#*knocks on my own skull* hello

[bidokja]

I thought you kin kdj?

anon i hope this is a joke cause if this is a genuine question it is the singlemost scathing read i have ever recieved in my life 👏 bravo

[skypied]

I haven't written in an entire month which is a new record for the past 21 months, kinda scared the interest will fade tbh but if it does it does, can't really change that unfortunately :(

[charliemwrites]

Good morning! This is just a warm up, not canon to the series.

Anyway — bark, woof, awoo

It’s a cool fall day when you nearly die.

Johnny’s run off into the woods barking - not his scary bark but his excited bark. You’re worried that he’s gonna get his teeth in some poor local wildlife and go hurrying after him, boots unlaced.

Of course it’s hopeless to go chasing after a wolf-dog even running at half speed, but you can’t stand the thought of him coming home with a dead bunny or something. So off you go, clomping through the trees, calling for your big dumb fluffy butt to come home.

But it’s not your Johnny that comes trotting out of the trees. No, it’s an even bigger, wolfier looking dog. Creamy white fur, honey gold eyes, and odd black markings around the face like a skull. You instantly know he’s not like your goofball, a little less human-friendly, perhaps more feral. Looks at you like he’s trying to decide if you’d make a decent meal.

Is someone breeding them and just.., letting them out?? Some weird poorly thought out attempt to reintroduce wolves to the UK? The thought makes you frown, praying that you won’t come out here one day to find some poor pups struggling in the wilderness.

For now though, you’ve got yet another gorgeous animal in front of you.

“Well, hello,” you coo, softening and smoothing your voice. His ears tick forward. “Look at you, handsome thing. Have you seen my Johnny boy?”

The dog tilts his head - your first indication that he is familiar with humans, recognizes the tone of a question. You hum.

“Alright big guy, would you like to come with me to find him or are you doing your own thing?”

He doesn’t respond (of course) except to make a little “ruff” noise. You consider him for another moment, then decide he’s not being aggressive and it’s safe to continue your search.

You turn and continue on the path, calling for Johnny. Don’t get far before your new friend sweeps in front of you, blocking the way forward. You make a noise as you stop quick, nearly losing your balance to avoid stepping on his paws.

“Oh you big jerk,” you huff. He instantly starts pushing at you, big shoulders pressing against your stomach as he shoves a big, wet nose into your neck and face, focusing on your mouth. You roll your eyes and gently push his nose away.

“Knock it off,” you grumble, trying not to laugh. “You wolves are so rude. You don’t need to do that to smell me.”

He moves on to your clothes, all the way down to your crotch. You’re ready this time though, taking a big step back and guiding his face up by the chin.

“No.”

He snorts and shakes off, looking almost annoyed.

“Oh, yeah, how dare I not let you sniff my junk?” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Grow up, you big baby.”

A deep, raspy grumble starts up in his chest. You ignore him, patting at the thick muscle of his shoulder.

“Yeah yeah, you’re a big scary boy,” you joke. “Ya gonna bite me? Show me your big pretty teeth?”

When you reach for his face he takes a step back, ears flicking. Looks almost shellshocked. You finally break, giggling as you croon baby noises at him.

“Oh, poor boy, did I spook you? I’m sorry, baby. No, no you’re very scary. Very intimidating.” You start scooting around him, amused how curves around you almost like he’s afraid you’re going to touch him. “It’s okay, buddy, I just need to find my boy. I’m not out to get you.”

As if on cue, Johnny comes bursting from the trees. He barks when he sees you, then almost comes up short when he realizes the other dog is there.

You become acutely aware that you’re not all too sure how Johnny will respond to another dog - especially one so close to you given his protectiveness. You instantly move between them, calling his attention.

“There you are, Bonnie Johnny! Where have you been?! Naughty boy, you better not have eaten anything fluffy.” His ears go back, a little whine starting up. He ducks his head to let you grab at his muzzle, inspecting him for anything gross. “I do not feel like wrangling you to brush your teeth.”

Luckily, he seems clean. Whatever had him so excited, he must not have caught.

Movement behind you catches your attention, the other dog loping closer. Your eyes bounce between them, watching body language for any aggression or hostility. To your relief, Johnny seems almost excited by this new friend - the other one… well, he seems a bit more subdued, but lets Johnny lick at his chin and bump into his side.

“Okay, ready to head home, baby boy?” you ask, giving Johnny’s collar a gentle tug. “I have to start making dinner.”

He whines, turning those big blue eyes on you and positioning himself behind the other dog. You groan.

“Johnny, really… I don’t know if I can handle two of you. I don’t even think he likes me very much.”

As if to spite you, the other dog sits and leans in, licking at your hand. And damn it, it’s cute.

“Alright, hold on, let’s just see if…”

This time, the other dog lets you touch, feels around his neck for a collar that unsurprisingly isn’t there. You feel around his shoulders too, hoping for that tiny bump that means he has a microchip, but nope.

“If I have a nickel for every time I found a wolf-dog in the woods…” you sigh, turning back for home. “It would be two nickels but it’s weird that it happened twice.”

When you notice both pups stalling, you whistle sharply.

“Come. It’s getting cold.”

Johnny instantly bounds ahead with excitement while your new companion is slightly slower, staying just a bit behind and to the side of you so that you can see him from the corner of your eye.

Back at home, Johnny leads the way inside. The strange dog looks around curiously, sniffs at a few spots. It’s then that you remember Johnny marking the house his first couple days and notice that Mystery Dog is also unaltered.

“Hey.” Both dogs turn to you. You point at the new one sternly. “If you pee on anything in here - anything - I’m dying you pink. By god I’ll do it, there are dog safe hair dyes.”

You get a sneeze for that and he walks away with disinterest, but at least he keeps his leg down. You’ll take it.

Dinner is interesting, no fussing or fighting over food from either of them. When they’re done, you retire to the couch, Johnny happy to follow up until he sees that his new friend isn’t coming as well.

He starts yipping, bouncing, bowing, trying to get the new one to follow. You’re amused up until Johnny nips and the bigger dog growls, showing teeth. You plant yourself instantly between them.

“Hey.” You look the new dog in the eye, get into his space and back him away from Johnny. “No the hell you’re not.”

The new dog stares, eyes locked on yours, ears swiveling. You don’t back down, watching and looking waiting, still bodily between him and Johnny. Until finally his ears go back and he sneezes, laying down.

“Good.” You soften your voice, sigh. “Good boy.”

You offer your hand. Get a sniff and a resigned lick, then scratch at your new boy’s ears.

“You be nice, big boy. Everyone in this house is mine. I take care of everyone.”

His eyes do a weird thing then. You’re not sure how to describe it, combined with the way his head tilts. But you just chalk it up to Weird Dog Things and finally return to the couch, an oddly subdued Johnny clambering up with you.

“You can join us, honey,” you call to the other dog. “You’re welcome up here if you behave.”

He doesn’t take you up on it for awhile. You and Johnny settle in for your usual nightly shows. And then, about an hour later, movement draws your eye. The Mystery Dog, standing at the edge of the couch with his tail down, ears neutral.

Earlier drama forgotten, you smile at him.

“Hi there,” you chirp, “you want up? C’mon, bud. Up.”

He hops up with surprisingly gentleness, picking his way around your limbs and Johnny’s. He ends up crawling over your dog and settling half on top of him, and half on top of you, his chin settled between Johnny’s stupid perky ears. Johnny seems thrilled so you laugh a bit.

“What good boys,” you coo, giving them each a scratch and receiving a kiss in return. “Alright, this isn’t so bad.”

You fall asleep there, already trying to come up with name for your new pup. Maybe Phantom.

Main Story | Konig pt. 1

Masterlist

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Take You Home 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You awake in a strange place with a familiar man

Characters: Steve Kemp

Note: 🫢

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The sludge shifts in your skull as a rolling sensation surrounds you. There’s dull impact, soft but enough to jar you. Your voice drifts between your lips and tickles your clogged brain. Your eyes slit and a glow hazes your vision. 

You blink at the room, the wall obscure, only a shadow before you, a man’s distorted silhouette and his deep unintelligible timbre. Another creak in your throat and the world disappears once more behind your heavy eyelids. 

You plummet into the void, swirling and spinning. Your unconscious makes you dizzy with the unknown elixir coursing through your veins. A prick, sharp and deep, that’s all you can recall from the depths of nowhere. 

You languish there, down, down, where you don’t feel much, where you don’t think. Like a storm clearing, the clouds dissipate wisp by wisp and give way to a gray shroud. Your lashes bat, sticking together before you can peel them apart. 

Your muscles ache as you drag your arm up to wipe the drool from your cheek. Your eyes roll around as you take in the strange beige walls. You lay against once, crooked between it and the floor. You shift and touch the cushioned surface. 

You drop your arm and stare. What happened? Is this a hospital? Were you brought in for some sort of episode? If so, what kind of room doesn’t have any furniture? 

You bend your leg and push your elbows into the ground as you try to sit up. Your body is like stone. As you curl up in a shaking battle, there’s a tug on your ankle and the gentle clink of metal. Your head wobbles as you look down at the leather cuff. 

They don’t have those in any hospitals. 

A loud shink frightens you. You turn to the door as a space appears at the bottom. Through the small slat, a stack of folded garments is shoved through. You stare at the gloved hand before it quickly retracts. 

“Hello?” You call out. 

Silence. You stare at the clothing. What the hell is this? 

You sidle into the corner, or try to. You’re kept from it by the restraint on your ankle. You examine it. The sewn-in padlock has no give. Your eyes well with confusion and fear. 

You close your eyes and try to remember. The effort makes your head throb. You and your mom were having movie night. Just the two of you. Then there was a knock at the door. 

The door across from you rattles with an impact from the other side and breaks your concentration. “Put them on.” 

The voice is gravelly, deliberately so. The speaker intentionally lowers his octave. You must know him. No... 

It is Steve at the door. Your mom’s new boyfriend. New. Despite your protests, they were together for half a year. He always found a way to crash on your nights together. 

You look at the folded garments again. 

“I know it’s you,” your voice crackles sharply in your throat. 

He laughs and hits the door again. 

You shiver and sink down. You stare at the floor and wade back into memory. Further back but not so distant. 

“Mom, he kept touching me,” you tell your mother as she loads the dishwasher. 

“What? He’s just a touchy-feely guy, you know? I’m sure it was nothing.” 

“Mom,” you whine. 

“Well, if you have an issue, tell him,” she shrugs. “All I saw was a friendly nudge.” 

You huff, echoing the same in your current existence as the past shatters. You should have been more adamant. Louder. You tried. You really did. Your mom was willfully blind. You see that now. 

“He was outside my room last night...” 

“He was probably going to get water from the kitchen.” 

Every concern had an easy explanation but the constant stacking of the pieces couldn’t just be coincidence, and now you know. You weren’t wrong but it’s too late for all that. You knew Steve was slimy but you didn’t think he was deranged. 

“My mom will look for me,” you say. 

“Put the clothes on,” he demands, dropping all attempt at disguise. 

“You know she will. I won’t tell anyone how much of a creep you are if you let me go right now--” 

“Do as you’re told.” He slides the slat shut and you wince. 

You stay where you are. Your mom might not suspect him but she’ll look for you. She’ll find you. Once she sees your apartment is empty. Maybe even once she finds your diary and sees everything you wrote. Maybe then, she’ll hear you. 

You just hope it doesn’t take her that long. 

You linger in the stillness of the empty room. Just you and the chain hooked to the loop embedded in the floor. What the hell do you do now? 

Everyone always says they’d be different. They’d fight. They’d find a way out. It’s not that easy when there’s walls and a goddamn chain on your leg. Especially knowing that he’s prepared as much as you are completely not. 

The stagnant air thins as another rap comes on the door. You stare at the door and don’t move. Once more, the space turns stale. You hang your head, fighting down the panic swelling in your chest. 

A loud grind cuts through your fearful trance and the door swings open, sucking the air from the room. Steve storms toward you and rips you from against the wall. He rips your shirt up your torso until your arms are trapped and your blinded in the fabric. 

“Mph, what the frmph,” you growl into the tee. 

“I got you some nice clothes, honey, so go on and put them on.” He snarls as he stands with his feet on either side of you. 

“What is wrong—what are you doing?” You gasp as you push your shirt down. 

“Don’t make me help. You won’t like it,” he warns with a scowl. 

You stare up at him, searching his shadowed expression, “you’re sick.” 

“Don’t act like this isn’t exactly what you were begging for,” he nudges you with his toe then steps over you. “Two minutes, honey. More than enough time for you to come to your senses.” 

He stomps out and the door slams with a clanging echo that rattles your skull. There’s a hint of whatever he injected you with still sifting through your veins. The sluggishness only dulls your panic enough to keep from crying. 

You lean forward, hunching your shoulders and stare at the clothing. The way he pounced, the way he manhandled you, the way he did all this. This isn’t just a slip in judgment, this is meticulously planned. This is deviant. 

The whittling ache in your muscles assures you of little choice. You can resist but you don’t expect any different. Fighting him, him overpowering you, nothing about these walls, that chain, or his strength gives you hope. This is a battle you already lost. 

You reach for the mussed pile and unravel the first piece. A pair of sheer pink panties and a matching bra. The set is not your style. You prefer denim and cotton. Something comfortable and simple. 

Other memories trickle in. The comments. ‘This would look nice on you’ or ‘don’t you have anything with colour?’ Ugh. 

You’re slowed by whatever he put in you. You peel off your shirt. In his effort to strip you, he scratched your stomach. Your side stings from the cut of his nails. Him and his manicures. Everything about him was always too perfect. 

When was it that he got you? You’re fuzzy. You remember your mom on the couch. She fell asleep watching something. You went to the kitchen to get some water and then... nothing. It’s a fog. 

You turn your back to the door. You don’t know why. It doesn’t really matter. Your insides curdle as you pull on the panties first. Each piece is a symbol of your submission. The bra is too small. It pinches as your tits wobble over the cups. 

The dress is just as bad. Pink, the ruching along the sleeves give a small ruffle effect and the skirt dances on your thighs. You tug it down as far as you can then huddle into the wall. 

Your disbelief is padded in horror. The longer you sit in reality, the more virulent the dread. You stare at the door. This is real. There is no escape. 

You pick at the cuff on your ankle without thinking. You blink, the world fracture by black slides, and your breath puffs behind your ears. Your head is going to combust. 

The door jerks. You wince as the lock twists. You press yourself to the wall. 

Steve enters. He changed. His turtleneck and black jeans have been exchanged for dark slacks and a navy blue button-up. His hair is quaffed 

“Ah, you’re ready,” he grins. You glare at him. He looks you over and a smoky light passes through his blue irises. “Now, baby, you gonna be a good girl for me? I got a special night planned for us.” 

You grit your teeth and hold back the retort crawling on your tongue. You can’t move or speak. You know if you do, you’ll regret it. 

“Alright, you sit pretty,” he purrs. 

He leaves the door open as he struts out. It’s a blatant taunt. You couldn’t leave if you wanted. This is all just a joke to him. You have a chain on you, you don’t need the walls or the heavy lock. He has you snared. 

He enters again. He unfolded the table in his hand, locking the legs in place. He hums as he passes in and out; chairs, plates, wine glasses, he sets up the twisted romantic tableau. He sets a candle at the center and lights it. 

“Hungry? You gotta be.” He approaches you as your eyes cling to the floor. 

Your stomach is hollow. Painfully so. You don’t acknowledge him as you ball your fists. 

“You need some help? How’s that head feeling, honey?” 

Your eyes flick up to him. His pupils pinpoint and he offers his hand. You consider it closely then relent. You take it and he pulls you to your feet. You don’t know that you can do it yourself. 

He takes you to the table and sits you down. Just at the end of your tether. You stare at the plates he’s set out with glazed chicken, pilaf rice, and roasted veggies. As hungry as you are, the smell is repulsive. 

He uncorks the wine and fills the glasses. He puts one in front of you and slides one closer to his plate. He sits across from you and grins. He raises his glass. 

“For you, honey,” he winks. 

You look at the glass. Your hand shakes. You focus on the small effort of reaching for it. You shake as you hover your hand over the table. It’s anger, not weakness that has you trembling. 

You look at Steve as he watches you intently. You close your hand and grip the bottom candlestick. You lift it and jab it towards him, splashing him with hot wax as you ram the flame towards him. He spills the wine as he bats away your attack. 

The heavy holder falls out of your grasp and he rams the table into your stomach. It takes the breath out of you and you wheeze. He stands and you push on the chair, trying to stand. He storms around and kicks the legs out from under the chair. You crash to the ground with a cry. 

He kicks your shoulder and pins you to the ground as he stands on it. His other foot is planted right beside you. He pants and growls down at you as rage deepens the lines in his face. 

“Fine,” he sinks his heel into you, “let’s do it the hard way.”  

[keferon]

prowl stared down at the helm. it was... eerie. he felt as though he should recognize it, perhaps it belonged to someone he used to know. the contours of the faceplate were familiar, like an old friend spotted in a crowd; a fleeting moment of wanting to reach out and say hello before they disappeared back into the midst of bodies.

energon dripped from the cavity gouged into the back of the helm. he was sure it was dripping down his claws but the nerves weren't registering sensation, dulled and dampened by pain blockers and misaligned cables after... well prowl wasn't quite sure when his claws stopped registering sensation. jazz had looked at him funny when ratchet had checked him over.

maybe funny wasn't the right word. sad perhaps? melancholic? prowl's brain module was having trouble keeping up all the minute shifts in the spy's facial expressions.

drip drip drip

more energon spilled onto the floor. he couldn't... he wasn't sure why he was feeling so hollow. it wasn't normal. he was efficient, he was smart, he was emotionless. that was what everyone had always called him. he was a calculator, the tactician, the strategist.

but why did jazz look so sad now?

prowl was fine. he was sure of it. his depth perception was... wrong, that much was obvious by the way he smacked into doorframes and knocked over datapads when he tried to reach for them. and his claws didn't feel quite right, not like the longing he felt when jazz would try to help him drink energon right. it seemed so easy to pick up the cubes but prowl just couldn't manage it despite how ingrained the claws felt.

the helm in his claws stared up at him, hollow optics and empty skull a reminder of something he couldn't quite recall.

"prowl?"

he looked up. jazz stood in the doorway. he looked...

emotional regulators non responsive.

social etiquette protocols non responsive.

he looked fine. he looked like jazz. he looked normal.

prowl tilted his helm as jazz's gingerly took the helm from him.

"prowler?" jazz set the helm down. "hey, you uh, you doing alright."

why was jazz asking him that? of course he was fine. he was prowl. he was always fine. he tilted his doorwings up in response. part of him wished he could force his vocaliser online but speaking was so hard.

"i guess you're okay. do you..." jazz's own doorwings dipped. prowl's processor recognised it as a sign of sadness. "do you recognise that helm?"

prowl shook his helm. he was fine. he was always fine.

"yeah... yeah that figures." jazz sighed, gently grabbing prowl's arm. "c'mon mech, let's get ya some energon. ratchet finally got some cubes that are claw friendly."

prowl allowed himself one last look at the helm sitting on the table before letting jazz lead him out of the room.

anyways! i really wanted to write a short little thing about my art. hope you enjoy :]3

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNO

FUCK FUCK FUCK DON'T DO THAT TO ME (PLEASE DO)

[valkyriexo]

You have a Migraine | Seungmin

ᑉ³pairing; Seungmin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff

ᑉ³warnings; Reader dealing with a migraine, Pills mentioned

ᑉ³Authors Note; Other members coming soon! Edited.

Part of the "He helps you when.." collection. Other members parts: Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as you lie in bed, cocooned in blankets. But despite the peaceful scene outside your window, there's no rest to be found within the confines of your own mind.

Your temples throb with a relentless intensity, each pulse sending shockwaves of pain through your skull. Migraine days are the worst, and today seems determined to be the pinnacle of that agony.

You try to ignore the pounding in your head, focusing instead on the rhythmic ticking of the clock on your bedside table. But even the steady beat seems to mock you, a reminder of the passing minutes that only serve to prolong your suffering.

With a heavy sigh, you reach out for the bottle of painkillers that has become a permanent fixture in your life. You're all too familiar with the ritual of opening its childproof cap, but today, as you twist it off, your heart sinks.

The bottle is empty.

With a groan, you try to summon the strength to get out of bed, but the pain pins you down like an anchor. Frustration, thick and palpable, mixes with the pain, creating a cocktail of misery that threatens to engulf you entirely. Each attempt to rise is met with a wave of nausea, a cruel reminder of the physical toll this puts on you. The room spins, a dizzying carousel of sensations that leaves you disoriented and defeated.

You clench your teeth, willing yourself to push through the fog of agony that clouds your mind.

Every muscle in your body protests as you attempt to sit up, each movement sending shockwaves of pain radiating outward from the epicenter in your head.

With a final, desperate effort, you manage to swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your feet meeting the cold, unforgiving floor below. But even this small victory feels hollow, overshadowed by the relentless drumbeat of pain that reverberates through you.

You close your eyes against the harsh glare of the morning light. But even in the darkness behind your eyelids, the pain persists.

You can't bring yourself to stand, the pain worsening with each passing moment. Doubts gnaw at the edges of your consciousness. Were there even any pills left in the medicine cabinet?

The thought of standing seems utterly futile, a mountain too steep to climb in your current state.

Your mind races, searching desperately for a solution amid the fog of agony. There's only one thing you can think to do. With trembling fingers, you reach for your phone, wincing at the harsh light it emits as you unlock the screen and dial Seungmin's number.

Each ring feels like an eternity, each passing second an eternity of suffering. But then, finally, his voice breaks through the haze of pain.

"Hello?" His voice is filled with concern.

"Seungmin," you manage to choke out, your voice barely more than a whisper. "It's... it's bad. I need... help."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, a heartbeat of uncertainty before Seungmin's reassuring voice fills your ears once more. "I'm on my way," he says, his words a promise of relief.

As you wait for Seungmin's arrival, time seems to stretch into eternity, each moment punctuated by the relentless throbbing in your temples. The minutes drag on, each one feeling like an eternity as you struggle to hold onto a semblance of composure amidst the storm of pain.

Finally, just when you're beginning to fear that he might not come, there's a soft knock on the door. You struggle to open your eyes, squinting against the harsh light filtering through the curtains. "Come in," you manage to croak out.

It swings open to reveal Seungmin standing on the other side. His eyes widen in concern as he takes in your disheveled appearance, and without a word, he steps forward to wrap you in a gentle embrace.

"I'm here," he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing balm against the raw edges of your pain. "Everything's going to be okay."

"It hurts so much, Minnie," you say, tears escaping despite your efforts to hold them back.

"I know, I know," he replies, his voice laced with empathy, his eyes reflecting the depth of his concern.

His eyes scan the room, searching for any way to alleviate your suffering. Spotting the dimmer switch, he stands silently. With a flick of his wrist, he adjusts the lighting, the soft glow casting shadows that offer a respite from the harsh brightness.

Not content with just that, he strides over to the window, pulling the curtains closed carefully. Each movement is precise, deliberate, as he ensures not a single ray of light infiltrates the room. The darkness that envelops you feels like a sanctuary, shielding you from the pain.

As he returns to your side, you feel a sense of gratitude wash over you, a warmth that eases the chill of pain.

"Better?" he asks, his voice gentle as he takes a seat beside you on the bed, resuming his previous position.

You nod gratefully, the gesture feeling like too much effort.

Seungmin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bottle of pills. He had remembered your preferred medication, and he always keep it on hand, whether in the dorms or car. With a reassuring smile, he hands you a couple of pills along with a bottle of water from your nightstand.

After a few moments of silence, the medication starts to work its magic, gradually easing the relentless ache in your head.

"I'm sorry," you say softly, breaking the silence that envelops the room.

Seungmin turns to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What for?"

"I know you're not really big on physical touch," you explain, your voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry I bothered you with all this."

His expression softens, and he reaches out to gently squeeze your hand. "Hey, don't apologize. I'm here because I want to be. Helping you through this is the least I can do."

As he spoke, your head pinged with pain, every word feeling like a hammer striking against your skull. You wince, from the noise, the throbbing in your temples growing more intense with each syllable.

"I know noise tends to be painful when this happens, and I just want to let you know that I'm okay with sitting in silence, as long as you're comfortable," Seungmin says quietly.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, both from the pain and from the overwhelming kindness of his words. Despite the agony you're enduring, he remains by your side, offering his own version of comfort.

Seungmin's touch is gentle as he runs his fingers through your hair, his movements soothing against your scalp. His fingertips tracing delicate patterns across your skin as if trying to soothe away the pain with each caress. His kisses are soft and fleeting, pressed gently against your forehead and temples, a gesture of comfort and affection in the midst of your suffering.

"Thank you," you manage to murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

He shakes his head, his expression gentle and reassuring. "Stop apologizing. Just rest."

With a nod, you lean back against him and the pillows, finding solace in the silence that descends upon the room. At that moment, despite the pain, you feel a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that whatever happens, you will always have him by your side.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

[phantomskeep]

Putting the "Fun" Back In "Funeral" Chapter 4

AO3 | Chapter Three --- Chapter Five

Chapter Four: Gotham's One-Stop Shop For Villainy The first thing Danny noticed about this dimension was it smelled. A polluted haze hung heavy over the sky, casting the urban jungle in a dark mist and assaulting the halfa’s nose with the sharp tang of gasoline. Loud big-city sounds filled his ears as he caught himself in the midst of his free-fall, leaving the man distorted. It was so much different compared to his Keep in the Zone. To be pulled from a place of near-constant quiet into a realm full of honking horns, shouts and sirens was enough to have Danny reel his aura back in. The ambient ectoplasm around him felt sticky, and wrong, like the very air around Danny had been contaminated by something dark and sinister. He pulled his atmospheric spirit back, tugging where he could feel all the tiny little souls around him closer to himself. Bit by bit, his range of feelings depleted until he almost couldn’t feel the filth that surrounded him. Small pants left his lungs by the time Danny could only feel a tiny circle around himself that pulsed with his aura as he tried to keep a lid on his powers that desperately wanted to run free.

Attempting to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of not sensing the people around him, as well as the general unclean feeling of touching such disgusting ectoplasm, Danny spun in a small circle to try and get his bearings. The portal created by the Skeleton Key left him hovering over an old clocktower bathed in the haze of the city. Looking around proved to be near-futile, because even with his superior sight, Danny could barely see the street from where he floated.

The young man shifted the bags thrown over his shoulder, nervously looking around while trying to catch his breath. Clockwork had said his friend would be waiting for him, so where…?

“Hello, my King.”

A feminine voice caused Danny to startle, turning quickly to face the ghost that snuck up on him. The being before him reminded Danny of Shadow, almost. Their form was pitch black against the backdrop of the Victorian clocktower, constantly moving and shifting like a wispy fire. Piercing red eyes bore into him, causing him to nervously rub the back of his neck.

“Hi,” Danny spoke slowly. “Are you the one Clockwork told me about? The Spirit of Gotham?”

The ghost chuckled softly, moving their wispy form closer to Danny. A belated wisp of cold air worked its way out of his throat, letting him know another of the Realms was close. “I am, young King. You may call me Lady Gotham, the protector of this city.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Lady Gotham. I’m Danny Phantom.” He said, remembering the many hours he spent with Pandora and Dorathea drilling the proper mannerisms into his thick skull. Danny bowed at the waist, ignoring how the two bags he carried knocked against his knees. “Thank you for allowing me into your domain and protections. I will treat your lair as my own– with the utmost kindness, respect, and haunting that should be given to any member of the Realms.”

“I accept your gratitudes and give my own, King Phantom.” Lady Gotham’s voice was steady when she spoke the traditional greetings of the Zone, unlike Danny’s own unsteady cadence. Danny rose from his bow to see the other’s form in her own imitation of a respectful stance. After a beat, she rose from it to meet his eyes again.

The young king grinned at the shifting shadow in front of him, allowing excitement-nice to meet you to leave the tight leash he had on his aura to tentatively brush against Lady Gotham. A little trill of happiness left his core at the tender hello-nice to meet you-calm that caressed the small bubble Danny had created.

“Come, Little One,” Gotham spoke gently. “Clockwork has left you in my care until your tasks are complete. The ones who are mine have prepared an area for you while you are under my protection. We will head there and I will teach you the cultures of this dimension. Is this acceptable, King Phantom?”

“More than, Lady Gotham.” Danny continued to smile at his new guardian. “But, please, call me Danny. Or Phantom. Just- just none of that king stuff, please.”

A quiet chuckle emitted from the shadow before him. “As you wish, Danny. If we are being informal, feel free to call me Gotham.” She paused, swiveling the area where her eyes rested around to face to her left. The movements reminded Danny of the character No-Face from Spirited Away, a heavy swing of herself in a dramatic full-body maneuver. “We must head north to reach the lair I have created for you, Little One.”

“Lead the way, Lady G!”

The flight over was a quick one, with Danny’s ghostly guide fading from the visible spectrum before taking off. Danny followed suit, taking care to keep Gotham in his tiny bubble. As they traveled, he strained himself to see through the muggy haze that encompassed Gotham’s city. They passed large, towering skyscrapers with flashy signs, massive highways filled to the brim with cars, and Danny could barely make out dark water when they passed over a bridge. There were no immediate outstanding differences between his home dimension and this one. So far everything seemed pretty normal, besides the slimy feeling tingling on the edges of his senses.

From the past couple experiences Danny had with time travel and multiverse hopping, the man was expecting to see something like flying cars or gravity-defying structures. But everything seemed almost normal. Maybe this world wasn’t one of those crazy superhuman filled ones like the one Kitty and Johnny told him stories of. Apparently, their home dimension was pretty wild.

Danny almost lost his ghostly companion when she led him across a wide-open area filled with plants, though he caught up with her when she began to head slightly to the left. They passed more towers, more open areas with the faint sounds of cresting waves against land, until Gotham finally began to slow down.

“This part of my city is called Cherry Hills,” she said as the two ghosts hovered over the city’s buildings. “Many of the areas to the northeastern side of this section are used as housing, the western as warehouses, and the southeastern as workspaces or labs.” The older being began to gently fly further north, slowly leading them closer to the buildings.

As the structures pulled into view, Danny took in the sights before him. A large highway cut through the housing district, and he could easily make out the far-off sight of warehouses leading to docks where a handful of large ships were tied up. A freight train’s blaring horn was accompanied by the flashes of light as it cut through the city’s haze. The raised railings of a metro train track ran alongside the highway. As they continued north, the housing buildings started to look more worn-down, less like their shiny brethren on the east side of the carpath.

“Is this the area I’m going to be living in?” Danny questioned after a while. He wasn’t too concerned about the state of the building he would be occupying - he (kind of) survived the Fenton household for eighteen years, after all -, but the shock of being in a large city was starting to grate on his nerves.

“Yes,” Lady Gotham said as she began to hover over one of the taller residential complexes. “This is the one.”

With that, Danny could only helplessly follow where he could feel her plummeting through the building’s roof. When he crossed the barrier, he let his invisibility go to match Gotham. Her shadowed form lazed within the large studio’s space, letting herself barely brush against the floor.

“Welcome to your new home, Little One.” Gotham swirled closer to him, the edges of her emotions pressing against him in a soothing tone of welcome-this is yours-take it. “I hope it is to your liking.”

An awed breath left Danny as he slowly turned to truly take in the studio apartment he was presented with. The ceilings were high, with one side tilted at an angle to run alongside the roof. Two large windows let the hazy day’s light peak through the panes, washing the area with a gentle glow. A nice-looking kitchen occupied the space’s far corner, and Danny was only a little disappointed to note it would probably not see much use. An open area was broken up with a sturdy kitchen table sitting innocently next to another large window. The corner along the same wall as the kitchen area ran into a cozy-looking living room area, an elevator space acting as a barrier to the adjacent corner.

Danny was a bit perplexed to note that scattered lab equipment filled that space. Did Clockwork tell Gotham that he was a mad scientist or something? But Danny moved on to take in the staircase leading up to an open L-shaped platform. Floating up, he found a cozy-looking king bed greeted him, along with a computer set-up that would have made Tucker drool. He excitedly noted a window with access to a balcony with stairs leading onto the top of the roof was attached to the same wall perpendicular to the one his bed was against.

The young king zoomed next to Gotham, a large smile on his face. “This is awesome! How the heck did you get this all set up?”

An easy chuckle left the other ghost’s form, gentle emotions swaying between the two as they continued to get used to the other. “The people of my city don’t often question when mysterious jobs line up for them. It is part of their culture to not ask too many questions, after all.”

“That’s…” Danny paused, trying in vain to find the morally correct words without offending his host. “Interesting?”

A rumbling purr filled the air, Gotham letting a gentle pulse of amusement ripple against her king. “Interesting is certainly a word for it. Do not fret, Little One, no harm comes to them.”

The young man awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed that his worries were so easily spotted by the older ghost. He wasn’t quite used to having anyone other than the Ancients or his friends read him with such ease - having another do so, even if she was a ghost and Clockwork’s friend, was unusual for Danny. It made him wonder what type of relationship she had with Clockwork, as he had never before seen or even heard of Gotham before now. Before he could question her, though, she swiftly spoke.

“Before we get too distracted, I must inform you of this dimension.” She shifted her way behind where Danny was hovering, seeming to herd him towards his new couch. “Sit, sit. There is no need to be uncomfortable for such a conversation.”

“Wait,” Danny protested. “Let me put my stuff down real quick.” Without waiting for a response, he zipped up to his new bed. Dropping his duffle and Clockwork’s satchel onto the plain blue bed sheet before rummaging around for the journal gifted to him. When he finally found it, the young man flew back to the simple pale couch where Gotham waited.

It was an odd sight to see. A giant, angry looking cloud of smog hovering like an exasperated parent in a picture-perfect looking home.

“Okay,” Danny started as he landed on the surprisingly comfortable couch. He leaned back, relaxing against soft cushions, as he let his transformation wash over himself. “So what do I need to know?”

Surprise rippled across the air at the sight of Danny’s flashy shift, but Gotham was composed when she spoke. “From what Clockwork has told me, you come from a dimension where you are one of three beings who are more than human?”

Giving a small nod, Danny felt like his chest would explode from the hope-excitement-trepidation at what Gotham was implying. “Are you saying there’s, like, people with powers here?!”

“Indeed,” Gotham agreed, her voice lifting at the other’s obvious excitement. “There are metahumans, those with the meta-gene, who are humans with various powers. Others include humans who have been experimented on, had accidents, know the magical arts, or even been subjected to ancient powers. Aliens have begun to call this Earth home, as well. This includes those from Mars, Krypton, Thanegar, Tamaran…” She trailed off, staring at Danny who was physically vibrating. “My king, are you okay?”

“There’s aliens?” He whispered. “You guys have aliens?!”

“Yes, many of them-”

“Holy fucking shit,” Danny jumped up, coming to eye level with a startled Gotham. “Can I meet them?! Can I visit their planets? How many are there, what do they look like, do they have powers?!” The young man was trying to grab onto something in order to steady himself, but his hands kept passing through Gotham’s smokey form. “Lady G, please tell me I can meet them. Please, I will literally die again if I can’t meet actual people who live in space.”

A happy laugh echoed across the apartment’s space, the City Spirit being the source of it. “You are certainly excited about this, Little One.”

“Of course!” He exclaimed, waving his noodle arms around. “Space is��so cool, G. It’s the greatest thing ever, I love it! I’ve always wanted to explore it, ever since I was a kid.”

“Well, you will be glad to hear that meeting the aliens who call Earth home is something you will be able to do.”

“Do any of them live here? In your city?”

“No,” She said, moving her eyes to look out the large windows gracing the two with a hazy glow. “The Dark Knight, a man who helps protect my lair, does not allow ones with powers to operate within me.”

A curious expression overtook Danny. His excited movements slowed to a halt, and he regarded Gotham with a critical, glowing eye. “Do you want me to take care of him, Lady Gotham?”

Calm-do not worry-amusement gently brushed against Danny, causing him to relax. “As much as I appreciate your protection, Little One,” Gotham said as she faced her king. “The Batman has this rule for good reasons, ones that I agree with.”

Danny’s metaphorical hackles lowered at Gotham’s comment. The piercing neon green of his eyes bled back into their usual icy blue, though the curious look did not leave. “Why’s that? And who names their kid Batman?”

Part of the City Spirit’s dark cloud tried to nudge him back towards his couch. “The Batman,” she began, “is a hero who operates to protect my city. He was born here and donned his cape in order to help those in need from the many criminals who call my territory home.”

Danny gave an involuntary awed noise. “So you guys have heroes here, too?” A dark tendril of smog wrapped around the back of the couch, resting gently against Danny’s neck.

The idea of having other heroes around was something that greatly appealed to Danny. Being the lone super-powered protector of Amity Park for so long took its toll on the young man, even with his human companions. It just wasn’t the same, being the only one with advanced abilities. He had to take the bigger hits, he had to be the one to save his friends if they got into too great of a bind, he had to be the one to try and take on the burden of Amity Park alone when they all went off to find their place in the world. With great power comes great responsibility, after all. And being the Ghost King? Well, Danny had more than enough “great power” to spare.

The thought was just as sobering as it was exciting. Other heroes, super or not, meant that there was something to have caused those heroes to come into play. Some great villain, or a world-ending disaster, or even large crime rates. Lady Gotham only said criminals, though, so maybe there were no supervillains Danny needed to worry about.

“Yes. In fact, there is a large society of both heroes and villains.”

Well, it was a nice thought while it lasted.

“But many of the aliens you were so excited to hear about are among those heroes.” Gotham continued, not noticing Danny’s sudden mid-afterlife crisis. “There is the Batman, who is one of the founders of the Justice League. Superman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Green Arrow, and many others are all part of this superhero society - the Justice League.”

“Okay,” Danny was desperately trying to keep up with this sudden information. “So, Batman is a super-powered dude who helped to start an entire squad of superheroes?”

“He has no powers. The Dark Knight is just a man, same with Green Arrow and many others. They simply are able to keep up with the aliens, gods, and metas.”

Danny paused, taking in a breath. He touched his fingers together, pressing his palms flat. Another breath was taken, this one deeper than the last. With every ounce of teenage angst he still had within him, Danny lifted his hands up together to rest against his forehead before bringing them down in an arch that would have made Sam proud. “What the fuck.”

A laugh rolled from Gotham’s form, his guardian sneakily tightening her protective hold on him. “What the fuck indeed, Little One.”

“Okay, okay-” Danny’s voice cracked with indignation, “So regular everyday humans fight supervillains and are able to keep up with gods? And super-powered aliens?”

“Yes.”

“And one of those humans - who named himself after a bat - is the sole protector of your lair? Besides yourself? And he doesn’t let any of his superhero friends help him?”

“I never said he worked alone. Though, for a long time he did not have any help.”

“Lady G,” Danny said again with exasperation. “I repeat: what the fuck.”

Her only response was to laugh at his expense as he continued to moan about how he couldn’t seem to escape crazy people, no matter what dimension he runs to. The space shared by two multi-dimensional beings filled with an easy warmth.

“So,” Danny started after a couple minutes of his grumbling. “Superpowered people aren’t allowed in your city because one of your protectors is just a man in a… What, fursuit? A crime-fighting fursuit?” He paused, considering, before rapidly moving on. “But there are super-powered people in this dimension who are also heroes.”

“Yes, that is all true.”

The young man took a second, silently thinking, before speaking again. “Okay, okay,” He started. “And the chances that I’m going to have to just… steal all of these ghostly artifacts is pretty high, right?”

“Again, you are correct.”

“So,” Danny said, stretching out the word. “Chances are they’re going to think I’m some sort of villain.”

Gotham made a noise akin to two cars scraping against each other as she hesitated to answer. “There is a chance of that, yes.”

“Great,” he bemoaned, bonelessly flopping around his couch. “Guess it’s time to pull out the ol’ acting shoes. Welcome to Danny’s One-Stop Shop for Villainy.”

Foreign emotions rubbed against the sulking man’s aura, the City Spirit’s feelings of do not fret-all is well-I will protect you soothing Danny’s temperament. “There is no need for all of that, Little King.” When their eyes met, Gotham’s form had smoothed into a rolling fog compared to her usual flaking fire. “If all else fails, you can learn to have some fun with it. Many of the heroes and villains of this world have… gimmicks, if you would, for their respective personas.”

A critical eye was shot to the other ghost. “What do you mean by that? My ghost form’s already pretty gimmicky.”

“But,” she said. “You can always take it to the next level. I would suggest you do some research on the various powers who live within my city as well as this world. You may find some inspiration.” She paused before speaking with a teasing tone. “I also believe that Clockwork told you to blend in? Maybe a name like Inviso-bill would fit right in with the likes of Condiment King and Kiteman.”

“Absolutely not!” He screeched, waving his hands wildly as he bared his teeth. “How do you even know about that?!”

A purr echoed from Gotham’s chest, so fierce Danny could feel it vibrating his own core. “I have my ways, Little One.”

“Fucking cryptic geezers,” Danny sullenly mumbled as he pouted. “I don’t even know where I could get an outfit for stealing stuff, anyways.”

“Were you not planning on doing it in your more ghostly form?”

He stopped, eyeballing Gotham’s face area with a critical eye. The other was facing him, though more of her wispy form had started to curl around his shoulders like a lazy cat soaking up the warmth of the sun. “I thought using powers in your city was a no-no?”

“That does not mean you cannot use your other form,” Gotham’s voice took on a lecturing tone. “You just will not be able to use your powers in an obvious way. It would help to protect your identity, and I know that you know the risks of not being in one of your forms for too long. Clockwork, at the very least, informed me to help you keep track of your health.”

Danny grumbled a bit, remembering the last lecture he endured from Frostbite about his general health. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Can’t I just use my ghost form as is, then?”

“I would not recommend it.”

“Why’s that?” Danny inquired.

Gotham huffed, “Because, quite frankly, there are magic users who know about your coronation. Any being with ties to death - through magic or dying or any other way - heard the Song of Ancients as you took the crown. It will not take long for your influence over the Realms to reach here, and when that occurs they will know.”

“And then the jig is up?”

“Yes, then the ‘jig is up’.”

A loud groan left him, frustration causing Danny to get up and pace. “So, what? I just go around and snatch everything while invisible? Or in the Kingly gear? ‘Cause I don’t think my HAZMAT is the kind of gimmick you’re thinking of. Besides, wouldn’t either form just give everything away from the get-go?”

When Gotham didn’t respond, the young man turned to face her. The City Spirit was staring at him, not saying anything.

“What?” He finally asked when he couldn’t stand it.

“You can change the outfit of your form.” She stated. “Did you not know this?”

Danny nodded his head, “I mean, yeah, I swapped from the robes to my HAZMAT earlier - but I don’t even know how to start on an entirely new outfit!”

The older ghost let out a quiet laugh, “Do not fret, Little One. I can teach you how to alter your form.”

“Can you change yours?” The young man asked, curious. He knew Amorpho could shapeshift and that often a ghost could generally alter their appearance, but he didn’t think he would be able to alter his own.

“I used to be able to,” grief rolled off Gotham in waves, the intensity of it staggering. A dark cloud seemed to roll over the city, the weak light bleeding through the loft’s windows almost completely disappearing. “It was a long, long time ago that I was last able to.”

Danny reached out, letting apologies-you’re okay-I’m okay-we’re safe tentatively brush against his companion’s anguish. “Well, maybe we can figure out how to get you to change forms again. I’ll do some nosying around and figure out the best way to blend in so I can snatch some fun stuff.”

A thankful emotion poked through Gotham’s grief as she agreed with the young man before her. “Until then,” she started. “It might be a good idea for you to settle some more. I need to rest before attempting to mentor you through something as draining as altering yourself.”

“Alright,” Danny easily agreed. “Should I stay in here while you do that, or is it a good idea for me to roam around a bit?”

Gotham paused, considering. “You should be fine to wander, though I would suggest spending time familiarizing yourself with my occupants beforehand.”

“Gotcha,” he gave his new friend a small smile. “Thank you, again, for helping me with this. I really do appreciate it, Lady Gotham.”

“But of course,” she said in a tone full of fondness. “Clockwork has spoken highly of you throughout the years. I am pleased to see his judgment was not misguided.”

“Well, I’m glad that you’re pretty chill.” Danny happily moved closer to the City Spirit.

If Gotham had a physical mouth, Danny would bet that she was smiling at him when she spoke. “I will leave you to it, then. If you are in need of anything simply flare your aura. I will feel it, no matter where you are.”

“You got it, Lady G.”

And with that, the Spirit of Gotham faded from the visible spectrum. Danny felt her slip out of his aura’s bubble and he was suddenly alone in a completely new dimension. Which was, apparently, full of superheroes, supervillains, and everything in between. When the young man began walking up the stairs to where his computer was set up, the only thing on his mind was figuring out where Clockwork’s list of artifacts were and which hero he was going to look up first. That Batman dude sure sounded like a good place to start.

╮(╯▽╰)╭

The sheer amount of non-earthly beings that occupied this dimension’s earth was crazy. That was the conclusion that Danny came to hours after Gotham had left him.

It took flipping through old news channels, trolling internet forums, random fan blogs, and even watching a few interviews of various heroes for Danny to get a vague grasp of this new reality. There were some heroes that he couldn’t get a full view of - the Batman being one of them. All he could find were grainy photos of the hero and hints that he wasn’t the only vigilante in the city.

Which would make Danny’s job a bit harder.

During his deep dive into this dimension’s cultures, Danny flipped through the little journal Clockwork had gifted him. His mentor’s steady handwriting listed out the various artifacts he was going to need to find as well as their general location. Many of those artifacts, after using his shiny new high-tech computer to look them up, were located in public places or stored in secret, secure facilities. Yoinking the public ones wouldn’t be too much of an issue for Danny - his abilities would make it rather easy to avoid detection, after all - but he had no idea what a “Fortress of Solitude” was. Or even something as vague as “The Watchtower”. Seriously, some of these places sounded weird.

But others had cities listed out. Star City was obviously a town, he knew where Gotham was (duh), and even places like Themyscira were easy enough to Google. It was with this brilliant deduction that led Danny to believe some of the weirder names weren’t attached to a city at all which was rather worrying.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on who asked) Clockwork wasn’t one to steer Danny in a direction the old ghost knew wouldn’t work out. So with a healthy dose of blind faith, Danny chose to focus on whatever artifacts he could easily access for now. This meant Danny spent a decent amount of time casually scrolling through museum articles, even more blogs, and whatever else he could get his grubby little hands on. Honestly, it made the Ghost King feel like he was back in highschool trying to desperately write an entire research essay the day it was due.

The first item on Danny’s newly named “List of Shit I Need to Steal” was an item called the Hand of Greed. According to the Gotham Museum of Natural History’s website, the Hand of Greed was a statuette found in an Ancient Greek city. There were some general facts about when it was found, who discovered it, and how it came into the Museum’s care. The Wikipedia page elaborated more on the lore behind the dark statuette, though.

According to random people on the internet, the Hand of Greed had been found by Ancient Greek farmers after a lightning storm in a graveyard. There was more than a few forums debating on what caused the storm, where the hand came from, and even some people arguing that everything about the Hand was made-up. The forums then led Danny to a dead end - nothing had ever been formally concluded about the relic’s origins. It frustrated Danny a little bit. He wanted to be at least slightly more prepared for his first ever consensual heist. The half-ghost broke away from his hunched position over his desk, popping his back and yawning. The motions of this move caused his stomach to gurgle angrily, reminding Danny that eating was still something he had to do.

The young man stretched himself out, wiggling around his comfy office chair. “Guess I better get some food or something,” Danny mumbled to himself. His eyes didn’t move from where they were focused on his setup’s main monitor, where a picture of the strong fist carved out of black marble rested.

With a dramatic groan meant for no one but himself, Danny spun his chair around. He easily hefted himself off of the space, casually walking to where his duffle bag still rested. He rummaged around, grabbing his wallet before moseying his way to the elevator.

It wasn’t like Danny didn’t want to steal something, per se. As he smacked the “down” button, he considered the morality of taking something that did, technically, belong to him. It wasn’t like the people who found the statue knew it originated in the Ghost Zone - to them it was just an old statue with a weird story behind it.

The elevator arrived with a happy-sounding “ding!” and Danny stepped into the space as he fiddled with the bracelets resting on his wrist. He would have to make a plan to break into the museum, something the halfa was not looking forward to, especially with how little his research brought up. Reaching out, he poked the lobby button before resting his back against the stainless steel walls.

Maybe he could just go in invisibly? This Batman hero wouldn’t even be able to catch him if he never even appeared on camera, after all. It wasn’t like Danny had an identity in this world, anyways. Any hero would be hard-pressed to catch a ghost in the machine. The elevator stopped, doors opening with the same cheery noise.

But, even though Danny hated to admit it, he kind of wanted to meet the heroes of this dimension.

The young man continued to think about it as he walked out of the building’s lobby, not even taking note of the inside of it or the people loitering. Breathing in city smog, Danny pulled his beat-to-hell phone out of where it was resting in his khaki pants. He focused just enough to figure out where the closest convenience store was, slap a pin on his new home, and make his way in the general direction of where he needed to go.

Danny was honestly pretty surprised to see his phone worked. The shock of finding out that yes, his shitty phone did in fact apparently carry a multi-dimensional data plan, brought his attention to money. Lady Gotham didn’t really explain what forms of currency this dimension used, nor did he even consider looking that up.

Which he could solve right now, by using his phone that did somehow work. But where was the fun in that? He had to spice up his obviously too-boring life somehow. All else failed, he would just act like he was from a different country or something. There’s no way that could backfire on him - no siree, no backfiring here. And technically he wouldn’t be lying, either. It’s a win-win either way.

It was with these thoughts that Danny serenely entered a beat-up looking store with various ads decorating its windows. He had about twenty dollars in his pockets when he hopped dimensions, which would hopefully be enough to grab a sandwich or something.

Danny really, really hoped that the currency of this dimension was the same.

After the halfa snagged a decent looking chicken salad sandwich out of the store’s stacked fridges, he found it was at least similar enough to get him the food and a fountain drink. Danny took his change, thanked the cashier, and went back outside. The man leaned his back against cool glass and took out his phone to see how close the museum was to him. If nothing else, Danny could make his way to the place and do a little reconnaissance.

It seemed like something Jazz would want him to do, after all.

The GPS app on Danny’s phone showed him that the Museum of Natural History was down in Gotham’s University District, closer to where he first came into this dimension than where he was now. A forty minute drive by car, apparently, but the halfa was sure he would be able to fly there in under ten. With a small smirk, Danny stuffed his lunch into his mouth as he hurriedly searched for a decent alleyway to shift forms in.

Finding a decent spot proved to be more difficult than he had expected. The city was teeming with life - people spilling in and out of the streets and bustling across warm concrete as they went about their lives. It was after the fourth time Danny wandered into an empty-looking alley, only to find a shady deal going on, that he felt frustrated beyond belief.

It had never been this hard in Amity to find an unoccupied spot to swap to his ghost form in. The spaces between buildings almost never had other people in them, and even when there were all Danny had to do was make it to the next one over to be alone. Here, though, it was proving to be a larger task. People were everywhere and it was starting to get on the halfa’s nerves.

Danny didn’t miss home already, nope. He hadn’t even been in this dimension for twelve hours - he couldn’t break this early.

Finally, after spending way too much time trying to find a discrete area to die, Danny let his transformation sweep over himself. He faded away from the visible spectrum as soon as familiar rings of light sputtered out. He quickly shot to the sky, gazing down on the city below him with delight.

Yeah, it wasn’t Amity Park. There were people everywhere, it smelled horrible, and Danny could still feel the sticky ectoplasm of the city brushing against his aura.

But it was beautiful in its own way.

Towering skyscrapers outline the heart of the city in the distance, windows reflecting back what bits of sky peaked through the slowly lifting haze. Flashing lights rose from between the cramped buildings, washing Gotham’s people in hues of red and blue. The noise was a pleasant backdrop as Danny flew between the streets, a smile gracing his face.

He could see himself getting used to this.

Minutes passed as the halfa twirled between man-made structures, occasionally dropping down to listen to the various people as they went about their day. It was when Danny flew up to the top of a skyscraper, his whole being bursting with joy as he played in the sky, that he felt an angry pulse brush against his aura.

Startled, Danny hovered over the top of the office space. Warily, the young man sent back a questioning feeling - doing his best to keep his little bubble of safety. He was left waiting, anxiety slowly building the longer no ghost appeared on his senses.

Who had sent that? Danny wasn’t quite sure, but the only other ghost he had met in this dimension was Gotham. It had to have been her, but why was she angry?

His guess was proven correct when a black cloud rose from the edge of the skyscraper, sides flared like an avenging angel's wings. Startled, Danny dropped to the roof, taking a few steps back as his hands rose into a defensive position and his invisibility fell. Belated, a wispy breath left his mouth when the older ghost drew closer.

“My King,” Gotham’s angry voice crashed against Danny’s senses. Long gone were the soothing tones from earlier. In their place were sounds that made the hairs on the back of Danny’s neck raise up, his senses screaming DANGER DANGER! “What did I tell you about using your abilities here?”

“I thought that was just for whenever I was stealing stuff!” Danny protested, trying to recall their conversation earlier. “I was just trying to scope out the museum - the Hand of Greed is something on Clockwork’s list.”

Gotham snarled, her form twisting angrily. “No, you shouldn’t be using any of your abilities. The risk is too great.”

Hesitating, Danny warred with himself. On one hand, he didn’t want to piss off his ghostly host on the first day he stayed with her. That was just bad manners, and he knew Pandora would be disappointed in him if he wasn’t polite. However, not being able to use his powers? Ever, as long as he was inside Gotham’s city? That was just too much to ask for, in his own opinion. Danny could understand not wanting him to use his powers to avoid Gotham’s protector’s wrath, but on a day-to-day basis?

Danny wasn’t too sure if he could do that. His powers were part of him and he thought he was finally going to a place where he wouldn’t have to hide who he was.

At the end of the day, though, Danny wasn’t one to try and piss off his allies. He had made too many enemies over the years to be okay with that.

“I’m sorry, Lady Gotham.” Danny spoke, trying to hide the frustration that had so quickly overtook his fear. “I won’t use my powers in your city - unless I am in my apartment.”

The spirit’s form shifted, considering. “Very well, I accept your apology.” She hesitated, for just a split-second, before continuing. “I think it is time we head back to your haunt, Little One. I still need to teach you how to shift forms and I want you to be prepared for when you meet my protectors in a few days.”

“A few days?” Danny asked, confused. That wasn’t his plan.

“Yes,” Gotham said. “Did you not want to get settled before attempting to lift the artifact?”

Danny shot a confident grin at the City Spirit, his eyes alight with mischief. “I know we just met and all, but did you really think I would do anything else?”

“No,” Gotham conceded. “I will do my best to aid you on your heist tonight, but please be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Danny sassed as he let his playful nature wash back over him. “Show me how to change my outfit?”

“As you wish, Little One.”

ヽ(ಠ_ಠ)ノ

Gotham’s setting sun cast an eerie, dark red light across Jason’s apartment. The rays washed over him, making it look like the man was stained with spilled blood. Dick had just set off with a cheery promise to see the other on patrol before slipping out the door, leaving his younger brother alone for the small amount of time it took for the sun to set. Soon, Gotham City would be cast into the darkness of night, with the city’s criminal elements slowly spilling onto the streets.

It was during the night that Jason always felt the most alive.

Before, when he was still living in a shitty Crime Alley apartment, it was because that was when Willis would go out. The arguments that came from him and Catherine would scare Jason more than the gunshots on the street. At least those were outside the safe walls of his home, but inside? To him, that was where the real danger lurked in the form of two angry adults.

Then, it was the streets. They had never been safe - but now that Jason was truly a part of them, he had to learn the tricks to stay alive. Part of that meant finding a safe place to squat, to wait out the evils that lurked in Gotham’s shadowed nights. The Bat was known for hunting and hurting criminals - something Willis had raged about more than once - and Jason was just a street rat who stole to survive. He had to stay alert during the lonely nights. Streets clouded in darkness just weren’t safe for a kid.

After the streets, it was being Robin. Fighting alongside Batman, helping give others hope and protection, and doing what he could to make his home just a little safer was like magic. He felt alive, freer than he ever had before that. It wasn’t just the adrenaline pumping through his veins or the thrill of leaping between rooftops, it was being able to help his home.

Jason was Gotham, born and bred in the darkest parts of the city’s heart. More than Bruce, or Dick, or even Babs could ever be - so of course he felt more alive in the comfort of night.

Then, he died, and being alive was never the same.

He was learning how to live with it, slowly but surely. The waves of green rage had originally helped Jason feel more alive, a little bit more sane while he struggled to figure out who he was. But even his own mind had betrayed him, at the end of the day. Basking in the pit rage had become an addiction, a high that he could use to finally feel again.

Within the past few months, Jason’s mind had been slowly coming down from the almost three-year stint of using the Lazarus Pit’s “gift” as a metaphorical emotional shield. It had been rough, trying to notice when it was the artificial rage whispering in his ear or his own emotions coming to the forefront.

Now, though? Oddly enough, even when Jason reached for the space he had learned the Pit coiled in, the green never threatened to take over. Throughout Dick’s impromptu forceful brotherly-bonding day, Jason hadn’t felt a single peep from the corner of his mind occupied by the unwanted side-effects of a green, gooey hot tub from Hell.

It was nice to be alone in his own mind again.

These thoughts raced around Jason’s mind as he went about the motions of getting ready for a normal patrol. It was odd, thinking the last patrol he had been on led him to the Batcave. Jason had been expecting to feel at least slightly off-center with the Pit Rage gone from its sulking corner. If anything, though, he felt more normal than he had in years.

As heavy kevlar fell to rest comfortably against Jason’s body, he noticed a bullet hole in the shoulder of his uniform. Eyebrows scrunched in confusion, he examined the damaged spot. That hadn’t been there the last time he donned his metaphorical cape, but Jason was pretty sure he would have noticed if he had been shot.

… He would ask Dick about it during patrol. Maybe that was how he ended up as high as a kitten on catnip?

Slipping his guns into their correct holsters, the young man snatched his bright red helmet from its hidden compartment. An almost feral grin danced across his face - the Red Hood coming out to play was always the highlight of Jason’s day.

When the sun had finished slowly sinking below the smog-filled horizon, Jason meandered down a stealthily hidden passageway to the secret bunker that housed most of Hood’s equipment. He was surprised to find his beloved hotrod-red bike parked in its usual spot – Jason figured he would have used one of his less-used bikes until he was able to get it from the Cave.

He didn’t think too long about it, though, as he grabbed the rest of his gear and dropped down onto the piece of machinery. A loud rev of the engine reverberated between the enclosed walls of his bunker as he pressed a button on one of the bike’s handlebars. Across from him, a large garage door slowly groaned to life. Jason kicked off from the ground, jumping into Gotham’s old tunnel system with practice ease.

The tunnels had originally been part of the Court of Owl’s underground hideouts, but after the Bat-family took down their operations, Red Hood had quickly laid a bright-red claim to them - including the bunker under his building. The tunnel system was near-perfect as it was. Some of it needed a bit of repairs and cleanup, but hidden ways to travel around the major points of Gotham with discreet access points was a resource Jason just couldn’t say no to.

It was through one of these openings that the Red Hood burst into the darkened streets, engine loudly announcing the start of Jason’s patrol to any bystanders who may be in earshot.

He quickly sped through the dimly lit streets, expertly navigating to one of the many areas Jason leaves his bike during the night. Today, he had decided, was going to just be an easy patrol. A nice little stroll through Crime Alley, maybe a stop at one of his favorite twenty-four hour hole in the walls, and then finishing up his night with a well-deserved bath.

With that in mind, the Red Hood grappled up to Gotham’s darkened rooftops, letting the city’s shadows envelope him in a cool, familiar embrace. Street lights flickered noisily, enhancing the darkened figures thrown across well-worn buildings. The great expanse of Gotham’s ever-changing skyline greeted the helmeted vigilante as he began his daily patrol across his home territory.

A thick layer of smog blocked the moon and stars from being seen by the millions of Gothamites, the haze from the day still lingering at the very edges of the giant city. The early spring breeze brought a light chill to the night, making Jason glad he had a layered uniform, unlike when he was a child strutting around in Dick’s old scaly panties.

He tapped the side of his helmet three times, turning on the communication unit built into its protective metals. A quiet chatter of his family greeted him and against his will, Jason felt his shoulders drop just a bit.

“-I’m saying that it’s obvious that Ivy and Harley are going to get married soon.” Dick’s voice was broken up by the sounds of wind sweeping across his speaker, small grunts echoing in Jason’s ear as his older brother danced across rooftops in a well-loved routine.

Stephanie’s response came with the usual hyper rush Jason has learned to associate with his fellow street kid. “And I’m saying that I think they’re going to wait a little longer. We all know how Ivy is about commitments.”

“But she and Harley have been dating for years. If the two of them can survive that tantrum Kiteman had a few months ago, then I think they’re pretty much set for life.”

“Quiet on the line.” Bruce’s gravelly tone was a bit of an unwelcome entry in the friendly banter, making Jason fight to contain the natural tensing of his body. He forced himself to relax, jumping from the roof of a crumbling apartment building and onto an old office building in a much similar state.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, B.” Dick let out a larger grunt, a fleshy sound accompanying it. “Hey guys, mind if I drop in? Seems like you’re all having the party of a lifetime.”

“Fighting on an open line?” Jason drawled, never one to not poke at Dick. “Watch out, Boy Wonder. Daddy-bat’s gonna ground you at this rate.” A single grunt was the only response Jason’s quip earned, making him sneer a bit under his protective hood.

Figures.

Before the gun-slinging vigilante could even get another word in, he heard the “ping” associated with Oracle dragging his communication unit down onto another line. “Hood, I’ve gotten reports of a gang break-in a few blocks from your location. Double back, it’s the building across from where you stored your bike.”

“Of course,” he groaned, but still dutifully skidded to a stop. Jason threw himself into sprinting back across the different roofs he had just parkoured his way over. “Any more information on the situation?”

“Negative.”

“Wonderful.”

It took him a few minutes, but soon Jason was back in the general area where he had started his night. “Is it the jewelers or the pawn shop?” Jason asked the quiet line, staring down at the littered streets.

“The jewelers,” Babs said. “Footage is showing four guys, their getaway driver is waiting outside near the back. Dark blue van. Best to proceed with the burglars then the driver, from what I can see.”

“Got it, going in now.”

“Good luck.”

The large vigilante dropped down in front of the store, scanning through the broken glass. He could barely see the four figures shoving anything they could grab into worn duffle bags. From what Jason could tell, none of them were armed – meaning he was quick to slip sneakily through the opening they had made when one’s back was turned. It was his odd hybrid training that allowed him to move so quickly and silently when his body mass was constantly working against him.

Hood snuck up behind a robber who was rooting around a now-broken glass case. The vigilante’s quiet movements served him well as he suddenly struck his arms out, grabbing the masked civilian around the throat. The man made an aborted shout, alerting his friends to the vigilante among their ranks as the Red Hood turned them around. Now with the thug between himself and his buddies, Jason tightened his forearm against the warm neck he held hostage.

“I’m only going to say this once,” Jason’s modulated voice rippled over the thieves. “Surrender or you’ll end up like chucklefuck here.” With the end of his statement, he tightened his grip and swept the other man’s legs out from under him, Jason placing one of his own legs between to keep his prey unsteady.

The thief in his arms started babbling pleads as he desperately squirmed in Hood’s grasp. His friends cautiously lowered their bags, one even going as far as to show Jason his free hand.

“Easy now,” The one furthest from the door said. “We’re just tyin’ ta put food on t’ table.”

“That’s understandable,” The masked vigilante said in a tone laced with half-fake sympathy. “But there’s better ways to go around getting money than robbing stores. Surrender and I’m sure prison’ll teach ya’.”

“Yeah,” The far guy spoke up again. “Not gonna happen, cape.” With that, the dude kicked a heavy rock at Jason with surprising accuracy, forcing him to let go of the squirming criminal in his grasp. As much as Jason would be fine with the dude getting a concussion, he’s sure the other bats would not be so chill about it.

The thief that was caught in Jason’s grapple was busy running, trying to make an epic getaway. It gave Jason time to pull out his handgun and a warning shot was fired, putting a smoking hole into the floor in front of the fleeing robber. The man, to his credit, didn’t flinch at the loud noise and instead kept gunning for the exit where his friends were waiting for him.

With a curse, Jason realized a bit late that the three of them were almost at the door – which he noticed had been disarmed. He slipped his gun back into its rightful place before he raced after the three thieves. As they ran through the store, jumping over jewelry cases and feeling his boots slide across scattered glass shards dusting the floor like deadly fallen snow. The vigilante pulled out a bola set from where it was hanging on his utility belt, aimed as best he could while running, and threw it with terrifying accuracy towards the first criminal in the fleeing line.

The bolas caught on the robber’s legs, drawing them up short. With a panicked shout, the man went down like a live oak – with a heavy crash and shaking limbs. The two behind him stumbled to a frightened stop, obviously startled. Jason used those couple precious milliseconds to gain ground on the group, already planning his next move. A gloved hand reached back towards his belt, gripping onto his last bola set. By the time he was re-noticed by the criminals, he was mere feet away from the trio. One of them let out a surprised noise, fleeing the scene and leaving his friends behind. It was him that Jason aimed his bolas at, easily letting the capture weapon fly and snag the wayward robber.

The last one had been trying to help his friend out, on his knees with a knife frantically sawing through the rope binding his buddies’ legs. When Jason was close enough, he pulled the man up by the back of his jacket and punched him across the nose. The squirming criminals’s hands came up to clutch at the bruised cartilage and Jason slapped Bat-grade handcuffs across his wrists.

“Now,” Jason said as he dropped his prey. He turned to look at the other two, focusing on the man at his feet while the one in his hands squirmed around. “Maybe it’s nap-time for some naughty boys.”

“Let us go, Hood!” The man in his hands yelled, drawing Jason’s attention. “C’mon, man, we got families! Don’t throw us in jail!”

“You should have thought of that before you decided crime was your best option.” The helmeted man practically growled. “What would your family say if they found out this was the way you made your money? Huh?”

“Don’t be so naïve, Hood,” The man on the floor snarled.

“How about you shut up, huh?” Jason snapped, looming over the other. He dropped the handcuffed guy next to the one on the floor before manhandling the un-handcuffed guy around to turn him into a newly-minted handcuff guy. “Time to take care of your last pal, boys.” But when Jason lifted his head towards the exit of the darkened store, all he saw was his now-sawed bolas and a wide-open door. “Oh you have got to be shittin’ me.”

With a quick tap to his helmet, Hood rejoined the open line Gotham’s vigilantes used to alert when a crime was stopped as he ran through the open doorway. “Oracle, got two of the four. They’re locked up in cuffs, in pursuit of the others.”

“Noted,” Bab’s steady voice filled Jason’s ears. “I’ve got eyes on their get-away car and contacted GPD - so far they’re heading south through the Bowery.”

“Got it. Do I have time to grab my bike or am I using the Rooftop Express tonight?”

“Get the bike, they’re not slowing down.” Oracle paused for a split-second, no doubt cross-referencing the activities of all the vigilantes roaming the streets. “Red Robin will cut them off if they start heading east.”

Red Hood huffs as he spots his bike, having raced over from the now-destroyed shop. “Sounds good,” he started his bike with a deafening cry from the engine, adrenaline pumping through the ex-crime lord’s veins. It was odd, to be so excited for a chase and not feel r agerageragerage  in the far corners of his mind, threatening to cloud his thoughts with mindless violence. “Streets?”

As Oracle rattles off the street name Hood’s suspects are using to attempt to get away, the man uses his modified bike to its greatest potential. Weaving through traffic was something Jason was used to - it was as natural as grappling across rooftops for the young man. To slip between cars while traveling at high speeds was a rush he craved. Add in the hunt of criminals? Well, Jason was as happy as a Bat with a cold case.

When Jason spotted the criminal’s van, they were deep into the heart of Gotham. He had chased them through the Bowery, over the Robins Bridge. Gotham itself was a city made up of multiple islands - each broken up by different inlets bleeding into the Gotham Bay. Sprang River separated the northernmost parts of Gotham from the older parts of the city, like the Upper East Side, Diamond District, and University District. As soon as Barbara informed Jason that his suspects were heading through the Upper East Side, a plan started to formulate.

The Upper East side was broken into a grid pattern, much like how New York City was. If Jason could speed through the lesser-used streets parallel to 35th, then there was a chance he could cut them off. A quick one-handed pat down of his bike’s stylish saddlebags confirmed he had a set of tire spikes. Hidden under his hood, an excited smile grew.

“Hey, Oracle,” Jason cut off the red-headed wonder’s listing of streets. “I’m going to spike the van. What’s the traffic lookin’ like?”

There was a pause before a resigned sigh filtered through Red Hood’s helmet. “Traffic is mostly clear, they’re closing in on Robinson Park now. Best thing to do is try and get them in that area - it gives me time to stop traffic around there.”

“Perfect,” Hood purred as he pushed his bike faster, expertly weaving around the late-night commuters. In just a few minutes, Hood got the confirmation from Oracle that now was a good time to enact their plan. With a quick twist of his body, Jason’s bike dodged between skyscrapers as he burst onto the main road in the Upper East Side. The criminal’s van was just barely behind him and, having no time to maneuver, ended up driving over the spikes Red Hood threw into the road.

A pop and the eerie screeching of machinery enveloped Jason’s senses as his prey struggled to keep their getaway vehicle under control. When it finally crashed into a light pole, an odd quiet seemed to brush over the city. With an expert flick of his foot, Jason lowered his bike’s kickstand before stalking over to the smoking van. He brought a padded elbow up, smashing the window in a practiced move. As glass fell like a dangerous snow, he paused to take in the sight of the criminals before him.

The van’s airbags had deployed, leaving his two runaways unconscious in their seats. With a huff, the vigilante opened the driver’s door. He checked over the two thugs with practise ease, making sure there were no injuries he may need to know about before moving them out of their now-busted van.

“Got them, Oracle,” Hood said, pulling the two men out of the van. He set them a few feet away, zip-tying their hands and feet together. “Cops on their way?”

“They’ll be there in two minutes. Any chance you can pick up the spikes?”

“Sure,” Jason agreed easily, sauntering his way down the street. He could see the faraway headlights of cars heading his way as he rolled up the spikes. As the black-haired man secured them back into the saddlebags, he heard the distant sound of sirens.

“You best get a move on, Hood,” Oracle cautioned. Typing joined her speech, urgency picking up in her voice as she directed him. “Looks like there’s been a break-in at the History Museum. You’re the closest unoccupied.”

“Seriously?” Jason groused, hopping back onto his bike. He left the criminals in a trail of exhaust right as the Gotham Police Department showed up. The vague threats they made followed the Red Hood as he sped towards the University District. “You know I hate that place.”

“Well, sucks to suck. Batman and Robin are currently chasing down a lead on Penguin’s drug trade, otherwise I would send the two of them.”

Hood paused, his brain going to places he definitely did not want it going. “New lead or the one from yesterday?”

“New lead - Red Robin and Orphan picked it up while you were indisposed.” With a sigh, Hood parked his bike in a random alleyway, taking note of the streets near it. The large man grappled his way up to the roof of the building before starting to parkour his way towards the museum, grumbling the entire way.

It wasn’t that Jason didn’t want to stop a thief, or that he was embarrassed about being drugged the other day. No, it wasn’t that. A fight was something Jason pretty much welcomed every night he donned his guns and helmet. The museum was simply too full of times before. Before he had died, when things were just a bit easier. When it was just him, Dick, Bruce, and Alfred. Back when he wore the scaly panties and hid in Batman’s cape. When banter and quips thrown at villains came easier to him, when he thought Batman would always be there to catch him when Jason fell.

He couldn’t help but wonder what had changed about the museum since the last time he was there, six years ago, stopping Catwoman with Batman. From doing his best to ignore the flirting between his father mentor and the thief.

Now, instead of the hand-me-down Robin uniform, it was the Red Hood armor Jason wore to strike down a thief.

Jason’s musing cut off as he landed hard on the roof across from the museum. The vigilante rolled into a light jog, shaking off the pain racing through his knees. He could see the top of his targeted building, stopping at the edge of the rooftop he was occupying to try and get a better view.

He needed to figure out what caused the alarm to trip on the building in the first place. It didn’t seem like the type of area one of the usual Gotham Rogue Gallery would target for any occasion. Maybe Catwoman, but Jason didn’t know of any jewels in any exhibit that she would try to steal.

“Do you have any information on who might’ve broken in? I can’t think of anything Catwoman would try to get her hands on.” Jason asked as he kept a moving eye on the building across from him.

A thoughtful hum came from the other side of the transmission. “I’m looking at the CCTV footage now. The person who broke in is still inside, and appears to be wearing a dark, hooded outfit. White accents as well - whoever it is, they’re not one of our usuals.” 

Jason cocked his head, body lighting up with a curiosity he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Roger, going in now. Might as well figure out who it is.” Aiming his grapple gun towards a secure part of the museum’s building, he triggered the mechanism with a satisfying pop and whirr. With an ease born from being a Bat, he jumped off the rooftop - soaring above the late-night foot traffic with a small thrill.

Oracle’s voice crackled as she spoke. “Hood, wait for at least one other to arrive before engaging. All CCTV footage is corrupted - this guy must’ve used a localized EMP of some sort, and depending on how strong it is, we might lose contact.”

“I thought the others were occupied?” The man questioned as he landed on top of the museum’s roof. He dropped to a crouch, surveying the space around him.

The Gotham Museum of Natural History was a building made up of pale stone. It had large, rectangular columns racing up the sides to form a grand entrance. The museum was split into four sections: the main part, and then three add-on sections that all intersected at the circular part of the building. While the roof was relatively flat, a massive glass dome rose from the main section with various skylights scattered around the add-ons. It may look cool but, as all the Gotham vigilantes knew, it created many escape routes for various villains to use. Without counting the many, many windows the building boasted.

“Batman and Robin are. Red Robin just finished up with a mugging and Nightwing is heading north. ETA is roughly ten minutes for each.”

Jason shook his head, creeping along the roof. “When did the break-in happen?”

Oracle paused, her silence speaking a thousand words. “About thirteen minutes ago.”

“So they’re probably finishing up grabbing whatever it is, already.” Red Hood kept his eyes out for any sign of break in, eyes expertly scanning the terrain around him.

“Assuming they’re as fast as Catwoman? Yes.”

Jason’s mouth opened to respond when movement through one of the northern add-on’s skylight caught his attention. The Hood hurried his way over, making sure to keep out of sight. As he got closer, static filled his ears. The noise was loud and startled the black-haired vigilante enough for him to quietly curse as he quickly moved to turn off the horrendous noise blasting through the casing covering his skull. Definitely a localized EMP, he thought as he settled next to the skylight to watch the thief.

While Jason typically had decent sight, through the glass he could only describe the person as whispy, almost like the window prevented him from having a clear view. He could barely make out a pitch-black cloak covering the person’s back as they lifted an object from its display pedestal.

Knowing time was running out and not wanting to let this new thief get away, Hood unlatched the skylight with a trick Batman taught him years ago - back when he was still learning the ropes of being Robin. Hooking his grapple claw onto the skylight’s edge, the ex-crime lord silently lowered himself down the large drop as quietly as he could. Even though there was next to no sound of the grapple’s mechanics and his landing was as quiet as an assassin’s, the thief’s head whipped around. Startled, glowing neon eyes met Hood’s through his helmet. Fear gripped Jason’s heart as unblinking Lazarus pools bore into his very soul.

I should’ve waited, Jason thought hysterically as the vigilante and thief stared at each other.

(((ꏿwꏿ;)))

[xoxo-sarah]

Friendly

↝a/n: I'm just posting all my old fics in my notes app because I don't have any good ideas as of this moment.

↝pairing:Steve Harrington x reader

↝warning: angst, unrequited feelings, heartbreak, sad!reader, not proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Steve Harrington, or any character from Stranger Things. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 4.27.24

You shouldn't be here. You knew that, but you couldn't help yourself. The feelings you had for Steve were eating at you, keeping you up at night. All the time you spend together felt like torture when you thought back to them. The glances you would spare him even though he wasn't looking. He was never looking, not like you were.

The laughing and jokes were friendly for him, something he also did with his other friends. It just felt different for you.

You tried to keep it to yourself, you really did. It just became too much. Your thoughts were overfilling your skull, spilling out of your tear ducts late at night, when you were alone in your room.

You knocked at the door before you could stop yourself.

Steve opened the door, his face turning into one of pure bewilderment. Before he could even say hello, your mouth was open, words spewing out of it like vomit.

"I know it's late but I couldn't go to sleep. I need to get something off my chest and I need you to just...listen."

Steve went to open him mouth but closed it when your eyes harshly shut, watching as you conjured up the guts.

"I love you and I need you to love me too. Tell me that your thoughts have been of me just like mine have been of you." But you didn't say that, 'cause that would be even more pathetic than showing up at his doorstep in the middle of the night.

"You make me feel wanted and needed in a way I haven't felt before, and that's too much for me to have as just a friend." Your eyes opened, staring at the way his hand flexed against the door he held open.

Steve stood, shell-shocked.

"Tell me that the times you made me feel seen were you just being friendly. Please-"

"Steve?"

A head of blonde hair walked behind Steve, smiling politely at you, hand moving across the extension of Steve's back.

Your breath caught in your throat.

She leaned up to whisper something in his ear. He finally moved his gaze from your pathetic silhouette. He looked at her, his jaw slack from your confession. An absentminded nod was enough for her to sway back to where she came from, leaving you two in silence.

How does one come back from this? It is humiliating.

Steve bit his lip, scratching at his forehead.

"Can we talk about this another time?"

This time, it was your turn to be gobsmacked. You felt as if your life couldn't get any sadder.

Without a word, you turned, not knowing what you were supposed to do after confessing your feelings like that. Tears fell down your face before you were out of his driveway.

You couldn't show your face anywhere he would be. There is no way in hell.

The old feeling in your chest that told you to cherish every moment with Steve- the one that told you to reach out to hold his hand- was now demolished and replaced with regret.

This whole thing is just humiliating.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[galadrieljones]

Possession (Rook x Emmrich)

❤️ Dragon Age | Emmrook | Solavellan | one-shot | Mature ❤️

word count: 7,460 Summary: In the Lighthouse, Rook and Emmrich hunt through some of Solas's old records from his time with the Inquisition. What they find brings them closer together, as they embark on a romantic scavenger hunt through memories of the past.

Read here, or at AO3 💫

Possession

JOLENE MERCAR, also known as Rook, was stalemated outside the door of a certain generous and compassionate necromancer. It was late at night. Though time seemed to pass strangely here in the Fade, whenever she was inside the Lighthouse, she could always sort of tell what part of the day it was. Like an enchantment, or an illusion. She knocked on the door.

Emmrich answered. He was very tall, and when he saw her in all of her tiny elven glory, he smiled. He was genuinely surprised to see her, but seemingly very pleased. "Rook," he said. "What a nice surprise."

"Hello, Emmrich," she said, feeling a little stupid. She had her hands behind her back, rocking back on her heels as she spoke. "I was just...popping by. I discovered something, here in the Lighthouse, a hidden room. It belonged to Solas. It's filled with a bunch of notebooks. Diaries and things. Records, lots of them dated back to when he was in the Inquisition. I was going to go through them on my own, see if we could learn anything, but I suddenly felt the urge for company. I thought you might find it all interesting, as an expert on the Fade. You know, like he is."

Emmrich considered. Rook had long, dark hair, which she sometimes wore in a loose braid over her shoulder, but that night, it just fell to the small of her back, like a curtain. Her eyes were light as candles, and he liked her. Something about her forward nature truly intrigued him, and though he did not entirely understand what she might see in him, she came by often, looking for wisdom. She was young, and he could tell that she felt...out of place in all this. In any case, she had never come to him so late at night before. This was new. The promise of what lie ahead, it was very tempting, despite his prevailing sense of discipline and stoicism. He said to her, "I believe I would find that interesting. Thank you, Rook, for thinking of me. Please, come in. Just let me grab some things, and let's be on our way."

As she stood there, demurely, taking stock of Emmrich's vast and detailed inventory, the books and the skulls and the bizarre crystals, she felt excited, happy for the first time since all this began. It was a pretty picture, this place, so strange and haunted, and yet the whimsy, it was like wrapping herself in a warm scarf. Rook was not a mage, and she had not grown up with such displays of magical possibility. Magic was utilitarian where she was from, or else it was devious. But Emmrich, in all of his sparkling oddity, could make even the littlest, most mundane things feel new and awake. Rook often tried to remind herself that, no matter how bad things get, it's the little things in life that truly set you free.

In the music room, Emmrich was delighted by the presence of a piano in the Lighthouse. He honed through a couple of chords, but it sounded like the gloomier depths of the Necropolis. "It's woefully out of tune," he said. "I can come back in the morning, perhaps, make it sing once more."

"You play the piano?" said Rook, feeling wistful. She had picked the lid up off a wooden box, which she had stacked earlier near the high window. Light seemed to flood in, even though it was after ten.

"My skills are a bit lapsed," said Emmrich. "But I trained for many years in my youth. Music is a language all its own. I've found that certain spirits communicate more readily through the wonders of melody."

"Perhaps that's why Solas plays?"

He smiled. "Perhaps."

Rook sat down on a dusty old hope chest. It seemed made of both wood and gold at the same time, and this weirdness with textiles was something that Solas seemed drawn to. Metals that looked like wood, woods that looked like metal. She watched the little particles floating around in the bars of light from the window as she gathered a stack of leather bound notebooks. There were many books and records and things that looked sort of official, like things you might need at some sort of tribunal, but these ones were filled, front to back with what seemed like poetry, math, journal entries, all in Solas's handwriting. It was elegant but rushed. "Some of these notebooks are just filled with what look like complicated arithmetic."

"May I?" said Emmrich. He pulled up the bench from the piano, sat beside Rook at the window. Rook handed him a notebook. He studied the markings, which were strange, but some oddly familiar. "As the maker of the Veil, it would make sense for Solas to be adept at theoretical and applied physics. Some of these formulas are familiar to me and my studies. Others are...well. They are like nothing I've ever seen before."

"He doodles a lot. See?" She showed him the pages of another notebook. This one was more of a sketchbook, she gathered. There were a great many drawings. Mostly faces and animals, sketched out in pencil, loose with an absentminded touch. "This one is cute. Look. A nug."

"That is very amusing."

"If we don't find anything good here, we can always go back to the office," she said. "It's through the door, but it's sort of gloomy. I just brought some of the boxes out here so that we could sit in the light."

"Yes, the light," said Emmrich, studying the windows. "I wonder if the enchantment lives inside, outside, or in the glass itself?"

"In any case, it's pretty," said Rook.

"I agree."

She showed him another sketch, this one more detailed than the others. "Look at this one. Do you recognize this place?" 

It was a castle, or a fortress, misty, and planted deep in a glorious mountain scape. Emmrich studied it closely. He did recognize it, but he was having a difficult time placing it in his memory. "It says right here, Terasylan'Telas. Do you speak elven, Rook?"

"Nope," she said. "My knowledge ends at Andaran Atishan. Mostly."

"Hmm. You know, now that I think of it, I believe this might be Skyhold," he said. 

"Skyhold?"

"The legendary fortress of the Inquisition. It's located somewhere in the Frostback Mountain range, which forms the natural border between the southern Kingdoms of Ferelden and Orlais."

"Ferelden and Orlais," said Rook. "Geez. That's far. Have you ever been?"

"Never," he said. "Until I met you, I never once left Nevarra. Now, here I am, living in an ancient elven sanctuary in the Fade. Such intrigue you bring to my life, Rook."

She blushed a little, or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. "He seems attached to this place," said Rook, turning the pages of the notebook, slowly. There were several more sketches of the castle, from multiple angles, the insides and outsides. "He seems to know it well." 

"Who is this?" said Emmrich. He pointed to a figure, sketched out in the doorway to what appeared to be some sort of rotunda. The form was female, somewhat tall, created with great care, but it was unfinished.

"Who knows," said Rook. "A mystery woman? After this, it's just tons and tons of butterfly sketches. All kinds of them. Guess he's a fan of bugs."

"Let's delegate a little," he said. "Hand me one of those notebooks, if you please."

She obliged. He straightened up and opened the notebook in his lap. "You continue with the sketchbook, and I will investigate this here."

"What is that one?"

"It looks to be some sort of diary," said Emmrich. "Entries, with dates from twelve years back. I'll let you know if I find anything of interest."

"Same here."

They sat for a while, reading. At some point, Rook got antsy and scooched off the hope chest to sit on the floor. She flipped through the pages of the sketchbook, taken with the minute and lovely details of Solas's drawings. After the butterflies, the pages began to fill with the shapes of people, actual people with detailed, unique faces and expressions, which led Rook to believe that they were real. His friends, perhaps? There was a study of a young man with an enormous hat, a tall elven woman with short hair eating a cookie, a human shield maiden reading a book beneath a tree, and a great, Qunari warrior playing chess. At some point, she came across somebody familiar, but the hair had changed. She recognized him from Minrathous. It was Dorian Pavus, holding a skull near a candle. This awakened something strange inside her, like an eclipse. Late in the book, there was a sketch of Varric, situated from the side. He was holding a flagon, sitting in a tavern somewhere, and he looked pensive. Rook almost said something to Emmrich about it, but she kept it inside. She wasn't sure why. It just felt like opening a can of big, fat worms, which she wasn't ready to open yet.

But then. "Very interesting," said Emmrich. "Very interesting indeed."

"Did you find something?"

"I'm not entirely sure," said Emmrich. "There's a fair bit of elven in here, which I do not understand. But not all of it. This, here, it is written mostly in the common language. It appears to be a prose poem? A ballad of some sort."

"What's it about?"

"Well, as it is a ballad, which means it is about love."

"A love poem? By the Dread Wolf?"

"Come here, Rook. Have a look at this."

She got up from the hardwood floor and went and sat down next to Emmrich on the piano bench. He was big beside her, and she was temporarily taken by his scent. Like rosemary, subtle. His clothing was simple tonight, she thought, unadorned. Just a cream collared shirt, seemed made of cotton, very soft, well-tailored, and expensive. He opened the notebook between them, so that she could follow along. "Listen," he said. He pointed to the page in question and read aloud, solemnly and with great care. As he spoke, with such a soft gravitas, the world around her seemed to change:

Light gathers on the sea, where we sit on the pier. It approaches and folds beside you like an envelope. I do not know how it folds, but it seems to anyway.  It disregards me entirely. On this day in Val Royeaux, as we watch the seamen mooring their ships,  you whisper, "What is that, vhenan?" You speak of a white bird, which has landed on a barrel. "Some sort of egret," I say. I can tell that you already knew that. You just like to ask questions, and you think it's funny. The word "egret," you say, sounds funny in my mouth.  The light finds you here. It finds your eyes here. It disregards me entirely, The light. I could not have made it any more beautiful myself.  It has a mind of its own as it touches you. And you find me, ara avise'ain.

The room was silent, but for the tense ticking of a clock somewhere.

"What a wonderful, if not monumental relic," said Emmrich, his heart stayed. "I am taken aback by this. I should like to read it again and again. What do you think, Rook?"

Rook shook herself out of a deep but ethereal trance then. It felt like something was wrong with her. She realized right then that she had leaned in a little close, the whole time he'd been reading. Her cheek, it brushed against the soft fabric at his shoulder. He did not seem bothered. He seemed very comfortable there beside her.

"I think..." she said, trailing off. "I think...it's just...so erotic."

This seemed to intrigue him greatly. "Erotic?" he said. "Quite the interpretation, Rook. You speak of his use of light, perhaps?"

"Yeah," she said. "How it's always folding and...touching the water, touching her. The mention, too, of the word egret, and how it sounds in his mouth. It just calls to mind their...intimacy. Something was going on here."

"Very good," said Emmrich. "I do agree. It seems that perhaps the Dread Wolf may have taken a secret lover during his time with Inquisition."

"Perhaps the woman that he drew? The one in the doorway of the rotunda?"

"Perhaps."

"Ara avise'ain," she said. "Are there any other uses of this word?"

"Hmm," said Emmrich. He flipped forward a few pages. There was a great deal of elven here. It was sort of like fishing for diamonds through a deft and elegant swamp. But he caught on something, quickly, then studied. He gave her the notebook. "Here. Read this, Rook."

She stared at the poem. She tried to concentrate, but then, she felt him nudge her gently in the shoulder with his own.

She sort of jumped. "What's wrong?" 

"Read it aloud, if you please," he said, softly. "I'd like to hear it in your voice. It is so much more meaningful that way."

"Oh," she said. "Sure. Here goes." She cleared her throat.

I knocked, wondering if you had forgotten. You had not. You were braiding your hair. You said, "I was worried." Vhenan, who worries. Sometimes I feel like a star, which has already died. You say to me, "Sleep here." You invite me inside.  Where it is safe. A nest. Maybe here? You bring me in with both hands. I take off your dress. Why can't I go home, avise'ain? Where the candles flicker to death, withholding, and there are only teeth. 

"Shit," said Rook.

"I echo the sentiment," said Emmrich.

"This is really...wow. I wasn't expecting this," she said. "Only teeth? Fuck."

"I am concerned about the metaphor," said Emmrich. "It does not bode well for the Dread Wolf."

"I wish I knew what that word meant," she said. " Avise'ain. I know what vhenan means. It's like, an elven term of endearment. It means my heart. Or something."

"I wonder if, perhaps, Bellara, or Davrin could help us with the elven."

"That's a good idea," she said. "But Bellara's asleep. She was up late last night, tweaking the eluvian. Told me she wanted to turn in early."

"Then Davrin it is," said Emmrich. They set off.

When they found Davrin, he was lying flat on his back, on the hardwood floor, staring up at the ceiling while Assan, confused, licked his palm.

"Davrin?" 

"Hello, Rook."

"What the hell are you doing on the floor?"

He turned his head to see them. They stood just inside the entryway. There were stacks of old books on the table, the wooden carvings lined up. Davrin kept a very nice space. He was neat and discerning, but he was not a minimalist.

"Emmrich?" he said. It was like a light turning on. "Wait. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is just fine," reassured Emmrich. "But, we are wondering the same of you. Are you often taken with lying on the floor, Davrin?"

"Not at all," said Davrin. He got to his feet, slowly, like he was drunk. He wasn't drunk. He was just...exhausted? "Assan won't sleep. I thought, maybe if I lie here on the floor, he'd doze off next to me. But. No dice."

"Aw, poor Assan," said Rook, patting the sweet creature on his feathered head.

"Poor Assan?" said Davrin. "How about poor me?"

"Poor you," said Rook. 

He smiled. Assan squawked. "What are you guys doing here? Isn't it kind of late?"

"A little," said Rook.

"We require your assistance with the elven language. How are you with translation, Davrin?"

"Pretty good," he said. "What's going on?"

"We found some of Solas's old records, in a secret room, next to the library," Emmrich continued. "They are from his time with the Inquisition. It's quite interesting. A good deal of it is written in elven, however, and neither Rook nor I speak the language."

"Solas is an ancient elf," said Davrin. "I never really learned that dialect. I know a little, but it's rare."

"Can you try?" said Rook.

Davrin sighed. He scratched at the back of his head and then plopped down into the armchair by the fire. "Have a seat," he said. "Let me see."

Emmrich handed Davrin the open notebook, the one with the poetry, and then he and Rook sat down on the floor, like children. Assan watched the whole interaction, rapt and wide awake as Davrin took to studying the elven.

"These poems here are written in the common tongue," said Emmrich. "But there is an elven word used multiple times. Avise'ain. It perplexes us."

"Can you tell us what it means?" said Rook.

"Holy shit," said Davrin, reading the poem about the pier, and the egret. He read it multiple times. Then he looked at Rook, his face screwed up like he'd seen a ghost. "Do you know who he wrote this for?"

"No, we don't," said Rook.

He made a low whistle. "This shit is deep."

"What does it mean?" said Rook, urging him back to the task at hand. " Avise'ain?"

"Right," said Davrin. "Well, this word isn't something I've seen before. But it's not ancient elven. It's contemporary. See this? The suffix, -ain , is a diminutive. It means little, or petite. Avise is a form of the word ise, which means fire. Avise means flame. Avise'ain means—"

"Little flame," said Rook. "Like, a pet name maybe?"

"That's exactly what it is," said Davrin. "And see this here? Here, he uses the possessive, ara, which means my. My little flame. Whoever this was, they were definitely...well, I think you know."

"I believe the correct term is intimate, Davrin. No need to be coy."

Davrin almost started laughing. "Touche. Does seem a little strange though, speculating about the sex life of an ancient elven god."

"Solas didn't present himself as a god to the Inquisition," said Rook. "He didn't even tell them he was an ancient elf. According to Varric, he just presented as an apostate. He said he was a fade mage, same as you, Emmrich."

"That inspires my curiosity, to be sure," he said.

Davrin flipped through the book some more, studying the handwriting. "All this other stuff is ancient," said Davrin. "Except for this one word, avise'ain, which is in common elven. Why?"

"Perhaps the woman to whom he assigned his pet name is not an ancient elf," said Emmrich. "If she doesn't speak the dialect, it would make little sense for him to use it."

"So she's a regular elf? Or...a new elf? Like me and Davrin?" said Rook.

"Yes, and it's also likely that she speaks the common dialect."

"So, she's Dalish," said Davrin. 

"Are you sure you can't read any of this other stuff?" said Rook. "These poems and entries. You can't read the ancient elven? Even a little?"

Davrin squinted at the pages in deep concentration, which seemed to lure Assan closer to his side. He sidled up to Davrin's chair and placed his head in his lap. Davrin stroked the beast's neck absentmindedly, a darling display. "Hmm," he said.

"Hmm?" said Rook.

"I can't translate this word for word," he said. "That's for sure. I just don't know the vocabulary. But elven, it's more than just a language. It's like a feeling. If you're an elf, that is. Especially this old stuff. Shit, it's a little like music. Rook, even though you don't know how to speak it, I bet if you read this, and you focused really hard, like really hard, you would understand what I'm talking about."

"What exactly are you talking about?"

"You can sense the story," he said. "Solas, in his words, is telling a story. I can see it in my mind's eye, like...ancestral memory."

"I don't know how I feel about sharing ancestral memories with Solas," said Rook.

"Well, I think we do. Whether we like it or not." He handed her the book. "Here. Just take a look."

She looked at Davrin, a little apprehensive. She had never been very elfy. Sort of like self-preservation in Tevinter. In fact, in her quotidian life, before all this, it was typical for her to simply forget what she was half the time. When it struck her, and she remembered, it was always in these horrible moments of existential unease. On the street corners. On the docks. She had considered leaving Minrathous thousands of times before her twenty-fifth birthday, for thousands of reasons. But she never had anywhere to go. Until now, of course.

Suddenly she felt Emmrich's hand, big and soft on her shoulder. He squeezed once, then lowered his mouth, close to her ear. He said, "You can do it, Rook. I believe in you. Just give it a whirl."

She felt very hot all of a sudden, in her cheeks, and it zinged straight back to her eartips. But still, it was comforting. He was such a comforting presence, calming all her stupid bullshit with one single, casual touch. She said, "Okay. I'll try."

She picked up the book. The words made little sense. As Davrin had said, even for elven, it was out of whack, bizarrely tuned, as if invented on the spot. But then, after a moment, she felt a kind of warm, snowy sensation in the back of her brain. It was like fuzz, and then it spread, and it came into focus. Like a crystal. It spun there, at the center of her brain. She looked up at Emmrich, and she said, "I felt something."

"Wonderful," said Emmrich. "What did you feel?"

"This is a story," she said, tapping her finger to the words. "It's about rooftops, am I right?" She looked to Davrin.

"Yes," he said. "Rooftops, mountains. Her hair, like, it's everywhere, right? Did you get that?"

"I did. Maybe that means it's windy?" 

"Good call. Also, there's a tear in the sky. He compares it to an eye, watching them. Like they're never alone. But he wants her. Bad. He wants to be free, to be with her."

"Emmrich," said Rook, serious now.

"Yes? I must say. This is quite entertaining, you two."

"You've read the Inquisition folklore. Are you sure you never saw any references to a romance?"

"I have only read the canonical texts," he said, "which, beyond names and basic formalities, in no way addresses any interpersonal aspect of the people involved. So, no."

"You should go talk to Harding," said Davrin. "She was in the Inquisition. She might know."

"Oh my gosh," said Rook. "You're right."

"You're also in luck," said Emmrich, voice low, his hands clasped in front of him, very debonair. He nodded toward Assan, who had fallen asleep, his head heavy in Davrin's lap, very still, eyes closed, breathing even. "It seems our discussion of ancient elven poetry lulled your young griffon here right to sleep."

Davrin surveyed the situation, dropped his head back and blinked up at the ceiling. "Guess I should get comfortable."

"We'll see you in the morning," said Rook, very eager. Emmrich had got to his feet first, extended a hand to her. She took it, stood tall, and dusted herself off. "Thank you for your help, Davrin. That was...interesting."

"Any time," he said.

As they crossed the great courtyard in the middle of the night, they both looked up to the deep, dark Fade sky at the same exact time. There was a shooting star, or, that's what it looked like. It was big and molten, like a long column of light which then simply disappeared from existence. This dazzled Rook, but it also unnerved her. She had never really been outside before when the Lighthouse went dark. She'd had no idea that there were stars here.

"This place shall never cease to amaze me," said Emmrich, in wonderment. "Stars and night. The chattering sounds of inexplicable nature. We are floating on a cloud, it seems, and yet, there are butterflies and opossums. I can sense them in the underbrush. Solas made this place comfortable many years ago. He wanted his people to feel at home here."

"When we first arrived," said Rook, "the place was falling apart. I think Solas was living here, before the ritual, but it feels like there are parts of the castle he never went to, like he lived in two, maybe three of the rooms tops. Everywhere else, he just left it sealed away. Like a tomb."

"The bachelor pad of a god is sad indeed," said Emmrich. "Particularly if he is on the wrong side of love. Let us continue our scavenger hunt, Rook. I am enjoying this evening immensely. Thank you for asking me to accompany you on your search tonight."

"You're welcome," she said, smiling like an idiot. He held out his arm to her then, an unexpected gesture, but she took it anyway. Even though she was not afraid of the dark, she was hesitant, walking through the Fade like this. She was not used to such big, cold, and cosmic magic. 

Emmrich sensed this, as he so often did. "Do not fear this place, dear Rook," he said. "Allow it to become familiar, and it will embrace you, as a home."

They started toward Harding's. They could see the light from her lantern, a long, golden bar at the bottom of the door. "Is that what you do?" said Rook.

"Yes, it is," he said. "Like a scent on the breeze. I will not forget it for all my years."

When they got to Harding's door, it was like she had seen them coming. She stayed up late.

"Rook?" she said. "Is that you?"

"It is," she said. "It's me, and Emmrich. Are you decent?"

"Sure am," said Lace. She opened the door, seeming delighted. She was wearing red pajamas with her hair in a braid and holding a cup of tea. "What brings you two around so late at night?"

Emmrich smiled, his face going a little crinkly. "We won't take up much of your time, Lace. We just have a few questions for you, concerning your time in the Inquisition. May we come in?"

"Definitely," she said, holding the door wide open and standing back to give them room. As she shut the door behind them, Rook noticed the remnants of some sort of art project. There were what appeared to be curtains, draped over a table, and several spools of colorful thread. Harding seemed to be practicing her embroidery.

"I love the curtains," said Rook.

"Oh, thank you. I'm just trying to make this place feel a little more like home. You know?" 

Emmrich glanced at Rook, very knowing.

"So," said Lace. "You guys wanna talk about the Inquisition? What did you wanna know?"

"We have been scouring some of Solas's old records," said Emmrich. "Rook found a secret room inside, near the library. It's full of old notebooks and things. Much of it dated back to Solas's time with the Inquisition."

"Interesting," said Harding. "Find anything good?"

"Yes," said Rook, a little anxious. "We found love poems."

"Love poems?" said Harding, sort of giggling. "Really? Wow. I mean, I knew Solas was an artist, but a writer, too? Wow."

"Wow, indeed," said Emmrich. "We came here tonight to ask whether you know anything about a woman that Solas might have been seeing at the time. Someone in the Inquisition, perhaps? She was likely a Dalish elf."

There was a long pause then, in which Lace stared at them both as if she thought they might be on drugs. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, we aren't," said Rook. "The stuff he wrote. It was really...passionate. Do you know anything about it?"

"Uh, yeah. I do," said Lace.

"Really?" said Emmrich. "Who was it? The woman, we mean?"

"Inquisitor Lavellan."

It was like a boulder, falling off a cliff.

"The Inquisitor?" said Rook. 

"Oh, my dear," said Emmrich. "This is a surprise."

Lace shrugged, like it was just any other factoid. "I'm surprised you guys don't know. I guess I just assumed that everybody did. It was all over the tabloids, at least down south. People can't get enough of that shit. Sene's love life has been under scrutiny for years. It really pisses her off, but I mean, what can you do? Idle minds, am I right?"

Rook opened the notebook, which she'd had tucked under her arm. She showed Lace the poems. She said, "He loved her. A lot. We're pretty sure that everything in here, at least in this notebook, is all about her. It's full of poems and stories. What happened between them?"

"Solas and Sene were crazy in love," said Lace, sipping her tea, reminiscing. "Like I said, it was no secret. They were great together. Inseparable. They used to have picnics on the battlements at Skyhold, talk for hours on the rooftops at Haven. He would braid her hair before they went out into the field. It was just...romantic. I used to talk to them all the time, when we would deploy to different regions, trying to bring people and their factions into the Inquisition. She would sit and watch him paint his frescoes, and he made her these butterflies out of his magic, like little presents. Hundreds of them, green and glowy, all the time. Everywhere. They would just fly around the rotunda, and the garden, like part of the decor. It was so dreamy and romantic."

"Green, glowy butterflies?" said Rook. "There's a bunch of them here, flitting about in the bushes. I've seen tons of them, flying around the Crossroads, too."

"Yup," said Lace. "Those are them. I'm not surprised that she's left her mark here. The way Solas looked at her, it was so...intense. I thought he was gonna ask her to marry him. It was really serious. And, like I said, everybody knew. They were just...Sene and Solas. Solas and Sene. The tabloids used to refer to Sene as the Tall Red Elf and Solas as the Tall Elven Warrior at her Side. Anyway, be careful, Rook. This is...kind of a long story, and Sene is a close friend of mine. She practically lived at my house for like a year once, down in the Hinterlands. I'll tell you stuff, but like, keep it clean. I'm not getting into the weeds here, okay?"

Rook fell silent. She did not really know much about Inquisitor Lavellan, or the Inquisition at all. It was not a common topic of discussion in Tevinter. And yet, even still, she was a bit of a celebrity, mainly with the Chantry, as the Herald of Andraste. They talked about her all the time in the holy newsletters and things like that. Debates over whether her claims to prophesy were legitimate, or whether she even believed them herself, seeing as she was an elf. Rook knew that she was Dalish, but she hadn't really put it together, until now.

"We promise to be civilized in our questioning," said Emmrich, taking over. "We will of course respect your loyalties to Inquisitor Lavellan. But please forgive me, as I must ask. You make it sound like he was over the moon for her, and yet, you said he left? Why?"

"At the time," she said, "Sene didn't know. None of us did. Nobody knew that he was the Dread Wolf. We just thought he was some really powerful apostate. After we killed Corypheus, he just...left. She was devastated, but at some point, she moved on. Or, she tried to. She was in another pretty serious relationship when Solas finally showed himself again two years later, during the Exalted Council in Halamshiral. He explained everything, that he was the Dread Wolf, that he wanted to bring down the Veil, that he still loved her, but that he had to go, and he would not take her with him. That was important. Anyway, based on what Sene told me, I think he originally intended to just use the Inquisition, like a pawn, to help him further his plans. But it didn't go so hot. He accidentally fell in love. He made friends, too. Kind of a huge, fantastic failure...I guess."

"So it was after the Exalted Council," said Rook. "That's when they last saw each other?

"In person, yeah," said Lace.

"What do you mean in person?" said Emmrich.

"Solas is a dreamer," said Lace, taken with the thought. "Rook knows. He can walk in peoples' dreams. As far as I know, he's visited her, quite a lot, over the past ten years. Where they stood at any given time, it was sort of on and off, but it was consistent, to some degree."

"Does he still love her?" said Emmrich, seeming desperately curious. Too tall, he was nearly hunched in half, trying to lean into their conversation. 

"Probably," said Lace, her voice soft all of a sudden. She became wistful. She looked away, toward the window. "They were special. They meant everything to one another. It was the kind of love that you aspire to, you know? And I mean, she still loves him. That, I know for sure. Sene went through a couple different men, trying to move on. But despite both of them being great guys, neither of them stuck, not like he did."

"Which men?"

Lace sighed, setting down her mug on the table next to the curtains. "This is where I call it a night. I'm not getting into all that. You're gonna have to read about it in the tabloids like everyone else."

Emmrich seemed to be thinking about this in a practical manner. "We can probably find them in the Magisterial Library of Minrathous. I'm sure they keep records of every tabloid and newspaper in Thedas, going back at least 100 years."

"Or, you know," said Lace. "I guess you could just ask Inquisitor Lavellan, herself. I'm sure you'll meet her. Soon."

"I will?" said Rook.

Lace shrugged again. She was doing that a lot. Like it was all just old hat to her. "Sene is close to Morrigan," she said. "And she also has Lady Nightingale, the best Spymaster in all of Thedas. I guarantee that she knows all about this by now, everything that's happened. And she'll also know, too, that you're the one leading the charge here, Rook. She'll know that Solas is trapped in the Fade, and that you're the only one who can talk to him. So, of course, she's gonna wanna meet you. Probably soon. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if, when you go to meet Morrigan at the Cobbled Swan in a couple days, she'll be there, too. Then again, who knows? She's got her hands full. Given everything my ma said in her last letter, the south is...under siege. There's a bad fight there, and lots of Blight. All hands on deck." Harding looked down into her tea, pensive, and then she looked at the floor. "I'm okay," she said, to no one. 

"Is your mother safe?" said Emmrich, placing his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, like she was terribly relieved that he asked.

"I think so," she said. "She went to Skyhold, with a lot of other people. I'm pretty sure that's where Sene is. Or, she goes back and forth a lot, with her Commander. Cullen. It's become like, a sanctuary. Like what this place used to be."

"Harding," said Rook. "I'm sorry. I didn't...I should have asked you about this earlier."

"It's okay, Rook," she said, smiling once more. "I get it. We have our hands full up here, too."

Emmrich straightened up then, and something about his massive height seemed to change the atmosphere. He seemed to know it, too. He clasped his hands behind his back and said, "Well, we should take our leave. Thank you, Lace. This has been most educational."

"Now that you know," she said to Rook, "what will you do? Are you gonna mention it, next time you see Solas?"

Rook thought about it. She could not picture it. Whenever she thought about him, about Solas, her mind twisted into a riddle, and she could no longer tell what was real. She had only ever seen him from far away, up on a huge pedestal, or in the Fade, where everything was grim, and he was removed from her grasp, as cold and hard as steel. He was a total stranger, and yet, she relied on him. In this moment, she felt hugely young, raw, spilled open, her guts all over the floor. She did not want to hurt the Dread Wolf. He was like a music box, rusted shut, and there was just something so strange about it. So pretty, this idea that he held inside of him this intense history. Love, sex, all the things that made him a man and not a god. "I don't know," she said to Harding. "I need to think on it."

"Well, goodnight," said Lace. "See you in the morning. Lucanis is making breakfast so, don't miss it."

Outside, Rook and Emmrich stood at the center of the midnight courtyard and stared up at the enormous idol of Fen'Harel. Oddly now, standing here in front of this enormous statue, her thoughts turned away from Solas and instead settled with the man by her side. It was so strange, she thought. From the very first day she met him, he disarmed her. He took her guard completely down, and he told her to light brassieres and they fought demons, and they were talking to spirits. She said hello to a little wisp, and it had made her heart beat strangely. He told her he had never been out of Nevarra, and he seemed starved for adventure, and yet, it had been him who'd swept her off her feet, took her on a grand field trip through the Necropolis, this well of magic, everywhere, all the time, living and breathing with a mind of its own. He had opened her eyes that day.

He was older, but she didn't much care. He did not treat her like a child. Sometimes, he did treat her like a student. But he did that to everyone, and in any case, it was never condescending. It's just who he was. The professor. He was not steel, nor was he even terribly guarded. He did not give in to her easily though, that was for sure. He moved slowly, deliberately, all those times she would go to talk to him, ask him questions about what he thought about all of this, about the Veil. He kept his distance until it really mattered, as if every choice he made would determine who they were, together, and in this, she knew that she could trust him. 

"What do you think of all this, Rook?" he said then, smiling at her. "Have your opinions of Solas changed in any way?"

"A little," she said. "I need to sleep on it. I just...I realize that I don't know him at all. He barely even seems like a person sometimes, let alone a man who could...well, you know."

Emmrich held out his hand then, and from his palm, he snapped a little wisp, white and pure. It buzzed around her nose and landed in her hair like a bug, and she laughed. "Do you like it?" he said, very debonair.

"Yes," she said.

"You know, Inquisitor Lavellan is not a mage either," he said, growing pensive, his brow furrowed. "She was at the Conclave, sent as a representative for her clan, which, as I recall, is fairly important in the Free Marches. They own a great deal of land there. Even still, she was one lowly elf among an entire Chantry. She was certainly judged, and certainly alone. There are records, which state that, after the explosion at the temple, which resulted in the death of Divine Justinia, the Seekers of Truth wanted to arrest her for apostasy, for treason, for murder. You name it. She was ostracized far before she was ever beloved. And she was young when the Inquisition began, only twenty, if I recall from the literature, and the Chantry experts distrusted her immensely, even after she was named Inquisitor. Many were especially critical of her as the prophetic Herald of Andraste . But others believed, and among them, I imagine, Solas. He followed her. He loved her. Just like with this place, he desired to warm her heart, to make her feel comfortable, at home in an icy, mean, judgmental landscape. Perhaps because he understood what that meant? To be so ostracized, so fantastically alone. Part of that was the butterflies, I imagine, and that is why they linger still. That little wisp I just conjured up, you said you like it. Does it bring you warmth, Rook? Joy?"

Rook held it in her hand now, like a little poof of cool, calm energy. It seemed to vibrate with admiration, glowing up at her, like it was alive. "It does," she said. She set it free then, and it disappeared. "Thank you, Emmrich."

"Whatever the Dread Wolf is or isn't," he went on, "I think it is clear by now that he is, ultimately, just a man. He has desires, needs, and she fulfilled them, as he fulfilled hers. These were needs that had either not been fulfilled before, or not in some time. She thawed his heart, and he kept her safe, and they found a home in one another. Even if it was short-lived, it is more than most will possess in their lifetimes."

Rook felt impulsive then. She could hear the words that he was saying, and she knew that he was right, but she was lost in the feeling and the sound. She wanted to express herself. She wasn't shiny or particularly eloquent like he was. Definitely not a poet. She didn't have beautiful things to say or magical creatures she could conjure into the air. But she did have action. She had always been good at just...doing things. No fear. She slid her hand into his then. He looked down right away, at their fingers mingled together, like he was startled, and then he looked at her, laid bare. 

She said, "Is it okay? I don't know what to say. I just...I want to show you how I feel."

He was very soft then, his eyes dark and filled with a hidden sadness, which tempted her. What was it? Where did it live? What did it see? He picked up her hand, and he closed his eyes and brought her knuckles to his lips. It disarmed her and made her weak, and she sort of shivered. Their eyes met. He said, quietly, "Language can be superfluous in times like these, dear Rook. But, please, know that I feel it, too."

So, she kissed him, in front of the Dread Wolf statue at midnight, in the Fade. She had to stand on her tallest tiptoes to do it. At first, just like with the handhold, he was taken aback, but he quickly molded to her, his other hand on her jaw, as he touched her ear with tenderness. It was not devouring. It was pure. Tallest mage, so full of compassion. He seemed to unlock for her that night, a click and release.

Rook did not have much to hide. She didn't understand people who did. But she could try. That night, Emmrich walked her back to her room, and they shared one more kiss before parting until morning. She sat down on the couch in the blue, aqueous light of her quarters, vibrating and giddy, and watched the fish do their little immortal dancing. She thought about Inquisitor Lavellan, twenty years old, a Dalish elf in the Chantry, and how lonely that must have felt for her. How scary, how out of place she was and the deep, impending desire to return to the home that she knew, somehow, she would never really see again. Not as it once was, as a child. But then, there was a man who came along and made it feel okay to just be alive, no matter how you did it, or how new you were to the world. A man who seemed to know everything, who could stand so tall, and yet, who nursed inside of him a heart so true that it could not be contained. And so they were consumed by possession, discovery, desire. 

*This story, though it stands alone, is also a part of my Solavellan fic Riptide.

[axelsagewrites]

Roy Kent*Locker Room

Pairing: Season one!Roy Kent x f!reader

Word count: 2063

Warnings: swearing (kent style), m! receiving oral, voyeurism/exhibitionism, Jamie flirting with reader, Roy’s inner thoughts aka light violence, smut 18+

Masterlist here

Jamie fucking Tartt was about to get his front teeth knocked out his fucking skull if he didn’t back the fuck down was all Roy could think about during practise. that and knocking him over the head with a heavy rope, or a rock, or his fist, or his shoe, or really anything. of course, the American didn’t see the harm in Jamie running up and down the pitch like a twat but as captain Roy wanted nothing more than to ship all three of them back on a plane to wherever the hell the cowboy came from.

the only solace Roy got during that practise was your text saying you would pick him up after practise for a surprise date. for a moment it actually brought a smile to his face. that was till he caught sight of Tartt doing his own chant, so he sent back a quick ‘love u’ text before going to yell at the knob head celebrating a fake match.

Roy counted down the seconds till he could get off this damn pitch however when coach lasso called, he decided to fall back. by making sure Roy was the last one in the locker room and showers he could make sure he was as far back from Jamie Tartt who was running like he was being chased. if only it was Roy chasing him with a big stick.

anyone who spoke to him only received a grunt in return. as Roy came back from the showers with only a towel round his waist most of the team had left. Jamie was at his locker taking his stupid tongue out selfies as Issac said a quick goodbye to him, dodging Roys gaze as he and Collin split, Sam not far behind.

Roy inwardly smiled at the way Nathan ran out the room when he walked in. when he got to his locker the first thing, he did was check his phone to discover you were already here, so he quickly let you know he just had to get changed. when lasso and beard tried to say goodbye Roy just grunted as he pulled on his jeans.

when he glanced behind him, he was grateful to see Jamie finally sauntering out the room, not even bothering to say goodbye to his captain to which Roy was thankful for. when the door shut behind Jamie Roy let out a sigh of relief being the only one left in the room.

you however had decided not to wait in the car and just meet Roy in the locker room. you nodded and smiled to all the boys you passed but didn’t stop to talk since you weren’t there for them. as Isaac and colin left the two wondered how in the hell you and Roy worked considering you were always kind and happy whereas Roy was, well Roy.

You were barely able to slip passed ted and beard with just a howdy hello. However only one of the boys managed to stop you in your path, “Look who it is,” Jamie grinned, opening his arms out wide making you roll your eyes with a smile, “Its Mrs grampa,”

“Hello to you too Tartt,”

“Don’t worry love I won’t keep ya. Can’t risk grampa having to wait for his sponge bath,”

You rolled your eyes again as you kept walking, knowing full well Jamie was staring at your arse, “You’re just jealous he gets one and you don’t,” you grinned, excited to finally see your boyfriend after a long day.

“If you ever wanna be with a real footballer love you’ve got my number,” he said, clicking his tongue and firing finger guns at you before spinning on his heels and finally leaving.

you were laughing quietly as you opened the door to the locker room, finally laying eyes on your boyfriend. Roy looked up with a stone face, but a smile fell over it when he saw you, “What’s got you laughing then princess?” he asked as he fastened his belt.

“Just Jamie being a prick,” you said as you walked up to him. before Roy could start his impending rant, you looped your fingers in his belt loops, pulling him closer, “Sad I missed the show though,” you smirked, leaning up to kiss him.

Roy practically melted into your touch as his hand cupped your jaw, his other resting on your hip, “Im sure I could hit rewind for you,” he teased as he pulled back, his hands moving to your back to pull your body flush against his, “I’ve missed you,”

“You saw me this morning babe,” you laughed as your arms moved to rest over his shoulders.

Roy chuckled, his eyes glancing down, “Been thinking about you all day,”

“What about me specifically?” you teased, catching another quick peck.

his hands slid down your back slowly before he suddenly slapped your arse making you have yelped half squeal. “You know exactly what I’ve been thinking about. walking in here looking like this,”

“Looking like what?” you said, leaning in so your nose brushed against his.

“So, fucking fuckable,” he said, his voice somehow lower than before making your stomach do flips and knocking the butterflies all over the place, “Been thinking about those fucking lips all day,” Roy said before his lips crashed onto yours in a desperate messy kiss.

your hands gripped his hair making Roy groan into the kiss as his hands squeezed your hips tightly knocking the wind out of you. “Well, I can’t do much else with these lips till we get out of here,” you said, finally pulling away for air and walking backwards leading Roy towards the door.

“Says who?” Roy said, his hot breath fanning over your neck before his lips soon to kiss down your skin making you moan when he reached the crook of your neck. Roy moved you back till your back was against the locker room door.

“We can’t Roy,” you moaned, your grip tightening in his hair.

“Sure, don’t sound like you wanna stop,” he mumbled against your skin.

it had been a thought you’d had a lot, fucking Roy in the locker room. or really anywhere at Richmond. Roy had even said after his last win that he would’ve taken you on the pitch right then if he could. ever since the idea had been in your head and with the season just starting again it was seeming tempting, but you knew the cleaners would be coming round soon.

but not right now. Roy groaned when you pulled his head from your neck but his eyes about popped out his skull when he felt your hand on his belt buckle. “Seriously?” he asked, almost getting giddy about the idea as you unbuckled the belt, working quickly on the button of his jeans.

You hummed in response as you undid his zip, “Just my mouth though. for now,”

“Hey im not fucking complaining,” Roy grinned but his mouth fell open, a small moan from his lips when he felt your hand wrap around his cock, “Fuck babe wait- “he said making you almost pull your hand out his boxers but he grabbed your wrist to stop you, “Over here. so, we’re not in the middle of the room yeah?” he said as he led you over to the closest locker.

you laughed when you looked up at the locker, “You want me to suck you off in front of Jamies locker?” you said, still following Roy over.

“Cmon,” Roy groaned, his cock pulsing in your hand as he reached his enemies spot in the locker room, “This would be the ultimate fuck you. the fuck yous of fuck you,” he said as the backs of his legs hit the bench.

your hand moved from his dick, much to Roys dismay, to hold his shoulders. Roy was about ready to call it quits when he felt you push down on his shoulders, making him sit down on the bench. you stayed stood for a moment, your hand tracing over his jaw, “You Roy Kent, are a petty bitch,” you said as you slowly moved down onto your knees making Roy somehow get even harder, “Who I love,”

“I’ve never loved you more,” Roy said as he watched you with awe. you rolled your eyes as you leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his tip.

if you were going to do something so wrong you were going to do it right. you licked slow soft licks around his tip making Roy groan as his hand found its way into your hair, but he knew better than to rush you. he nearly gasped for air when he felt you lick down his shaft, your hand resting on the other side of his sensitive member.

you teased him for a few moments till you finally began to swirl your tongue around his tip before slowly sinking down his cock. Roy moaned, not caring if anyone was still here to hear him as your hands moved to cup his balls. his moans were all the encouragement you needed to keep going, your head bobbing down with an increasing pace as you felt his tip hit the back of your throat.

Roy felt like he could cum at any moment, but he wanted to enRoy this. his eyes were screwed up with pleasure but for some reason he felt the need to open them. when he did, he saw Jamie, standing at the other locker room door, his hand still on the handle and his jaw practically on the fucking floor.

having Jamie seeing this was somehow even better than him never knowing it happened. it took Jamie a moment to notice Roys eyes were open and when he met his captains eyes all Roy could do was smirk, leaning his head back to rest against the wall as Jamie stood there in awe. Roy wanted to enRoy this feeling, that was until he felt your cheeks hollow around his cock and his eyes screwed up in pleasure once more.

Roy knew he couldn’t wait any longer but when he went to tap your shoulder to tell you that, a signal you had decided upon months ago, you decided to keep going. Roy couldn’t contain himself any longer and he gasped as he felt himself spill his cum down your throat. your movements slowed but you didn’t pull your lips away till you had practically sucked all the life from the footballer.

when you pulled off, wiping your mouth with the sleeve of your shirt, you looked up to Roy with those doe eyes he loved so fucking much. seeing them made him reach down, pulling you in by your jaw to kiss you harshly. you heard some kind of click and you pulled back, glancing behind you, “Did you hear something?” you asked, slowly getting up from your suddenly sore knees.

“Nah,” Roy said as he helped you stand, getting up himself and zipping back up, “But we should go. gotta get you home so I can repay the favour,” he said making you giggle and rush towards the door, Roy slapping your arse as you went making you fake scold your boyfriend.

as you walked the halls Roy briefly wondered if he had taken it too far but after all it was Jamie, so he didn’t worry. then he wondered why Jamie hadn’t confronted him? was it actually Jamie that had seen him or some orgasm angle? if Jamie had down that to him Roy would’ve fucked him across the room and kicked the living hell out of him.

it must’ve been someone else Roy thought, trying his best to act casual as he walked with you to the parking lot. however, when Roy opened the door for you to walk into the car park, he looked up to see Jamie, sat his car eyes closed. Roy barked a laugh at the sight, making your head spin around looking for what was funny.

however, Jamie had heard your boyfriends laugh and by the time you spotted his car it was speeding out of the parking lot. You looked after the car, head tilted, “Jamies a weird one,” you said as you unlocked your car, and all Roy could do was laugh. next practise was gonna be the cats’ pyjamas.

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics

[howlingday]

Arcs Don't Get Cancer

A sad Shark!Faunus Jaune story.

Weiss: Ruby Rose, how many times do I have to tell you to stop using my hairbrush?!

Ruby: But Weiss, it's cushy to hold onto~!

Weiss: And I told you over and over again to buy your own!

Ruby: But Weiss~!

Blake: (Hears knocking, Answers) Hello, Ren.

Yang: If you want, you can use my hairbrush.

Ren: Good evening, Blake. Is your leader with you?

Ruby: That's Zwei's dog brush!

Yang: Never said it was for my hair~.

Blake: ...Yes, she is. Are you looking for her?

Ren: No, but... Have any of you seen Jaune?

Blake: Not for a while. (Turns) Has anyone seen Jaune?

Weiss: I haven't.

Yang: Nope!

Ruby: We've been pretty busy with missions this month. Shouldn't he be with his team?

Ren: He should, but we haven't seen him and we're worried.

Blake: Where did you last see him?

Ren: He was walking out of our dorm.

Ren: Just after you left for your mission this month.

--------------------------------------------------

The following may be disturbing for some readers. Literary discretion is advised. I'll allow you time to prepare before clicking "Keep Reading". Once you are ready, you may continue...

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Jaune awoke to a burning, itching feeling in his arm. He groaned, desperately trying to fall back to sleep, but the darkness would take him no longer. Now, there was only the light and the horrors it revealed around him.

"Good morning, Mr. Shark." A man said with a smile, but there was no joy to be shared in it. No, the grin on his face was as empty of emotion as his lab coat was of color. "How is your recovery going?"

Jaune could only whimper in response. That was all the strength he had to do anymore.

"You'll be happy to know that your pain is not in vain." The man gave a chuckle, clearly delighting in his own wit. "Our company's product, of which your contribution plays no small part in, has brought comfort to patients in hospitals and clinics all over Atlas. At this rate, we'll be able to expand and help people in other kingdoms!"

A chill ran up his spine as his mind ached. How could his bones do the things they say? There were no medicinal properties to the fingers, toes, and rib he's had surgically removed. Though his body was numbed to the furthest extent it could be, he could still vividly remember the cracking, the snapping, the ripping done to his body as more and more of him was taken under the knife.

"Doctor?" A woman in lab coat called from the end of the room. Jaune looked to her direction and saw the bloody bandages that were used to patch his wound. "Here are the X-rays you requested." The woman approached with a clipboard, extending it to the man. She had a giddy look on her face. "It seems our hypothesis was correct! His bones replaced themselves~!"

There was a beeping sound that increased frequency that Jaune only took notice now. It was his heart that was beating so fast. Even as his skull throbbed with the pain his brain recalled, he understood the coming fear of his body being harvested over and over again. All to make lien off his suffering.

"Doctor," The man chided, "please remember your bedside manner when in the same room as a patient."

The woman pursed her lips with a blush while the man opened the folder, smiling at the sheet in front of him. He brought it over to a hanging board, placing it snugly against the blank surface. Flicking on the light, Jaune saw the horrible truth in the woman's words.

He felt his broken hand burn as he looked on to the small, regrowing bone in his finger. The pain resonated in his toes, where too he had been harvested. His heart beat like a drum as his chest blazed like an inferno at his broken rib being replaced.

"Doctor," the woman whispered, thinking Jaune wouldn't be able to hear her, "what would have happened if they didn't grow back?"

The man hummed for a moment, looking back to Jaune, who shut his eyes and tried to fall back asleep, hoping this too was just a horrible dream. He didn't even try to keep his voice low. "Then we clean up shop. All our research purged, and all medical equipment disposed of."

"And the patient?"

"Silence." The woman covered her mouth. The man pulled the X-rays free and slid them back into the folder. "Take these to the director. He'll want to see the results for himself." The woman hurriedly exited from the room. The man walked up to Jaune, dragging a finger along his thigh. "Hm... The femoral will be tricky, but the reward will be so worth it." He then left without saying another word.

Jaune felt hot tears pour from his eyes, his spine completely iced over with fear. He wanted to scream at the injustice of his body being ripped apart for a suspected cure, but he feared whatever intentional punishment that would be brought down on him. As he grit his teeth, he had one thought...

'Save me... Ruby...'

Fun Fact! In 1992, "Sharks Don't Get Cancer," a book written by I. William Lane and Linda Cormac was published with the claim that shark cartilage, due to the rarity of sharks developing cancer, could hold the cure for cancer. However, sharks do get cancer, and this fact has been known for almost 150 years, yet companies still harvest shark body parts from living sharks to this day. As a result, Sharks Don't Get Cancer has been more devastating to sharks as a species than JAWS, which inspired newfound fear of sharks. Worse yet, the method of harvesting include cutting off shark body parts before tossing the still alive shark back into the ocean to drown.

[batarella]

Bruce's Bathtime - Batfamily Sitcom

Bruce's mistake was thinking he could have a peaceful night in the bath on his day off when his manor is full of kids who share one brain.

A/N: HELLO EVERYONE I LOVE YOU AND IM SORRY I DISAPPEARED BUT I WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING SWEET FOR YOU TO ENJOY. THIS IS HEAVILY INSPIRED BY "BATH" BY SAM AND MICKEY ON YOUTUBE.

WORDS: 1.7K

WARNINGS: NONE. IT'S WHOLESOME AND SWEET.

MASTERLIST

——-

Crime rates were always at an all-time low in time for the Superbowl.

Which meant Batman gets a day off. Duke was the only one on patrol that night. Alfred spent half an hour convincing him not to spend the night at the cave.

“Master Bruce, the bath has been drawn and I’ve taken the liberty of using the expensive lavender bath salts so you would not like to waste it.”

“You’re right, Alfred. I’m a billionaire and I find the fifty-dollar lavender salts a waste to not use.”

“Just get in the bath, Master Wayne. Just thirty minutes of quiet shall do you good. I’ve set an alarm.”

Since when did Bruce start working for him?

He did as told anyway. Bruce closed the bathroom door and stripped off his clothes to get in the tub. There were so many callouses in his body, he barely felt just how burning the temperature was.

It was just a minute in there when the first knock woke him from drifting off.

“Bruce?”

What the hell is Dick doing out of Bludhaven? “What?”

“Is the music room haunted?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I heard something inside.”

“Instruments tend to do that.”

“I did a headcount of everyone in the manor and everyone is accounted for except Duke who you sent out for patrol so I doubt it’s anyone but a ghost,” Dick said.

“Get out.”

“But I’m not even inside the bathroom.”

“Go away.”

“What if it’s not a ghost? What if it’s a spy?”

“The manor has more advanced security systems than the Pentagon, Dick.”

“That’s not a good point of comparison.”

Bruce closed his eyes and let the steam slow his rising blood pleasure.

“Just check the room. Could have been the wind.”

“I’m too scared.”

This man was almost thirty and was still giving Bruce the same amount of aneurysms as when he was eight.

“Ask Alfred to check for you.”

“Okay.”

He heard fading footsteps and let them lull him into sleep. He set his large arms onto the sides of the tub, sinking his mouth under the water.

“Father,” a voice said from out the door followed by three soft knocks by a small hand.

“What, Damian?”

“I need you to sign this letter from the school headmaster.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He doubted that.

“It’s for a parent-teacher conference.”

Bruce let the silence answer for him until Damian gave in.

“Someone attacked me in class.”

“Damian-“

“Okay, I threw the first punch but he taunted me first about how I was small for my age but I said that I’m of perfect size for my age and that I’m simply too smart to be crowded into elementary school children when my intellect belongs to that of a senior and then he asked what I was doing here and not in 5th grade and I said what was he doing here and not in 5th grade and he spat at me and now his nose is broken and they want you to cover the medical bills.”

Christ.

“Maybe you don’t have to pay it. You can call them yourself. You’re Bruce Wayne. You can get away with anything.”

“I can, but you’re not Bruce Wayne, so you have to deal with it.”

“Can you just sign this, Father?”

“Fine.”

Damian walked in, fanning the steam off his face and covering his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see his own father naked, then handed him the letter to sign it.

“Make sure your handwriting is the same as when I forged it.”

His eyes could not have rolled further back into his skull.

The boy walked out, just two seconds before the next set of voices made him wish the gunman shot him in the head four decades ago and not just his parents.

“Bruce, could you tell Jason he’s not the only one who died and come back to life and that his robin costume doesn’t deserve to have to top display in the Batcave anymore especially since he’s here?” Tim said.

Jason’s voice was even more obnoxious. “I died first, asshole and no one else would have died if it weren’t for me so clearly, you should thank me. And my rebranding was better. You’re still technically a robin since, you know, it’s the other half of your name, so you don’t deserve to be memorialized.”

“You don’t deserve to be memorialized at all when you’re alive and not a memory. You’re not even the first robin.”

“You’re not the first anything.”

“I’m the first at a lot of things.”

“Replacement.”

“Glorified zombie.”

Bruce grabbed the cucumbers Alfred had laid out on the table next to him just so his eyes wouldn’t burst out in blood at how much he wanted to scream.

“Ask Alfred what to do,” Bruce said.

“Alfred is with Dick in the music room to look for ghosts. We need an answer now.”

“What do you even want me to do?”

“Tim threw my robin costume piled up with all their robin costumes when clearly, it should be in the display case,” Jason said. “And Tim wants to move my motorbike out of the cave.”

“You have so many motorbikes, would it hurt you to move just one?”

“No.”

“Bruce!”

Bruce counted to ten. “No.”

“No to what?”

“Everything.”

“You don’t even know what you’re saying no to.”

“I could not care any less.”

“Can we please come in?”

“No, I’m naked.”

“We’ve seen you naked.”

“Not on purpose.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Fine. Fine. We’ll get glass cases for both of you and we’ll pretend it’s a shrine as if you’re still dead. Happy?”

“Not from dying but sure,” said Tim.

“What about the motorbikes?”

“Put it outside,” said Bruce.

“Are you sure? What if someone sees?”

“Do whatever. Throw out the T-Rex in the cave for all I care.”

“Also, I need access to the batcomputers,” Jason said.

“For what?”

“Everyone else has access except me.”

“That’s for a reason, Jason.”

“Pretty please.”

“Get out.”

It took another five minutes of the two yapping at the other side of the door before it finally quieted down.

Then his phone started ringing. Duke.

That was when his blood pressure really started to spike.

“Duke? Is everything alright? What’s wrong?” he said to the phone.

“Me?” said Duke. “Oh yeah everything’s great! Not much crime when everyone’s watching the halftime show.”

“Then why’d you call?”

“Can I use the batmobile?”

Fuck a duck. “For what?”

“The streets are empty and you said I could drive it when there isn’t traffic.”

He hung up and threw the phone into the water before Duke could say anything else.

He had five minutes of quiet this time. Then Steph was at the door. “Bruce!”

An aneurysm. One of these days, he might actually have one.

“What now?”

“Can I change rooms?”

“Why?”

“Dick said there’s a ghost in the music room and my room is like five feet away and I don’t think I can sleep there anymore.”

“You slept there last night and everything is fine.”

“Ghosts can be quiet, Bruce, it doesn’t mean they’re not there. And you’ve made a lot of enemies, so I won’t be surprised if anyone’s settled in to haunt you.”

You’d think he wasn’t in a house full of vigilantes who fight the city’s most dangerous criminals.

“I haven’t killed anyone, Stephanie. I keep all my enemies alive.”

“What if it’s not your enemy? They don’t have to hate you to haunt you. Can I please just change rooms?”

“Move wherever you want. I don’t care.”

“Can I move to the bedroom at the west wing?”

“That’s mine,” Bruce said.

“You have a bedroom? I thought you never slept.”

“Fine. Take it. Just get out.”

“Really?” Steph squealed. “The master bedroom. Sweet!”

It took less than five seconds before the next reason for his headache started pounding at the door.

“Bruce! Jason is trying to hack into the batcomputer!”

“I did not!”

“He did!”

“The World’s Greatest Detective is just mad I guessed his password on the second try.”

Bruce sank into the water, drowning their yapping until it had blurred out. He held his breath for seven minutes straight. He could die. That wouldn’t be the worst thing. Just when it was finally quiet, again, Bruce rose up and found Damian sitting on the toilet.

He continued to look unbothered even when he looked at Bruce straight in the eye.

“Do you mind?”

“I’d like to use this toilet.”

“There’s fifteen bathrooms in the manor, Damian.”

“I like this one.”

“I understand I have not spent as much time with you, but this is not what your tutors mean by father-son bonding.”

“Oh no, don’t worry. I don’t mean to bond with you. I just like this toilet.”

“Fine. Please. Take your time.”

He did take his time. Damian sat there for a whole five minutes and pulled out a book.

“I wasn’t being serious. Get out of here.”

“Relax, father. It’s your day off.”

Bruce eyelids fluttered closed and he refused to open them until his son left the bathroom.

The next knock made a blood vessel pop. “Bruce. It’s me Barb. So sorry to bother you but I found another group of conspiracy theorists on the TikTok who made a list of billionaires who have never been seen in the same room as Batman and you’re the front liner of that list. I know you told me to never engage with these things but it’s at fifty million views right now and they’re making edits of you as Batman.”

“Make more bot accounts and pin it on Elon.”

“On it,” said Barbara. “So sorry to have disturbed you!”

He’s going to have a talk with Alfred to block off the whole floor the next time he draws these baths.

“Bruce?” It was Cass. “I hope it’s alright if I take Steph’s room. I took the liberty of putting a speaker in the music room so Dick would tell everyone there was a ghost in the manor and Steph would move out.”

The alarm went off. His thirty minutes were up.

 One of these days, Bruce might finally break his no-kill rule, and it won’t be for the Joker.

---

A/N: I MISSED ALL OF YOU ASSHOLES AND I HOPE THIS WON'T BE THE LAST

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[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Epilogue

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Epilogue: Brave Heart and Clever Brain

Summary: It's time for the rest of (Y/N)'s life to begin.

Mouse Note: And it's a wrap for A Study of the Heart and Brain. Wow. I can't believe so many years of this story have already gone by! Purple, Sherlock, and John have been so close to my heart for so long that it's sad to say goodbye, but I'm happy to say that they have happy lives in front of them. Thank you so much for all the support you've given to me over the years! I'll miss you all and hope to see you back for future projects! Thank you! This has been an amazing experience!

            “John’s calling,” said (Y/N) as they put a new skull on the mantle of the rebuilt 221B. It had taken time and effort (and money they blackmailed Mycroft into getting), but the flat was back. Their home was back.

            “I hate answering calls,” said Sherlock.

            “I’m going to answer it,” said (Y/N). They pressed the accept button. “Hello, John.”

            “Sherlock, (Y/N),” said John. “I think you better get round here.”

            Sherlock and (Y/N) exchanged a look.

l

            John held the disc that read “MISS YOU” on the top. Solemnly, he put it into the DVD player, and the TV turned on.

            Mary’s face greeted them once more. She smiled. “P.S,” she said.

            It was the next part of her original message. Sherlock, John, and (Y/N) leaned forward.

            “I know you three,” said Mary. “And if I’m gone, I know what you could become. Because I know who you really are. A junkie who solves crimes to get high. The doctor who never came home from the war. And the teenager who is too smart for their own good. Will you listen to me? Who you really are, it doesn’t matter. It’s all about the legend, the stories, the adventures. There is a last refuge for the desperate, the unloved, the persecuted. There is a final court of appeal for everyone. When life gets too strange, too impossible, too frightening, there is always one last hope. When all else fails, there are three people sitting, arguing in a scruffy flat, like they’ve always been there and they always will. The best and wisest people I have ever known, my Baker Street family, Sherlock Holmes, (Y/N) Holmes, and Dr. Watson.”

            (Y/N) smiled.

l

            “Congratulations!” cheered Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and John. Rosie babbled in John’s arms. Mycroft lifted his drink but didn’t cheer.

            (Y/N) grinned and proudly held up the signed adoption papers. They had already been part of the Holmes family for years, but this just made it even more official.

            “That’s my kid!” said Sherlock, smiling ear-to-ear.

            He hugged (Y/N) tightly, and they hugged him back. Their home was whole once more. 221B was rebuilt. John was back. Even Eurus had started to smile when playing, and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had gotten to hear her play with Sherlock and (Y/N).

            They were going to be okay. They were okay. The Holmes family was together.

            A knock at the door. (Y/N) turned to it.

            “No one else was invited,” said John, frowning.

            “I’ll send off the client,” huffed Mrs. Hudson.

            “No, no, it’s a guest,” said Sherlock.

            “Who?” (Y/N) tilted their head.

            “I invited them to dinner.” Sherlock smiled.

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they moved to the door in a moment.

            “Who—” John watched (Y/N) throw the door open.

            “Good evening, everyone.” Irene Adler smiled, dressed in purple dress and heels.

            “Irene,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Oh, god,” groaned Mycroft.

            “You texted her back,” said John, grinning at Sherlock.

            “For (Y/N),” said Sherlock.

            John shook his head fondly.

            “Thanks for coming,” said (Y/N) as they walked to the living room with Irene.

            “Of course,” said Irene. She looked at them. “Are you doing alright? I heard about what happened. I thought the call was strange.”

            Mycroft sighed, knowing one of his men had been compromised and told her everything, but (Y/N) was just happy.

            “I’m doing fine,” said (Y/N).

            Irene patted their cheek. “Good.” She leaned in briefly. “And I meant every word.”

            (Y/N) ducked their head. “I did, too.”

            Irene smiled at them. “I’m glad.” She turned towards the table. “How is everyone feeling?” She looked at Mycroft and smirked. “I’ve heard your position as the ‘clever one’ of the family has been usurped.”

            “It has not,” said Mycroft indignantly.

            “I’m smarter than you,” said (Y/N), looking at him and smirking. “I’m the smartest Holmes.”

            “I agree with them,” said Sherlock.

            Mycroft rolled his eyes and looked at Irene. “You are quite daring to return here.”

            “Am I?” remarked Irene innocently, sitting down.

            (Y/N) watched their family begin to interact with one another and smiled. They looked at Sherlock. “You actually invited her.”

            “Your whole family is here,” said Sherlock, smiling at them.

            (Y/N) hugged him. “Thank you, Dad. Thank you so much. For finding me, for teaching me, for loving me.”

            Sherlock hugged him back. “I’d do it a thousand times. I love you, (Y/N).”

            “I love you, too, Dad,” said (Y/N). They had everything they needed. Love, family, a brave heart, and a clever brain. They had everything they ever wanted.

l

Years later…

            “You be good for Mrs. Hudson, alright?” John looked at a now toddler Rosie with a smile.

            Rosie nodded. “Uh-huh.”

            “And if Sherlock told you to see what would happen if you do…anything…don’t do it,” said John.

            Rosie just smiled, and John groaned. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help looking at her fondly.

            “(Y/N), you ready?” said Sherlock.

            An adult (Y/N) nodded as they entered the room. They pulled on a long purple coat. “Of course.” They smirked. “I’m always ready. After all…” They tossed Sherlock’s deerstalker to him. “The game is on.”

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[rosepinksky]

Pay For My Time (pt. 1)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!stripper!reader

In which Ghost's neighbour drags him in for dinner, and then ruins his life.

Warnings: blowjobs (but it's soft and sweet), use of y/n

word count 3.1k

-----------------------------------------------------

Taking in packages was a neighbourly thing to do, you supposed. There was something sweet about the small kindness of looking after their property with no ulterior motive, never having met the person. Placing the small cardboard box next to your front door with that twinge of pride that comes with being a half-decent person, you went back to your sofa and your mug of tea.

You could just keep it, really. You’d never met the man behind the name on that box, and he wouldn’t know your face. A small smile flickered across your lips as you briefly considered the thought.

But when a firm knock resounded on your door that evening, you answered. And lord- maybe altruism is rewarded.

Raising a curious brow at the giant of a man standing on my fluffy pink doormat, the juxtaposition making you smirk. He was huge, undeniably, but you couldn’t take in the expanse of his body for being transfixed to the mask on his face. Only a pair of dark, dark brown eyes visible beneath a fabric skull across his cheekbones. That was the only sliver of skin exposed, even his hands hidden behind military style leather gloves.

“…Hello.” You stated simply, keeping my hand firmly on my door.

He just stared at you expectantly, his posture stiff and perfectly straight. “You have my package?” A thick Manchester accent asks gruffly from behind the mask and you could just feel yourself grinning as you gleaned at least this tiny bit of information about him.

“If you’re…” You leaned back to read the name on the slip. “…John Smith from flat 2, then yes I do.” You keep your smile as you hand him the package. There’s a small grunt of thanks in return.

You leaned against the door as you took him in a little longer. “I’m Y/N.” You don’t bother offering a hand to shake, doubting that he would take it. “I take it you’re not John.” You let your grin crease the edges of your eyes up.

“…Ghost.” He replied after a second, seeming to consider his words carefully.

You hummed curiously. “That suits you a little better.” You tilted your head, taking in his appearance. Despite the stern exterior and the absolute confidence in which he holds himself, you found yourself frowning in concern at him. “You’re not home very often, are you?”

He stiffened a little at the questioning. “Why do you ask that?” His voice doesn’t betray any emotion.

“I would’ve noticed you before.” you paused again, “Do you want some dinner? I know your type, military men, and I can’t imagine you’ve had a proper home-cooked meal in a while.” You offered, as casually as you could.

“No thank you, ma’am.” He replied at exactly the same time as his stomach rumbled. You smirked.

You opened the door wider in invitation. “I can’t force you.” You raised an eyebrow expectantly as you could just about make out the crease of his brow above his eyes.

“…okay.” He replied, the softest he had spoken in the short interaction. Your smile grew wider, bouncing a little on the balls of your feet.

You pointed towards the couch of the modest flat, crossing the living room to the drinks cabinet. “Do you drink wine or whisky? Or…vodka?” You glanced at him over your shoulder, deliberately wording your question to try and avoid him declining a drink.

He chuckled at this. “Whisky. Thanks.” He sat carefully on the couch, his back still ram rod straight.

You poured him a healthy amount, placing it next to your own glass of wine on the coffee table before making your way over to the kitchen. “You like pasta, right?” You called, trying to decide on an appropriate portion size for a hungry man twice your size, deciding in the end to just pour the entire packet into the pan.

“I do indeed.” He replied, taking a sip of his drink.

You hummed along to the soft music you had left playing in the background. “So, Ghost. I was right about military? What branch?” You tried to make polite conversation with the mysterious stranger you had kidnapped into your living room as you cooked him dinner. Can’t hurt to know a little about your potential murderer-slash-murder-victim, after all.

“I can’t really talk about it.” Was all he called back in response. You chuckled at this.

“So you’re a big deal?” You couldn’t see it, but Ghost rolled his eyes and smirked at your back.

“What about you, Y/N?” He asked and you giggled as you fried up the chicken and vegetables you’d chopped.

“I’m a dancer.” You waited for the inevitable silence that always followed that answer. “…and no, not the ballet slipper wearing kind, if that’s your next question.”

You could hear him clear his throat. “It was.”

I chuckled as you returned to the living room, placing the heaped plate in front of him. He looked down at with an appreciative gaze. “You’re not eating?” He asked, another frown appearing on his face.

You shrugged. “Not hungry.” You leaned back into the couch, leaving half a foot or so between you. He lifted the balaclava over his mouth, resting it on the bridge of his nose. You watched him curiously as he ate, giggling again as you heard a tiny groan escape his lips at the first bite.

“Yeah, I’m not bad.” You teased. You sipped away at your wine as you tried to get a read on him, his posture starting to relax just a little as the food and alcohol worked their magic.

As though he could feel your stare, he glanced up at you with a mouth full of food. He swallowed thickly, “What?”

You held your gaze, sinking back further into the couch, your leg inching further towards his.

“Why do you wear that mask?” You asked softly, running your eyes over his sharp jawline and the thin scar that trailed along it.

He didn’t break eye contact as he took another swig of whisky. “Do you use another name when you dance?” He asked pointedly.

You chuckled, eyes lighting up. “Nice analogy.” You could see him smirk now, and admired the way his lip curled up.

You let him eat in silence for a little longer, just letting the soft, slow music fill the room as you silently thanked your past self for picking a vaguely seductive playlist. You stood as he finished the plate, leaning over perhaps a little too close to pick it up.

“You want more?” You murmured, your face close to his for a second before pulling away.

“N-no. That was…amazing. Thank you.”

You smiled genuinely. “I’m just glad you got to eat something other than the rations I imagine they have you eating when you’re working.” You got another grunt in response as you placed the dish in the sink, resuming your place on the couch next to him.

“So, Manchester, huh?” You asked over the rim of your glass.

He chuckled and nodded, casting his eyes over you. “London?”

You scrunched up your nose and shook your head. “Surrey.”

“Ah. Posh girl.” You rolled my eyes and shoved his arm playfully, noting just how muscular he was underneath the thick black sweater.

“Left and never looked back.” You replied softly.

“Strict family, rebelled and moved to the big city?” He asked, a hint of cheekiness in his tone.

You bit your lip, humming in response. “Something like that.”

You let the semi-comfortable silence hang over you both, content watching the now exposed muscles in his jaw work as he swallowed.

He was the first to break the silence, to your pleasant surprise. “Why did you invite me in?”

You smiled up at him, warmth in your eyes. “…I know your type. Thought you could use the care.” You replied truthfully.

He frowned, his lips thinning. “Could have been a very stupid mistake.” He said in a slightly deeper voice, a hint of warning in his tone.

You didn’t let it faze you. He wasn’t wrong, after all. “I’m not stupid. Like I said, I know your type. I’m pretty good at getting a read on people.”

“That come with the job?” He asked, the curiosity returning to his eyes.

“Mostly. You learn to play a lot of different roles.” You inched just a tiny bit closer to him. You caught the way his eyes flickered down as he noticed.

“And this? The concerned neighbour, is that a role?” He asked, his voice cautious as you watched him assessing you.

You let a hand rest against his shoulder softly. “It’s not a lie, if that’s what you mean.” You glanced down for a second as you considered, “I am many things, Ghost. A liar will never be one of them.”

He fixed you with an intense look, and you could feel your cheeks heat a little under it. “What are you then, Y/N? You’re honest…what else? What do I need to know about you?”

God, that voice was just hypnotising. You swallowed another sip of your wine before you answered, the glass almost empty.

“Selfish. An attention seeker. Bit crazy, if I’m to be perfectly candid. Or so I’m told.” You smiled softly.

He tilted his head, eyes running up and down your body as if in deep thought. “Crazy?”

You snickered, still flushed under his interrogation. “Bat-shit insane.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “You don’t seem it.”

“I have no reason to be, right now.” You whispered, leaning in towards his chest, your hand ghosting over his chest. “And you? What do you want me to know about you?”

He glanced down at your hand resting on the front of his sweater, that smirk tugging at his lips again. “I’m not used to pretty women looking after me.”

You giggled, brighter this time. “You think I’m pretty?” You glanced down at his lips that he’d left uncovered from his mask. “You want me to take care of you?”

You saw him swallow thickly. “…if you want.”

You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling with excitement once more. You took one of his gloved hands into your own, pulling the leather off of his fingers slowly. Taking his palm, massaging the flesh gently. “I do, Ghost. I would love to thank you for your service.”

You could see his face flush at this, and you tried to imagine the colour his cheeks would turn. “You…I’m only doing my duty.” He let you continue working at the muscles in his hand, rubbing the calloused flesh with your manicured hands, his eyes fixed on your face. “Can I…tell you something, Y/N?”

You smirked, flickering your gaze up to meet his. “Anything. You can’t imagine the things men tell strippers.” His blush deepened at this.

“I’ve seen you before. Outside, having a cigarette.”

You quirked a brow. “Oh?” You urged him to continue.

“I nearly had a stroke when you invited me in tonight.” He confessed.

You giggled fondly, placing his hand down gently in his lap. “Could you see through my ulterior motives?” You whispered.

He shook his head. “U-ulterior motives?” You grinned at the crack in his stern demeanour.

You set your now empty wine glass down, anchoring your hand on his shoulder as you swung your leg over, straddling his lap. “Yes, Ghost. Very, very selfish ulterior motives.”

He gulped, eyes, roaming down your body as you caressed his shoulders. “You…did mention that you were selfish.”

You nodded, leaning towards him until your lips were an inch apart. “Can I be selfish right now, Ghost?” You breathed over his lips.

He nodded, and you pressed your lips to his. He immediately stiffened beneath you but you massaged the muscles in his shoulders, pressing further into him. Soon enough, he relaxed slightly under your persistent touch and you moaned appreciatively as his hands found your waist, his fingers curling into the soft flesh almost desperately.

You pulled away just slightly, staring at him through your lashes. “You okay, soldier?” You murmured, hands snaking up behind his neck. He nodded quickly.

“Can I do that again?” He breathed, grip tightening just above your hips.

You nodded and let him pull you against him, chest to chest as you moved in sync. He kissed with hunger, like he had been held underwater for forever and you were his first breath of air. You curled your fingers around the fabric of his mask, the soft material tickling at your nose.

You moved down his jaw, to his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses as you slid your legs off of him. You leaned back slightly as you sank to your knees before him, staring up at him as you caught my breath.

He stared down at you with wide eyes, pupils blown so wide you could only see black. You ran your hands along his thighs, quirking a brow as you felt the sheer strength of his leg muscles underneath the rough texture of his trousers.

“Are you going to let me take care of you, sir?” You whispered, eyes searching his closely.

He nodded minutely, his breath shaky as his fingers clutched the cushions surrounding him. You smirked as you slowly undid his belt, sliding it out of the loops and placing it down beside you. You pulled down the zipper just as slowly, letting him lift his hips so that you could gently pull his trousers down to his ankles.

You maintained eye contact as you pressed a soft kiss to the bare flesh of his thighs, smirking slightly as you felt him tense up from your touch. “Just relax, okay? I just want to make you feel good.” You reassured him gently.

When you heard him let out a shaky exhale and saw that little nod, you pulled his boxers down, letting his dick spring up and hit his clothed stomach. You groaned in admiration at the sight of it, long and thick with a prominent vein running up the underside. You licked a stripe along the vein, continuing to stare up at him through your lashes as you did so.

“Fuck.” He breathed, his knuckles turning white against the cushions.

“Fuck indeed, sir. You were hiding this from me?” You giggled, wrapping your hand around him and widening your eyes slightly as you admired the way your fingers could just barely touch.

He blushed at the compliment, head leaning back just slightly as he relaxed into the sofa.

You ran your tongue up him again, wrapping your lips around the head as you moaned slightly at the salty taste of him, just pearling at the tip. Another choked gasp escaped him as the sound vibrated around him, and his eyes snapped wide open as he stared down at you.

You kept my hand wrapped around the base of his cock as you took him deeper, barely halfway down his length before he hit the back of your throat. You moved slowly, letting your spit coat him as you squeezed your hand around him. You drew a low, strained moan out of him as you bobbed, his hands coming up to hold the back of your head. He made no move to guide you, simply tangling his fingers in your hair as you continued your leisurely pace.

You pushed further, your hand still covering the base of him but you heard another sound of desperation from him as you slowly opened up your throat to let him further down. You brought your other hand up to cup his balls, and massaged the underside of him with your tongue, spit and precum leaking out of the corner of your mouth.

“Fucking- fucking jesus doll, how are you doing that?” He breathed out, his hands on your head trembling. You didn’t reply as you kept your mouth on him, steadily increasing in rhythm as you felt his massive thighs tense up around your head. “Just…just keep doing that. It feels incredible.” He whispered down to you, earning another hum of satisfaction as you moved faster at his encouragement.

You pressed your thighs together, a hand sneaking down in between them to press at your core over the fabric. You needed some release, some friction as his moans send shockwaves directly to your pussy. When he saw this, he let out another groan, this one louder and more desperate than all the others.

“Shit, you’re just perfect, around you?” He whined as his fingers curled tighter against your scalp. “Such a good girl. Making me feel so good.”

You didn’t let up, obscene sounds filling the room as you sucked his cock like you wanted to worship it. You were worshipping it, the smell of his musk filling your nostrils and making you dizzier than the wine ever could.

When you felt his balls tighten up in your palm you took him deeper into your throat, fighting down the urge to cough and running your tongue over his slit every time you brought your head back up again. He let out a strangled cry, hips jutting forward in an attempt to chase his peak.

“Keep going, please god keep going, please let me cum down your fucking throat…” He whispered, a hint of desperation as he controlled the urge to pull you down by the hair. You did ask he asked, unrelenting as you begged for his release with watery eyes.

As he looked down and saw the look in your eyes, the pure, unbridled hunger, his hips stilled and his thighs shook. He let out one final, desperate moan as you felt his release hit the back of your throat. You kept your mouth on him, swallowing down greedily as you pulled off him with long, languid strokes of your tongue.

His chest rose and fell heavily above you, his eyes lidded and his grip on your hair relaxing. He brought his hands to your cheeks, caressing them softly. “Holy shit.” He whispered, his eyes glued to your face.

You giggled, a little breathless. “I really enjoyed that, Ghost.” You breathed out, catching a droplet that escaped the corner of your mouth with your pinky and licking the finger clean. He let out something between a sigh and a laugh, dropping his head back.

“Yeah. So did I.” He chuckled breathlessly.

You rose slowly to my feet, offering him back his belt. “You can…you can stay here tonight, if you like.” You offered softly. “But I won’t be offended if you don’t.”

He shot you a smile, his first real smile towards you, as he pulled his trousers back up. “…That sounds really nice.”

You extended out a hand. “I don’t think I’ll have anything that fits you.” You grinned.

“I think we’re about the same size.” His smile remained, something contagious about it that made your grin grow wider, rolling your eyes at him.

“Come on. I’ve kept you up late, soldier.”

He took your hand, following you into the dimly lit bedroom. You could almost hear his smirk as he took in the girly decorations, beaded curtains and all.

“Nice bedroom.” He commented.

“Thank you. I’m really inspired by minimalist living.” You shot back gently. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he stripped off down to his boxers, admiring the sculpted muscles no doubt forged by years of military training. “Get in.” You pouted as you disappeared beneath the covers. He obeyed, pulling you into his chest by the waist. You sighed happily, adjusting yourself to lie on his shoulder, tracing patterns idly on his collarbone.

“Thank you.” He whispered into your hair.

You smiled, not lifting my head to meet his eyes. “Just doing my job.”

[cookie-crumblr]

Hype Train!

F!Streamer Reader x M!Yandere Streamer OC

Part 4~

His Info: 📹✨

Part: 1 2 3 4 5

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

CW: WHOLE PART IS NSFW, !F reader, use of she/her when referring to reader, reader has a vagina, pet names not from ML (doll, ), SA!! NOT BY ML, assaults, NON CON NOT BY ML, Murder, gore, possibly angsty?, fingering, p in v, pet names (pretty, good girl, pretty girl, ) creampie, praise, lots of consent checks! long azz smut, probably my favorite work so far…👉👈

“Thank you all for coming again!!! I had so much fun tonight! we’re gonna stream again tomorrow and if not then the next day I promise!!! See y’all later and shower this next person with love!!!” You type out a raid message for everyone to copy, and click raid now.

You sigh as you take off your headset.

At least you feel tired enough to sleep now.

*loud knocking*

“C’mon!!! Seriously??” You know who it is before you even answer.

“Hello, Jared.” your voice is deadpanned and your expression unimpressed.

Although… You haven’t had a good fuck in a while…

Not that Jared is a “good” fuck. He’s at least got the equipment for the job.

“Doll, you know, I’ve been thinking about you again, just let me in to explain,” He says seriously and tries to push past you to inside your apartment.

You immediately block his path. “Excuse you. I don’t care what you’re thinking about. And I was gonna let you in, but now that you just tried to barge your way in, I’ve changed my mind. Get out of here.” You slam the door hard toward the frame.

His hand comes up, “Listen to me, bitch. I said I was thinking about you. Listen to my explanation.” He demands, his foot in the way of the blue painted wood.

Your heart races… No. Not this again.

You didn’t even notice at first the smell of it on his breath.

He’s been drinking.

You aren’t surprised or disappointed.

You are however, afraid.

“N-no… I-I don’t have to listen to you. Not now, not ever.” you remain firm. “Leave, o-or I’ll… Call the cops.”

“Hah. Like that’ll save you, doll.” He pushes the door open and throws you against a wall.

Your skull hits it with a loud *THUD*

shit, shit, shit, SHIT!

what do you do?!

Your cat runs and hides under the bed in the other room.

Thank goodness, at least Opal won’t get hurt by this maniac.

You struggle and put up as much of a fight as possible, but he over powers your every attemp.

You eventually just stop.

You turn your face, he pulls you back.

You squeeze your lips shut, he slams your head back so you gasp and let his tongue violate you.

He strips you, and throws your body, stomach down, onto the couch.

You try and crawl away, and he just pulls you back.

“No! PLEASE!!!!!” You cry out, your voice not even sounding like your own anymore.

Flashbacks to your time in the pit resurface again, forcing their way into your head while he forces his way into your body.

You cry and plead, he just punches and bites you where ever he can.

All you can do is cry now.

“Bite the pillow, bitch!” he yells into your ear.

You wake maybe thirty minutes later with his weight on top of you.

You manage to roll out while he’s in his drunken coma.

You hope while you’re at work he just… leaves…

He usually does.

The shower you take doesn’t help you feel any cleaner.

Tears don’t even threaten your numb body anymore. You’re embraced once more by the hollow feeling you’ve gotten accustomed to.

Do you even remember feeling safe only a day ago?

It feels like it was simply a dream at this point.

Jasper opens the unlocked door you left and sees the naked man on your couch.

His pupils once again blown with a familiar rage.

He drops his bag loudly onto the ground.

The man sits up, covering his exposed lower half “Who the fuck are you? You, freak! Get out!” He yells.

Jasper reaches into his pocket, pulling out a syringe.

“W-what the fuck man, what is that?!”

Jasper steps forward, and Jared jumps up to meet him.

“Get away! Freak! I’m warning you!” Jared lunges, knocking the syringe from his hands

Jasper then kicks his legs out from under him.

He falls to his knees, seeing the syringe near the coffee table, he reaches for it.

Jasper stomps down onto his veiny hand, breaking bones.

He screams, “WHAT THE FUCK?! Who the HELL do you think you-”

His sentence is cut off as Jasper crunches his hand, grinding it under his boot. “AHHHHH!!! OOWWW F-FUCK!!”

He grasps his scalp with fist fulls of sandy blonde hair next, and hovers it up over the corner of the coffee table.

Jared tries to pry the black boot off of his hand, as his eyes widen in fear looking at the metal edges.

“What the FUCK man!!!! This isn’t a joke! STOP!!”

Jasper smiles grimly, leaning down closer to him, “Oh, you want ME to stop? What about Y/N? Didn’t she ask you that?” he hums sinisterly.

“Th-That’s different! chicks always say-” he’s cut off again.

“Say what? Say No?” He barks out a cruel and unforgiving laugh.

He’s tired of this animals voice.

“Bite the metal, bitch.” He slams his face repeatedly into the corner of the table.

He gurgles and coughs, as his face swiftly becomes a bloodied, unrecognizable pulp.

You sigh. Climbing the stairs grudgingly.

You threw up at work again and they forced you to go home.

You’re so emotionally stressed, your body has started to try and rid you of it physically again.

You hear something strange, but you can’t yet tell what it is. You’re too worried how your gonna pay for next months “protection” and make the rent on time…

Your door isn’t locked still. No point, you thought.

Jared leaves it unlocked after he leaves anyway.

At least he doesn’t have a key.

The noises are coming from inside your appartment though… Is he… Hurting Opal??? You burst through the door, “Jare-” Your eyes widen, as you study the unknown man hovering over a bloodied Jared…

You go to scream, and Jasper rushes at you covering your mouth with his hand.

“Wait! Y/N!”

You’re trembling, but you recognize him by his voice now.

He removes his hand, and you speak quietly, “Jasper?”

You slowly close the door behind you…

“W-what is…” You don’t need to finish that, you know what’s happening.

“Wait! Y/N, I’m not… uhg… I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” he doesn’t move anymore toward you, he just looks over the body.

He’s not attacking you.

Your brow furrows, maybe you don’t know…?

“What are… You doing? why? I’m so…” confused, but you can’t speak anymore, before tears start falling again.

Jasper wraps his arms around your shaking form, in a loving embrace, not like one of someone that wants more.

You squeeze back… You don’t know why, or how, but you know he doesn’t mean you harm.

“Jasper, whatever you’re doing, please stop… You’re.. Going to get into so much trouble for… This, a-and I’m not worth the trouble…” You shakily push through the tears.

He holds you tighter. “You are, Y/N, you are.”

“You don’t understand, I’m in a lot of deep shit right now… People are… after me. People are using me. People are-”

He kisses you.

Nobody’s ever tried to protect you before.

How did he even get here?

Maybe one of the questions you should be worried about…

How did he know where you are? Is another.

But your too overcome with emotion to think any rational thoughts right now.

Your arms travel upward, twisting around Jasper’s neck.

He picks you up by your sides, your legs hook around his waist.

He carries you to your bedroom, and lays you gently on the bed.

You’re still crying, and you continue to embrace him.

His hands wander down to your crotch, he pulls away to look into your eyes, “May I?”

Through blurry eyes you nod, and push forward to kiss him again, harder than he did.

His lips push back into yours, he sighs through his nose.

His fingers hook under your panties and pull them down your legs.

You help kick them off.

He finds your slit and slowly strokes up and down, covering his fingers in your slick.

You moan into him, nothing has ever felt this good, and he hasn’t even started.

You might come already…

Your legs snap shut, locking his hand in place.

He pulls his face back again, studying yours, “It’s okay, just relax, and let it out, pretty…” he coos, his face burying into your neck now.

You shiver, feeling his tongue and his hot breath against your skin.

He smells so nice.

like fresh air.

You slowly try and relax your legs, opening just enough for him to move again.

He tweaks your sensitive bud.

“Mmmm!” You bite your lips hard, your brows so tight together your face almost hurts. You’re holding your breath too and you don’t even notice until your lungs burn.

“shhh. Shhhh, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he shushes you sweetly. “You’ll be okay. let it all out, f’me”

“J-Jas-perrr…” Your body quakes with your first orgasm.

Nobody’s ever made you come before. It’s almost painful it feels so good.

Your legs snap shut again, and he chuckles quietly. “There, there, Y/N, you did so good, you’re such a good girl,” you feel his smile against your neck. “Can i have my hand back though? I need to do this for you, I wont be able to fit, and I don’t want to hurt you,”

You relax as much as you can, straining yourself as you do. He waits patiently, smiling as you try. you manage to open wider for him than last time, your body still shaking.

From the orgasm yes, and also from fear.

Not from fear of him…

You’re just…

Afraid.

You feel so safe right now, you actually feel fear. You’re terrified. and you don’t know exactly what of.

Maybe you’re afraid of letting your guard down for the first time.

Tears are streaming down your face more rapidly now.

You choke out sobs, “Jas-per… Jas…p-per…”

“Shhhh shhhh, it’s okay, i promise, it’ll be okay, pretty, pretty girl.” His thumb oh so gently circles your clit, barely touching you, he can tell how sensitive you are and doesn’t want to overwhelm you.

He kisses your neck, and dips a finger into your quivering hole. You fight the urge to once again, snap your legs shut, instead trying to spread wider.

“That’s it, you’re doin’ so good f’me,” he kisses you again, even more gently than the last time. “I’m so proud of you,”

You’re biting your lips harder, as more and more tears and sobs leave your body.

He very slowly dips another finger in.

Even after last night the stretch is hard to take at first.

You draw blood from your lips, and his other hand leaves your body to find your mouth, “here, bite me ‘nstead, pretty. I don’t wanna see you hurting’.”

You clench your teeth before you give in, you don’t want to hurt him either, so you instead use your hand to angle his fingers to your lips… You start to suck gently.

“haaaaa” he sighs so contently into your neck, the air tickles and you smile around him. You actually smile!

“I’m so, so proud of you, you’re doing so well,” his voice never raising more than a soft whisper.

Your hair is soaked with your tears now, and your wetting the pillow.

“hmmm” you hum, sucking and licking his fingers.

His other ones remain occupied gently scissoring your open.

Your body shakes as you come again.

“mm-mmmm!”

“That’s it, that’s a good girl, come f’me again, pretty,”

You open wider still, his thumb pulls away so you can come down without over stimulating you, while his fingers continue to work you’re tender quim.

Your brows peak and you squeeze your eyes shut.

He pulls completely away from you, and licks the fingers that where just inside you.

“Here” he says softly, “lemme help you, one second, pretty,” he rips the bottom of his shirt, pulling around his torso.

The sound scares you a little, but you trust him.

“May I?” he hovers it in front of your face looking deep into your eyes for your permission again.

And again, you nod, a little more eagerly this time.

He gently ties the black fabric around your eyes, careful not to pull your hair, or get it stuck in the knot.

You strangely feel more comfortable and your legs relax more easily now.

Your eyes also relax, and you sigh out, You breathe better surprisingly.

“I’m going t’ touch you again, okay?” He waits for you to nod before running just the tips of his fingers all the way up your legs.

They slowly caress you going up to the hem of your shirt, and you feel them tug gently. “m‘kay, pretty, I’m gonna take this off of you too, will you let me see you?”

You ferociously nod this time, trying not to but your lip, remembering before.

“so precious, thank you, pretty…” He slides the fabric slowly up, his fingertips still brushing against your soft skin.

He takes it off of you without touching the blindfold.

You still have a bra, and a skirt on. “W-wait!” you speak up, and he halts completely, a little surprised, but not at all upset.

You sit up so that you can reach behind you and unhook the bra. You cover yourself as you remove it, and your face heats up as it sets in that you’re willingly exposing yourself to someone.

“You’re wonderful,” he whispers awestruck, “So very wonderful. Will you let me look at you?”

Slowly you nod your head, and slowly you remove one hand, then the second. Your fists are clutched so tightly your knuckles have turned white. You turn your head, embarrassed.

“It’s okay, c’mere,” he gently takes your chin into his hand and turns your face back to him, his lips capture yours.

The love he feels pours freely into your soul.

One hand now cups your bare breast, and massages you tenderly.

“mm,” quiet moans leave your body for his.

He continues to kiss you and fondle your skin, his fingers move further up and stop to pinch your nipple.

“Mmm!” you’re surprised by the feeling but it’s so good… Your core heats up to extreme levels.

You rub your legs together this time for more friction, rather than to hide.

He pulls back with a smile. “You’re so perfect.” he says breathily, enraptured by you.

The hand under your chin moves back down ghosting over your body so you know at all times where it’s at.

“Haaaa” Your body twitches as he moves over some spots. “mM!”

“shhhhh, shhhhh, it’s gonna be alright. I’m gonna make everything all alright.” his already soft voice gets even softer with every one of his guarantees.

“O-mmm!-kay” you breathe out effortlessly, finding your voice, and still feeling the pleasure building in your core.

His fingers split into a “v” as they encase your clit and push down, then close slowly as they slide back up with the same force.

Your hips buck up, “Ahh!! mmmm! oh no! no…” you whine.

His smile softens, “do you want me to stop?”

“No! P-please… D-don’t…” you shake your head and grab his arm with both hands.

He dips back inside of you before dragging them all the way back up and he repeats this until you climax again.

You shudder out a sigh, “Th-thank youu…” You whimper.

“Thank you, pretty, you’re givin’ me s’much”

He repositions you both so that your legs fall on either side of him.

You feel him lift your thighs and press them not too uncomfortably closer to your body.

“I’m going to enter you now, is that okay?”

You nod vigorously, “Mmhm! p-please…” You cover your lips with your hands, he lets you, smiling as he admires your every move.

You feel his hot, spongey tip press against your hole. You brace. then he slides it up your slit, before he taps it to your clit. You jump a little and smile back while biting your lip gently this time.

“Good, you’re doin’ s’good f’me” his hips roll, sliding his burning cock up and down your folds.

Your hole twitches around nothing as you come again, as you do he guides the tip into you with an almost *pop*

You inhale while he exhales, both moaning at the sudden sensation.

You squeeze him as your pussy twitches involuntarily. He holds himself there, and presses his hand to your stomach, resting his thumb over your clit.

As you come down he rubs in circles, he slides in at the same time, letting you adjust to his size as he goes.

He bottoms out and you feel fuller than you ever have in your life. “Such a good, good girl.” his voice is a little more strained now, he’s feeling the pleasure just like you are.

His tip kisses your womb.

Gently he pulls out a little bit, before pushing back in, kissing your womb again.

“I’m-gonna cum inside you. Do you want that?” he circles your clit at an even pace.

“Mhm!”

“Use.. Your words, pretty,” he sighs blissfully.

“P-please, Jasper! Cum inside me!” You’ve never wanted anyone to until today. And you want it right now more than anything else in the world.

“Of course, I’ll—fill you up, pretty” He leans down over you and grabs the headboard for more stability.

You feel that he’s closer to you and you reach up blindly to hold him as best you can.

He starts a steady and easy pace to follow, you meet every thrust with your hips.

Every time he enters the pressure against your insides turns hotter and hotter, spinning a coil inside you so tightly you see stars.

He speeds up when he feels you can handle it, and slows down when you get too high.

His dick twitches inside of you and he presses the hardest he has into you yet, you come more powerfully than all the times leading up to this and you cry out his name, “Jasper! oh! oh my, Jasper! Jasper!”

He continues to thrust in a couple more times until you feel his body shudder and your womb is filled to the brim.

“Jas-per! Jas-!” His lips crash against yours he holds the headboard with both hands now, regaining his senses while he remains inside you.

“I love you, Y/N”

[mizusswordtip]

Down The Rabbit Hole ⚝ Killian Jones x Reader (3)

find the story on wattpad

summary: Alice's plan to overthrow the Queen of Hearts is thwarted by a dashing pirate with a hook. Years later, after the curse is broken, they reunite once again.

masterlist

wc: 1,024

I’ve been walking for about ten minutes when I walk up a steep slope and find a large tree house nestled in with the winding trees. The tree house is beautifully crafted with two stories and even balcony with more flowers growing on them. I stare at it for a moment in wonder before approaching. As I go to knock on the door with stained glass windows, it swings open and a man looks at me, seemingly in shock. The man is wearing a peculiar top hat and has curly brown hair that reaches past his ears. He simply stares at me.

“Hello.” I say softly, hoping to break the awkward silence, with a small smile.

“Alice?” He breathes out and tears form in his eyes as a large grin overtakes his face. Before I can ask him how he knows me he’s pulling me into the tightest hug I’ve ever received. My eyes widen and I hesitantly laugh along with him as he spins me around. He puts me down, putting his hands on my shoulders to look at me properly.

“I know you don’t remember me.” He says somewhat somberly.

“I-Have we met before?” I ask with a kind smile. I don’t know what it is about this man but I do feel a strange connection between us, as if I already know him. I can’t recall ever even seeing him before, let alone knowing him though.

“Yes. My name’s is Jefferson. I-i know you don’t know me but you said once you would help me. You promised. I need you to keep that promise, Alice.” He says emphatically with pleading eyes.

“I’ll help you however I can, though I’m unsure what I’m even helping you to do.” I say with a chuckle and a reassuring hand on his own that’s still resting on my shoulder. His entire face lights up and without a second to say anything else he pulls me into the tree house by my hand. I let out an embarrassing yelp at the sudden movement but try to keep pace.

As we enter what must be the dining room I see a table covered in porcelain dishes and tea cups with little finger foods. Sitting at the table are two…people? It feels rude to call them animals. Though I imagine if I were an animal, I probably wouldn’t be offended if someone called me one. Maybe I would only be offended if a human called me one. What kind of animal would I be?

I snap out of my racing thoughts when I see the white rabbit I had been following down the rabbit hole. My eyes light up in recognition and right as I’m about to say something the other guest hurls a tea cup right at my head so I duck.

“You’re late for tea!” The other guest shouts and I realize he’s a hare. I look at him affronted.

“How can I be late when I was never invited to begin with?” I ask incredulously. The hare looks terrified and hides behind his ears.

“Alice, this is McTwisp.” Jefferson finally chimes in, gesturing towards the white rabbit.

“Welcome home Alice.” McTwisp says with a genuine smile I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Home. the word warms my heart in a way I haven’t felt since before my father passed.

“I’ve met you as well?” I ask in delight. McTwisp nods his head proudly in response.

“And this is The March Hare.” Jefferson says, pointing to the hare who’d nearly cracked my skull open with a teacup. At the mention of his name he hides under the table. I let out an amused laugh unintentionally, a feeling of fondness coming over me. A feeling that’s old, like a memory that’s not my own.

--------------------------------------------------

We all sit at the table having tea and talking when I decide to ask Jefferson a question. “What exactly do you need my help with.” The mood immediately drops and Jefferson’s face turns deadly serious.

“The Queen of Hearts.” He says, voice filled with malice and hatred. I furrow my brows in concern.

“The Queen of Hearts?” I prod skeptically. “Like the card?”

He nods his head, not looking at me, lost in a memory. “She’s the queen of this land, and she destroyed my life and everyone else in Wonderland.” He says darkly, making the hairs on my arms stand up.

“What did she do?” I ask softly, placing my hand over his, grounding him back to the present. He looks at me sadly.

“I have a daughter, Grace.” He tells me and I feel shocked but I’m immediately filled with sympathy, assuming the worst. “I traveled to this land to help someone, so I could make money so me and my daughter could live comfortably. “But I was betrayed, left here at the whim of The Queen of Hearts.” He pauses to pull down his shirt, showing off his neck to reveal a large scar that wraps around his neck. I look at him in shock, eyes filled with sympathy.

“Why haven’t you stopped her?” I ask, voice quiet.

“Because only you can stop her. You must take the throne.” He says emphatically. My heart skips anxiously at his words.

“Me? I can’t even tie a corset, let alone overthrow someone that powerful.” I say through an incredulous laugh. He looks at me, eyes intense with sadness.

“You don’t believe anymore.” He says, almost to himself. “You have to! We’re all doomed if you don’t!” He shouts, his face turning panicky and I feel my heart rate pick up speed.

“Believe?” I say with a disbelieving laugh. “This is all just a dream.”

At that, he gets up, standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders. “Even the queen knows you can defeat her, that’s why she cursed you. She cursed you so you would forget everything about Wonderland.” He says with a squeeze of my shoulders. I look up at him for a long moment in consideration.

“I want to wake up now.” I say firmly, closing my eyes tightly.

When I open them, I’m still here.

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