for your troubles.”

You glance at the bag and then his face, your toothbrush hanging out of your mouth. “What—What did you do?”

He smiles, cocking his head to the side. “Nothing you have to worry about, sweetheart.” He says, wiping toothpaste from the corner of your lip. “Now, are you going to invite me in?”

Rafe is very possessive, he doesn’t care that you dated/slept with his friend because you belong to him now. He buys you a gold necklace with his initial on it, parades you around the city for all the nosy paps to see, and brings you home to meet his family. And yes, you do get the gold seal of approval from his father.

well this is just a mash-up of different tropes 🫡 fake relationship, sugar daddy and mob, with rafe's signature "you're mine" mindset. me has a few slutty and soft ideas for this au too hehe

[ivystoryweaver]

🍂Fall Fluff Ficlets🍁

Fall Fluff Ficlets Masterlist

We got Angstember 😭 💔 We got Kinktober 🍑 🍆

How about some fluff? 💖 ✨

It’s not a challenge, it’s an Autumn gift from me to you 🎁

Step 1: Pick a cozy fall prompt

☕️ Food 🥧 🍩

- coffee - tea - cider - pie - donuts - soup/stew -

🎡 Activities 🥾 🍎

- hay ride - carnival - haunted house - apple orchard/picking - baking - trickORtreating - corn maze - hiking/nature bathing - playing/jumping in leaves - swinging on a rope or porch swing - horseback riding - pumpkin carving/pumpkin patch - cozy fire - read a book - tailgate party/sporting event -

🧡 Romance 💫 🖤

- first kiss - forehead kiss - kiss on cheek - hug - holding each other - rocking back and forth - holding hands - falling asleep together - head on shoulder - cuddles - first date - first ‘i love you’ - new love - established love - gaze into eyes - nuzzling neck - rubbing noses - touching foreheads - caressing cheek/touching face - holding nape of neck - grasping shoulders gently - grabbing by the hips - stare across the room/field - hear them talking about you

(Same list of prompts to save or share)

Step 2: Pick a Character:

All spots are taken! 🖤🧡

Step 3:

Send me an ✨ask✨ with the prompt and character you want. Please send 2 characters, in your order of preference, in case your first choice is already taken.

Step 4:

I will update this list every time I get an ask, so you know who’s still available.

Step 5:

I will write you thots, blurbs, headcanons or a ficlet (<1000 words). I plan to have them all done by US Thanksgiving Day (Nov. 28).

That's it! First come, first served! There will be 6 total stories. Spots are FULL, but I might be able to squeeze in more.

Yes, I do take platonic requests!

xoxo

Ivy

🍁🖤🍂🧡🍁🖤🍂🧡🍁🖤🍂🧡

Events Masterlist || Main Masterlist

[finkinthisfrew]

Teacher's Pet

cw: 18+, teacher/student, slow burn, pining, public arousal

JSYK: this is a Matty x reader, but I personally dislike seeing Y/N in a story (I feel like it takes me out of it) so that’s why you get a new name lol sorry if you hate it

You: Hazel Thompson, a timid and unexperienced 26-year-old Masters Student Him: Matty Healy, an intimidating and authoritative 30-year-old Professor at an Ivy League

It’s fall- your favourite time of year. The leaves are just beginning to turn as you quicken your pace, walking across campus. It’s your first day at the university- you’re starting your master's, something you’ve wanted to do for years and finally saved up the money to do. You feel a bit out of place, several years older than most of the freshly out of high school students who run around you, anxious to start the next chapter of their lives. But you find it charming nonetheless, now smiling at a duo of giggling girls with their arms linked that pass as you tighten your scarf around your neck, bracing yourself against the chilly fall air. You climb the steps of the charming old brick building towards your last class of the day, eager to get home and start on your already giant pile of homework.

You double-check that you’re at the right lecture hall before entering behind a very slow-moving group of fellow students, wondering why they’re dawdling by the door so much. You scan the large room as you inch your way in before freezing in the doorway, spotting the reason for the traffic jam. Leaning over the teacher's desk is a breathtakingly handsome man. His hair is gelled back, though a few curls, perfect ringlets, have escaped, effortlessly beautiful where they hang across his forehead. His brows are furrowed in focus as he rifles through the papers on the lecturer's desk, his absent-mindedly pursed lips more perfect than any marble statue you’d ever seen. He’s wearing a collared button-up shirt and tie with a speckled wool knit v-neck sweater the colour of coffee pulled overtop. It fits him a little too well, you realize as you notice how the sleeves cling to his muscled arms. His dark grey slacks are also perfectly fitted, hanging over Doc Marten oxfords which peek out from beneath. A single tiny silver hoop hangs from his ear. It takes a moment for you to register that this man isn’t a student, but your Professor. You question yourself for a moment. He’s too young, too stylish, and far too handsome to be a Professor at such a prestigious institution, but your hunch is confirmed when he looks up from where he’s bent over his desk at the group of you gawking at him from the doorway.

“Class is about to start if you wouldn’t mind finding your seats,” he says to you all with raised eyebrows, his tone stern. His dark eyes casually survey the group of students as they finally begin to move into the classroom. His eyes pass over you, then flicker back for a split-second. At least... you think they did. He’s already back to looking at the papers he has scattered across his desk, his face focused and otherwise dull of emotion when you shake the thought from your head and step into the classroom.

You sit down in the second row of the medium-sized lecture hall, not wanting to seem too keen, but quickly realize that the second row might as well be the first- the majority of your peers sitting in the back of the hall. You feel relieved when you hear someone shuffling behind you. You glance back to see another girl sit down behind you, her eyes glued to the front. At least you’re not the only one captivated by him. You turn back in your seat and begin to write the title of the class and the date at the top of your spiral notebook in preparation for taking notes when you hear her speak suddenly.

“He’s so fit, isn’t he?” She whispers loudly. You glance over your shoulder, unsure of whether the girl is speaking to you, but it’s clear as day she is- leaning forward on her knees, her chin cupped in her hand as she ogles the professor blatantly. “My friend warned me about him- he’s so gorgeous. Christ, what I would do to…”

“If you’d like to save any comments or observations on me and my teaching until after the class, that would be greatly appreciated,” the Professor says without looking up, making you both jump.

“She also told me he’s a hard ass…” she mumbles in your ear under her breath before leaning back into her seat. You can’t help but giggle at her comment. Unfortunately, this time, the professor looks up from his desk.

“You two aren’t going to cause me any trouble this semester, are you?” His question is directed at both of you, but his eyes are locked onto yours. His face is serious, an eyebrow cocked in question, and you can’t help but look away, too intimidated by his gaze. You feel a surge of heat course through you, displaying itself obviously on your cheeks. 

You shake your head, and that seems to be enough for the Professor, who stands up and turns to the blackboard behind him. 

“My name is Professor Healy…” he says as he writes his name on the chalkboard in big letters before launching into the lesson. 

You find yourself transfixed by him- his voice, his looks, his commentary. He’s insufferably intimidating, yet palpably gifted at teaching- the way he speaks keeping everyone in the room hanging on his every word up until the last 15 minutes of class when he tells everyone to spend the rest of the time reviewing the curriculum and reading lists for the semester. 

“I know this will be a very busy semester for all of you with very little time for much more than study and homework. Most teachers are not understanding of that, but I like for there to be mutual respect in my classroom. I allot extra time in all of my lessons for you to finalize your lesson notes, begin mapping out your assignments, and ask any questions you may have…” Professor Healy says as his eyes scan the room. You’re practically shaking in your seat as you wait for your inevitable turn with his gaze. “But this is a two-way street. If you are late, disruptive, or don’t hand in your work on time, I will assume you are not taking this class seriously, and you will be disciplined.” His eyes land on yours as he says the word ‘disciplined’ and you feel your cheeks flush as his words knock the air out of you. He pauses his speech for a moment, though it feels like a century as his dark eyes pierce through your soul, tickling something deep within your core. You suddenly become very aware of the wetness growing in your pants. You’re left in a hazy daze when he finally looks away.

“Is that understood?” He asks the class.

“Yes, Professor,” you say immediately, much louder than the mumbled “yes” and “yup” answers a few people gave, most people opting for silent nods. His eyes return to yours for the briefest of moments, something hidden behind them as he cocks his head ever so slightly to the side, but his eyes are gone before you can identify it.

As Professor Healy leaves you to your work, everyone turns to their papers, but you're still glued to him as he turns around, walking back towards his desk. You watch as he pulls off his sweater, another curl escaping the grip of his hair product as he does. 

Damn those fucking curls. 

He turns to hang his sweater over his chair and you can’t help but stare at his ass, perfectly perk in his tailored slacks. Before you can shake yourself from the thought of what it might feel like to explore its curve with your fingers, he turns and begins to unbutton the sleeve of his shirt before rolling it up to reveal several tattoos on his veiny forearm.

Fuck.

You force your eyes back to the curriculum sheet that had been passed around at the beginning of class, but find yourself unable to read the words. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to focus yourself, but the image of your Professor is burned into the inside of your eyelids.

“Alright, class, you're dismissed. I'll see you all on Friday,” Professor Healy says 15 minutes later. You stand, but before you can begin to gather your things, he looks over at you. “You two,” he says, looking at you and the girl behind you, “if you could stay behind for a few minutes, I’d like to speak to you both in private.” His tone gives nothing away, making you almost more terrified than if he’d given away the purpose of the conversation. 

You nod before shoving your notebooks into your bag and turn to approach his desk as the girl behind you joins. You stand silently and watch as Professor Healy neatly stacks his lesson plans, calmly placing them into his briefcase as the last few students file out of the classroom. Finally, he looks up at you both.

“What are your names?” He asks.

“Rebecca Schwartz,” the girl next to you says.

“Hazel Thompson… sir…” you tag on at the end, the ‘sir’ feeling necessary in this moment. You think you imagine his eyes brighten slightly in amusement at the extra word. He nods curtly in understanding. 

“This schools code of conduct requires that student-teacher relationships be founded on trust,” he begins, his dark, strong gaze towering over you. “Trust that we will treat each other professionally, with dignity and respect. I believe objectification does not bode well for that type of relationship, would you agree?” 

You nod, too terrified to speak as Rebecca says, “Yes, sir.” 

Professor Healy nods curtly once again at Rebecca before turning to you with raised eyebrows, obviously dissatisfied with your lack of words. 

“Yes, Professor,” you quickly sputter out. 

He looks at you from under thick dark lashes, the brown of his eyes darkening even more as he speaks. 

“Good girl,” he says softly.

Your eyes flutter softly at the praise, and you feel a swell of heat grow down south as his heavy-lidded eyes burn a hole through your soul. The silence in the room is deafening, the burning sensation of need between your legs becoming harder to ignore with every passing second. Just before you feel like you’re about to pass out from the tension, he dismisses you both. 

“Good afternoon, ladies. Miss Schwartz,” he says as he tips his chin to Rebecca in farewell who's already scrambling out the door like a spooked puppy, leaving you alone together. 

You turn before he can do any more damage with his gaze, walking shakily back to your seat to grab your bag. But you can feel his eyes burning a hole in your back. You find yourself wishing you’d worn something a bit more revealing, or at least done your hair- done something to impress him- then kick yourself, realizing you were doing the very thing he’d just scolded you about. You want to turn around and protest, point out that you didn’t say anything, that you weren’t the one objectifying him, that it was all Rebecca. But… you know that that’s not true. That you might as well have said it all out loud with how blatantly you stared at him. How you wondered if his ass felt as firm as it looked in those pants. How you could practically feel the softness of his curls under your fingers, the tenderness of those gorgeous pink lips against your skin-

“I would have thought you’d stand up for yourself a bit more, Miss Thompson,” you hear him say suddenly behind you, interrupting your train of thought, “being one of my more senior and experienced students.”

You whip around, bracing yourself for his gaze but find him casually rifling through his suitcase. 

So he did know. He knew all along that you didn’t say anything- that it was all Rebecca. You answer timidly, not wanting to offend him.

“I thought it’d be rude to correct you…” you say sheepishly, your voice almost a whisper. You watch as he raises his eyebrows patronizingly, still not looking at you, shaking his head to himself. It irritates you, his body language condescending, and the fire from earlier suddenly turns to anger. 

“Well I wouldn’t want to come across as disrespectful and lose your trust, Professor,” you say in an exaggerated tone before you can stop yourself, your smile sickly sweet.

Professor Healy looks up at you finally and you’re pleasantly surprised to see him smiling, entertained by your words. 

“If you’re not careful I’ll start to think you’re going for Teacher's Pet, Miss Thompson,” he says smugly. You watch the little fire dance in his eyes before eventually gesturing towards the door, and you walk out together. 

You stop in the doorway and turn to speak, not realizing just how closely he’d been following you. He stops before he can bump into you, and suddenly you’re only a couple inches apart at most, the tension between your bodies almost as intimate as if you were touching. You can’t help yourself. 

“Whatever pleases you, Professor,” you say, looking up at him doe-eyed. You're shocked by your own words. 

You see his jaw slack ever so slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. You watch his eyes cloud, his smug smile disappearing, replaced by his authoritative gaze. He leans down towards your ear, just by a fraction.

“Careful,” he breathes. Then before you can respond, he slips past you, his arm brushing against you as he passes, sending a shock of electricity through you before disappearing.

part 2

[suzukiblu]

Tim

"Oh well this is definitely a problem," Kon says. Robin doesn't say anything, because Robin is currently trying to kiss his whole stupid face off, for some reason.

It's pretty out of character.

So yeah, definitely a problem.

"Poison Ivy?" Impulse guesses, watching curiously as Robin literally climbs Kon what the fuck. Kon is not prepared to be literally fucking climbed right now, or ever. Especially not while getting very thoroughly groped in the process because, like, never underestimate a Bat's capacity for multitasking, Jesus fucking Christ. "Poison Ivy is a Gotham thing, right?"

"Maybe?" Arrowette says doubtfully. "He kind of beelined straight for Superboy the moment he got here, though, and you and Secret were both closer to him. I thought Poison Ivy's stuff was more . . . indiscriminate?"

"Maybe mind control?" Wonder Girl suggests.

"Or a love spell?" Secret puts in.

"Literally any one of you could be saving me right now," Kon mentions as he attempts to escape Robin's very dedicated climbing. Said escape attempt is a resounding failure.

Is this how it feels to be a skyscraper in Gotham, he wonders?

"Just be patient, okay, you're the best option for him to fixate on until we figure this out anyway," Arrowette says dismissively, waving him off.

"In what freaking way?!" Kon demands incredulously, just staring at her. Robin wraps his arms around his neck and nuzzles his throat. Kon tries very, very hard to ignore him, which is also a resounding failure.

"Because Impulse is like four and the rest of us are all girls," Arrowette replies reasonably, because apparently that answer makes sense in her head, somehow? "Anyway, what, like you've never made out with somebody for superhero stuff?"

"I'm two," Kon reminds her.

Arrowette . . . pauses.

"Um," she says.

"Also I'm really not into the idea of kissing somebody who in their right mind wouldn't want me kissing them?" Kon says. "Like. That sucks, when somebody you don't want kissing you kisses you."

". . . um," Arrowette repeats, and now looks just a little bit nauseous. "Okay. Good point. Uh . . . Robin, hey, maybe you could . . . unclimb Superboy, maybe? Just for a sec?"

"I could," Robin agrees, and goes to absolutely no effort to do so.

". . . would you, please?" Arrowette tries.

"No," Robin says, staring at Kon's mouth with clear malicious intent. Kon really hopes he isn't packing any kryptonite today.

"I'm kind of worried about hurting him if we try just prying him off," Wonder Girl says awkwardly, hovering just out of reach of any theoretical Bat-tasers, which is probably wise at this point. "Like he's all . . . you know, normal-strengthed and everything. Not super or wonder-strengthed."

"That would be why I haven't done any prying yet, yeah," Kon says, just eyeing Robin's way too intent expression warily. He is also concerned about Bat-tasers, at this point. And, again: kryptonite. Kryptonite could definitely be a concern right now.

Kon has so many concerns right now.

Are kryptonite tasers a thing?

He really hopes not.

[childlikegoblinqueen]

Pre-Belos Grimwalker Tale Exclusive!

I'm going to post this on AO3 eventually, but this is in response to an ask about eventually exploring the Evoldo's rise to power and the Kingdom of Lovoed/Nommeking where Osran's spirit servant was first sacrificed.

I'm not going to tell anymore of their story (yet), but I wanted to leave this here:

TW: suggestive language, mentions of enslavement and violence, blood, and abuse.

This is a bit more mature than some other stuff, so I am putting it below the veil.

Off to work on Blight of the Living Dead AND some more post SCOM projects.

Root of Evil

The young man took note of his reflection in the mirror outside the old clothing vendor. 

Pale skin. Pale hair. His horns curved back on either side of his head. He looked right. He looked left. Everyone always said they were his finest feature, the way they accented his pointed ears perfectly. 

He drew a spell circle weaving small braids on either side, and with them, tiny springs of lilac flowers and ivy. 

Adjusting his tunic just so, he flicked his tail in satisfaction, and checked the clasp on the green gem he wore dangling from his left ear. The color matched his eyes perfectly.

“I see you are already a witch of taste, sir gardener,” the merchant chuckled, “but I am certain a gentlewitch of your standing would not be wearing your work uniform during the evenings you have not come from work.”

“Ah. You would be surprised,” the young man cleared his throat, “King Alder has made sure that his royal gardeners are held in high regard for our work displaying all the beauty the of the Titan’s flora.”

“Hmmm. My own husband is enamored with the field of firecracker crocuses this time of year.” he nodded.

“Ah!” The young man’s eyes lit up, “That was my first assignment when I got this job! Those fields were pretty enough when I arrived at my post, but the real work in making them that lovely was recognizing where the weeds had set into the flesh beneath the soil.”

“And how would one figure that out?” The shopkeeper scratched his chin.

“Well!” the young man clapped his hands together, “where I was born, my parents taught me how to recognize rash weeds on the Titan’s skin. If you scratch them at just the right place you can relieve all of them and your plants – crocuses especially will give bigger fireballs in the sunset.”

“And this is why the king hires real witches to do this work. To pull up the weeds by the roots that is.” the shopkeeper snapped his fingers, “CLAVI!”

A thin boy, no older than 15 padded out of the shop with a snake measure. 

“Take this gentlewitch’s measurements for one of the new suits.” The shopkeeper ordered. The boy, Clavi worked quickly. Thin cracked hands measured the young man’s chest and lithe shoulders and the space between the middle of his shoulders and his neck. 

Without another word, he disappeared back into the shop to return with a fine deep teal jacket woven with some of the favorite symbols of Lovoed. Stars and swords and snapping snapdragons. A stonesleeper in a muzzle. A basilisk. And galderstones, of course. 

“It’s lovely, truly.” The young man ran a finger over the fabric. He knew he would best save his snails for a day when the rain boiled at its worse, but he’d received a bonus for his last weeks’ work and sent it all to his parents and what harm would it do him to look nice? 

Clavi, smiled slightly from beneath his dark hair. As if he was pleased that the young man admired this garment so much. 

“Did you make this?” he asked the boy. 

“Of course he didn’t!” The merchant stepped in. “I wouldn’t allow its hands on anything in this shop…” he eyed Clavi’s actual hands. Chapped and shaking. Touching the lapel to make sure it sat smooth over the young man’s chest. 

“I mean, to make the item!” The merchant swatted the boy. His ears flicked and he quickly retracted his hands. “The clothing at this shop is 100% made by real witches.” 

“Hmmmm. Is that right?” The young man said steadily. “Real, witches you say?”

Clavi’s shoulders drooped slightly. 

“Oh. don’t expect an answer from him.” The shopkeep laughed. “He had a nasty habit of speaking out of turn when we bought him, so we cut out his tongue.” he leaned in. “Clavi. You and your breed do not sew the items we sell here, do you?”

Clavi raised his tired red eyes to meet the young man’s. Slowly, the boy shook his head. 

“I think that tells me all I need.” The young man slipped out of the jacket. “I thought this was grift avenue! I have to spend my wages carefully, I won’t have any part of my leisure wardrobe be made in a sweatshop full of grimwalker werms.”

“I already told you,” the merchant growled. “that my wares are made by REAL witches. When you say this, what you are truly saying is that there is no fine spider silk from my shop that you would find yourself better dressed in?”

“If you prefer!” The young man snorted. He slid his green eyes over Clavi’s thin body, “but you and I know the truth? Eh?”

“Full of yourself, are you?” The merchant hissed, “you are still just a gardener, you know? Don’t act because you play around in the dirt on the Titan that you are some sort of actual noble! We honest witches are all here to make an honest living! I’ll have you know that Clavi’s ortet was a fine boy with the best embroidery skills and when he was lost in the war, we went through three more attempts to make sure we grew at least one that was up to scratch!”

“You’ll have no luck with this one!” A high pitched voice chuckled. The current head gardener clapped the young man on his shoulder. “His tastes are far beyond what a tourist trap like this could possibly offer!”

The merchant scowled at the newcomers. A band of three more witches, all dressed in the finery that indicated they worked as royal groundskeepers. “Very well, mistress.” he told her. “I suppose none of you – just three steps above scullery maids – would want to wear anything tasteful on your way to the whorehouses full of grimwalker werms?” 

“Ah!” The head gardener laughed. Her three eyes turned up, closed. “You know you may be right there!” she shared a smile with the others, “but our boy here has much more discerning taste than the rest of us!”

“Right.” Chuckled another gardener, “He wouldn‘t lower himself to partake in the fruits of the red eye district.”

“That’s enough.” The young man grumbled.

“Too bad,” the merchant smirked, “You’ll find they are quite compliant to whatever you want. And if not? Well if you pay the house enough, they will make sure the grims comply.”

The young man rolled his green eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I will duck out on tonight’s festivities,” he told the head gardener. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Ha!” one of the gardeners chuckled. “You’ll find clothing isn’t the only thing that this one has a discerning taste in.”

“That’s none of your concern,” the young man smirked. “I’ll take my leave, if its all the same to you, mistress.”

“It’s your evening off!” chuckled another gardener, “You don’t have to ask!”

“Already have plans without your coworkers, sir snob?” the merchant taunted. “I suppose he has some silly paramour who is enamored with his station in the castle?” 

“He’s enamored with some noble. It’s obvious.” The head gardener chuckled, “we just haven’t figured out who he’s playing with just yet. Now.” she turned to the merchant. “I would LOVE to see what you have for a night of leisure. I’ve not spent my snails on a new bodice and set of silk trousers since last the wailing star passed by.”

____________________

The whistling sound wove its way through the air. The young man waited for the answer. It led him to the walls of the old locked garden with ribbons of red. 

When he finally arrived, he drew three spell circles. One to summon stairs up to the top of the walls, one to rebraid his hair around his horns, and another to grow a bouquet of flowers. 

“Cliche isn’t it?” the witch asked as he stepped over the garden wall, stairs crumbling into the ground behind him. “A royal gardener, wooing a princess?”

She smirked and tossed her tight black curls over her dark shoulder. 

“No more cliche than a princess who is in love with her royal gardener,” the young man chuckled. 

“Hmmmm.” she hummed playfully, “who said I’m in love with you?”

The young man felt his entire armor melt immediately. He let his shoulders fall and his tail twitched with interest. “Guess I’ve got to give these flowers to some other witch then?”

“Oh please!” she rolled her eyes, “come on over here.”

They sat for a while, Shoulder to shoulder, saying very little. Watching the stars reflect over the top of the knee high above. 

“Why did you want to meet here?” he asked quietly, “Instead of in town? Or you know… uhhh.?”

“In my room?” the princess’ smile grew playful. “My father is entertaining guests. Traveling oracles from the left palm I think.”

“Your father. King Alder, is entertaining foreigners?” he mocked a choke, “That would imply that he agrees to admit that there's parts of the Titan that do NOT belong to him.” he narrowed his eyes, “What’s his game, Thistle?”

“No clue.” the princess sighed, “But he’s been looking for a royal oracle for years. He must be pretty desperate since this one set up shop in the middle of town. My brother seems pretty taken with the older of the two though.” 

“Your father would never marry off his prize possession to a traveling oracle.” the young man shook his head, “not unless they could bring him a pretty hefty prize.”

“True.” Thistle laughed, “But they can have fun without a marriage contract. Unlike a spare, like myself, The Titan has plans and Calix is meant for great things. I am but a pawn to be married off to some minor cousin of a noblewitch to increase the king’s reserve of galdorstones!”

The young man’s chest went heavy. 

“I didn’t mean…” Thistle shook her head. “I had to fake a headache to get out of the banquet tonight. Calix is all MOONEYED over the older guest like he wants to have a very particular kind of Midnight Conjuring with him.”

“That’s a terrible joke, Thistle.” The young man laughed. 

“Like you haven’t thought of that one for us” Thistle shook her head. Their gazes met. “Anyway, the younger brother gives me the literal creeps. It’s like he’s using his sight to see what’s beneath my skirts.”

“So don’t wear skirts?” The young man raised a brow suggestively. 

“Oh shut up!” Thistle threw her head back. “You know I prefer my market slacks anyway!”

“So.” The young man cleared his throat, “Before the merchant oracle sweeps you off your feet for a cliche tryst, do you think I might be allowed a kiss goodbye?”

“Oh, please.” Thistle smiled. She slipped her hands over his chest, “You know the only ‘cliche tryst’ I’m interested in is ours.”

The young man leaned in. The heat of their lips nearly pressed together, when he felt a weight on his left ear. 

“You know I won’t kiss you,” the princess said, “unless I can look at you as you actually are.” 

The young man nodded slowly. He let her release the concealment stone. 

“Thistle –” he whispered. He could see his bright magenta eyes reflected in her dark gaze. 

She smiled and closed the space with a kiss.

[sta-ccat-o]

Lovely pfp!!! Any mechs hc you like to share??

Thanksies!

I don’t know if any of these hcs are particularly unique to me but i’ll share some of my favorites :)

Jonny was born blond and as he grew his hair kept getting darker. it stopped darkening when he was mechanized.

They only keep scars that are important to the story. I like to think that Jonny has a scar around his neck from being beheaded in gptvtmk and stuff like that.

The mechs do that thing where one of them will tell another a secret and tell them not to tell anyone else and then they’ll tell another person and tell them not to tell anyone else so they all know the secret but they can’t tell each other they know.

Sometimes you’ll just hear clanging from above you on the Aurora. Vents are not as quiet place to crawl through as Nastya likes to think they are.

They all speak a weird language that they sort of made together. It combines a lot of influences from different planets and their home planets.

The inside jokes go fucking crazy. Sometimes a joke making fun of someone will not be said for a couple hundred years or so and the mech being made fun of will finally think they’re clear. Then Ivy will bring it up and they’re forever tormented again.

Tim dissociates a lot, and most of the time he’s just on auto pilot. He tends to need to be reminded to come back in to focus.

Marius is the type of fucker to congratulate someone on news before they’ve announced it to anyone. Like, someone will come out of a depressive episode and not realize it yet. Then he’ll say “I’m glad you’re feeling better” and they’ll be like. Oh. I am feeling better aren’t I?

I have more but I’ll save em for if someone asks again lol

[love-kurdt]

Now That We Don't Talk (byler): 2

word count: 15,023

warnings for this chapter: homophobia, parental disownment, very graphic imagery presented in a nightmare (car crash, blood and dying), underage drinking, sexual content, assault/rape. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short, if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, pls dni.

“Uh… hey. I’m– I’m Will. Byers,” I stuttered out, shoving my hands in the pockets of my khaki pants. Matt blinked back at me for a second, as if he were processing what I was saying over the deafening music. Should I have been a little bit louder?

“H–fuck,” Matt swore, plucking a pair of plastic fangs from his mouth and tossing them somewhere behind him. He cleared his throat and shook his head, his eyes shut tightly. Had I met my awkward match? “I’m so sorry, let me start again,” he smiled, extending a hand out to me. “Hi. Matt Winters, nice to meet you.”

I took his hand, hesitantly shaking it. Of course he had the same initials as Mike. Of fucking course, out of all the people at this party that my friends could’ve introduced me to, he–

“Sorry, I’m not sure how to do this,” Matt confessed, looking a bit flustered. “I, um… I wasn’t really expecting to be, you know, set up with anyone tonight. If you aren’t able to tell, I’m pretty nervous, because you’re really cute, and I’m afraid I’m fucking this all up–”

“No no no, you’re fine! We’re on the same page,” I told him, placing a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. “I’m personally kind of terrible at starting conversations, so… you’re good, I promise. And, um, you’re pretty cute yourself.” And he was. He was lean, and stood at around six feet tall, at my best estimate. He had dark eyes, full lips, an adorable nose, a light stubble across his jaw, and beautiful olive undertones in his skin. 

“Thank you,” Matt said as he shifted back and forth on his feet a few times. He was probably struggling with how to progress the conversation, just like I was. I felt unsure as to if this should’ve been considered a blessing or a curse, because yes, we understood each other, but on the other hand, coming up with new subjects was neither of our strong suits.

“So,” I said with the most serious expression on my face that I could muster, “Come here often?” Matt laughed at that, and the sound of his laughter alone set a thousand butterflies free in my stomach.

He then leaned into my space to respond to my question: “I’m not much of a party person, so, not really. My best friend, Riley, is dating your DM, and they apparently arranged this… thing… a few days ago.” 

“What ‘thing’?” I asked, and cocked an eyebrow.

“Where you and I… you know,” he replied with a light shrug.

I shook my head. “I don’t, actually.”

“Um…” Matt trailed off, and I quickly glanced over his shoulder to see Ivy making out with Hannah against a wall across the room before focusing back on Matt. She clearly wasn’t available to potentially come to my rescue if things went south. I really hoped that “you know” wasn’t code for “have sex.” It wasn’t that I was afraid to have sex per se, or that I didn’t want to; it was just that I wasn’t into the whole idea of one night stands or hookups. If I was going to have sex, I’d want to be in a committed relationship with the guy I was with.

Before either of us could figure out how to salvage this uncomfortable dialogue, a very familiar bass and drum introduction blared out of the PA system stationed in the corner of the living room.

“Oh, thank God, saved by The Cure. I fucking love this song,” Matt sighed loudly in relief at “Just Like Heaven”’s high pitched, organ-esque synth lead. Any doubts or reservations I was having about this man were melting away by the second.

“Really? Same here!” I exclaimed, and Matt nodded.

“Yeah, they’re one of my favorite bands. I saw them live last year, and I was never the same.” He raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck, and I gawked with wide eyes.

“I will forever be jealous of you. Robert Smith’s lyricism is unmatched.”

“You’re so right,” Matt nodded along to the beat, reaching out to hold my hand in his. “And who knows? Maybe we can go to one of their shows someday.” Was this even real? What did I do to deserve this? Did I deserve this? I’d have to stick around to find out.

“Someday. Maybe,” I found myself replying, holding onto Matt’s hand a little tighter. We’d figure out the whole intimacy situation later. In the meantime–

“Wanna… dance? Let’s dance,” Matt said, pulling me by our connected hands into the middle of the crowd of people before I could manage to protest. And claustrophobia be damned, I didn’t feel like I was going to implode. Not when Matt’s hands gripped my waist. Not when my hands slowly moved from his chest, up and around his neck. Not when we swayed back and forth in a slow dance to an upbeat song. Not when our eyes met, and Matt’s nearly black irises got impossibly darker, but in the most comforting way possible. Not when Robert Smith ended his phrase, “I’ll run away with you,” the guitar top line began again, and one of Matt’s hands gently caressed the side of my face before pulling me into a soft kiss.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was kind of worried about it being so soon after meeting him, but… I didn’t hate it. Not at all. I didn’t hate it so much that I pulled him in even closer, swiping the tip of my tongue against the seam of his lips, deepening the kiss. He let me in immediately, and suddenly our tongues were sliding against each other, and oh my God, this was my first time making out with someone, wasn’t it? Was my kissing okay? Was I doing this right? Was I–

And then I felt Matt moan against my mouth, and his grip on my hips tighten, and I knew I had a generally good idea. He ran his hands up my torso and through my hair and it was like I forgot how to breathe. "Just Like Heaven" was still playing, but I could barely hear the lyrics anymore; just mine and Matt’s simultaneous inhales and exhales, the obscene sound our lips were likely making, and our friends’ unanimous screeching in the distance. They’d been watching us, the little shits. They definitely succeeded in their mission, I’d give them that. We pulled away from one another, but not too far, as he leaned his forehead against mine, his thumb brushing my cheekbone.

“I’m not into one night stands or hookups,” I blurted out immediately. I felt heat rise to my face at my brashness. Was I sabotaging my only chance at happiness? I had probably already ruined what we had with my sky-high expectations. But before I could backtrack, Matt merely pecked my lips again with a chuckle.

“That’s perfect. Because neither am I.”

I stared up at him in awe, brushing some hair away from his eyes. “Are you real?”

“Who even is real, nowadays? We’re all just figments of the material plane, if you think about it,” Matt replied, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I rose up onto my tiptoes and kissed him this time. He melted into it instantly, and I felt like I was going to die of pure joy.

“Wanna go somewhere that’s not your place or mine?” he asked once I pulled away. I searched his face for an impending “just kidding,” or a “no homo, bro,” but found nothing of the sort. This was real. Matt Winters liked me, no mind fuckery included.

“Yeah, let’s go,” I said. Matt only grinned as he took my hand in his once again, leading me out of the crowd and out into the crisp October night, laughing the whole way to his car.

“So,” Matt said, leaning his forearms on the surface of the tabletop that separated us. “Will Byers. Tell me ten things about you, go.”

We’d driven around for a few hours, listening to music and ranking our top twenty favorite bands, and it turned out that we had a lot in common. We eventually got hungry and ventured into a twenty-four hour diner. It was about twenty minutes away from campus; a very run-down place with dim lighting and 70s wood paneling, but Matt swore the food there was to die for, so I had to try it for myself. He was very, very right; I would have believed it if someone told me the grilled cheese and tomato soup combo I ordered had been laced with crack.

“Okay,” I nodded, trying to conjure up all of my generic fun facts. “Um… I’m from Hawkins, Indiana… I have a brother named Jonathan who’s four years older than me, and a stepsister named El, but I honestly just refer to her as my sister. I love D&D and I’m part of the club here, I love to read musician biographies, and sometimes the occasional cheesy romance– you know, the ones with the abs on the cover, I’m a freshman painting major, I love to sing, but I’m awful at it–”

“Now I’ve gotta hear that singing voice of yours,” Matt declared.

I shook my head vigorously. “Not a chance.” But then Matt gave me puppy eyes. Damnit.

“...Fine. Maybe after our fifth date.”

“I’m holding you to that, Byers.”

“Anyway…” I felt a smile involuntarily spread across my face. Who even was I? I’d truly believed that I would never be able to smile again after the series of events that went down in August, but here Matt was, making smiling feel so natural. “What number was I on?”

“Six, going on seven.”

“Alright, so I–I’m not much of a drinker, but when I do, it’s usually straight up liquor. Like, shots. If I’m gonna consume alcohol, I’m gonna suffer while doing it. That way, I won’t end up liking it too much. Don’t want to end up like my…” I stopped myself from elaborating further, mentally kicking myself for revealing too much of my life, “…father.”

Matt crossed his arms and slouched back into his seat, seemingly unsurprised. “Your father’s an alcoholic, then?” he asked.

I looked down momentarily at my hands, where my knuckles had gone white while clasping them together for dear life. “Something like that,” I shrugged. “He usually had beer and whiskey, so I steer clear from those, and just do shots of vodka or tequila. I know that’s not any better, but I think that if I were to drink beer or whiskey, I’d feel…” I grimaced at the thought, “more like his son than I’d prefer.”

Matt leaned forward once more and reached out to separate my hands with his own, holding them instead. I glanced down at our intertwined fingers, then back up into Matt’s eyes, and felt my face go ablaze with furious flames. “Gotcha,” he nodded solemnly as he rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand, “I admire you for distancing yourself away from the path to becoming like him. That alone takes an incredible sense of…”

“Of what?” I asked, withdrawing my hands from his in order to take another bite of my grilled cheese.

“Would it be corny if I said ‘Will-power’?” Matt glanced at me sheepishly, and I had to hold in a laugh as I chewed. 

“Incredibly,” I replied. “Although, you’re not the first one who’s said that.”

“Damnit. Who beat me to it?”

“My friend, Dustin,” I smiled at the thought of my friend. I should call him soon, I thought to myself. I miss him. “He’s always had the weirdest names for things.”

“Like what?” Matt asked, and I froze. Like what? Like… Watergate? Demodog? Vecnapocalypse? I couldn’t tell him about any of those things without sounding like a total psychopath or violating the conditions of my NDAs.

I settled on a simple, “... I forgot.”

Matt snapped his fingers, disappointed. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” I nodded in agreement, then lifted my eyes up to his again with a small smirk. “But I know for a fact that I’ll remember something at, like, 1am and call you up to tell you about it.” Matt let out a chuckle at that, and I frowned in confusion.

“Sorry to break it to you, hon…” Matt replied slowly, testing out the new name on his tongue, making me blush, “but it’s 1:32am.”

My eyes widened at that. “No fucking way.”

“Way.”

“We’ve been here for, what,” I checked my watch, just to verify how long we’d been seated in the diner booth, “four and a half hours? And I still barely know anything about you!”

Matt chuckled. “We’ve gotta finish the list of ten things about you, first!”

“Not my fault you keep distracting me.”

I could hear the smile spreading across his face as he said, “I’m distracting, now, am I?”

“You are,” I admitted.

Matt narrowed his eyes and stroked his chin in feigned suspicion. “Interesting.”

“Okay,” I took a deep breath, pushing the conversation forward before I got too flustered and lost my train of thought once again. “So… Hawkins, Jonathan and El, D&D, books, my major, singing, alcohol, my father, Dustin–”

“Dustin doesn’t count,” Matt said.

“He does, too!” I insisted, letting a little bit of my inner child seep through the cracks of my adult persona.

“Fine,” Matt relented with a slight eye roll, “But only because I like you.”

Well, that was very forward of him. It wasn’t too out of pocket, given the fact that I’d literally made out with him not even ten minutes into knowing his name, but listening to a guy openly admitting his romantic feelings for me without any form of hesitation was something I had yet to get used to. I spent years hiding my own feelings, and Mike… fuck Mike. “I like you, too,” I told him, and I felt a sense of… accomplishment? This year’s Moving On Award recipient is… Will Byers, from Mike Wheeler to Matt Winters! Cue the fanfare, confetti, et cetera.

“… And that’s ten.”

“Really?” I shook my head in confusion. “What was ten?”

“That you’re into me.”

“Oh,” I said with a slight eye roll at my own stupidity, “Yeah. I guess that was ten things.”

“And that’s my number one. I like you,” he nudged my foot with his under the table with a smirk, “I have severe ADHD, I had a dog as a kid and named him Swayze— he was a pomeranian. I’m a senior material studies major because I can’t make decisions to save my life. I have a passion for writing and have this dream of writing and illustrating my own stories someday–”

“Woah, me too!” I interrupted, and Matt’s eyes lit up in surprise.

“No way, you write as well?”

How to Explain The Status of Your Co-Writing Relationship with Your Ex-Best Friend Who You Were in Unrequited but Not Actually Unrequited Love With, All Without Mentioning His Name for Dummies would’ve been pretty useful right about now. “Uh… no. I used to work on silly comic books with some of my old friends, but I only illustrated. Someone else did the writing.”

“Cool,” Matt nodded in approval.

“I have no idea what's gonna happen next. But, whatever it is, I... I think we should work together. I think it'll be easier if we're... we're a team. Friends. Best friends.”

“Cool.” 

“Cool.”

“So, uh—” Fuck, I hadn’t even realized I’d spaced out. “That was five, right?” Matt asked me, and I nodded, taking a sip of my Diet Coke. How long did I dissociate for? This hadn’t happened to me in months.

 “My favorite subject back in high school was Home Economics,” he continued. “Frankly, I think the skills taught in that class helped me out in life way more than any trigonometric equation ever could. I smoke grass regularly, but hate cigarettes.” Now I had a valid reason to quit smoking. Not like I should’ve been smoking underage to begin with, but that was besides the point.

“I love virtually anything Stephen King, I’m a coffee connoisseur of sorts since I work at a café, and…” Matt leaned his elbow against the table and rested his head on his palm, deep in thought. “If I were to live anywhere in the world for the rest of my life, it would be Israel.”

I raised a quizzical eyebrow at that. “Why Israel?”

“I have some extended family there, in Tel-Aviv. I went to Jerusalem a few summers back, and… fuck, that city is beautiful. I’ve been there only once, but there’s something about exploring your religious heritage in the place it originated is so surreal.”

“Wait, you’re Jewish, too?”

“Yeah. I actually grew up in an Orthodox home, but my parents were really loose with the religious laws and shit. But when I came out as gay, I guess… all of the rules suddenly mattered. They cut me off, like, seven years ago,” Matt told me, pressing his knuckles into his palm one by one with his thumb. “Which, now that I think about it, I’m not sure if spending the rest of my life in Israel is the most logical idea I’ve ever had–”

“You said you’re a senior, right?” I asked. Matt nodded curtly. I did the mental math, and came to the conclusion that either I was horrible at simple subtraction, or… “You were cut off while you were a freshman in high school?”

“Yup.”

“Wow, I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you. I’m so sorry.”

“Eh, I was better off,” Matt said with a resigned shrug. “I lived with my now-ex, Hayden, for the rest of high school. His parents were so supportive. It made me jealous sometimes. But they ended up being more influential on my life than my own parents had ever been capable of being.” As he spoke, I couldn’t help but let my mind drift to my own mom and dad. The opportunity to disown me was right there in front of them, and yet, they hadn’t thought twice about accepting me when I came out to them. I was glad that Matt at least had Hayden’s parents to lean on. That was, until they broke up. So did that mean that he didn’t have any family at all?

“I kind of don’t want to ask this because it sounds pretty fucking shallow in comparison to what you just told me, but… why’d you two break up?” I asked hesitantly. Matt dismissed my self-consciousness with a wave of his hand.

“You’re totally fine, it’s a valid question. I’m completely okay with sharing, too, if you’re worried about that.” It was like he was in my head. “I didn’t really want to break up with him, honestly. But he insisted that since he was going to Utah for college and I was going to Illinois, long distance wasn’t feasible. I just wanted him to be happy, and for us to end things on a high note, so… I let him go. After I did, though, I was so hesitant to get back into the dating scene. I couldn’t picture myself loving anyone else. He taught me what love was.”

I knew how that felt. I told him so, and he chuckled softly before resting his head on the palm of his hand. “We’re a lot alike, I think,” he said as he glanced up at me, sparkles dancing in the umber shade of his irises. “Aren’t we?” Damn, Matt knew how to make a man swoon. I was falling harder for him by the second, and I wasn’t in any kind of rush to slow down.

“I’d say so, yeah.”

“Good, I’m glad you agree,” Matt said. “Because for the first time in a long time, I can see further than a few days into my future.”

The rest of the night went by faster than either of us could believe. Once the sun had begun to rise, we’d left the diner and headed back into the city. Matt insisted on kissing me at every red light. For years, I’d held onto the belief that I wasn’t worthy of romantically-charged physical contact, yet here Matt was, openly willing to give it to me. So I happily obliged, because what the hell, I hadn’t received affection like this in my whole life.

Matt drove us to McKinley Park, and we walked around hand in hand for a little bit longer until both of us were yawning in the middle of every other sentence. We found a nearby bench and I checked my watch, and saw 08:43 flashing back at me. I turned to look at Matt, who was stifling yet another yawn, and I couldn’t help but giggle at the complete lunacy that was this twelve hour date.

“The exhaustion has finally caught up with us, huh?” I teased.

Matt exhaled, leaning his head against my shoulder. “Yeah…”

“I don’t want this to end, though,” I admitted.

Matt hummed into my tee shirt in with assent before muttering, “What if it didn’t have to?”

I shrugged, causing Matt to lift his head back up so our eyes could meet. “I don’t know what you’re alluding to,” I began, “but I’m still not sleeping with you–”

“I never said anything about that–”

“...Yet.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, but I was planning on simply sleeping.” Matt smirked, continuing on with the comedic bit, despite my confession of being open to having sex with him in the future. “As in, a synonym of slumber, snoozing, s–”

He was being so adorable, I couldn’t take it anymore. I reached up to hold Matt’s face between my hands before pulling him in and firmly pressing our lips together. I felt him gasp against my mouth in surprise, and I realized then that I was the one initiating the kiss this time. And that felt fucking amazing.

“God, times were easier when those people kept their filth behind closed doors,” I heard a voice say from a few feet away. I let go of Matt and turned to see three men standing together in denim biker jackets in front of the bench we were sitting on.

“What did you just say?” I asked, moving to stand up.

“I said that the world was better off when fags like you weren’t shoving your ideologies down our throats,” I felt Matt tug on my arm as if to say No, don’t feed into it, they’re not worth it, but I was so beyond done with being mistreated that standing up to these idiots felt like a walk in the park… literally.

I approached the men and rested my hands on my hips, popping one out for added Gay Emphasis. “I know of another thing that I could shove down your throat, but I don’t think you’d like it all that much.” They stared back at me in stunned silence, but I wasn’t done with them yet. “So if I were you, I’d back the fuck off and mind your own business. I know a good lawyer.”

They didn’t need to be told twice; they immediately fled the scene, leaving me feeling satisfied and Matt shellshocked. I turned back to ask if he was okay, only to be grabbed by my biceps and pushed against a tree a few feet away. And suddenly Matt’s tongue was down my throat. It only lasted for a second before he pulled away, his eyes wild. “That was so hot. Will,” he whispered, reaching up to hold my face in his hands. “That was so fucking hot, c’mere–” I let out a giggle as Matt kissed my neck once, twice, and then moved back to my lips, swallowing the moan that escaped my throat. It hit me then that we were still in public. 

“Okay, okay,” I lightly pushed him away, much to both of our disappointment. “Let’s go before we actually get hate crimed.”

I opened my eyes to a popcorn ceiling. I despised popcorn ceilings. I bolted upright, processing this unfamiliar room in a slight panic. When I was met with red walls and a poster of the album “Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me,” by The Cure, I remembered where I was; Matt and I had gone back to his house after spending twelve hours together. I was in his bed, and he wasn’t there with me. He really had been serious about respecting my wishes, and took the couch.

I flopped down onto my back and turned my head so my cheek rested on the pillow I’d slept on. I breathed in and could immediately identify Matt’s scent; pine and a faint hint of lavender dryer sheets. God, yesterday was a whirlwind. And to think it all started with Shaggy and Dracula.

I turned my head to look out the window to see that the sun was almost set. I’d slept through the entire day. My sleep schedule was definitely going to be fucked up for a while. Honestly, though, if I had to choose a twelve hour date with Matt Winters or a healthy circadian rhythm, I’d choose Matt. There was no doubt about it; I’d fallen hard, and fallen fast.

After letting myself wake up a little more, I pushed myself off of the mattress and wandered out of Matt’s room, down the hall, and into the living room, where Matt was still asleep, a little bit of drool puddling on the decorative pillow below his head. He was an adorable sleeper. As if he could hear my thoughts, Matt’s eyelids fluttered open slowly and I was greeted with a shy smile.

“Mornin’” Matt rasped out.

“Try evening,” I replied with a low chuckle.

Matt stood up from his spot on the couch and made his way over to me, lifting a hand to push a piece of hair out of my face and behind my ear. “Did you have a nice sleep?”

“Yeah,” I said. Matt intertwined his free hand with mine.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked me. I nodded in lieu of a response, and then I was being pulled in and kissed like Matt’s life depended on it. I was so happy. I was so damn happy that I started smiling into our kiss, effectively breaking it. I looked up at Matt to notice that he was grinning as well, and we broke into a fit of giggles before leaning into each other again and falling, falling, falling… right into Matt’s bed.

“This is getting awfully hot and heavy” Matt muttered against my lips, and I groped his ass as he hovered over me.

“Yeah,” I agreed with half my mind turned to putty, and he grinded down against me, eliciting a moan from the both of us, “It is.”

“You wanna stop?” Matt asked, and I pulled away, thinking I’d made him feel uncomfortable. He must have seen the worry on my face, and was quick to reassure me otherwise with a light peck to my lips. “I mean, I don’t want to stop, but… I want to respect your boundaries. I won’t do anything you don’t feel comfortable with.”

“Matt,” I said, relishing in the sound of his breath hitching following my mention of his name, “I’ve never felt this way about a guy in my life. It’s a crime that we just met a little less than twenty four hours ago.”

With a surge of bravado I didn’t know I even had, I flipped us over with a grunt so I was the one on top, bracketing Matt in between my arms. He looked up at me in a haze, his eyes filled with pure lust.

“So I say fuck it.”

I’d just gotten back from Painting I, where Miriam had made the announcement that The Heart had been selected for a display in the lobby of the Admissions office building. I was glad that others were able to find joy in the piece I’d spent hours upon hours in emotional turmoil over. After class, I headed back to my dorm and called Lucas. We’d started up a routine of calling once a week, if not every two weeks. Dustin and I spoke a little less frequently, but we thankfully had that kind of friendship where we could go a while without talking and pick up right where we left off. El and I spoke almost daily. I heard the ringback tone go through a few times before Lucas picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey Lucas, it’s Will,” I said.

“Hey, man! How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been alright, you?”

“Same here, pushing through,” I heard the sound of a door slamming in the background. “Oh, hey babe, Will’s on the phone if you wanna say hi! Max just got in from PT.”

“Give me the phone, stalker,” I heard Max say, and I smiled as I heard the phone shuffling between their hands. “William. My dear.”

“You let her call you William?” Lucas shouted from a distance. “You never let me call you William.”

“You don’t let me call you Lukey Poo,” I replied, and I heard Lucas tut in disappointment.

“There’s a huge difference between the connotations of William versus Lukey Poo. I’m gonna let you decide which one is degrading.”

“Touché.”

“So how are you?” Max asked me.

“I���m good.”

“Woah,” Lucas complained, “so with me you’re just alright, but with Max, you’re good?”

“Same thing.”

“Barely.”

“I’m alrood,” I laughed, leaning back onto my comforter. “Or galright.”

“God, you sound like Dustin,” Lucas huffed. He wasn’t… not right about that. “Wait, I’m gonna dial him in, hold on.” There was a brief silence, followed by–

“Lukey Poo! My brother!”

“For God’s sake, not you, too.”

“God is dead, Luc-ass Puke-Ass.”

“Brutal! Will, help me out here.”

“Will? You’re in Cali?”

“Nope, still in Chicago. Hey, Dusty Bun.”

“Would you look at that, the Party’s back together again!” Lucas exclaimed. “Well… minus Mike, of course.”

“And El,” Max added.

“Yeah, and El,” Dustin repeated. “How is she, by the way?” Classic Dustin, always asking about El. Maybe Mike had been right in Letter #24 when he mentioned the possible chemistry between those two.

“She’s good,” I replied. “The program she’s in at Vanderbilt is kicking her ass, but she’s kicking theirs right back.”

“Oh yeah, I bet,” Dustin gushed. “She’s so determined and committed, though, so I believe it.”

“Yeah,” Max agreed.

“Has anyone heard from Mike?” Dustin asked, and I felt my mouth go dry.

“No, he hasn’t picked up any of my calls this month,” Lucas said.

“Mine either,” Dustin sighed. “Will, have you tried calling him?”

Friends don’t lie. “No.”

“Why not?”

Why would I was on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it at the last second, opting to reply with, “I think he’s just busy, guys. I heard the writing program at U of Indy was pretty rigorous.”

“For a kindergartner, maybe!” Lucas snorted. ”Plus, Mike’s always been some sort of prolific author prodigy! It should be a piece of cake for him!”

“Right?” Dustin grumbled. “I’m so confused. He just… vanished out of our lives.”

“Will, what if you tried calling him?” Lucas asked me hesitantly before adding, “He’s always had a thing for you.”

“What?” I shot up into a sitting position, unable to comprehend what I had just heard.

“Yeah, I gotta admit, buddy, you lost me there, too,” Dustin said.

“I just mean he’d probably pick up if he knew it was you,” Lucas explained, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “You and Mike have always been closer with each other compared to the rest of us.”

I exhaled extra heavily, hoping they’d pick up on my reluctance to do what was being asked of me. “I don’t know.”

“I sense some tension,” Dustin remarked. I could see his wiggling eyebrows from all eight hundred and forty-nine miles away. “What are you not telling us?”

“Nothing! Just–” I cut myself off with a groan. “Fine. I’ll call him. But I’m telling you guys now that he’ll probably be like this with me too.” They were completely fine with that. Of course they were. Because they loved to see me suffer, apparently.

We ended the call about half an hour later, and I found myself still sitting on my bed with the receiver in my hand. Was I really debating upon whether or not I should call Mike? Yup. Was it a bad idea? Probably. Was I going to follow through with it? That remained to be seen.

“To call or not to call,” I whispered to myself, “That is the question.” Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing, end them. To die.

No. I couldn’t do it. Not yet.

Midterms came and went, and suddenly, it was Thanksgiving break. Matt and Riley had invited the rest of our D&D Party to spend Friendsgiving at their house, but I had to decline. I knew that if I didn’t come home for the holidays, I would never hear the end of it from my family and friends back in Hawkins.

I had yet to tell my family about Matt. It wasn’t like I was intentionally withholding the information from them. I was just so busy between finishing The Heart, organizing D&D campaigns with Kate, and making out with my boyfriend that when I did have time to talk to my family, the conversation was pretty surface-level. But now that we were all in the dining room together, digging into Mom’s kick-ass mashed potatoes, I’d figured that this would be a good time to bite the bullet. 

“Guys… I have some news. It’s, uh… it’s pretty important.”

The sound of everyone’s forks on their plates stopped mid-scrape. I took a shaky breath. This wouldn’t be too difficult; coming out was the worst of it, but I was still anxious as to how everyone would take the news that I was actually dating a boy.

“What about, sweetie?” Mom asked.

“So… I might have a boyfriend.”

“Might?” Dad grumbled, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork. “So, what, you have half a boyfriend?”

Mom scoffed. “Hopper, for Christ’s sake–”

“We’re Jewish, Joyce.”

“For Christ’s sake–”

“Mom! Dad! Let him talk,” El cut Mom and Dad off, nodding at me to continue. “You were saying?”

“I have a whole boyfriend,” I playfully rolled my eyes. “We’ve been dating since the beginning of this month.”

“I’m very happy for you, Will. You deserve this,” my brother said in earnest, and I tried not to get choked up. He’d really been there for it all, hadn’t he? He’d seen me fall in love for the first time, and helped me through all of the grief and heartbreak that followed.

“Thanks, Jon.”

“So what’s this boy’s name?” Dad asked.

“Matt Winters.”

“Matt Winters,” El repeated, her eyebrows furrowing as she processed this new information. She shifted her gaze back up to me. “And you like him?”

“Um… I wouldn’t be dating him if I didn’t like him.”

“So why didn’t you invite him here for Thanksgiving?” Mom asked, looking almost offended if it weren’t for the wide smile on her face. “You know we have no problem with hosting guests!”

“Yeah, I know. That’s not the reason why I didn’t invite him, though,” I grimaced. How could I explain that Matt wasn’t anything like Mike, and that I wasn’t sure how they’d react to me dating someone new? How could I explain that I still wasn't exactly completely over Mike yet, and taking Matt home to Hawkins with me would have felt a little bit too… soon for me?

“I don’t know,” I continued, “I… I just… I want to make sure the guy I bring home for holidays is someone I’m one hundred percent serious about. And I’ve only been dating him for, like, less than a month, not to mention he’s my first boyfriend ever! Cut me some slack!”

“So I guess you could say that this Matt is out of your… Wheelhouse,” Jonathan muttered, and El snorted. He just had to go there, didn’t he?

“Hmm,” Dad stroked his beard in thought. “I wonder if that tall glass of water of yours is back in town yet.”

“No, please, not this again,” I whined, putting my head in my hands as discussion about Mike Wheeler broke out at the dinner table. This had been a common occurrence throughout all of high school. Everyone in my family had convinced themselves that Mike reciprocated my feelings, and that we would eventually get together.

El and Jon teased me endlessly whenever I came home from Mike’s place, and forced me to recount every single second we’d spent together. Mom was a meddler; she’d always find ways to get Mike over to our house for family meals, and made it a point to emphasize the word family with the implication that he was a part of it. When Mike asked me to senior prom, that was the icing on the cake for Dad; I think he even made a chart after that. Dad was both my biggest cheerleader and my biggest comfort, especially when I told him about what happened after I found the letters.

But that chapter was over.

I cleared my throat, and everyone stopped talking, turning to face me. “Matt is really great, guys,” I said in a low voice. “And yeah, he’s not Mike, but… at least give him a chance, will you? I’ll bring him home during Spring Break, and you guys can meet him then.”

The fall semester had finally come to an end, and of course, we had to party about it. Matt had arrived at my dorm room to pick me up, and when Aaron noticed us kissing in the doorway, he had more than a few choice words to say to and about us. I’d played it off like I usually did, claiming it wasn’t a huge deal, but I had been dealing with Aaron’s bullshit for months now. It was like he was an ice pick, chipping away at my soul as if to say, “Let’s see how much verbal abuse Will can take before he shatters!” This was the breaking point for me. So when we got to the party, I drank. And drank. And drank.

I’d somehow lost track of Matt’s whereabouts, and found myself standing in an alley next to the building where the party was going on. There was a payphone stationed near the entrance of the alley, so I decided to take a little trip there and use the rest of my spare change to make a phone call.

“Hello?”

Was that Mom? Holy shit, it was Mom! I knew she was small, but I didn’t know she could fit into a pay phone! How did she know I was there?!

Oh, wait, I thought, I called her. She isn’t actually inside the pay phone, idiot… Why did I call her again?

“Hello?” I heard her ask again. Fuck, I already forgot she was on the phone.

“Mooooom. Mommy. Hi,” I slurred, leaning against the wall. I thought right then that I’d have been perfectly content melting directly into the concrete.

“Will,” Mom said, her voice getting all hushed and concerned, “Are you okay?”

“Yup!” I proclaimed to the empty alley. My voice echoed all the way down to the other end. “I’m faaaaantastic. Just a lil’ drunk, though.”

“I can hear that, honey.”

“Is Dad there?” I asked, wrapping the metal cord around my wrist. I briefly considered what it would be like if I ever decided to introduce handcuffs into mine and Matt’s sex life, and I swore I gave myself heart palpitations just by thinking about it.

“Dad is passed out on the couch and snoring like a trucker,” Mom replied, pulling me out of my filthy, filthy thoughts. “Why? Do you want to talk with him?”

“No,” I shook my head, looking around to make sure I wasn’t holding up a line or something. I most definitely wasn’t. “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t… I don’t know, ruin your night or something. Fridays are usually your movie nights.”

“Oh, we already watched our movie a few hours ago, some easily forgettable rom-com.” I could hear my mom’s smile as she spoke. I loved seeing my mom so happy ever since she married Dad. It was like she’d been brought back to life. “Now I’m just reading in the big blue arm chair, and so it’s just you and me.”

“Perfect,” I said, turning around and leaning my forehead against the brick and mortar in front of me, “Cuzzz I gotta-lotta-say.”

“... You sure you’re okay?” Mom asked, and I hummed in substitution of a “yes.”

“I’m suuurrreee,” I closed my eyes and grinned at the sound of my drawn-out syllables, but they snapped open again at the memory of standing in my old living room being yelled at by a very similarly-sounding drunken voice. “An’ I promise ‘mnot an alcoholic. I don’t wannanduhlidah,” I said, and lifted my hand up, extending my index finger to emphasize my point. I heard my mom lightly snicker on the other end of the line.

“Can you repeat that?” she asked me. “I’m having a little bit of a hard time understanding you.” Fuck. I must have been really drunk for her to not have understood me. God, I really was turning into my–

“Hmm… d’ya think I’ll end up like Lonnie?”

“Baby, are you kidding me? You are nothing like Lonnie.”

“He usedta drink a lot. A looooootttttt. Remem…emm…mer? An’ he alwaysssaid I’ll never be a man. He called me a fairy. A fa—“ I felt my voice crack as emotions took over my psyche, and I silently cursed myself for still crying over my dad over a decade later.

“Will. I want to make myself very clear,” my mom told me, and I stood up a bit straighter. Unlike me. “He’s less than half the man that you are. You are an incredible, talented, sweet young man. Being gay doesn’t negate any of the great qualities you have.”

“I’m a teeerrrible person,” I said, and mouthed along with my mom’s predictable reply.

“You are not a terrible person.”

“But what about what I did to Mike?” I whined.

“You did what you needed to do to protect yourself, baby. He’ll understand that eventually.”

“But what if I made a misssTAKE?”

“Only time will tell. It’s never too late to call him.”

“Yeah.” I looked up and noticed that at one point or another, Matt had joined me in the alley. How much of the conversation had he heard? Hopefully not too much. “Hey, mom?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, honey,” Mom replied. “Now make sure to go hydrate. Stay safe, okay?”

I nodded, realized that she couldn’t see me nodding, and provided verbal confirmation this time around with an, “Okie. Byeeeee.” I was so drunk. I hung up before turning to face my boyfriend. “Hey, babe,” I greeted him with a shit eating grin on my face. He was so so cute. Adorable. Gorgeous. Hot. Sexy. Edible. “Where have you been? You having a good time?”

“I’ve spent the past fifteen or so minutes looking for you!” Matt said, scuffing the soles of his Converse against the gravel that lined the sides of the alley. “Was that actually your mom?”

Well, duh, I thought. Who else would I call ‘mom’? Well, besides Steve, obviously. “Yeah! She said to say hi to you for her, by the way.” That was a total lie, but it would keep the tone light.

Or so I thought, because Matt had one more question for me. It was the one question that I’d been dreading ever since we’d started dating. “Who’s Mike?”

I was way too intoxicated to have this conversation right now. I met Matt’s eyes for a second, shook my head and battled my way through a choked, “We used to be friends. But he’s dead to me now. You have nothing to worry about,” before keeling over and violently throwing up onto the ground.

“Alright, sweetheart, we’ve gotta get you back to the dorms. You’re absolutely wasted,” Matt coaxed me to stand up and threw one of my arms around his shoulders. “You mind if I ask Pete for backup? I don’t think I can get you home by myself.”

“You calling me fat, Winters?”

“I think we both know they don’t call you Buff Byers ‘cause you’re fat, Will.”

“Waiiit a minute, who told you about the Buff Byers thing?”

“I have my sources.”

A few minutes later, we’d successfully located Pete within the sea of people he’d been dancing with, and we had to bribe him with twenty dollars to get him to leave the party and help us out. We said goodbye to everyone else on our way out, but right before we reached the door, I recognized the song blasting from the PA system and shouted, “I fucking love this song!” The song in question was “There is a Light That Never Goes Out,” by The Smiths. I happily drawled along with the lyrics to the song as my friend and boyfriend practically carried me down the street and back to the dorms. The singing didn’t stop when we reached my dorm hall, or when they dragged me up the stairs, or even when they fished through my pockets for a solid five minutes, trying to find my keys to let us in.

“And if a tennn tonnn truuuck… kills the both of us… To die by your siiide, well, the pleasure, the privilege is miiine,” I murmured the last chorus, getting a bit emotional as I watched Matt take off my Vans and help me into bed. He was too kind to me. I didn’t deserve it.

“Vecna would’ve had a field day with you…” I sighed, which resulted in a confused chuckle from my boyfriend. My sweet, sweet boyfriend who had no idea about what I’d been through, or the damage I was capable of. So much for my NDAs. I could just blame it on the alcohol if he asked about it later. Matt tucked me in under my comforter, brushing my bangs off my forehead and pressing a kiss there.

“Alright, lover boy, sleep tight.”

I was in the passenger seat of a car, and the road was dark, save for the headlights that lit the road in front of me. I looked down at my hand, which was being held by a very familiar and large hand. My eyes lifted up to see Mike in the driver’s seat, tapping the steering wheel with his fingers to the beat of some synth pop song that was playing out of his car radio.

“Mike?” A smile graced his features as I said his name. He didn’t take his eyes off the road as he rubbed a thumb over the top of my hand. What the hell?

“Yeah, baby?” This was pure insanity. There was no way he’d actually called me–

“... Baby?”

“What is it, love?” Mike replied so casually that I wanted to scream. But I pushed my emotions back down, settling back into the passenger seat and pretending like this was a totally normal occurrence.

“... Nothing,” I muttered, the fingers of my right hand picking at one of the rips on the knee of my jeans. “It’s just…”

“Will, we’ve been together for, what, five years now. Don’t tell me you’re uncomfortable with me calling you ‘baby.’”

Five years. Jesus Christ. “No. No, you’re fine,” I said.

“Good,” Mike grinned before bringing our joined hands to his lips to kiss the back of my hand. “I love you.” My head was spinning.

“I love you, too,” I heard myself say without even thinking about it. Okay, this is officially a dream, I thought. This is way too good to be true.

We continued on down the seemingly endless road for a few more miles before I spoke up again. “So… where are we going?”

“Heaven,” Mike replied.

“You’re funny,” I deadpanned, “No, really, where are we going?”

“Heaven,” Mike repeated. I felt a little bit guilty when I found myself staring at this dream version of Mike, trying my best to commit him to memory. “I mean it, Will. To die by your side… it’d be such a heavenly way to die.” That sounded familiar. Where was that line from again?

“Wait, what?” I asked, but before Mike could clarify, he was pressing his foot as hard as he possibly could onto the gas pedal, accelerating until the speedometer was essentially useless. Within seconds, he’d sent the car plummeting off the edge of the— cliff??— we’d been driving alongside the entire time.

The car flipped with a likeness to an Olympic gymnast, and I heard the sound of bones cracking above the faint background music that was still playing. I’d always wondered about that kind of scenario– if someone got into a fatal car accident; would the music continue to play? Apparently so, considering that the song “Stayin’ Alive,” by the Bee Gees was still playing. That song should never be played in a car for this exact reason; the irony is simply too cruel.

The car eventually gave up on trying to be a flying trapeze artist and settled in a diagonal position with the wheels in the air. Smoke from the undercarriage of the car traveled through the air vents and filled my lungs, and I struggled to breathe. But I didn’t even care; I had to check on Mike, see if he was okay.

He was not. I turned to my left side, and screamed in horror at the sight of Mike’s bloodied, mangled body sprawled across the dashboard, broken glass pricking his bare arms. Wait… there was no way his arm could be way over there and still be– oh my god. Mike’s arm. It had been ripped off his body. Holy shit. Mike’s arm was–

“Mike,” I forced out amidst my heaving breaths. “Michael, can you hear me?” I reached out and smacked him in the face in an attempt to wake him up. Please don’t be dead. “Michael James, if you don’t fucking respond to me right now I’m gonna–”

“Relax, Will. I’m still here.” Using his middle name always did work like a charm.

I let out a high-pitched sob in relief. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike said quietly, his own breathing labored. He glanced down at his arm and whispered something along the lines of Would you look at that, my arm is gone, but I couldn’t exactly tell; his speech was starting to sound garbled, as if he was choking on blood. He coughed a bit out, and I watched it dribble down his chin, proving my hypothesis correct. He was going to die without immediate medical attention.

“Come on, let me–” I went to undo my seatbelt, but realized that my limbs had stopped working. “... I can’t move,” It was most likely a severed spinal cord. “Mike, I can’t move.” I couldn’t move, and the last time I’d ever touched Mike was in the form of a slap in the face.

“Me neither, baby,” Mike laughed. His arm was quite literally torn off his body, yet he still found the will within himself to laugh. Maybe he was in shock, and the adrenaline had numbed his pain receptors. I wasn’t sure. But what I was sure of was that this dream needed to end. It was getting a bit too real.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, Mike! We’re gonna fucking die out here if someone–”

“Shh. We’re okay,” Mike whispered, closing his eyes as he spoke. “We’ve got each other, right?” Crazy together. Deranged together. Batshit insane together.

Dead together.

“...Right,” I shut my own eyes, but was only able to for about two seconds before Mike was hacking up blood. I watched as it splattered across the surface of the shattered windshield. “We’re really gonna die, huh?”

“All that matters is that I’m dying with the love of my life by my side,” Mike muttered, all of the color slowly draining out of his face. “The pleasure– no, the privilege– is mine.” I watched his head loll to the side as the blood loss and lack of oxygen to his brain caused his heart to stop beating.

I was startled by the sound of someone gasping, and paused when I realized that the sound was coming from me. I tried to catch my breath, lifting a hand to my heart to try and ground myself with my heartbeat. I felt the familiar sensation of tears pricking the corners of my eyes, and I shut them tightly, hoping the image of Mike’s severed arm would eventually fade.

“You okay?” I heard from across the room, and I squinted my eyes to see my roommate sitting up in bed. Why did he care? He hated me. He’d aimed slurs at me all the way down the hallway when Matt had come to pick me up for the party earlier. What changed?

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, thanks,” I forced out, turning away from him and facing the front of my body towards the wall. I just needed to think of a good memory and play it out on a loop in my head to fall back asleep. I’d done it before.

A strong hand belonging to Aaron met my shoulder, and I gasped at the sudden contact. How had he gotten over to my side so quietly? Why was he over here at all? Why was he touching me like that? “You don’t sound fine,” Aaron whispered, his mouth close enough to my neck that the tendrils at the nape stood straight up. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach; something felt wrong. “No, really, I’m fi–”

Before I could even process what was happening, his hand shifted down my arm and firmly grasped my wrist. “What are you doing? Stop it,” I told him, and shook my arm in an attempt to get him off of me, but that only ignited something in him, because he pushed me from where I’d been laying on my side and onto my stomach, straddling me and holding me down. “Please stop. Please stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop–”

He grabbed my other wrist and held both of them in one of his hands, as he forced my head into my pillow by my neck with the other to shut me up. He leaned down so his nose was buried in my hair, and I writhed in his grip as he inhaled. “I can make you feel better, Will,” he ghosted his lips over my ear. “Just stay quiet, and we won’t have any problems.” This could not be happening. It had to be another nightmare.

But I already knew the truth; I was wide awake.

The next few weeks were a blur. Aaron left and hadn’t come back after he raped me that night. I didn’t leave my room. I bailed on my date night with Matt over the weekend. He asked me over the phone at one point if I was planning on returning home for Hanukkah, and I glanced at my calendar for a moment of contemplation, noticing that the first two days had already passed before giving him a halfhearted, “Nah. I’ve already missed the first two days, and wouldn’t be able to catch up. I’m just gonna… stay here, I guess.”

That was a horrible idea, because the next thing I knew, my mother was in my dorm room, the expression on her face reading as a combination of disappointment and worry. “Hi, Mom,” I greeted her in a weak voice, and she merely shook her head, stomping over to my bed and whipping out a fucking stethoscope from her purse– courtesy of Owens, I assumed.

Despite my protests of being fine, she pressed her hand to my forehead before pressing the stethoscope to my heart, then to my back to hear my lungs. She dropped the stethoscope back into her purse and squeezed both of my shoulders, her eyebrows nearly becoming one with how hard she was frowning. “William Jacob Byers, you tell me what’s going on right now. Skipping Hanukkah without any call or explanation?!” I was in deep shit. She helped me pack up my things and drove us back to Hawkins that same day.

I didn’t tell my mom exactly what had happened, but did confess that I had been in a depressive state of being for the past few weeks following something traumatic that happened to me. Thankfully, she didn’t press me in regards to the topic of said trauma, but instead made an appointment with my old Upside Down therapist, Judith. I went to see her the day after I got home. Judith was a great therapist. I was so often the listener in my day-to-day life, but she took the approach of “you talk, I nod and give advice when you want it,” so it felt great to have the opportunity to rant about my problems and get validation from a sweet elderly lady who wore her own hand-knitted sweaters.

When I told Judith about what had happened with Aaron, she’d asked me if I told my family or Matt about it. I said no, I hadn’t. She asked why, and I admitted I was just afraid of my family becoming overbearing like they had been when I was a kid, and I was terrified of losing Matt over something I hadn’t been able to control. She suggested that if I couldn’t tell my family, I should at least tell my boyfriend when I was ready, as it wasn’t fair to him to continuously cancel our plans and keep him in the dark. I thought back to the last time we spoke, where he’d expressed feeling like he’d done something wrong when he hadn’t done anything wrong at all.

My mom had also managed to arrange weekly sessions over the phone for when I went back to Chicago. Recovery isn’t linear, as Judith often said. She was right. And in order to begin recovery, I needed to take that first step. So I spoke with Matt on the phone that night. He confessed to having called my mom, and was surprised when I wasn’t angry about it. I actually thanked him, because if it weren’t for my mom, I probably would’ve still been rotting away in my bed back in Chicago. When he asked me why I was depressed, I broke down crying at first, but found enough strength in myself to tell him the truth about what Aaron had done to me.

“I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch,” he’d said. “And as soon as you get back, we’re going to move you into my place. Riley’s moving Kate in after break, too. But you cannot go back to living with that asshole.”

Right before we ended the call, I wrote his phone number and address information down on a post-it. “I’ll see you in a few weeks,” Matt had told me. “I love you.”

“Bye,” I whispered, hanging the phone back up on the wall.

I prayed to whatever higher powers existed that my friends would just fucking give up already on trying to get Mike to hang out with us. For the past few months, the Party had been updating me on Mike’s whereabouts– or lack thereof– as he’d essentially fallen off the grid. I wasn’t particularly surprised, because I understood why he cut me off, but then again, why had everyone else been lumped in with me on Mike’s Do Not Interact list?

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked hesitantly.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Max countered, looking up from her and El’s joined hands, where she’d been painting El’s nails a shade of deep purple. I shrugged, not sure how to go about explaining why I was discouraging them from contacting our…. no, their friend.

“I don’t know,” I muttered, glancing back down at my sketchbook, where Mike’s left eye had begun to take shape on the page. I resisted the urge to cringe at myself. “Just… don’t expect much from him.”

“Believe me, man, I know,” Lucas said, slumping down entirely too forcefully onto the couch next to me with his cordless phone in his lap. “He never calls any of us anymore, we’re always the ones who have to reach out to him.”

“Which is why we’re calling him now,” Dustin reiterated the same sentiment that he’d been mulling over for the past half hour, pacing all the while. “We’re useless to Mike if we don’t at least try.”

“Okayyy,” I shrugged all of their ignorantly charged hope off my shoulders. “But as long as I’m in the picture, you won’t have any luck getting him into the same room with us. So don’t say I didn’t warn you when he declines.”

“What happened between you two, anyway?” Dustin stopped pacing and adjusted his MIT hat. I really hoped his new Thinking Cap™ was… faulty, or something, so he wouldn’t have any chance of figuring out the truth.

“Nothi–” I began, but El started talking at the same time as me, leaving me unable to keep her from saying:

“He and Will had a falling out.”

“El, for fuck’s sake, oh my–” I slapped a palm to my forehead in a combination of embarrassment and frustration. This was not how I’d wanted the Party to find out about this… in fact, I would’ve been completely content if they never found out at all and if Mike just… if he’d just… stayed away. I gulped at that sobering— and borderline concerning— thought.

“Over what? When? How? Spill!”” Dustin appeared in front of me, shaking my shoulders. He hesitated for a moment, gripping my shoulders a little tighter, and then letting go altogether before… petting my arms? I heard Lucas huff a laugh through his nose as he began dialing Mike’s number, which I subconsciously recited in my head as he pressed each key.

“On a completely different note,” Dustin retreated back to the bowl of Cool Ranch Doritos on Lucas’ kitchen table, “you have got to explain when and how you got so muscular! You’re, like, hot. You should go into, like, a bodybuilding competition. I’d vote for you.” El and Max burst out laughing. I shielded my face with my hand, a mild embarrassment quickly consuming me.

“Everyone shut up, I’m putting him on speaker,” Lucas announced, and I sighed, grateful that the conversation had officially been diverted away from The Fight. Not like my body composition was a better topic by any means, but I’d take what I could get.

“Hello?” Mrs. Wheeler’s voice came through on the other end of the line. I’d forgotten that Mike shared a single landline with his family, insisting that our walkies were immortal. Spoiler alert: No, they were not; they eventually died permanently back in 1988, rest their souls. May their memory be for a blessing.

“Hey Mrs. Wheeler, it’s Lucas. How are you?”

“Oh, Lucas! I’m doing okay, sweetie, thank you for asking! How’s… UCLA, right?”

“You remembered! I'm busy all the time, but it’s going well, Mrs. W.,” Lucas grinned. Max rolled her eyes as she muttered a quiet, “Kiss ass.”

“Well, I’m sure you didn’t call here to talk to your friend’s mom, so I’ll get Mike for you. One second,” she chuckled to herself. There was a brief moment of silence, and then–

“MICHAEL!” Mrs. Wheeler’s screeching voice came through clear as a bell, and the rest of us had to hold in our laughter. “LUCAS IS ON THE PHONE!” She’d accidentally covered the wrong end of the receiver. We heard the low thump of footsteps down the stairs, a bit of shuffling as the phone changed hands, and a quiet thanks, mom before–

“Hello?”

And suddenly, I couldn’t feel a thing. Fuck.

“Mike!”

“It’s been ages, bro!”

 “Where have you been?”

“... Heeeyyy guys,” the all too familiar voice of Mike Wheeler came through the speaker, and I had to refrain from curling up on the floor and melting into a puddle of tears. I forgot how much I missed his voice. However, it sounded slightly hoarse, probably due to talking to the point of overuse, or having just woken up… at four in the afternoon? No, overuse sounded more reasonable; Mike had never been a quiet person. Shutting the fuck up simply wasn’t in his vocabulary.

“It’s good to hear you’re alive and well, man,” Lucas said.

I think I was the only one who made out the sarcasm-laced laugh on Mike’s end: “Hmmh… yeah. So… what’s up?”

“Your dick,” Matt’s voice offered up in my head. I shoved my boyfriend’s vulgar humor into the furthest corner of my mind, because the last thing I needed to think about right now was Mike’s dick. Not like I’d thought about it prior to this. Well… not very often.

“We’re hanging out at my place right now, and we wanted to see if you feel like making the trek across the vast expanse of our lawns to join us!” Lucas replied.

There was a moment of silence on Mike’s end, followed by a shaky exhale. “... Is he gonna be there?”

Lucas furrowed his eyebrows. “Who?”

“I think you know who I mean, Lucas.” I pointed at myself with a look that screamed I told you so, and Lucas’ eyes widened dramatically at the realization that I was, in fact, right. Mike wanted nothing to do with me.

“... Yeah,” he said in a low voice with a likeness to a confession, not once breaking eye contact with me. I was not going to be let out of this one easily.

“Yeah no, I’ll pass. Thanks, though.”

“Are you s—” Lucas began to protest.

“Bye, guys,” Mike cut him off before promptly hanging up, leaving everyone else’s jaws on the floor. And then… all eyes on me. Understandably.

“He’s been like this since August,” Dustin was the one to start talking. He looked rather accusatory as his eyes narrowed, and I felt my stomach fall out of my ass. “So… whatever you did must have really fucked him up.”

“Hey!” I put my hands up, “What makes you think I was the one who did something?!”

“Y-yeah,” Lucas added on, “like, maybe Mike did something to… I don’t know. Whatever happened between you two, though, it’s made him really distant. I think something is seriously wrong.” I suddenly felt the air in the Sinclairs’ living room run cold, and… looked up to see Max adjusting the thermostat. I would never get used to the concept of central air, even after having it in my own house for years.

“What do you mean?” El asked, her voice quiet.

“Okay, for instance, you know how Mike’s a talker?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, that Mike is gone, because phone conversations between us never make it past three and a half minutes,” Lucas said, his eyes trained on the floor as he spoke. “It’s all hey bro, how are you doing, good, good, how’s school, great, I’m busy actually, can I call you at some other point and we can catch up, yeah sure talk soon. The end. And then he never calls me back.”

“Yeah, he’s been short with me, too,” Dustin added. “And that’s saying something, because that man is a fucking skyscraper.”

“You must know something, Will,” Max said from where she stood, returning the focus of the conversation back onto me. Honestly, I was starting to get a bit frustrated. I’d obviously played a pretty large role in Mike’s downward spiral, and it was eating away at me with every new second that passed. But at the same time, I thought my friends would take the news of our falling out as a sign to not press me about him.

“I really don’t, actually,” I replied, “and I’m kind of confused as to why this is my problem.”

“Woah, Will, calm down, I didn’t mean to make you get defensive,” Max said, her eyes wide, probably surprised at my blatant apathy to the situation. “It’s just that you two were so close for years, and I thought… I thought maybe you were just trying to protect him, or something.”

That was fair. “Right,” I whispered, and closed my eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry for snapping. I’m just–” I opened my eyes back up, “I’m tired of talking about Mike. He’s not gonna change, so why are we still trying?” I was nervous for a moment that I’d pushed a bit too hard attempting to move on from the current conversation, but was relieved when everyone nodded in agreement.

“That’s a very good point,” Lucas said. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Yeah, let’s change the subject…” El trailed off, sending a mischievous smirk my way. “Will got a boyfriend.”

I was going to murder my sister. I knew she meant well, but… I was going to murder her.

“Boyfriend?!” everyone shouted at the same time, shock spreading like wildfire across their faces. I nodded, and then the questions started hitting.

“What’s his name?”

“Where’s he from?”

“What is he majoring in?”

“We need details, Byers! Details!”

“Matt Winters, yes, the initials are purely coincidental, Winston-Salem North Carolina, and he’s a senior material studies major.”

“And he treats you well?” Lucas asked, and I turned to face him, pulling my sketchbook closer to my chest.

“More than well,” I replied earnestly. “He’s… he’s incredible, honestly. He’s sweet, he’s talented, he’s affectionate, he’s out of the closet…” Unlike someone else I knew. But they didn’t have to know that.

I didn’t need to continue listing adjectives for much longer, because my friends’ previously unison bumbling split into two separate subconversations. I heard Lucas and Max bickering about how Lucas never said things like that about Max and it’s a wonder she hadn’t dumped his ass for the fourteenth time by now; Lucas rebutted with the fact that all their friends knew her already and therefore didn’t need Lucas to elaborate upon her best qualities. Dustin turned to El and nudged her with his elbow. She turned to him, giving her full attention as he muttered quietly, but not quiet enough to the point that I couldn’t overhear, “Mike’s gonna be pissed.” I watched my sister take in this information before she nodded with a tight grimace.

Mike’s gonna be pissed.

I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t been aware that I’d been holding, and looked down at my hands, which had somehow become fists in my lap. Mike’s gonna be pissed. But I was finally happy. I had Matt, and he was a better boyfriend than I could have ever asked for. Mike’s gonna be pissed. So what? He messed with my head, he deserved it. Mike’s gonna be pissed.

“Hey, um, I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” I said to no one in particular, and ignored everyone’s suddenly concerned voices as they faded into background noise. I closed the bathroom door a bit harder than necessary, and put a hand over my mouth as I began to hyperventilate. Mike’s gonna be pissed. Mike’s gonna be pissed. Mike’s gonna be pissed.

I leaned forward and vomited into the toilet.

I mounted my bike and knocked the kickstand up with my foot, leaning my weight onto the right pedal as I biked down the empty streets of Hawkins. It had been a long day at Melvald’s; I’d been tasked with running the store for the weekend on account of it being my parents’ wedding anniversary, and my dad had planned a surprise trip for my mom to Lake Superior. On any other occasion, it would have been fine. Working at Melvald’s wasn’t the problem, rather, it was my last week of working there before I left for college wherein lied the issue.

It was the day after The Fight. “Can you grab some coin rolls from the back, honey?” my mom had asked me from the counter. I nodded, put down the notebooks I’d been stocking, and headed to the supply closet, turning up the volume on my walkman as I went. The lyrics of Billy Squier’s “My Kinda Lover,” infiltrated my mind as I grabbed the coin rolls and walked back to the counter, where… oh no. Mike Wheeler was walking down the sidewalk in the direction of our store.

“Fuck,” I whispered to myself as I approached my mom. She looked up at me, her smile fading when she noticed the panic in my expression. “Mom?” I felt my voice waver, “Mom, hide me. Please.”

“What? Why–” she asked, but there was no time to explain. Mike was mere feet away from the door. He’d probably fucking seen me by now.

“Just do it,” I begged. “Please.” She thankfully didn’t press me any further and gestured for me to duck below the register. I did so as quickly as I possibly could, and held my breath as I waited for the little bell above the door to ring. And it did.

“Hey, Mike!” I heard my mom’s voice above me, and I lowered my head into my hands. What the hell was I even doing? Why was I such a coward? I couldn’t even face Mike, while he’d come all the way to my mom’s store, probably looking for—

“Hey Ms. Byers…” I heard Mike say, “Is Will here by any chance? I need to talk to him.” He definitely sounded like he hadn’t slept last night. I hadn’t, either. I couldn’t. Not with the feeling of Mike’s lips on mine existing for the sole purpose of haunting me. I wanted so badly to stand up, jump the counter, and pull Mike into me so hard that it would send us crashing to the floor so hard that we’d get permanent amnesia and therefore erase the horrors of the past twenty four hours from our memories.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie, he left a little while ago.”

I heard Mike sigh. “Is he headed home? Or–”

“I’m honestly not sure, he never tells me anything these days.”

“Well, when you see him next, can you…” His voice broke– and so did my heart. “Can you please tell him to call me?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Thank you. I hope you have a great rest of your day.”

“You… too,” my mom said slowly, and I heard the bell ring once more as Mike left the store. Out of nowhere, I felt my mom’s foot lightly kicking my shin, and I knew then that I was in trouble. I stood up to see her leaning against the counter with her arms crossed.

“What in the world happened that could possibly make you want to hide under a counter to avoid your best friend of thirteen years?”

“Listen, it’s complicated–”

“You love Mike!”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem, Mom!” I broke down then, my voice dissolving into quiet sobs. She pulled me down to her level and rubbed my back comfortingly, but I didn’t stop talking. “I love him. I love him so much it hurts. And I’d just come to terms with him not feeling the same, but yesterday, I found twenty six love letters to me that he’d written over the past two years– yeah, according to the letters, it turns out he’s apparently gay and in love with me, what the hell are the odds of that happening– and when I brought them to him asking for answers, he just kissed me.”

Mom pulled away then, her eyebrows furrowing across her forehead. “He kissed you?! Wow! Isn’t that a good th–”

“No!” I groaned, running a hand through my hair. “No, it’s not a good thing, because it isn’t true! He doesn’t love me. He just said he did, and he says a lot of things–”

“He was probably just scared, baby! Remember how nervous you were to come out to me and Dad? Besides, you know he hasn’t ever really been the best at expressing his feelings. He most likely wrote those letters because he was too afraid to tell you.”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Um, you’re probably right.”

This flashback, in combination with what I’d overheard the last time I hung out with the Party, had me so far gone into a mental breakdown that I thought I was going to explode. Mike’s gonna be pissed. Mike’s gonna be pissed. Mike’s gonna be pissed. I was distraught. I couldn’t go home like this without Jonathan and El asking me a thousand and one questions, so I decided to take a little detour to the park.

“We stealthily made it out of my window and down onto the ground without dying, and then we grabbed our bikes before making our great escape. We biked out into the night, wind whipping through our hair, and I just felt so free. And for a second, just a split second, I imagined what it would be like if we were together, and we were sneaking off to make out in the woods or something. That would be so romantic.”

I eventually reached the playground of my childhood. My eyes drifted to the swingset; it looked so small and rickety now, compared to how I used to imagine it as a castle when I was a kid. I sat down on one of the swings, getting used to the feel of the hard plastic pushing into my sides. My friends weren’t kidding. Long gone was the skinny kid I used to be; I really had built up more muscle than I knew what to do with. I took a deep breath and propelled myself off of the wood chips by my heels. As the cool wind blew through my hair, emotions ran high as it hit me that I had grown up.

“Hi, I’m Michael! Do you want to be my friend?” “Yes!” I felt a few stray tears escape my eyes, and pulled a hand off one of the chains to brush them away. I continued swinging for a few more minutes, hoping that it would calm me down, but I just got even sadder as time dragged on. I met Mike on these swings, I thought. We were best friends. I loved him. Now that we don’t talk… he’s just a ghost. I jumped off the swings and took a few seconds to reorient myself, glancing down at my shoes.

But then, I heard a faint rumbling across the pavement, and looked up from the ground to see a tall figure skateboarding down the sidewalk. Oh my god. It was Mike. Mike was here. Mike was… out of the house? Oh my god, Mike was skateboarding at night in my direction. I felt panic rise into my throat and suddenly felt the urge to throw up again. I had to hide. Fuck, I really had to hide, because Mike was getting closer and closer and I was in no condition to talk to him.

I dashed across the playground, trying my best to stay as quiet and as low to the ground as possible in order to not be seen. I managed to reach the metal slide and crouched behind it, raising my head the slightest bit upwards so I could see over the edge of it. Hawkins still hadn’t replaced that damn slide, even after all the times my friends and I had burnt our asses in the ninety degree summer heat throughout our elementary school days.

As Mike approached the playground, he skidded his skateboard to a stop and paused to look around, probably making sure he was the only one there. His head turned in my direction, and I prayed my reflexes were quick enough as I escaped his line of sight. They thankfully seemed to suffice as I heard the wheels of his board begin to roll once again. I peeked over the edge of the slide like the creep I was and watched Mike skate in circles around the basketball court. His long black hair was covered by a beanie, but was still long enough to flow gracefully behind him. God, he was beautiful. Just as beautiful as I remembered. I missed him. You know what? Screw it, I’m gonna talk to him, I thought. I’m going to make things right between us. Against my better judgment, I stood up and made my way over to Mike.

He caught a glimpse of me in his peripheral vision and had to do a double take before jumping off his board to walk over to me. We both watched it roll away and fall off the pavement and into the grass before turning back to each other.

“Will,” he was the first to speak. It felt like a whole century had passed since I’d last heard him say my name, and I’d forgotten how much I loved hearing it.

“Mike.” I looked up at Mike then, taking in the entirety of his appearance. He had dark circles under his eyes, and judging by his oily scalp, he looked like he hadn’t showered in days.

“How have you been?” he asked me. Typical Mike, I thought, always wondering how I’m doing. Then again, he was just asking a simple question found in most conversations, I was nothing special.

“I’m doing alright,” I replied, shoving my hands into my jean pockets. “How are you?”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that?”

He’s been like this since August, so… whatever you did must have really fucked him up.

“... Not particularly, no.”

We stood there for a few seconds in silence, unsure of what to say. I decided to speak first this time around. “So… how are things in Indy?”

Mike scoffed then, closing his eyes tightly in frustration. “You know, the least you can do is fucking apologize.” He was right; I’d left things on a horrible note, and had yet to mention anything about our fight.

“I know, Mike, I’m s–”

“No,” Mike cut me off, his gaze hardening. “You’re only sorry because I prompted it.”

“Says the one who expected me to just accept the fact that he was in love with me and not question his integrity after finding twenty six love letters in his bedroom.”

“You shouldn’t have read those.”

“You shouldn’t have left them out!”

“Well, I was a fucking dumbass, what else is new?”

“Well, so am I, then, because I had finally convinced myself that you didn’t love me, just for you to go and turn my whole world upside down!” Neither of us even noticed or reacted to the unintentional pun.

“I do love you, Will,” Mike’s voice softened as it always did, and he took a step closer to me as he spoke. “I do. What do I have to do to make you believe me?”

“Kiss me,” I replied. 

Mike groaned at that, rolling his eyes as he threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “What do you mean, kiss me? I did kiss you that day, and you–”

“But you only did it because I prompted it,” I shot Mike’s words right back at him, and he could only blink. “If you really love me, you’ll prove it to me by kissing me for real. No leading me on and letting me down. No goddamn love letters. Just… kiss me.”

He took a deep breath then, his eyes meeting mine once again and his expression turning into a determined resolve. “You want me to kiss you for real?” Mike whispered, closing the remaining distance between us. “I’ll show you real.”

The sound of Mike’s skateboard violently smacking against the pavement brought me back to reality. I was still hidden behind the slide. I ran my hands over my face, rubbing my fingertips against the corners of my eyes. I was so exhausted that my imagination had gone off the rails.

I needed to go get some sleep. But Mike was in the way of my route home, and I was not prepared to pass him on my bike just to get stopped and forced to have an awkward, real-life encounter with him. What if I just… took the next street over? I thought to myself. That could work. But… where did I leave my… bike. My bike rested on its side against the swingset, clear on the other side of the park. I’d forgotten how far I’d wandered away from it, and wondered briefly how Mike couldn’t have seen it yet. I glanced back over to the basketball court at… Mike. Who wasn’t there.

“You stalking me, Byers?” I heard from above me, and even though my mind had deducted that that he had spotted me behind the slide, my heart still jumped at the sight of Mike looming over me. I stood up, brushing the accumulated woodchips off my knees from kneeling.

“You caught me, Wheeler,” I chuckled, and Mike smiled back.

“How have you been?” he asked me. Typical Mike, I thought, always wondering how I’m doing. Then again, he was just asking a simple question found in most conversations, I was nothing special.

“I’m doing alright,” I replied, shoving my hands into my jean pockets. “How are you?”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that?”

He’s been like this since August, so… whatever you did must have really fucked him up.

“I’m sorry,” I told him, rocking back and forth on my feet a few times. “All of this is my fault. It’s my fault you’re like this.”

“Yeah. It kind of is.”

“I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that. If I hadn’t, then maybe all of this could have been…” I faltered, and Mike shook his head.

“There was no avoiding it, Will,” he said. “I went about it all wrong. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I should have taken the time to explain to you–”

“But you did explain, that’s the thing,” I said. “I was just too caught up in my own anger and confusion to notice–”

“I don’t blame you for being angry and confused,” Mike told me, and I looked up to notice tears welling up in his eyes. “I was angry and confused at myself for my inability to tell you the truth about how I felt. It scared the shit out of me.”

I couldn’t help but reach up then, resting my hand against his cheek and swiping the tears away. He let out a small sniffle and lifted his eyes from the ground to meet mine. They say that the eyes are windows to the soul; the pain in his eyes sent me right back to that day of our mutual heartbreak, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I lifted my other hand to hold the other side of his face, and ran my thumbs over his cheeks once more before I—

Heard someone yell, “Ow, fuck!” knocking me out of my daze of delusion once again. I looked up and saw that Mike had fallen off his board, and was laying on the pavement on his back, unmoving. For a moment, I feared that he’d knocked himself out, but relief flooded my body when I saw him reach his hands up to his head and run his fingers through his hair with a groan. He didn’t get up, though, so I hesitantly rose from my position on the ground and approached Mike slowly. He noticed my shadow and whipped his head in my direction, eyes wide. He looked stupified, unable to find the words to say to me. Not like I could have done any better.

I knelt down next to him, and couldn’t help it when my breath hitched. Mike looked gorgeous from this angle, in the moonlight, below me. I felt something primal within myself awaken, letting a low noise escape my throat as I let my body take over. I crawled a bit closer to Mike, reading his expression for any stop signs. And then… I pounced.

A shiver went down my spine, shaking me out of my hopefully last scenario.  I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but my knees were starting to hurt from crouching behind the slide. I pulled my hands off the rail of the slide to rub my freezing cold palms together.

“Goddamnit!” Mike shouted at the night sky, which had turned a light grey with the snow that had begun to fall over the park. I blinked a few stray snowflakes out of my eyes and pulled my hood up, preparing to sprint across the park, grab my bike, and go. All the cardio training I’d done over the past semester had to have been done for a purpose. And this was it.

I took a few deep breaths, about to make a run for it, when I heard a high pitched whine come from the direction of the basketball court. I took one last glance over to Mike, who was reaching into his pocket and pulling out… was that a flask? My suspicions were confirmed when he unscrewed the top and tipped his head all the way back as he proceeded to chug the whole thing in a few seconds. Oh god.

He’s been like this since August, so… whatever you did must have really fucked him up.

-

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[britcision]

I am back! And with the beginnings of some answers to the mysteries, though sadly not the full John Constantine lowdown! But I will make it up to you all with some Harley shenanigans!

There just wasn’t enough space to get them both in and of course Harley comes first, I stan a queen (Quinn)

We’re gonna take a much closer look in Brucie’s head this time too as he gets a bunch of new information and maybe some new trauma, so this chapter and the next will be a lil Bruce heavy

(Jason is thrilled, believe me)

First Chapter:

Previous Chapter:

———————

Yeah This Might As Well Happen

Jason really wished he could just focus on having a good time with his family. The food was, as always, exquisite, and Sam and Tucker were moaning happily along with the others.

It smelled great. It looked great. It tasted great, but something in the back of Jason’s head just wouldn’t switch off.

Not until Danny came back.

Even the thought that Danny might be in danger while he just ate dinner sat like a lead weight in his stomach.

The expanded aura… well. It kind of helped? Being practically choked by Danny’s presence, aware in every pore of his skin that Danny was there, was fine, wasn’t hurting, did help.

It just. Made it impossible to really think about anything else.

He was barely following the conversation, just reading the intricacies of Danny’s mood changes and losing track of sentences as people said them.

Finally, finally, Danny’s aura shifted again.

Done-got him-no big deal-coming back.

Jason almost sagged in his seat, shoulders unknotting marginally (they probably wouldn’t finish until he could see Danny and prove he was fine).

Sent impatient-relieved-happy-hurry back as well as he could, and nearly dropped his fork at the warm swell of affection he received in return.

Well.

Affection-amused-teasing.

Clearing his throat, Jason did his best to will away the heat along the back of his neck. Nope, he wasn’t gonna blush when Danny wasn’t even here to look at him while smothering him in those feelings.

And it was definitely just the pit curling up into a little buzzing ball of happiness in his chest. Definitely not actually Jason melting like snow under a blow torch.

Whatever.

Danny was fine, he’d be back soon and Alfred had saved them both plates. And sure, maybe something in Jason wouldn’t unclench until he could see Danny in person, but letting Alfred’s cooking go cold was a sin.

He dug into his still steaming plate, forcing his shoulders to relax a little. Tucker and Tim were still talking about tech, currently disparaging what the GIW thought were elite security measures.

Harley had lured Sam, Duke, and Cass into a discussion of her new place in Coney Island at the other end of the table, and yeah, Jason could get interested in that.

Someone might have already asked, but hey. He waited for a convenient pause and leaned in.

“Didn’t Croc move down there with you? He and Riddler attacked the gala last night,” he explained when Harley made a curious noise, head cocking to one side.

Her brow furrowed, so apparently the others hadn’t gotten this far yet. Not sure if he was glad or gonna tease them mercilessly later.

“He what? Yeah, he moved in, but he came back this way ta keep me company as I came up here. Someone’s tryin’ ta give me a hard time cuzza my criminal record, an’ they’re gettin’ intel from one of your local problems,” she added with a shrug, waving her hand.

Cuz yeah, that was also on the list; she’d been up with Ivy, neither of them noticeably causing trouble before apparently Ida Manson got them out of town.

Cass made a small noise of concern and Harley patted her hand, grinning.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me doll, it’s all under control. Thought it might be Pengy havin’ another go at my spot but he burst into tears when I walked in so it’s prob’ly not him,” she said with a very self satisfied smile.

Jason chuckled softly because… yeah, he could picture that. It tracked.

“Smart man,” Duke agreed with a snicker and Harley gave him a fist bump.

“Yeah, I’ll run ‘em down. But why was Waylon at the gala? He jus’ said he was gonna look inta some shit while I was gone,” Harley asked, looking around the table for an answer.

Jason shrugged.

“All their demands were for Harvey Dent. Apparently he was planning to make a run and they beat him to the punch,” he explained, in as much as he understood.

If no one else had a hand on Dent by tonight, he miiiight stretch one of his Red Hood patrols out of Crime Alley to go for a look see.

The man missed his party. The least Jason could do was pay a personal visit.

“Croc mentioned Jason,” Cass noted with a small frown, looking up at him with concern.

And, yeah, that was the other reason he was thinking of getting involved. He couldn’t imagine what the fuck he’d done as a civvie to annoy Dent.

Harley huffed, blowing blonde bangs off her face and lacing her fingers, pointing at Jason.

“Okay, so we gotta go talk to Waylon tomorrow and find out what’s goin’ on. He’s comin’ with me back to Coney when the time comes so he ain’t got time for Arkham,” she said firmly, and something settled in Jason’s gut.

Waylon had so badly wanted the Red Hood not to turn out like he had; another criminal permanently trapped in the system. Yeah, he’d like to return the favour.

Of course, not everyone in the room was up on all the secrets. Sam leaned forward, breaking her quiet streak that as far as Jason knew was her longest ever.

“Wait, you’re going to break that guy out of jail? He wanted to strap a bomb vest to Jason,” she said harshly, finally snapping Tim and Tucker out of their little happy world.

Jason raised both hands.

“He didn’t succeed.” Much as Danny had freaked out about it, Jason wasn’t gonna complain about things that hadn’t happened.

Too much like it actually happened every day, he’d never be done.

Oh. Maybe that was kinda why Danny had freaked out. That probably wasn’t good.

His personal revelation was dampened by Harley waving a hand easily.

“Nah nah nah, we’re not gonna break ‘im out tomorra. He’s gonna tell us what the fuck he was thinkin’, I’m gonna break Dent’s kneecaps, and Batsy’s gonna give a character statement an’ get ‘im released ta me for community service.”

And if any of that didn’t work, they could still just break Croc out the next day. Jason knew the unspoken corollary.

Tucker’s eyebrows raised and he said the very stupidest thing that Jason had ever heard from a genius, and he’d seen Tim on 72 hours of no sleep.

“You know Batman?” He asked incredulously.

Harley stared at him for a long moment. Then snickered.

“Yeah, we know each other from work,” she said dryly, waving her fork, “we go way back.”

The assorted bats snickered to themselves and Tucker sunk back in his chair a little, grinning sheepishly around the table.

“Yeah… sorry.”

Sam rolled her eyes, arms folded as she frowned down the table. She clearly had a bigger question, which was probably fair for anyone who didn’t know the combined Harley-and-bats history.

“And you think Batman will do you a favour? He’s not exactly known to listen to reason,” she pointed out half sarcastically. Not that anyone in the room would argue.

There was a reason Jason loved her.

Harley weighed her up for a moment, then grinned, leaning forward.

“Y’know, kid, I don’t think we were introduced. There’s somethin’ real familiar about you,” she mused, folding her arms on the table and leaning over them, plate slowly nudged aside.

Sam smirked and shrugged. They were meeting a lot of new people these past couple days, but if she’d been doing the gala circuit her whole life?

Yeah, this probably wasn’t the worst. Harley was better than Jason had ever met at a party.

“Sam Manson. Friend of Jason’s through Danny,” she added with a nod to the empty seat still between her and Jason.

Harley beamed, hiking forward onto the table a little more.

“Oh, you’d be Ida’s granddaughter then?” She asked brightly, clearly pleased to have been right. “Your granny’s a real doll, sent me and Ivy on a real sweet vacation this week.”

Sam chuckled softly and nodded, giving Harley a half apologetic half cocky smile.

“Yeah, that’d be my fault. I’m not allowed to come to Gotham if there’s a chance Poison Ivy is in town,” she explained, fingers on her left hand tapping against her right arm.

Both of Harley’s brows went up.

“Oh? Are they scared somethin’ might happen to ya?” She asked, tone already very firmly suggesting she knew the answer.

So did most of the rest of the table, though Duke hadn’t actually heard the explanation last night. Not like he needed to, having met Sam for more than five minutes.

Sam didn’t disappoint. She gave another elegant half shrug, her smile turning fully dark.

“Oh, more the opposite. They think I’ll run off and join her if I see her,” she said innocently. Across the table, Tucker snorted most of a laugh.

A moment later Harley joined him, tossing her head back and laughing.

“Yeah, that sounds like Ida’s girl,” she agreed, wiping a dainty tear from her eye, “she was a real spitfire in her younger days, the stories she told Ivy when they were protestin’ together were wild.”

Sam was practically glowing with pride, and Jason had to admit that he would kinda like to meet her grandmother. He’d met her parents, and… well, maybe awesome skipped a generation.

Harley suddenly stopped, head cocking as she noticed something, a sly smile creeping across her face.

“So if they think you’ll run away with Ivy… whadda they think’ll happen if ya run into me?” She asked with a delicately studied innocence, examining her nails.

“Only good things,” Cass offered, grinning past Jason at Sam. Sam grinned back, giving Harley a shrug and a similarly innocent smile.

“Y’know, they’ve just never mentioned it. Clearly there’s no concerns there,” she agreed, and Jason snickered, raising his glass in a toast.

“None here,” he noted and Sam laughed, clinking her glass against his. Dick raised a hand, fighting a laugh.

“One concern for the integrity of Bruce’s skull?” He offered innocently, and laughed when Jason threw a napkin at him.

“If Bruce’s skull was gonna break it’d have done it years ago,” Steph opined as the voice of experience. Jason raised his glass to her too, but she was a little far to clink.

She grabbed hers up and raised it back anyway, and Sam filled the gap, clinking hers to Jason’s and then to Steph’s to pass it on.

“It’s good for him ta get his eggs scrambled,” Harley agreed from the other end of the table, raising her glass too, “and I’m gonna guess you did some percussive maintenance too that I’ll ask about later.”

“Bruce might still have a concussion,” Duke offered, not completely certain where he sat with this kind of joking, but the kid was new.

You had to watch Bruce try and kill himself going out on patrol with more bones broken than whole a couple times before you gave in to his indestructibility.

Shit, maybe he should ask Danny if Bruce was liminal. For all the guy was technically a default human, Jason knew literal aliens with a better grasp on humanity.

And ghosts, now.

Harley gave him a nod anyway and patted his hand.

“I’ll aim low then sugar, don’t you fret. But to answer yer other question, Sam, Batman’s gonna get Waylon out for me cuz he doesn’t want ‘im in Arkham any more ‘n we do. Bats wants us all ta get better, and Waylon does best left alone,” she explained with a shrug.

“Until you leave him unsupervised and he teams up with Riddler?” Tim asked with a slight smile.

Jason shook his head, leaning forward on his arms too.

“He wouldn’t do it for no reason. He asked what I’d done to upset Two Face, but I can’t think of anything.” They didn’t even cross paths often.

Dent had taken Red Hood’s claim on Crime Alley as a given, learned quickly that Jason didn’t give a shit about playing nice, and minded his business.

“You sound like you know him pretty well,” Tucker said with a slight frown, and Jason shrugged.

Yeah, Tucker wasn’t in on the Robin thing yet. Luckily there was an easy answer.

“I grew up in Gotham. You guys keep coming back and you’ll get a feel for most of ‘em too.”

Tucker hesitated for a moment, probably thinking back to Amity and their own ghostly rogues. Then he nodded, settling back to poke at his mostly finished plate.

Tim still didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t know Waylon the way Jason did. They’d never had the chance to talk beyond the usual Robin-and-Rogue.

Jason could prove his point tomorrow. Maybe bring Danny along.

And like the thought summoned him, Jason’s phone buzzed to a text from Danny.

‘DannyP: who tf is Constantine??👀👀🤣’

**

Bruce sucked in a deep breath, eye closing, and forced himself to exhale.

He fucking hated magic.

So. Analysis.

From what he understood of Constantine’s general capabilities, him being difficult to find by malicious forces was not unexpected. That seemed credible.

Did Bruce count as a malicious force?

A stern self inventory, past the part that insisted he’d never wish harm on a teammate on principle, and… yes.

He would never have followed the impulse, would have stomped it down the moment he found the man, but he couldn’t deny the urge to lay hands was there.

He’d even been devising new layers of paperwork to insist the man fill out. With, yes, malice in his heart. Just a little bit of spite.

If that counted into making the man impossible to contact… well, he’d bear it in mind. And talk with Zatanna and Dr Fate and see it they could fine tune those wards a little more.

No matter how angry he was about Amity Park, he didn’t want anything actually harmful to happen to a colleague. Even this colleague. Although if he had to pick one…

No. That wasn’t a helpful train of thought.

Taking another steadying breath, this one slower and more evenly, he glanced down at the car. Danny wouldn’t hear anything while inside, but that wouldn’t stop him opening a door to ask what the hold up was.

Forcing Brucie’s casual tones on was harder than normal, but that was expected.

“I can’t really talk about that right now. Can you come by to visit tonight?” Bruce paused, checking his watch. Coming up on seven. “In an hour or so?”

*

The smile dropped off Constantine’s face as quickly as it had formed. Of fucking course the bat wanted everyone to run around to his fuckin’ schedule.

Raising hell for John all fuckin’ night and all fuckin’ day but when John actually got back to him it was all “oh now’s not a good time”.

His more spiteful side wanted to insist on right now, he was a busy man and he had shit to do that Batman wouldn’t even wanna fuckin’ think about.

Shit, John didn’t like thinking about it.

But it was only an hour, and he could use the damn zeta tubes, and it wasn’t like he’d been planning on fuckin’ sleeping. Why would he do that?

And if it unfucked his communicators, he could use that hour to ask the Superboys what the fuck they were playing at in Alaska.

And then he could sleep, Bat off his ass and conscience clean. Fuck it.

“Yeah, whatever. Wanna tell me what’s got your damn panties in a twist in case there’s shit I need to get ready?”

So of course Bat-tastic said the two worst words Constantine had heard in his life.

“Amity Park.”

Fuck.

**

Bruce didn’t enjoy the sharp little intake of breath, followed by no sass whatsoever. It wasn’t easy to make John Constantine speechless.

No, this was definitely just satisfaction that the man knew the gravity of what he’d done. That whatever reasons he’d had, he knew Bruce would be waiting for a damn good explanation.

That there might be one.

Bruce didn’t like even considering that an ally would have done something so serious just because he didn’t want to deal with it. Even Constantine.

When the man hadn’t spoken almost a minute later, Bruce took pity on him.

“I’ll see you in an hour.”

Constantine managed a weak agreement and he nodded, satisfied at least that the man would still be there. And if he wasn’t, Bruce could work out a way to reach him again.

Someone had obviously found him to tell him Bruce was looking for him. And apparently there were consequences for Constantine too if he tried to avoid him.

He hesitated for a moment before getting back into the car. He’d been planning to ask Danny gently about Amity Park, to try and work out what had happened.

Something light that might make him lower his guard. Then turn the subject to Jason. How precisely Danny was helping him. What he knew of the pits.

They wouldn’t have time for a full interrogation, not even in the tail end of rush hour traffic, but it would be a start.

But did he want to tip his hand now? Before Constantine gave him the truth about Amity Park, when all it would take was a matter of hours?

Danny likely knew that Brucie was a mask, but it might be useful to keep it on just a little longer.

Light subjects only then. From what Dick and Tim had reported, Danny was equally likely to just drop some huge revelation to see what Bruce would do.

Yes.

Perhaps he could bait that tendency by being innocuous.

Bruce slid back into the driver’s seat, giving Danny his best, emptiest smile.

“So sorry about that. Just a business contact I’ve been having trouble tracking down, so I didn’t want to let him slip away again.” Honesty, in case he could tell.

They would need to get a better idea of Danny’s power-set. If Duke couldn’t do it alone, perhaps Tim’s observation skills could help.

Danny barely glanced up from his phone, shooting Bruce a quick grin before returning his attention to the screen.

“Yeah? Didn’t know anything got done over the new year, I’d have thought everyone was too hung over.” It sounded like a joke, a cheerful prod.

Bruce swore internally anyway, because he was right. Clearly he knew more than an average student.

He didn’t let it show, chuckling along good naturedly.

“Oh I’d have much preferred getting this done with before the new year, but some people are a little hard to get hold of,” he explained jovially, starting the car and backing out.

Danny hummed an agreement, not looking up from his phone. A sharp glance (he could always say he was checking the boy was strapped in) did not show him the screen.

When had Danny strapped in? Bruce would swear he hadn’t when he’d sat, but it was there now.

Clearly his apparent absorption was a trick. Intended to remind Bruce of a typical young adult, make him lower his guard.

Danny stifled a laugh just as they were leaving the garage, and Bruce barely resisted another effort to look over. The screen would still be tilted away.

His opponent was a cunning one.

Or he was overreacting. It could be a real innocence, not a calculated one. A young man paying more attention to his phone?

He wouldn’t have thought it sinister if it were Tim, Dick, Duke, any of their friends.

No.

He couldn’t take that chance. Not with Jason. He couldn’t afford to relax his guard.

It was unfair to Danny, unfair to both of them.

He’d lost Jason once by not paying close enough attention, and Bruce would be the very first to admit that he’d never gotten his boy back.

Jason had returned in body, mind, and soul, just like he’d wished and prayed for for so long. But there was a distance now that Bruce had no idea how to bridge.

He’d thought he was on the right path last night, but a constant nagging in his gut told him he was wrong.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw Jason’s shocked, white face when he’d apologised. It was a blessing he’d had enough to keep him from his bed.

He’d been so sure it was the right move. The next step to closing the distance between them. Offering Jason the public apology, the acknowledgement that Bruce had failed him.

But that was why Bruce would face gods and walk backwards into Hell before he let anything else try and take his baby boy from him again.

“Y’know, you could just tell Jason you love him.”

Bruce nearly crashed the car.

Luckily they were at a red light, so his reflexive slamming hit the brake, not the gas, and the car barely lurched.

When he was sure his heart was still beating, he chanced a glance over at Danny.

The boy was half smirking down at his phone, clearly aware of the consternation he’d caused, and looked up when he felt Bruce’s eyes on him.

And shrugged, like it was nothing.

“Dude, you’re brooding so hard there’s basically a black cloud over your head.”

Add mind reading to the list of suspected powers.

Bruce felt his eyes narrowing before rigid control snapped back into place, keeping his expression Brucie-open.

“What do you mean?” He asked, in a tone he knew gave nothing away.

Danny snorted like he’d told a joke.

“Man, I’m just saying. Jason barely thinks you fuckin’ like him, it’d save you both a lot of trouble if you’d just sit him down and tell him how you feel.”

Bruce hesitated for a long moment, staring into deep blue eyes that suddenly seemed as deep and unreadable as the deepest ocean. As old as time.

Then he forced his eyes back to the road as the light turned and cars started moving again.

That. Couldn’t be true. It was an attempt at manipulation.

A predator expertly analysing what he thought was Bruce’s greatest weakness, striking to do as much damage as he could.

Of course Jason knew that Bruce loved him. He must have. He had to.

There was no way this stranger who by all accounts Jason had known for barely a week could know more about Jason’s life than his own father.

**

Danny hummed softly to himself, most of his attention on his phone as he texted back and forth with Jason.

‘DannyP: ur dad is giving me the biggest cop energy rn 😳🚔🚔’

Mostly ignoring just the solid waves of angst emanating from Bruce like miasma. Poor guy was only wrapping himself tighter in his own head for Danny’s interjection.

‘JTodd: Yeah Dickie comes by it honestly.’

That was probably a sign Danny shouldn’t do it again.

‘DannyP: 👀👀 think he’s mad at me’

Danny wasn’t great at following signs. Or sitting quietly, in all honesty.

‘JTodd: No one told you not to fly back.’

‘DannyP: Imma make it worse 😈😈’

Tucking his feet up to the edge of his seat, he slumped down as low as he could, glancing up at Bruce through his bangs.

“Sooooooo, how was lunch with Vlad? You seem to have survived, so I’m gonna guess football didn’t come up much?” He prodded, still half suspecting Masters had been up to something.

Bruce wasn’t overshadowed, didn’t have any of Vladdie’s taint that said it had happened in the past, but Danny wasn’t gonna rule out something new.

And all the clenching the big guy was doing on the wheel and on his jaw looked kinda painful.

‘JTodd: I’ll give a touching speech at your funeral.’

Bruce did finally force himself to relax though, sucking in a breath like he’d forgotten he had to.

Mood. Danny forgot about breathing a fair chunk too. Didn’t always remember to do it at all.

His posture changed too, shifting forcefully back to the more lax, open lines of his public persona, but there wasn’t much point. Danny could still feel his aura locked shut like a steel trap.

Being Batman kinda seemed like it sucked so far, and Bruce hadn’t even been a high school hero. Guess being an adult didn’t really make everything easier after all.

The smile he shot Danny didn’t show any of the inner turmoil though, so kudos there.

“It was great, actually. Your godfather is a very charming man,” he added, and Danny stuck his tongue out.

“Oh we’re so not calling him that. He’s just Vladdie, nothing to do with me at all,” he corrected vehemently, making a face.

Checked his phone.

‘DannyP: ABORT ABORT ABORT MISSION HE LIKES VLAD 😡🤮😱’

Bruce made a curious noise beside him, and Danny huffed. There were some things that would have been simpler if Vlad had just been brain washing him.

“Oh? He speaks very highly of you, Danny. I’m a little surprised you don’t get along.” The big guy was clearly fishing, and Danny would give him something to catch alright.

“Yeah? Cuz all he’s ever said to me was that I’m weak, lazy, unmotivated, and will never amount to anything without him. Oh, and that he wants to kill my dad and marry my mom,” he added as an afterthought.

And watched Bruce from the corner of his eye. He looked honestly surprised, but Danny had already learned not to judge from his face.

He felt surprised too though. Surprised and suspicious.

‘JTodd: He’s a great judge of character.’

Fuck it was hard not to laugh at his just flawless acting when Danny had the cheat sheet into his heart.

They drove in silence for a block, Bruce apparently not sure what to say, and Danny gave him a pat on the elbow.

“Don’t feel bad. I dunno what he’s playing at either, but he’s really, really good at telling people what they want to hear.”

And didn’t that do some interesting things to the guy’s aura. Danny had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing.

No matter what he fucking said, it seemed to be convincing Bruce that he was sketchier and sketchier.

‘DannyP: okay but literally every word i say’s making him more and more suspicious and he didn’t even get whammied this is bs 😔😒💔’

He did kinda regret that one pretty much immediately, a sudden wave of protective anger pulsing through his aura.

Making a face again, he focused on wrapping Jason up in his own, soothing him with gentle reminders safe-safe-i’m fine-not hurting me.

Yeah, there were some fucking Issues with a capital I that Danny deadass just wasn’t gonna touch until Jazz got a look in.

No matter what though, he didn’t fucking like what it told him about Bruce. About Jason’s relationship with Bruce.

Maybe he shoulda brought the Fenton thermos. He usually had one on him, but his suit hadn’t come with pockets you could hide a thermos in.

For all Sam bitched about her dress, she coulda carried a rocket launcher and no one would have known.

He was so busy focusing on Jason he didn’t actually notice that Bruce was talking to him again until the man had repeated his name a couple of times, now sounding worried.

Feeling suspicious. Sounding worried.

“Danny?”

Danny shook his head, hair flopping around his face and half his attention still on Jason’s cranky ass.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” he said still half distracted, and felt the suspicion ramp up another notch.

For all that he couldn’t laugh aloud, wrapping the desire and the need to laugh around Jason seemed to be helping. He settled enough to text back anyway.

‘JTodd: Sorry. Probably my fault.’

Well that was bullshit.

“I said I’m sorry, Danny. He mentioned you had a difficult past, but I had no idea…”

And yeah, that probably was too. Easy to prioritise though.

‘DannyP: ur gonna be Jazz’s final psych project if u keep that up and i will not save u 😤🫡👻’

‘DannyP: 🖕💋he’s a grown ass adult and so am i and i can be a sketchy bitch just fine on my own sir’

And since Bruce was going to take whatever he did as suspicious anyway, Danny might as well get him warmed up for Harley.

“Yeah, well, don’t go throwing a public party to all of high society about it. Trust me, I do not need a second creepy billionaire trying to make me a show pony.”

Another block of silence, but Danny was satisfied that this one was at least less certain. Felt like a big decision was afoot.

Finally Bruce sighed and deflated, and for once his aura matched the gesture.

“It was a mistake, wasn’t it?” It almost wasn’t a question. Danny figured that progress deserved a reward anyway. Kinda.

“Well again, Harley Quinn came back from the Amazon to kick your ass about it, so yes. I think we can both agree that was a bad life choice.”

Bruce’s grip tensed on the steering wheel a little and Danny relented. Fuck him for being a softie.

Even when he was also still kinda pissed, it was hard to ignore the sudden doubt, fear, guilt suddenly stinking up the car.

The anger, much more familiar. Danny knew exactly what to do about angry people, but Bruce’s anger felt a little too familiar. A little too internal-only.

“He said you’d never told him you were sorry before, man. Not even once until you shoved him right into the spotlight. What does it say that you can say it to me but not him?” He asked softly.

Bruce was quiet for most of the rest of the drive, but since he actually seemed to be thinking about what Danny had said, Danny left him to it.

It was as they were finally pulling up to the gates of Wayne Manor that he spoke again.

“I may not have been much of a father to Jason, but I won’t see him hurt again. Not if I can help it.” There wasn’t actually any menace in the tone.

Just a stone cold certainty that was way, way scarier.

Well. Probably for anyone who wasn’t the actual ghost king. Or just uncontrollably sarcastic.

Danny grinned.

“Well if this is gonna be your shovel talk, you should be aware that I’ve already been six feet under. It takes a lot to scare me,” he teased, resting his bare feet on the console in front of him.

Outside, the gate swung slowly open. Bruce took advantage of the pause to stare directly at him again, those blue eyes suddenly piercing and not even trying to hide the intelligence within.

“Noted.”

And okay. Maybe Danny needed to invest in some more one liners, cuz that was way fucking cooler than any complicated threat or pun.

Kinda hated how cool it was, actually.

He let just a little of the eldritch creep into the smile he gave back.

“Oh, and Bruce? Samesies. Seems like Jason has a lot more people who have his back than he thinks he does, but now? He’s also got me. And Harley’s probably the nice one.”

If the guy was going to think the fucking worst of Danny no matter what, might as well use that to try and make him be a less shitty dad.

Shovel talking the Ghost King? That took some balls.

Bruce didn’t seem to be noticeably intimidated though. Just stared at Danny for a long moment, eyes narrowed, before he nodded again.

“You don’t know Harley well,” he remarked dryly, heading on up the ridiculously long driveway to the house.

Danny didn’t actually manage to pull all the way back into human tones before he laughed, the shadows stretching and creaking around the sound.

“Yeah, fair point.” He sure as shit wouldn’t argue it where she could hear him after all.

**

It took Steph to finally bring the conversation back around to the thermos.

They’d moved on to telling Harley the actual details of what had happened at the gala, from Bruce’s crimes to Sam and Danny’s.

Harley was absolutely delighted by the whole story, and it was Steph who gave Sam a gentle nudge, grinning at her.

“Y’know, I never got around to asking why you even had that giant thermos. I was with you most of the night and I never saw you drinking from it?” She asked.

Sam chuckled softly, reaching into the deep pocket of Cass’s pants and pulling out the thermos in question. She always had one on her.

Tucker was supposed to as well, but if he knew she was gonna be there? Yeah, he tended to forget. Or save the space for something more interesting.

“Oh, this? Yeah this really isn’t a drinking thermos,” she explained, setting it on the table and sharing an amused glance with Tucker.

Maybe side eying Jason. It was gonna be a drinking thermos for him, poor bastard.

Steph’s eyebrows rose and she reached out, taking the thermos when Sam nodded her assent. Turning it over in her hands.

“Wait, so it’s strictly a combat thermos?” She asked like it was a joke, grinning at Sam as she unscrewed the lid.

Tucker stifled a laugh from across the table and Sam grinned back, leaning back in her chair. The table had been cleared of dinner by now, but dessert they’d wait on Bruce and Danny for.

Speaking of Danny…

“Actually, yeah. The Fenton Thermos is pretty much our best tool for the rogue attacks we get in Amity Park,” she explained with a modest shrug.

Steph looked even more surprised, hefting the unexpected weight of what looked like an empty thermos.

“It made a pretty good throwing weapon,” Dick offered from the end of the table. Tucker snickered and shook his head, holding out a hand to Steph.

“It’s not actually meant to be for throwing, but that definitely worked,” he agreed, gesturing for the thermos.

Turning it to show the table, Tucker pointed to the big green button on the side. The big, obvious green button that you could pretty easily press by accident.

“You can capture ghosts with it once they’ve been weakened, and then Danny lets them out back in the Ghost Zone. It doesn’t actually hurt them, but apparently it’s not comfortable.”

“How do you know, if it only catches ghosts?” Duke asked, a slight frown on his face and he leaned forward to see around Tim.

Tucker shot him a smug grin, twirling the thermos and passing it back to Sam. Clearly enjoying his time in the spotlight, and Sam wouldn’t begrudge him that.

Not when she could bully him about showing off for his new boyfriend later. It was kinda cute watching that hero worship turning into an actual proper crush.

Cuter that Tim was being just an average guy, and Tucker was still losing his shit over it. Sweet revenge for all those times the boys teased her about her crush on Val.

“Well, for one thing pretty much all of our ghosts have stopped trying to attack these days, and some of them are actually pretty chill? Buuuut you can also use it to catch half ghosts,” Tucker explained with a smug grin.

Sam chuckled, taking the cap back from Steph and screwing it back on.

“Danny says it’s like being squished into a really tight sleeping bag. Worse if someone else is in there with him, but they can’t really move or fight in there.”

“If someone’s been a real pain in the ass sometimes Danny keeps them in Soup Time for a week or so as punishment,” Tucker added, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head.

“Isn’t that unethical?” Dick asked, down beside Damian, and Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, do the people you arrest only get locked up for a day or so?” She asked dryly and Dick grinned, raising both hands.

“They don’t get locked in really tight sleeping bags. But what happens after they’re let out? They just go back in the Ghost Zone?” He prodded, not quelled by her stare this time.

Good. More fun when people fought back. And, for a cop, Dick wasn’t really all that bad.

He’d probably get fired for that pretty soon.

Sam shrugged, taking over the explanation for now and tucking the thermos back into her pocket.

“Pretty much. Most of the ghosts pretty much just showed up to fight Phantom and the trouble they caused around town was part of that.”

“Phantom being Danny’s superhero name?” Tim asked, looking extremely covetously at where the thermos had disappeared under the table.

Sam stuck her hand in the top of the pocket, keeping it on the lid of the thermos. They didn’t exactly have enough to spare.

Of course Tucker swept in when his boytoy had a question.

“Yeah, that’s him. The town used to call him Inviso-Bill until he actually told someone to call him Phantom instead,” he added, snickering.

Sam couldn’t resist chuckling along; honestly, if she ever learned who’d started that nickname she’d send them flowers. It was fucking priceless.

“Yeah. There were some rowdier ghosts, usually when their Obsessions got triggered, but honestly? Once they were beaten most of them settled down. It was just the ones that wanted to brawl with Danny that kept coming back.”

“We didn’t really have anything else to do with them either,” Tucker pointed out with a snicker, shaking his head, “it was Soup Time, back home, or the Fenton family dissection table.”

Their hosts looked suitably disturbed at that, Harley leaning in from her end of the table to be the voice of the room.

“The Fenton family what the fuck? Didn’t ya say the kid was a Fenton?” She asked sharply.

Sam ran a quick mental check of the list Danny had cleared them to talk about. Yeah, the Fenton parents were on it.

Just not the Ghost King stuff, anything about Jason, and anything specific about Ellie. No worries there.

She shrugged again, fingers tapping on the table. From her guess and Jason’s texting, Danny should be back soon.

“The Fenton parents were the ones who made a portal to the Ghost Zone in the first place. They were really interested in dissecting and studying any ghosts they could catch for a long time,” she explained dryly, not bothering to hide her feelings on the matter.

Duke looked a little sick. Maybe she should tone it down some, for the young and innocent among them.

“But that’d include Danny,” Dick pointed out, suspicion rising towards horror.

Sam fixed her gaze on him, not letting him look away.

“Yeah. It did. Which is why the three of us spent our high school years fighting ghosts and protecting the town in secret, cuz if we told anyone we thought Danny would go on the table.”

“They totally took it way better than we thought though,” Tucker tacked on quickly, searching something up on his PDA, probably for pictures of the GAV. “They’re Phantom’s biggest fans now.”

He tilted the screen to show Tim, whose jaw dropped.

Yeah, to be fair, words didn’t do the GAV’s new paint job justice. Tucker passed the tablet on to Tim to show Duke and Harley, and it made its way around the table.

They were probably running out of time.

Sam leaned in, catching the attention of the rest of the table and making eye contact with most of them.

“Some basic etiquette though, before Danny gets back? You never, ever ask a ghost how they died. They might bring it up, but you don’t ask. Okay?”

“Wait, why not?” Tim asked, his brows furrowing as he turned back to her. “Isn’t that the first thing they do in all those ghost hunting shows?”

Which. Well. Sam had a whole special rant about ghost hunting shows and their bullshit, but before she got started Jason cut her off.

“Cuz dying fucking sucks, Timmy. Do you wanna bug Steph or Dick about the times they died?” He asked pointedly, and Tim flushed.

Yeah, that kinda explained the death taint Sam could just about taste from half the table. She wasn’t going to mention it, because she had some damn manners.

Tim seemed to have gotten the point though, stammering a quick apology and sinking back into his seat. Tucker gave him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder.

“Pretty much the first thing you gotta learn about real ghosts is that ghost hunters have no idea what they’re doing. They don’t even ecto infuse their tech,” he added with a derisive snort.

Sam rolled her eyes, stifling a grin. Alfred had disappeared, which probably meant Danny was imminent.

“Harder to do without a ghost or half ghost on your team, Tuck. But more to the point, do you guys wanna see the Fenton Thermos in action?” She asked innocently, pulling it back out of her pocket to wiggle.

Once again, Harley spoke for the table.

“Hell yeah. Are ya gonna throw it at Brucie again too?” She asked brightly, and Sam paused, considering.

Finally sighed and shook her head.

“Probably not. I’ll let you handle him,” she decided, smirking as Harley reached back down for her trusty bedazzled bat.

“That’s what the ol’ Therapy Bat’s for,” Harley agreed brightly, getting to her feet. She’d clearly clocked Alfred’s exit too. And the approaching sets of footsteps.

Sam grinned and readied the thermos.

**

Bruce had almost forgotten that Harley would be waiting until Danny reminded him. An unusual lapse for him, but he had a lot on his mind.

The only thing he wanted to do was get down to the cave and talk to Constantine; to finally get some answers, both on what had gone wrong in Amity Park and precisely what was keeping them out now.

He had the very tiniest bit of hope that one question might also hold the answer to the other; that it was perhaps something Constantine had done, or could undo.

He did not like having to rely on biased secondary sources for data. It was frustrating to run into so many dead ends.

Luckily for him though, Danny had reminded him, which meant he could take Harley aside, find out what she wanted, and get it dealt with instead of going straight to the cave and being surprised.

As little as he liked John Constantine, he wouldn’t subject the man to Harley if he could help it. Harley was something of a kryptonite to many of the magicians; she broke their rules in ways they couldn’t reconcile.

Bruce absolutely did not doubt Zatanna that Harley had temporarily sold herself to a demon prince and within 24 hours annoyed him so much that he gave her back, deal intact.

She was a force to be reckoned with. And privately… Bruce would hang up the cowl if Constantine decided he wanted to give her methods a try on top of his own.

No. Best keep them as far away from each other as possible.

So he was accompanying Danny and Alfred to the family dining room, where he’d collect Harley and take her to his office.

Half an hour to get through whatever she wanted, and then he could go down and talk to Constantine. The perfect plan.

Part of him hoped that Danny had been right, and she was here to explain what he’d done wrong with Jason.

Bruce would be the first to admit that he just… couldn’t seem to do right when it came to his second son.

He loved Jason dearly, but his death was something Bruce had never gotten over. He’d seen Jason so many times, as he died and as Bruce imagined he’d have grown over those years.

It had been hard for him to believe Jason really was himself, even if he looked nothing like Bruce had always expected. He’d always been so small.

No. He’d refused to believe it. Refused to believe the kind, loving boy he’d known could have become this large and angry killer.

It had coloured their relationship ever since. The things Jason had done, the things Bruce had done to stop him.

The fury with which Jason had forced his real identity down Bruce’s throat until he couldn’t deny it anymore. The one person he thought he could never let down again.

Jason was calmer now. Had a lid on the rage, and just plain walked away when he was on the edge of his control. Bruce admired that, as much as he could.

The only thing Bruce knew how to do with his emotions was push them aside and try to keep soldiering on, and it had cost his family so many times.

He’d thought he was getting better, but when it came to Jason… Bruce knew he still wasn’t thinking clearly. He’d upset Jason at the gala, he knew he had.

He’d seen it in his face, even if Jason had covered it before reaching the stage. He just wasn’t sure how.

Bruce prided himself on his ability to read faces. He was certainly no Cass, but it was his most used skill. Jason’s had never been a mystery to him before.

But somehow all Bruce could see in the older Jason’s face was the shadows of the bruises, the beating that face had worn the last time Bruce held him in his arms.

Cold. Lifeless. A death mask that only ever seemed to clear under Lazarus green rage.

He didn’t know when his baby boy had become so unreadable to him. What part of the horrors which Jason had lived through had made him put on a mask so thick Bruce couldn’t see through it.

And he was afraid to ask. Afraid of what he might see under that mask, and afraid to hear everything Jason had been put through because of Bruce’s failure.

He could have asked Danny in the car. At least where he’d gone wrong last night. They’d been alone, without anyone to overhear. And yet…

Bruce couldn’t bring himself to trust Danny. Oddly he found himself liking the boy more since Danny had threatened him, but his doubts remained.

Vlad had been personable, charming, and open during their meal together, and Bruce knew all too well how vile men could put on a front like that.

Normally he would have trusted Danny’s impression of Vlad over his own implicitly; it was part of the reason he brought his children to galas.

Brucie Wayne was too well known, too powerful, too influential. No one wanted to show him anything but their best, the sides they thought he would like to see.

The truest measure of a person came in the way they treated those they saw as beneath them, and for most adults that would automatically always include children.

Danny’s words tracked with the odd moments of quiet regret in Masters’ face when he talked about his godson. Far more egregious than the “misunderstandings” he’d hinted at, but a testament nonetheless.

There had been no trace of a lie in Danny’s voice or face. And yet.

There was no fear either. Not a trace of concern at being alone in the room together before Bruce returned.

None of the wariness one would naturally expect when a young man faced a much older adult who had at the very least made serious threats towards his family and possibly psychologically abused him.

It didn’t make sense. There was no right or wrong way to respond to an abuser, but Danny’s open antagonism of Vlad pointed at something else. A piece Bruce was still missing of what passed between them.

There were too many unanswered questions about Danny Fenton, and the situation with Jason was too delicate to rely on a single unknown factor.

No.

Danny may take advantage of any perceived weakness to steer him wrong, push him to another mistake, widen the rift between Bruce and his son.

It wasn’t safe. Wasn’t the plan.

For all that she’d been a rogue, Bruce trusted Harley implicitly… at least in matters of the heart. On the off chance she was there for anything else, he could still ask her before she left.

Maybe after he was done with Constantine.

Of course no one was around to give him answers when he had plenty of spare time on his hands. No, they had to come all at once.

Fine.

He may have to leave Jason with Danny for now, but they would hardly be unsupervised. The others would keep a watch for him while he got answers.

Bruce was actually beginning to feel pretty good about the evening by the time they reached the dining room.

And then the door opened, Danny walked through, and vanish in a blur of bright blue light.

Bruce threw up a hand to shield his eyes as light flashed across him, and it went dark a moment later.

Sam Manson was holding the thermos again (his head throbbed a warning), screwing the lid back on with a satisfied smirk.

Danny Fenton was gone. Just gone. Like he’d never been there, until.

“I fucking hate you so much.”

That was Danny’s voice, no doubt about it, coming from… the thermos.

What.

As Steph would say.

The fuck.

**

Harley was the first to recover her voice, throwing both hands into the air and whooping.

“Now THAT is what I call a party trick! You kids ever wanna come out Coney Island way ya can stay with me an’ take a turn at th’ Freakshow if ya want!”

The room froze, temperature actually plummeting as the Amity Parkers both flinched.

(Danny mighta also flinched but he was in a soup thermos, it was harder to tell.)

Tucker spoke up, making a face and exchanging a look with Sam.

“Uh… pass, thanks. Had some pretty bad experiences with clowns and circuses,” he explained, and Harley nodded understandingly.

No matter how much he liked to pretend he was, Joker was hardly the first asshole to wear the face paint.

It was why she didn’t wear hers if she was gonna be anywhere around Jason.

Not like she’d liked the full face stuff Joker did anyway. She could have a lot more fun with eyeshadow and a little lipstick, but some people needed to be terrified.

Harley Quinn’s war paint was satisfyingly terrifying enough that she’d pull it out for special occasions.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” she agreed easily, noted the air began to warm.

So it was one of them doing it. And from the way the two she could see relaxed just after, she’d put her money on Danny. Made sense with the ghost thing.

Anyway, she’d come here for a reason. Strolling casually over towards Brucie, she ruffled a hand through Jason’s and then Sam’s hair.

“Yer all still welcome to come visit though, just call ahead an’ I’ll tell the crew to put the theatrics on hold. I got a whole floor full of puppies and kittens that need some love,” she told them cheerfully.

And paused at a sudden horrible ripping sound, like part of the universe had been velcro and just pulled itself apart.

A glowing green hole opened just behind Sam’s chair and Danny’s head poked through, just a little below Harley’s height.

“You have a fucking what?”

She ruffled his hair too, grinning.

“Yeah, building I inherited had a free floor my aunt used ta rent, I didn’t want anyone upsettin’ my crew and all these lil cuties were just wasting away at the pound so Ivy did me up an indoor park. There’s about thirty of ‘em,” she explained brightly.

Sam snickered, settling comfortably in her turned chair.

“Bet cleaning up after that many is a treat,” she commented dryly and Harley tipped her a wink.

“It’s no trouble! I do the scoopin’ and once a week we load the big bags up on th’ roof catapult and shoot ‘em into the city. At the mayor’s house if he’s bein’ trouble.”

“Harley, I have a theory about who might want you gone,” Duke put in from the other end of the table, all dry sarcasm.

Harley laughed and blew him a kiss, giving her bat a lazy twirl.

“Hey, if he wants me ta stop all he’s gotta do is stop bein’ a pain in my ass an’ I’ll shoot ‘em at the dump,” she told him cheerfully, then turned back to Danny.

Back in the black hair. Didn’t seem like it mattered if he was actively a ghost or not gettin’ sucked inta the thermos. Interesting.

“You need a tow out?” She asked, other hand dropping back to his hair to give a gentle tug.

Danny gave her a slightly suspicious look.

“Do you promise no mind control or creepy clown shit?” He asked warily, and Harley loosed her grip to pat him on the cheek.

“Pinky promise, suga. I’m about to go give Brucie ‘is own private dose of scary clown shit that I’m sure he’ll completely understand that he wants to be in private,” she added more pointedly, giving Bruce a sharp look over her shoulder.

Behind her, Danny shrugged and pulled the rest of his body through the green rip, giving Sam a smack upside the head as his feet touched the floor and snatching the thermos from her.

“Confiscated til you’ll only use it’s power responsibly,” he told her, sticking his tongue out and dropping down into his seat, thermos held preventatively back and over his head.

Which made it all too easy for Jason to reach up and grab it from him, tucking it into the front of his hoodie pocket when Danny whipped around indignantly.

“You’re not responsible either,” Jason pointed out smugly and Danny sputtered but didn’t quite find words to argue.

They were fucking adorable.

If she didn’t have ta go try and beat the sense back inta Brucie’s head she’d have the time of her life just pinching their cheeks and winding them up about what to her studied eye was a pair of oblivious fresh forming crushes.

Young love was just the cutest when it was in that awkward blushy denial phase.

Yeah, Brucie was getting an extra whap for tearing her away from that.

Turning back to the big man, she prodded her bat into the center of his chest.

“So! Whaddaya think, big guy? Wanna give a nice big public apology for ya fuck up or shall we go talk somewhere in private?” She asked firmly, emphasizing those last words into a threat.

Bruce’s attention snapped away from glaring at Danny and Jason to fix on her, clearly analyzing her words. Of all the hopeless little shits…

She was gonna find someone to get him his proper diagnosis. Had to at this point.

Couldn’t be her, she was technically a conflict of interest, but holy fuck the man screamed emotional disregulation with a hefty side of autism spectrum.

At least he’d know what direction he needed help in, as if he wouldn’t promptly ignore any advice that included “talk about ya damn feelings”. Too bad for him.

She gave him another firm poke with the bat and he nodded sharply, gaze snapping from her around to the door.

His shoulders settled just a little, posture relaxing in what she knew was relief as he motioned for her to follow. Still looked tense as hell, but she’d probably only get a dime back for bouncing a nickel off him now.

That was real relaxed for Brucie.

Maybe he was finally self aware enough to accept that he needed some help with all the emotional stuff.

Good. Maybe she’d only do one kneecap.

**

As Harley followed Bruce out of the room, Sam’s phone began buzzing dramatically in her pocket. Abandoning her quest for the thermos, she pulled it out and glanced down.

Grinned wickedly. She’d been expecting this for a while now actually.

“Aw, look, my parents saw our selfies on Twitter,” she cooed sarcastically, Manson Party Voice making a brief return.

Danny scooted just a little away from the still buzzing phone.

“So are you gonna get that?” He asked as Alfred brought him a perfectly reheated plate. “What? Oh, thanks.”

Sam shrugged, hit speakerphone, and set it on the table. They’d posted those pictures pretty much solely for the incoming reaction.

“Hey mom, what’s up?” She said sweetly, still in her public facing voice.

Her mother did not sound nearly as composed.

“SAMANTHA. Where ARE you?! What are you wearing?! Where are your clothes and WHY, in the name of all that’s good, are you anywhere near HARLEY QUINN?! Have you been kidnapped?!”

Sam rolled her eyes hard enough that Tucker faked a fatal injury across the table. She flipped him off as Tim and Duke stifled laughs.

“Yes, mother, I have been kidnapped and just answered my phone completely normally. I’m at the Waynes’,” she added quickly, before her mother could jump to conclusions.

And gave her some new conclusions to jump to instead, but who cared. Still, something seemed to be sticking in her mom’s mind.

“With Harley Quinn?” She asked suspiciously after a moment’s silence.

Which, to be fair, was kind of a good point.

“Apparently she’s a family friend? Like Grandma and Ivy,” Sam added delicately, a vicious satisfaction rising through her.

She’d gotten to say her piece at the gala yesterday and had thought she was done, but. Well. Years of restriction and so on.

She was definitely still having fun winding her parents up.

Her mom’s sharp intake of breath was clearly audible even over the phone, and then the shouting started again.

“Samantha MANSON do not even THINK about going anywhere with that woman! You have responsibilities! School! Your work! We’re coming to pick you up RIGHT NOW, and… where are your CLOTHES?!”

Alfred cleared his throat from behind them, where he’d stayed from delivering Danny’s dinner. Sam half turned and he raised a brow, inclining his head slightly.

She scooted her chair out of the way to let him get closer to the phone, waving a hand in open invitation.

“If I may interject,” Alfred said calmly, not a trace that anything was even slightly amiss, “the young lady’s clothes are in the dryer at present. They will be finished shortly.”

Another long silence. Her mom probably realizing that Sam had her on speaker. And that she would still be on speaker the next time she spoke.

Finally she choked out a terse, “thank you. I do hope she has been behaving herself. We will be there to pick you up in half an hour, Sammy, and we will Have Words.”

Which Sam kinda doubted, given where the hotel was and how long it had taken Danny and Bruce to get back, but time would tell.

At least they weren’t hiring a helicopter.

It sucked to have to leave, but she’d have needed to head out soon anyway. Her flight back to university would be leaving this evening, and at least this way she could hang out with the others until her parents arrived.

No reason not to needle them more though.

“Aw but mom, I’m having such a good time hanging out with Cass,” she sighed, switching from Party to Heartfelt Woe expertly.

Down beyond Jason, Cass stifled a giggle. It clearly sent Sam’s mom into another spiral of conflicting emotions; delight, hope, ecstasy, and ongoing horror at the presence of Harley.

Who, technically, was no longer present in the room, but telling her mom that would only make her feel better, so Sam wasn’t gonna bother.

Honestly, if she wanted to run away and be an ecoterrorist with Pamela Isley, she could just ask Grandma to text her. She didn’t need kidnapping.

Still, apparently the risk of a close contact with Poison Ivy outweighed her mom’s desire to see her cozy up with the Waynes.

It’d have been real sweet if it had been a worry for Sam’s health instead of a worry about what Sam would do to other peoples’ health. The lack of trust stung, truly.

“We’ll be there in half an hour, Sammy. Get your clothes back on and say thank you for having you,” her mom warned, tone sharp and clipped.

And then hung up the phone before anyone could argue, because while she never used to listen to Sam before, she did somehow still know her. Ah well.

Sam sighed, stuffing the phone back into her borrowed pocket.

“Guess my parole has ended. I’ve gotta get back for my next semester anyway, but you have my number?” She asked Steph, looking from her back to Cass.

Both women nodded enthusiastically, Steph sighing and slumping forward into the table.

“Do you really have to go? Harley probably won’t be done with Brucie by then, you’ll miss the best part!”

But in all honesty, Sam wasn’t too upset about that. She’d made her feelings perfectly clear via thermos, and if Jason wasn’t satisfied with Bruce’s real apology she could always come back.

So she shrugged, grinning.

“Guess it’s my turn to get the video recap once it’s all over. You guys’ll film it for me, right?” She asked, looking from Danny to Tucker.

Both of whom gave her a thumbs up.

“We should make a new group chat,” Tucker mused eagerly, already pulling his phone up, “one for all of us.”

“Then we’d know which galas you were coming to!” Steph agreed at once, her own phone magically appearing in hand.

Dick snickered, leaning back in his seat.

“Said like Steph’s ever let Bruce drag her to one against her will,” he teased and Steph flipped him off.

“Hey, if you’d had the good sense not to let him adopt you you wouldn’t have to do them either,” Steph told him primly. Dick rolled his eyes.

“I’m his ward, not adopted,” he argued mostly futilely, and Sam snickered.

“And still have to go apparently. Doesn’t the ward thing end once you’re a legal adult?” She asked innocently.

Dick gave her a deadpan stare.

“Ma’am, if you want to try and wrest an orphan from the hands of Bruce Wayne you be my fucking guest, I gave up years ago.”

Which, fair. Their rifts had been legendary enough to make the circuit. She toasted him with her phone and settled back.

“Point taken. If being a cop didn’t make him give you up nothing will,” she added slyly, and Dick mimed grievous injury, slumping forward onto the table as the others laughed.

Grinning her triumph, Sam turned back to Alfred.

“So if you just show me where the laundry room is I can grab my clothes?” She offered, trying yet again to be helpful.

Being from a rich family didn’t mean having no damn manners, no matter how often it looked like it.

The old man gave her another of his extremely arch expressions, an eyebrow rising as if to question her impertinence. He had to be fucking with her.

“I shall bring your clothes to the downstairs bathroom on this hall when they are done so that you may change, Miss Manson,” he said coolly.

She’d never heard anything like it.

It didn’t sound like he was upset or offended the way people usually did when their voices iced over that sharply. Just… not an ounce of wiggle room.

Not a sliver of a hint that anything he was saying would not happen exactly as he’d decreed it. He sounded more imperious than a king, and she’d seen those.

Sam kinda imagined that’d be what Clockwork would sound like if she ever met the guy.

Duke misinterpreted her decidedly impressed stare with a wry chuckle, apparently misinterpreting her expression.

Fair, since he couldn’t know she was comparing him to the living manifestation of Time.

Well. Ghostly manifestation. Same difference.

“Miss Manson’s probably the best you’ll get out of him,” Duke said almost apologetically, grinning. “It’s gonna be that or Miss Samantha.”

Which admittedly was enough to make her turn to face him, curiosity peaked.

“What do you mean?” She asked, glancing back up at Alfred.

She couldn’t read anything but serenity in his face, but mild amusement practically radiated off him. She’d have to ask Danny what he saw in his aura.

Dick took this one too, sitting back in his seat and grinning at her.

“Alfie’s serious about the whole “proper titles and full names” thing. I’ve been trying for almost twenty years to make him call me “Dick”, and I think he’d be slower to give that up than Bruce’d be to unadopt me,” he explained cheerfully, arm tossed over the back of his chair.

Alfred treated him to a slowly raised eyebrow too.

“As you say, Master Richard,” he agreed placidly and Sam pressed her lips together on a smile.

She didn’t have to turn around to know exactly what face Danny would be making. The last thing he needed was another scary old man full naming him.

And right on cue…

“Uh… can I specifically request Mister Fenton then?” Danny asked and sure enough when she turned, yup, he even had his hand in the air like a child.

Alfred treated him to that calm stare as well.

“May I ask why, Mister Daniel?” He asked, clearly prodding despite every line of both face and posture oozing nothing but polite respect.

Danny fully flinched, which was interesting. He barely reacted whenever Vlad said his name.

Sam adjusted her opinion of Alfred along a couple “scarier than Vlad” levels.

“I have name-related trauma from another billionaire who refuses to call me anything but that,” Danny admitted sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s a really not-fun association.”

“Vlad again?” Tim asked from across the table, sounding sympathetic.

Danny pulled a face at him, sort of grimacing more than a smile.

“Oh yeah. And let’s just say he also does it in super bad situations, so I’d be happier to just never hear it again.”

Sam peaked back over her shoulder at Alfred, wondering what he’d do with this news.

If Danny was gonna be a fixture in Jason’s life (and let’s be honest, he’d be a fixture in Jason’s bedroom by the end of the month), and Jason was a fixture in Alfred’s… they’d see more of each other.

Everyone knew Bruce had been basically raised by Alfred. If he was half as emotionally constipated…

But there was an actual human expression on the old man’s face now, and it looked a damn sight like shame. He cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him.

“My apologies, Mister Fenton. Would you perhaps prefer Mister Danny?” He asked, which would have seemed completely innocuous on its own.

Dick slammed both fists into the table, making half the table burst into giggles.

“Fucking SERIOUSLY?! Is it just me! This is bullshit Alfie!” He declared dramatically.

Tim looked equally gobsmacked, jaw on the proverbial floor as he stared at Alfred, and even Steph looked put out and impressed.

Danny, deeply confused but relieved, stuck his tongue out at Dick.

“Hey, if you want another overly possessive and creepy billionaire determined to control your life you’re welcome to take him off my hands,” he declared smugly, and Sam snorted a laugh.

There was a decided devilry in young Damian’s face too, which vanished almost immediately after it appeared as the youngest spoke up.

“Honestly, Richard, you must admit that Danny’s situation is decidedly more grave than your own,” he said simply, a strong undercurrent of smugness under the words.

Tim threw both hands into the air so hard he almost tipped his chair over.

“Him too?! Come the fuck ON!” He proclaimed to the world at large as Duke snorted half a glass of water out of his nose in a choked laugh.

Tim gave him a hearty slap on the back that was probably supposed to help, the younger boy still wheezing and gasping for air, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him.

There was clearly something of an inside joke going on, and it wasn’t exactly a complicated one.

Danny had already settled back in his seat, perfectly happy with the consternation he’d caused, and Sam joined him.

Watching the dramatics of the extended Wayne clan was even better at home than it had been at the gala. For a show this good, she’d have bought tickets.

**

As she closed the office door behind her, Harley took a moment to give Bruce another, slower once over.

It had been a while since she saw him last, and between what Selina had told her and what the kids told her, she wanted a read on his headspace.

He looked… well, like he had a stick up his ass a mile high, but that was pretty much default for him when he wasn’t being Brucie. Never learned how to take a breath, that guy.

But from the way he moved straight to his desk, not even pausing to see if she shut the door before dropping into his seat, she’d put money on “tired”.

Not just regular nightlife tired either, if he showed it this easily. Freshly shaved, dressed immaculately, face done up with minimal but flattering makeup.

He’d put himself together pretty today, but something was cracking underneath.

Once she was satisfied she’d gotten the big picture, she sauntered after him and hopped up to sit on his desk, foot pressed firmly to the middle of his chest to go for the details.

“So, Brucie, do ya know why I’m here?” She asked expectantly. It’d tell her a lot about where they were starting from; it was hard to fool the big bat, and none of ‘em had been trying.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at her foot, but wisely didn’t move to touch it. Clever boy. He might win a physical fight if they got serious, but he also knew she was damn good at what she did.

If they threw down, she wouldn’t be helping him untwist that mess in his head. And he wouldn’t be walking away unscathed either.

No good with some fresh heroes who weren’t in on the Secret around. She could assume he’d made the calculations, but none of them showed. And wouldn’t it be nice if he hadn’t needed to?

Instead he sighed, leaning further back in his chair and rubbing both hands down his face.

Harley adjusted her estimate from “tired” to “fucking exhausted”. Not a good sign.

“I hope it has something to do with Selina texting you last night about the gala,” was all he said though, cryptic fuck.

Harley pushed with her toes just enough to make the chair roll back.

“Specifically, Brucie. If you can tell me what ya did wrong I’ll make it easier on you,” she teased, waving her bat playfully.

Like they didn’t both know the real damage would be with her words. Bruce preferred the bat though. In all ways, which, ha! She could still rock a killer joke.

He gave her one of his grouchy bat glares too, then slumped. Practically pre-broken. Something had to be up.

“I gave a speech. I… apologized to Jason for not being there when he…” he trailed off and Harley nodded, willing to accept that. Hard topics, and not one they’d discuss today.

Not that she wasn’t waiting with baited breath for Bruce to FINALLY decide he wanted to unload some o’ that trauma. But hey, baby steps.

He looked back up a second later, the mask gone as he met her eyes. He looked agonized.

For Bruce, anyway. Perfectly normal to anyone who didn’t really know how he ticked. But those lines around his eyes, the tension in his jaw?

Harley knew. From watching him when he’d thought he’d failed long ago, and from comforting him when one of the kids got hurt more recently.

“He looked like he’d seen a ghost, Harley. I’ve never seen him so shaken.”

Which Harley did have to bite back an entirely inappropriate laugh at. Jason looked preeeeetty happy to be canoodling with an actual ghost in the dining room right now.

She kept it on lock though. Totally professional.

Honestly, she was a little impressed Bruce had noticed. Jason was infamously his blind spot.

Humming softly she nodded slowly, fingers drumming along the shaft of the bat as she regarded him.

“And why do you think he did that, Bruce?” She prodded gently.

She was gonna have a check in with Jason later, not least for all the deets on his adorable new “friend”. Somewhere private, where the others couldn’t see.

But from what she’d seen tonight… Jason looked good. More relaxed, at ease with himself in a way that really tugged at her heart.

She hadn’t seen a lot of Jason since his return; she hadn’t stayed in Gotham long after breaking free of the Joker. But she’d come back when Selina called, and heard Waylon’s stories.

Of course he hadn’t come back as the happy, cheeky kid full of sunshine and magic. Even if he’d survived the warehouse he’d have changed.

The kid who’d cried at the thought of letting Bruce down so hard she’d foiled Joker’s plans herself so it wouldn’t happen… had been let down even more.

Even from a distance she’d read it in every inch of him; festering rage, pain, moving more like the big Bat than ever. Like his body was just a weapon he was barely connected to.

Like nothing else mattered but his mission, and he’d run on broken legs without even noticing. Like he didn’t think there was anything about him worth protecting.

(It may have factored into one of her own visits back to Arkham, even if Mister J had left her alone.)

The poor guy had been so full of anger ever since he came back, and for all that she’d been Joker’s when he died he’d never blamed her.

If anyone else on Earth knew what it was like to have your life torn to the ground by that bastard, to have nothing left even after you crawled away, it was Jason.

Harley wouldn’t have blamed him for hating her just as much as the clown himself, but he hadn’t. Not even full dark side. Not even that first time, Tim’s blood still on his suit.

He’d tensed to fight, admitted he’d heard about the big split, and believed her when she swore it was true. Even accepted her number, though he hadn’t called for almost a year.

They weren’t close, not like she was with the baby bats these days, but Harley worried about him.

There was something broken in Jason that still hadn’t healed, that he kept gashing himself on its sharp edges. Something that might finally be scabbing over.

So yeah, this was 1000% not the fucking time for Bruce to be all up in his bullshit.

At least he seemed to know that too, shaking his head and slumping forward against her foot so he could rest his head in his hands.

“I… I don’t know. I thought I could show him how sincere I was. Have witnesses who’d hold me to it. Not force him to be alone with me when it’s clearly not what he wants,” he admitted bitterly, shoulders slumping.

Harley let out another low hum, tracking every inch of his posture with alert eyes.

Yeah, that was true. Fucking stupid, especially from a guy as sharp as Brucie, but true. And fully consistent with his character.

Then she sighed, pushing him back upright, foot rising up almost to his collar to make him look at her.

“Did ya think about asking Jason what he wanted?” She asked dryly, fully aware of what the answer would be.

Watched Bruce’s face pinch in annoyance. Probably at himself, which would be good. Sometimes the answer literally was that easy.

He still shook his head, even if he didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“I thought…” he sighed again, running a hand through his hair, but didn’t try and hunch. “I didn’t think. I assumed he would see it the way I did.”

Which he’d clearly already noticed Jason hadn’t. Honestly, Harley was almost proud of the man. He wasn’t usually this emotionally aware.

No wonder he was exhausted. Lotta introspection, using all those brain muscles he abjectly refused to hone.

Harley nodded and crossed one leg over the other, switching out which foot kept Bruce pinned to his chair.

“It’s one helluva lot ta throw at someone in front of an audience, Brucie,” she agreed plainly, and watched with interest as that moment if irritation sharpened.

Almost pulled him back to bat face.

“You sound like Danny,” he grumbled, not actually arguing. Might have tried to cross his arms if her foot wasn’t in the way.

Harley wasn’t having any of it. She knew she’d liked the kid.

“Good, he’s got two braincells ta rub together. What’s more important: that people see you say you’re sorry, or how Jason feels?” She asked sharply, her patient tone evaporating.

To his credit, Bruce didn’t hesitate.

“Jason.” This, there was no question of. Good.

“And who knows best how Jason feels?” She pushed on, eyes narrowing when he hesitated.

“Don’t make me use the bat, Brucie,” she warned him, and Bruce sighed again, shaking his head.

“I know what you want me to say, Harley. But Jason… his emotions are unpredictable. Out of control. I doubt even he knows what they are half the time.”

Which, frankly, they weren’t going to get into at the moment, if ever. Jason’s emotional state was Jason’s business.

Harley fixed Bruce with an unimpressed stare, raising an eyebrow.

“Good thing I didn’t ask anyone to control it, huh? But who. Knows. How Jason feels.” It was barely a question anymore, the tapping of her bat against the desk more an empty threat.

She wasn’t against percussive maintenance, especially where Brucie was concerned; he responded better to violence than words half the time.

Kinda like he needed the stubbornness actually knocked out of him before he could listen. It was why she wouldn’t recommend him to any ol’ civilian friends still in the biz.

Not that they’d have appreciated her recommendation.

He stared her down for a moment, defiant even with the bat to hand. Harley let the other brow rise slowly and crossed her arms, leaning forward to lean on her knee.

Bruce could outstare a cat, but he couldn’t impress or intimidate her and he knew it.

He said nothing, still staring her down, and she could see where his brain had turned off and the stubbornness kicked in.

Fine. She’d played this game before, and she knew what he expected to come next.

Sometimes she even let him have it, a little rough and tumble so he could wrestle himself out of his head by wrestling her. But today, there were way more interesting things for her to do with her time.

Nothing short circuited a pattern of habit like the wrong response. Or a response that pulled up an older pattern.

Still staring him dead in the eye, she stuck her finger in her mouth, licked it wet, then leaned forward to shove it in his ear.

Bruce jerked back, hands almost rising defensively even as he made a disgusted face.

“Harley! Stop!” He protested, already losing a little of that stoic wall, and Harley grinned. It’d worked since they were Jason’s age in college and probably always would.

In his bat-suit, Bruce could take any torture, any indignity and never break. Without that cowl though, he was the same dweeb who’d joined the cheerleading squad with her because Harvey pouted.

It was really a very good thing she’d been on her way out of the rogue business before she cracked his identity, but since he’d always known hers he probably had plans against her.

He didn’t use them though, and she appreciated that, even as she licked her other finger fast and stuck it in his other ear.

“Say it, Brucie, or I’ll lick every pen in this office,” she threatened, watched a smile almost crack. And watched him sag, one of her wrists in each hand, his expression sobering.

Not closing off again though. Now his exhaustion was plain to see, along with the lingering sorrow and regret.

Looked like that little tussle would be enough for today. Probably.

“Jason knows what he’s feeling best. I am sorry, Harley. I never meant to hurt him,” he confessed almost in a whisper, and Harley let her own dramatics subside too.

It wasn’t what he needed anymore.

Hooking her foot in under the arm of the chair, she pulled him back in towards her.

“I know, kid. An’ lucky for you, Jason’s got a lotta people in his corner, and he’s a resilient boy. He’s gonna be alright.” His relationship with Bruce could only get so much worse, honestly.

No matter how the two disasters kept rubbing each other wrong, there was still love there. That was what had hurt Jason so much in the first place.

If he hadn’t loved Bruce, he wouldn’t care what the man thought of him. If he hadn’t thought Bruce loved him once, he wouldn’t care that the Joker lived.

Maybe one day she’d knock their heads together and make them talk it out.

Today, Bruce gave her a helpless look.

“I don’t even know how I hurt him, Harley. I should have asked, I know I put him on the spot, but I never thought… how can I stop if I don’t know what I’m doing wrong?”

Harley sighed softly, straightening back up and tugging her hands back easily, propping them on the desk behind her.

It was a tough one, not because the answer was hard, but because it’d be hard for Bruce. But he might finally be ready to hear it, if he’d done this much of the work without her.

“You know what I’m gonna tell you,” she prodded gently and didn’t push back when he pulled the chair in enough to brace his elbows on the desk on either side of her hips and bury his face in his hands.

Muffled the hell outta his voice, but she could still make out the words.

“Talk to him.” Which, yeah, she had a chuckle at the irony, petting mussed black hair.

“Yeah, yeah, the Bat’s one weakness, clear communication. But you don’t know Jason as well as ya think ya do, Brucie. He’s not the kid you brought home.”

He pushed up at that, frown on his face and mouth open to argue, and she placed a finger across it to shush him.

“I know ya think you know that. But he’s really, really not. And thinking ya still know him the same way is how you keep hurting each other.” She gentled her voice, kept it soft, but he still slumped like she’d punched him.

She went back to petting his hair. He preferred punching.

“Stop trying to surprise him. Ask what he wants. And if you can’t tell him how you feel…” she paused for a moment, let Bruce huff out the beginnings of a grumble, and chuckled softly.

No surprise there.

“Then try writing it down. Write him a letter, and keep it to yourself until you know what you want to say. As many as it takes, and toss ‘em right in the fire. And if ya still can’t say it aloud, hide one in yer underwear drawer or somewhere personal.”

That prompted him to look up again and Harley cocked a brow, grinning.

“What better way ta make one of your nosey lot read it?” She asked, grin settling to a smirk when Bruce’s lower lip slid out in a pout.

Not that fake pretty boy play one he did for cameras, the real Bruce Wayne Does Not Like You’re Right.

Catching it between forefinger and thumb she gave it a gentle tug.

“Seriously though. Try it. It’s easier than tryin’ ta improvise. And always, especially double important if yer gonna be in public, talk ta Jason first. No more surprises, or how’s ‘e gonna trust you?”

He knocked her hand away, but his eyes did that far off thing they always did when he was calculating, so she assumed he was taking it on board.

Finally he nodded, glanced at the clock, and frowned. Rigid mask falling back into place, her old classmate disappearing again.

“I’m afraid I have a meeting, Harley. Cape business. Was that all?” He did actually sound kinda sorry, so Harley forgave him for switching himself off before they finished.

“Fine. But I’m stickin’ around fer a bit, so we’ll talk about the apology thing later,” she warned, giving his chest another sharp poke and then trying to neaten the mess she’d made of his hair with her fingers.

Gave it up as a bad job.

“An’ put the cowl on, ya look like a drowned bat.”

He raised a pointed eyebrow at her, the gesture saying more clearly than words whose fault that was, and let her push him back far enough to stand.

“Thanks, Harley. I probably won’t be back tonight,” he told her, voice already lowering into that bat growl Selina went crazy for.

Hopping off the desk, Harley waved him away and bent to scoop her bat off the floor.

“Yeah, yeah. I gotta check on Waylon tomorrow anyway, but I’ll drop by when I have a minute.” She paused at the door and grinned over her shoulder at him. “The little one didn’t even try an’ stab me today.”

Bruce gave her a tight smile back, already at the clock. Ready for his Grand Descent. Dramatic bitch.

“High praise, from Damian,” he acknowledged, and Harley laughed, heading back out into the manor.

Maybe she’d join the kids for dessert.

**

Bruce had to admit he felt lighter as the door closed behind Harley.

She hadn’t told him anything he didn’t know, not really, but just. Knowing she was here. That she knew why Jason was upset, and would help him fix it.

He was always grateful that she’d been one of the rogues who turned… well, not exactly straight, he kept up with her exploits in Coney Island, but good.

She cared about people, and protected what she considered hers fiercely. Luckily for him, that included his brood.

And. Maybe. Just maybe.

Danny might have had a point.

Perhaps Harley could help him work out why it was easier to tell Jason he was sorry to a room full of people than it was at his son’s hospital bed after a bad patrol.

He changed in the elevator on the way to the cave, the spare suit from his office easy and familiar to put on.

A good thing too, since just as he arrived and settled in front of the Batcomputer to pull up anything he thought he might need (and telling himself it definitely wasn’t evidence against a colleague), the zeta tube activated.

::B069 - John Constantine::

Tonight was finally going to be his night.

**

A hundred feet up in the dining room, Danny Fenton stiffened abruptly mid conversation, senses prickling as someone new crossed his aura.

Well. Someone different. There was no mistaking that potent, crackling cloud of mixed wards and magic. It had been a while since they’d been to Amity Park, but it certainly wasn’t someone new.

A slow, thoughtful smile spread across his lips and he settled back in his chair, ignoring the surprised looks from his companions as he considered this development.

It certainly answered his earlier question.

A hand rose slowly to cup his chin, fingers drumming along his jawline as a slow chuckle slipped free.

Tonight might just be more interesting than the gala after all.

“So that’s John Constantine… huh.”

———————

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