#*shrieks so only bats can hear*

[chlorinecake]

— 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 | 𝐩.𝐬𝐡 ׅ ㅤ֢ ㅤׄㅤ .

▹ PAIRING: long distance boyfriend sunghoon x f. reader

▹ WORD COUNT: 2.8k — 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹

▹ SUMMARY: What better way to celebrate the return of contact between you and your long distance boyfriend than with some good ole sexy time ?

▹ WARNINGS: SOFT DOM SUNGHOON who can’t help but tease you for struggling to take his cock after going without it for so long, kissing, somewhat inexperienced reader x clingy hoon, throat fucking, choking (m. receiving), tit + nipple play, cheek pinching, spitting, petnames (angel, puppy, princess, good girl), switch dynamics, rough unprotected sex, that’s about it !!

Sunghoon had just step foot inside your shared apartment upon finally getting to see you after returning from his lengthy business trip.

Meeting him at the front door, your boyfriend instantly dropped his belongings at the sight of you, locking the door promptly before pulling you into the biggest hug his wingspan could muster.

That's when you felt him take your chin in his grasp, turning your cheek to face him before licking a long stripe along your skin with his tongue. 

"Oh my fucking God," you shriek at the sudden sensation, eliciting a fit of giggles from your lovestruck boyfriend, "so much for saying hello first, you freak."

"Sorry, baby," he chuckles, kissing you on the cheek as he mumbles, "couldn't help myself when you look so delicious..."

"What're you, a dog?"

"I can be," he smirks this time, playfully raising his eyebrows at you.

"Damn... you're getting real comfortable with the idea of being anything but a grown man, huh Hoon?" You question through a squeaky voice given how tightly he held you against him.

"I'm literally one second away from biting your cheeks right now..."

You scoff at the desperate nature of his words, "You're ridiculous..."

"Yup, and it's your fault I have such emotional issues," he shrugs, eyes taking in the view of your face under the dim apartment lighting, and boy did you look amazing-

"Tell me about it," you roll your eyes, which only makes his smile widen, displaying the faint impression of his dimples.

"And being around youuuu is my therapy..."

"Wonderful-"

"And I would really appreciate it if you stood on your tippy toes to hug me closer and scratch my back a little bit when you do it, too," your boyfriend blinks now, batting his feathery eyelashes at you as you sigh in compliance, not being able to withstand his needy antics.

"C'mere, puppy," you say, making him blush through a bitten lip as he loosened his hold around you so you could return the hug this time.

Cute and sexy, you thought to yourself... your favorite combination on your favorite person...

As of today, it had been ten whole days since you last saw your boyfriend, and the distance was really starting to take a toll on his physical willpower.

The reason behind your brief separation was work obligations on Sunghoon’s behalf, but that still didn’t stop him from having to see your face or hear your voice every single night.

You remember just the other night over FaceTime that he brought up the idea of e-sex, being so pent up with sexual tension that his brain could hardly function...

"Hmmm," he hummed against you, making your heart swell until you realized his cold nose was nuzzled against the top of your head.

"You're sniffing me, aren't you?"

"Mhm," he said, kissing the spot there, "you look sweet... taste sweet... smell sweet..."

"Thank you?" You said while giggling, only to shriek slightly when you felt one of his hands grope your tit, his free hand guiding your hips against his pelvis.

"God, you even sound sweet," he practically groaned, smirking now at the way you tried squirming away from his touch, but he didn't plan on letting you go just yet.

“Looks like someone’s needier than usual,” you say through mumbled words, given the way his soft lips are attacking yours, slowly kissing you into submission.

“I just can’t help myself when I get like this,” he hums, tilting his head as he keeps his lips moving against yours. "I missed you so much, angel.”

“Missed you more,” you return within the contact, letting your hand find his face now as his touch travels from your hips to your thighs, his strength guiding your legs around his waist.

“Not possible,” he smirks, guiding you to your shared bedroom, where he plopped you on the mattress, only to cage you beneath his frame as the passionate kiss continued.

And the room is a mess in this moment, considering how you were too lazy to do any cleaning without Sunghoon’s help, but he doesn’t mind.

The cluttered nature somehow helps him feel more cozy, anyway.

You broke away from his lips, looking him straight in the eyes as you whispered:

“I think you’re wrong about that, Hoonie.”

“Oh, am I now?” He challenged back, pinching your cheek between his thumb and index finger, to which you winced, smacking his hand away.

“Prove it to me,” he went on, holding eye contact as a familiarly menacing smirk overtook his face.

“Always so competitive,” you tsk, “but I’ll play along.”

That’s when you grab the neckline of his shirt, pulling him onto the bed while telling him to sit tight as you got situated between his thighs, doing away with the leather belt he wore.

And he doesn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know what you’re about to do next—getting comfortable on your knees before your hands went to find your hair to tie it off into a ponytail.

"No, no, no, keep it down; it looks nice,” your boyfriend protests, making your hands slowly retreat from your head, “and you look way fucking hotter with those glasses on in person, too.”

“You say that like it almost surprises you?” You tease, but only as a way to stop yourself from gawking at his dick that was now out and in the open, free from the confines of his pants with the prettiest little vein trailing the underside.

His tip glistened with a pearly sheen, the sight alone making your core warm up slightly.

“It doesn’t,” Sunghoon answers dryly, especially now that you were taking his length into your grasp, “but that’s still not going to stop me from praising my pretty girl.”

“Aww,” you coo while stroking him slightly, the cum leaking from his tip helping to keep everything lubricated. “You’re too sweet, baby.”

“Yeah?” He asks with a smirk, hips tensing up and relaxing given the stimulation your hand was providing, “Why don’t you give me a little taste then?”

You look at him through your glasses with the sluttiest look you can muster, still fisting his shaft in your palm but with slower strokes now as you lower your head, letting your breath just ghost over his burning tip at first.

“C’mon baby, don’t tease,” he says, eyes falling lazy as lust renders his mind an utter mess of fuzz and desperation.

You let your tongue circle his head first, feeling his length twitch in your grasp before you fully sealed your lips around him, your own core throbbing now with all the sounds he was making.

“Take all of it, princess,” he demands, pushing your head down slightly for motivation. “Wanna feel myself in the back of your throat so bad...”

And you hum in response, sending gentle vibrations through his cock that made his thighs tense up.

Sunghoon groans softly, just as you started to bob half of his length with your mouth and stroke the remaining half with your hand.

He could tell that you really wanted to deep throat him, but you still hadn’t warmed up to his size yet.

“You want to prove how much you miss me, right?” He whispers through a shaky breath, drawing your glossy eyes back up to meet his face, cheeks dusted a light pink from his arousal.

You nod your head around him this time, knowing that he would rather you stay right there than move to try speaking properly.

He was just so enthralled by the warmth of you around him, a bit of your own saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth given the way your gag reflex was in hyperdrive right now.

“Good girl,” he smirks, but with furrowed brows, his voice trailing off as his hands found the side of your head, cupping your stuffed cheeks as he whispers, “This is only going to hurt a little bit then.”

That’s when you feel your throat opening now as Sunghoon forces himself in, guiding your head up and down along his shaft as he makes your mouth his personal fuck toy.

And you’re whimpering at the pain, eyes tearing up behind your foggy glasses, but it’s not like you mind. You found his desperation for you to be pretty hot, actually.

“That’s it, baby,” he praises, hissing at the way your hands are gripping at his thighs now. “I knew you could take me like a good little slut.”

There’s a little tear trailed down your cheek that he swipes with his thumb, only to throw his head as he keeps using your head, surely bruising your throat somewhere considering all the action he’s putting it through.

“Just hold out a little longer for me, baby; I’m almost there,” he grunts, making your eyes roll in the back of your head as his thrusts grow faster, sloppier, and deeper.

Tapping at his thighs slightly, he knows that’s your usual cue that he’s going a little too far or that you need him to stop for something, and so he does, pulling his dick out of your mouth with a loud and wet smack.

“Was I too rough for you, pretty?” He cues, leaning down to caress your face.

“Not at all,” you say through a raspy, seductive voice, given how sore your throat was feeling.

“So why’d you stop my fun?” He asks, pinching your cheek once again as a way to tease you.

“Because,” you begin, finding his cock with your hand and gripping tightly, just enough to make him wince, “I’m not in the mood to sit here and hump the carpet like a bitch in heat while you destroy my throat.”

He lets out a dry chuckle at your words, trying his best to seem unfazed by the way you’re jerking him off again, up until you spit on the tip, standing up from the ground on wobbly legs.

And your boyfriend lets his back find the bed almost instantly, taking off his jacket and tossing it in the corner as you crawl on top of him, still stroking him in your hand.

“Sorry about that, angel,” he whispers sarcastically, eyes half-lidded and desperate like a hentai wet dream as you straddle him now, slowing down the pumps of your hand. "I guess I just got a little carried away there.”

“Mhm,” you cut him off, releasing his veiny and throbbing cock from your grasp and letting the same hand find his neck, not to choke him but for stability as you straddle his hips.

Your pants are still on at this point, but he does a good job of helping you take them off.

"I bet I can guess the color of your panties now," he smirks as your pants dropped to the floor, revealing your bareness, his eyes widening slightly as he realizes you're not wearing any underwear.

Lining him up with your entrance, you let your weight fall with gravity help you take him.

But his girth is so wide that you have to bite your lip in order to hide your sounds, and he catches onto this, too, finding your hips with his free hands and pushing you most of the way down.

“Mmm,” you mewl, arching your back at the way his tip immediately finds your g-spot in the position.

“What is it, princess? T-t-too much?” He teases, thrusting into you given the delayed movement of your hips.

“I can do it myself, Sunghoon,” you breathe out, the sound of his full name making him raise a brow at you just as your hands now found the mattress, bracing yourself at either side of his head.

“Do what, huh? Fuck me with those weak little knees?” He tsks, rutting up into you once more as a tiny yelp slips past your tired throat. "I didn't think so,” he continued to taunt.

“So mean,” you say, gripping at the sheets now, “you didn't even give me a chance to try...”

"Well, I'm afraid I don't have patience for that today, pretty,” he coos, finding your clothed tits with his hands before teasing your sensitive nipples in between his delicate fingers. “Just let me show you how it's properly done, yea? Promise, I’ll be more gentle this time.”

Struggling to meet his eyes, you couldn’t help but get distracted by how full you felt between your legs, especially with the way he toyed with your tits now, making heat rush from your core to your face.

“I’m not talking to myself, am I princess?” His voice comes out raspy, just as his hand finds your chin, pulling it down so you’d face him.

“S-Sunghoon,” you stammer, being so stuffed to the brim with his deliciously thick cock that you could hardly form a coherent thought right now.

“Go on, baby, I’m listening,” he says in between, sitting up slightly to place a kiss on your jaw. “Want me to take the lead?”

You hate what his condescending words are doing to your mind, but at the same time, his constant teasing was always such a turn-on for you.

“Fine, you insufferable worm,” you manage to say, making him chuckle at the pet name. “I didn’t wanna ride you anyways...”

“Mhm,” he smirks, guiding you to lay on your back now, but being careful not to accidentally pull out of your heat.

You then let out a shriek of pleasurable pain as Sunghoon slams his hips down, thick cocks pounding into your sensitive depths, making your back arch.

“F-fuck,” you whine, digging your nails into his shoulders to which he hisses.

“I’m holding back for you, so you know,” he groans, stalling the pace of his hips as your face obviously scrunches up with every thrust.

“Then don’t,” you say, finding his neck in your hands again as you apply just enough pressure to make him smirk, “fuck me like you mean it...”

He grinds his cock inside you a little harder this time, making your open legs tremble as you held a fierce eye contact with him, not breaking it even as he snapped into you faster now, making you whimper at how good he was fucking you now.

Grabbing your wrist, he moves your hand from his neck, interlacing his fingers with yours before pinning them to the mattress.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to just ask nicely,” he says, a somewhat gentle look on his face despite how rough he was pounding into you, “you could’ve been had me fucking you like this if you weren’t such a brat...”

“Sh-shut up, Hoon,” you hiss, voice coming out in tiny wobbles given the way his forceful thrusts made your tits bounce up and down.

And your glasses are crooked on your face at this point, making him chuckle at how cute you looked while taking his cock, still trying to brat your way out of accepting the fact that you had been just as needy for intimacy with him, too.

“So much for saying thank you,” he huffed, right before releasing his weight from your hands to instead angle your thighs higher in his grip, picking up the pace as his thrusts become faster, harder, and deeper...

“Nghhh-” you whimpered, desperately clinging to his shoulders now as his ego grew with every whimper you let out for him, his own mind practically short-circuiting with the way your slick walls clenched around him now.

Leaning down, Sunghoon lowered his face near yours, swiftly taking off your glasses and tossing them on the pillow before letting his lips sink into yours, humming at the taste of you on his tongue.

“You're lucky I love you,” he slurs with a whisper, making you smile into the contact.

“I love you too, baby,” you return in between your labored breaths, just as your voice was broken by a moan ripping past your throat.

But at this point, Sunghoon couldn't hold back any longer, breaking from the kiss given the way his body shuddered with pleasure now, melting into your touch as you held him impossibly close to you.

“Oh- fuck~,” your boyfriend groaned, nuzzling his face into your neck and leaving a few sloppy kisses there, just as you felt his load burst deep into your cunt.

And as sensitive as he was growing while inside you, he kept thrusting, with no intention of stopping until he felt your thighs shake beside him as you finally reached your high.

With all your squirming, your boyfriend ceased the movement of his hips, collapsing on top of you as your sweaty bodies fought to catch your breaths.

You two lay just like that for a while, Sunghoon's gentle touch caressing the curve of your shoulder while your own delicate fingers moved a few stray hairs out of his face.

“I don't know how I survived ten days without this,” he says to break the silence, making you giggle slightly at his random remark.

“Well y'know what they say... distance makes the heart grow fonder,” you reply, feeling his length slowly leave your walls as he tugs the nearby blanket over your half naked-bodies.

“Uh huh, as if either of us needed any help to feel more fond for each other anyways,” he smirks, placing a feather-light kiss to your shoulder one last time before laying down beside you, basking in the aftermath of your long over-due lovemaking...

Thank you all so much for reading this fic! I haven't really been feeling up to write anything these days, but hopefully you guys still enjoyed reading this nonetheless... Also, here's the link to my ENHYPEN MASTERLIST if you're interested in more works like this!! { PART 1 }

[yandere-wishes]

༺ 𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝒹𝑜 𝒮𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝒶 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐵𝓇𝓊𝒸𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒟𝒶𝓂𝒾𝒶𝓃'𝓈 𝒸𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒽 𝑜𝓃 𝒞𝒶𝓇𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁? ༻

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎

The problem with bats is that they tend to solely rely on their instincts, their carvings. They tend to forget their surroundings, that other creatures exist as much as they do.

Selina rings her arms around your frame pushing you closer, nose nuzzling your ear and cheek. Her hug only loosens when she hears the bat speak his echolocation ringing clearly through her ears.

"Daimian brought her home last, he's...he has a crush, I think."

Wasn't there some sort of new bat-eating fungus discovered in the north?

For a moment she debates asking Oswald to export in a batch or two.

"It's inevitable," Selina says, laying a bowl of food at the foot of the counter for the cats. Exhaustion seeps through her words, she speaks from experience, experience too deep to voice. "Bats are tenacious rodents, and robins are hard to kill. Mix that with demons blood and I'd say we're just about doomed." Your eyes stare up at her, even sideways, and anxious she's gorgeous. You'd always dreamed you'd grow up to be her. Inherit the claws and whip and lust for the endless shimmer.

But you're starting to think you'll never make it to that.

Not with the bird, who shows affection by breaking bones and spilling blood.

Selina doesn't like it, not fully, not utterly. She doesn't trust the boy wonder, doesn't trust a future she can not see. The boy is young and overbearing, he'll only end up trapping you within a glittering cage. Domesticating the girl he loves, satiating her by handing her pearls and diamonds and gold. He won't let her take, won't let her bleed for own life. She's seen one too many men like that, she's escaped every one of them. The bat may believe in freedom but his heir does not. And after all this time, all these years she refuses to let your sovereignty be stripped of you.

Be silent thy traitorous voices screaming sanguinity inside her wry head.

Voices that utter such affirmations, that say this is destiny, that this too must happen. Who safer than the son of the bat, the blood son at that? Freaks stick to freaks, masks, and capes, and cowls. Selina would never trust a normal man to treat you the way you deserve...

But she knows a Wayne never could either...

Selina watches as the Boy Wonder's kick nests in between your ribs. He wasted no time, swinging straight for you. Your body tumbles back, finally gaining enough momentum to filp landing on your feet, knees bent ready to pounce. Your claws tear through the flesh of his cheek, scrapping up the skin, freeing the red letting it mar the concrete. But the bird only slithers in closer, pecking your lips before, slamming his head into yours. Selina's eyes land on the bat, the darkness at the ledge, he stands immobile, as if actually watching a cat and bird fight, as if thinking this is nothing more than a cartoon playing at the drive-through theater.

She extends her whip, lashing it through the air letting the leather coil around Damian before pulling him away. The demon boy shrieks in anger, he kicks, and writhes vying for freedom. You land behind your mentor, hiding behind her. For the first time ever Selina is almost sorry her suit is so tight, sorry she can't provide more shelter.

"Can you please keep this one a leash, bats? It's starting to annoy my kitten."

Batman doesn't say anything, he only cuts away the rope and drags his son away.

"Aren't bats just rodents?" You ask arms crossed as you finally crawl out of your temporary sanctuary.

"Yes, why?" It takes Selina another moment before she finally tears her eyes away from the disappearing silhouettes in the skyline.

"So why haven't we just killed them?"

It's only back in the apartment that both you and Selina realize he took your stolen jewels too.

Selina curses she really liked that new necklace.

This could all be a cruel joke, Bruce thinks as he watches Damian sulking on his bed, arms crossed. Robin suit still on.

After all, what's funnier than the son you unknowingly sired with your ex-lover falling so madly in love with the adopted daughter of your complex midnight affair, who you may or may not be madly in love with...

Bruce can't think of one,

He doesn't even think Joker could come up with anything better.

Or worst.

He's too tired to fully tell.

"Hey, Bruce?" Tim asks, poking him with the sharp end of a frame. "Can you hand him this when he's done brooding? I'd go in but I need my bones intact for the next few days." Bruce sighs, taking the frame from Tim and inspecting it with worry. Sure enough, it's a picture of you crouching in an ally, stalking some prey or another.

He can't help but think his sons are progressively getting worse.

Regardless Bruce leaves the frame in Damian's room.

When he closes the door a little pride bubbles in his chest.

Bruce knows that freaks stick to freaks.

Masks, and capes, and cowls.

Who better to understand you than another who wears your endeavors?

Who can love an anomaly if not for another anomaly?

Bruce leaves, missing how the young heir, gently kisses your photo.

Running his hands across your photo, muttering a silent, simple 'I love you'.

Damian pricks his finger on his tooth.

Drawing a bloody heart around your face.

"You'll be mine my love" he promises.

He swears it on his cape and cowl.

He swears it on his lineage.

Tumblr keeps eating my asks when I try to answer 😭😭

But anyway heyy Anon, so to answer your question:

Selina is torn because she wants you to be free and live the life you want. This includes picking who you fall in love with and how the two of you spend your lives together. She finds Damian's obsession annoying, if not dangerous. She knows he'll try to "domesticate" you, to make you into nothing more than his doll. And really she just wants to buy you as much time as possible to be free. However, she also knows, deep down, that the only person who can really understand you is another "freak" whether a rogue or a hero. Someone who knows what it's like to wear a second skin. She just really wants you to pick who that "freak" is.

Bruce on the other hand is simultaneously proud and amused. A part of him really really understands why Damian would fall in love with Catgirl. It just goes to show how similar Damian is to him. A chip off the old block if you will. He also shares both Damian's perspective of seeing this all as legacy, as passing on the torch, feeling like in a way Damian is really ready to step in as the next Batman if need be. He however also shares Selina's perspective of "freaks" being with "freaks", really approving of his son falling for someone with obsessions and desires, someone twisted like they are.

[radiance1]

The Ghost Prince does not, under any circumstances, answer a summoning after it was made aware he existed. None know why he doesn't, some are bitter and hateful of it while others are thankful that it's one less bloodthirsty manic to deal with.

The Ghost King meanwhile hasn't been seen in multiple eons, so the magical community who wanted to use his power just, stopped, trying to summon him for a long time.

Most magic users knew that the Ghost Prince never answered a summons, and that the Ghost King just dropped off the radar.

So could you really blame Constantine for not taking it that seriously when some wannabe hotshot cultists try to summon both of them in the middle of a city to wreak havoc?

He'll give them some credit though. Points for doing it in broad daylight and actually being somewhat of a threat with not relying on just summoning the Ghost royalty and figuring out what to do from there.

The area they were in was somewhat destroyed, then the cultists manage to complete the summoning circle to summon both of them and Constantine, well he just light up a smoke.

It isn't going to work anyways so what does it matter?

...

Is that a fucking Ice cream truck he hears? Who the fuck is driving an Ice cream truck while their city is being under attacked with cultists trying to summon eldritch ghost royalty?

He'll give them some points for dedication, though.

Then he looked at the cultists and nearly had a goddamn heart attack to see that the summoning circle is actually fucking lighting up and working.

The Bat is so gonna give him a headache over this.

----

Danny Phantom, crown prince of the Infinite Realms. Does not answer summons.

For one, it is annoying as shit, whenever someone interrupts his day just to ask for infinite power (that he can't give), world domination (that he won't do) or infinite riches (which he also can't do).

It just got annoying being summoned all the time so. One day he just, well, no. And hey, it worked out well enough for him to not continue doing it.

Then he also learned that Pariah Dark is basically the same, after he got out the coffin and stopped trying to take over the world for whatever reason. He was actually a pretty swell guy!

He was just with him too, with him being not so swell at the time for making him go through lessons about Ghost etiquette, rules, stuff that's expected of him as the crown prince.

And don't even get him started on the engagement and marriage proposals.

Overall, he just wanted to find an excuse to leave. Then he felt the familiar suggestive pull of a summoning and, instead of rejection as he usually does in a second. He thought for a bit if he wanted to go with that or crown prince duties.

It was tempting, but dealing with cultists seemed worse than this so he was about to reject.

At least, before he heard an Ice cream truck playing in the background. He doesn't even know how the hell that popped up through the pull but by the gods has it been a while since he's had Ice cream.

So he answers and is gone with a pop.

Pariah Dark just stares for a good second or two, before breathing out and deciding to also answer. Fright Knight is just there, off to side, questioning what he should do now.

Danny wastes no time with the cultists on the other side and in fact, he pushes them out of the way and goes diving for that Ice cream truck he hears. Only to realize he doesn't, have any money on him.

Fuck.

Pariah Dark is less inclined to follow the rules imposed by humans like money, but he does know it can be important. Once in a while. Not that often, but it has its times.

So when he sees his adopted son being sad over being unable to pay for some kind of human delicacy, he digs around in his hair (yes, his hair.) and pulls out some money and puts it on the counter as payment.

The man inside the tiny vehicle had shrieked before getting what they wanted. Which is good. Fear is a good motivator, Pariah thinks.

Unknown to him, it wasn't out of fear (Well, mostly) but because the Ghost King placed down a coin made of pure, solid gold on his counter.

The two then go about their business in the human realm, completely forgetting about the fact that they were summoned here for something.

Constantine is both relieved and about to have an aneurysm at seeing Infinite Realm royalty only answering a summon because of Ice cream.

[vamptarot]

Your FS’ Most Complimented Trait | PAC

pile one pile two pile three

how to choose a pile . . . choose whichever you feel drawn to or ask your guides to guide your eyes to the one that is meant for you! ᡣ𐭩

pile one : - dongmin

𐙚 : the moon, the high priestess, the emperor, the fool, the magician, the lovers

⭑ their most complimented trait

Their aura is what gets complimented most often! Even if people don’t necessarily have the words for it, they know there is something really unique about your person that simply just makes heads turn. (sort of ironic that Dongmin is the picture for this pile.) Although, younger people might actually compliment their aura.. of course, most of this is in a playful manner and yet there still is something so admirable about your future spouse my dear pile one.

They could potentially have the sort of beauty where you can’t help but admire them with ever loving eyes, getting lost in the moment because even if for a moment the world disappears and you don’t even consider snapping out of it, you just get stuck in admiring them with the shrieking pain of desperation in your chest that screams at you, begging you to caress their face because you don’t want this moment to pass, but you know it will, and eventually the realisation that they are a human and not a work of art hits you.. so you have no choice but to stay still and process your emotions without looking crazy in their eyes.

You know, that sort of drop dead gorgeous beauty.

They have a beautiful smile and a pretty laugh/giggle. I won’t lie to you, they are the sort of person who makes people question their sexuality. Not necessarily by flirting, but by just existing.

Also probably make some people annoyed, because even if they aren’t someone’s type people just absolutely cannot help but be attracted to them, to be charmed. They don’t even gotta try for it! For some of you, you could also react like this when you see them and be around them in general lol.

Though that’s for a very specific subgroup of people reading this pile! Specifically for feminine presenting, short, usually shy and thiccer people who are into men!

The guides present for this reading that I work with showed me a tall, tan, blond dude with green eyes shirtless in summer wear just looking cool. Then the reader being shy as they watch them on their phone and blushing like crazy lol That’s for a very specific someone though, so only take what resonates! (actually some of you reading, or your future spouse, could be non-binary! you go monarch fr)

⭑ how it makes them feel

Unfortunately this makes them very uncomfortable! :(

It depends on who it’s coming from, of course! The uncomfortable feeling usually comes from when they are being complimented by older women and men. By this, I mean people over 35, for some of you 40.

They feel sort of disgusted because they know their thoughts, feelings and intentions. Unfortunately, there is a lot of people who want to use them but your future spouse thankfully sees through their actions and words! They usually tend to be more careful around people like that, not trusting them straight of the bat if at all. (I don’t blame them! I connected to the older people’s energy and most of them are so gross…)

For the most part they are very annoyed. Your person is someone who works incredibly hard when it comes to their work field and for what they have. They are not the sort of person who take things for granted. The goal here is to achieve great things in life, each and every day they work hard to build up a life they can be proud of. To live comfortably, to spoil their future family and their loved ones. (Their mom especially!) Getting compliments on their work is how they know they are doing great and are on the right path in life.. that they can truly fulfill their goals. Yet, they don’t hear any of that. They work hard, and get complimented for their looks. It’s annoying.

They could often look at the compliments as fake, as if it comes from two faced people. Believing them is just something hard to do, at least in their eyes. In their belief most of them compliment your future spouse just to kiss up to them, because they have something to gain. So they could be pretty influential people my pile one. Although, I think it’s important to mention that they tend to be a bit insecure, so they might think these things even at times where people are being genuine towards them!

⭑ what they wish to be more complimented on

The love that they have in their heart! For some of you, this could be related to spirituality as your person is religious. I do think this is mostly relevant if you are Christian, Muslim or have another Abrahamic religion in your heart. Although, for most people this is for romantic love. ᡣ𐭩

In their eyes they love deeply, in a beautiful and honest manner. They are a lover boy. There is a huge wish to be appreciated for the person that they are. They try their best. Every second of the day, even when they fail.

Your future spouse’s heart is very fragile, they are a sensitive soul. So when you get to be with them, please treat them gently. They are kind, forgiving, understanding, polite, funny and someone who wants good for all. They know this too, and so do the people around them. Which can break their heart, because there could be times where their head is filled with confusion about what they could have possibly done wrong. (Nothing btw. Literally didn’t do anything wrong.)

I also do see that in the past romantic partners have unfortunately mistreated them, so they wish to be appreciated in a romantic manner. To be held and told they are doing a good job. That they can never be seen as only a second option, and that they are someone very competent. Honestly your future spouse just wants to be told they are doing a good job in life. That’s their wish for a compliment.

possible ages : 14, 17, 19, 24, 26, 30, 32 [don’t be alarmed, we just have a very mixed crowd of readers in this pile is all.]

— ✮⋆˙ : brazil , tank top , duck , ‘tikkitakka’ , red clothes , bone cracking , count down (1 2 3 4 5) , ‘love of my life’ , leo , mickey mouse , 2020/21 audios , model

my pile one ;; your future spouse is such a sweetheart, ir deeply saddens me that they have to go through something like this! being treated as nothing but a pretty doll when you have strong feelings and a sense of accomplishment can be soul crushing.. but don’t worry, they will get through this!! someone in this pile also has a future spouse who is 19 and a model, their sensitivity came through a lot. (not a bad thing btw) so, I thought that’s really cool and felt like mentioning! either way, if you liked this pac please go ahead and take a look at my paid readings if you wish to!thank you for reading! 🫶🏻

pile two : - drinks !

𐙚 : the emperor, the wheel of fortune, the hermit, the lovers, the world, the moon

⭑ their most complimented trait

The thing they get most complimented on is… their success! Pile two, I do think your future spouse is very successful in life and have achieved many great things that they are proud of. Of course, this can be related to money but it’s not necessarily the case you know? It’s just that they can overcome anything that life throws at them and come back twice, thrice or even more successful.

This is admirable to many people because the way they do it is just almost humanly impossible. Their persistence and power of will is incredibly strong, it’s like nothing can bring them down at all.

It’s like they if you broke their arms and legs so they cannot fight you, they would still bite and not let go of you. If you steal all their money they will use all their resources to earn more and form a community that will make sure that you never do it again.. they go far, but never too far. They always know what to do and how to win, and they do.

Honestly this might annoy people sometimes out of jealousy, but they still cannot help but admire your person. ‘Cuz they are just cool like that, you know?

Those things of course, have not happened but were just examples! Regardless they always know how to thrive, how to live and make life around them fun. They even make living for the people around them easier, so they could possibly spoil their family members and help out their parents with bills and such. (Someone’s guides are calling me to mention this person is someone of colour!)

They work hard while making it look easy!

⭑ how it makes them feel

Unfortunately, your future spouse becomes anxious when people compliment them too much. They don’t mind a few times, they might even agree and feel good to be seen. To be viewed as someone who can get things effortlessly, easily and thrive.. They like to be viewed like that as they don’t like to be viewed as weak and someone who can’t do anything. They want to feel useful.

Their fears could possibly set in when they can feel people’s jealousy.. They might have bit of trust issues, paranoia or trauma for past bad experiences. (different for everyone 🫶🏻) This could make them very cautious as they think people could be planning on taking the things they worked hard for away from them.. Losing everything is one of their biggest fears.

Another one is.. not living up to people’s expectations. They could possibly be scared of people expecting too much from them. That if they were to see the real side of them, the real them, people would be left disappointed. They don’t want to feel like a fraud, let alone be one. So this anxiety is with them pretty much most of the time. It has settled in a place deep inside their heart.

It’s not impossible to get rid of this feeling of course, but they might need a bit of time to heal from it. Possibly professional help. I truly do hope they will be able to receive the help that they need! 🫶🏻

You will play a huge part in their healing journey also, just make sure to not give up your health for the sake of theirs!

⭑what they wish to be more complimented on

There is not much to say here truly, because their wishes are really very simple. Their wish is for the current compliments to continue… from a genuine place. For them to be true.

They want to keep being successful, and be acknowledged for it. Although, they do want to be acknowledged about their emotions too.

They are scared, nervous and quite frankly they have a hard time opening up about this even to their close loved ones. Unfortunately, shame seems to sit in their heart with loneliness as it’s company and it’s the cause of their misery.

They want to be comforted, praised about how good of a job they are doing at controlling their anxiety and keeping their feelings in check. It is something that they are proud of, but possibly need validation about.

They don’t get it because they don’t tell anyone about how they feel, and if they do try to they just can’t seem to open up completely. They know this too, and don’t blame anyone for it. They just crave emotional intimacy and for someone to be a peaceful company for them, a person that can naturally calm them down. Their daydreams often revolve about being nurtured by someone trustworthy.

possible ages : mid 20s & mid 30s ! 🫶🏻

— ✮⋆˙ : ‘please turn of the lights’ , akmu , bolo , playlists , wiping someone’s tears , father-son issues [‘you have to be manly!’ , ‘a real man doesn’t… ‘ and so on], frozen yogurt

my beautiful pile two, I truly hope your future significant other can heal in their own pace as they don’t seem like a bad person, truly. and the very same goes for you, as you could potentially relate at some parts to their feelings.. you are doing good, i am proud of you. you are cool too! i am sorry I couldn’t channel much, they just happen to be a private person. 🫶🏻 regardless, if you enjoyed this and would like to, please feel free to check out my paid readings. thank you for reading!

pile three : - hyunwook !

𐙚 : the empress, the fool, the devil, the hermit, the lovers, temperance

⭑ their most complimented trait

There are two bigger subgroups in this pile, so that’s how I am gonna treat your reading. Please look at which group you resonate with and read for that my beautiful pile three 🫶🏻

Group one is for people with a future spouse who already have kids, group two is for people with a future spouse who is younger! Late teens to early twenties.

group one

So.. I do think some of you already know this, but your future spouse is already a parent. This could be to one or multiple children, although I think young kiddos, not grown up ones.

They constantly get complimented on how good of a parent they are and how much of a good job they are doing. Their hard work constantly shows through the efforts they constantly make and put out in the world so their family can live happily.

Even if they don’t have a lot, they would rather give everything they have to their kids so they don’t gotta suffer and just put up with their situation in quite. For some of you this is about food.. they would rather starve than to have their kids not eat.

Fortunately, for most people in the pile it never gotten that far and the compliments are much more leaning towards how they give everything they can to their kids! To pamper them. so they can live a happy life! 🫶🏻

group two

My beautiful, in your case your future spouse gets complimented a lot on being a good son/daughter to their parents.

The energy here seems really cute because your future spouse is really humble, they get shy easily and just quietly take the compliments or say thank you in order to be polite.

I do see that the compliments are very well deserved though, as they help out whenever they can, especially their mother.

[for those into girls this is just a cultural thing, as you will marry a poc person. that’s a really small amount tho, most of the people reading this pile will be with a man.]

Either way they could help out with things like washing clothes, moving things around, building things just so the burden is less on their mother. This comes from a place of appreciation towards their mother, and for the most part a lot of love too. They are aware their parent(s) already has it hard, so they try to help out wherever they can.

⭑ how it makes them feel

Both groups are about guilt, but very different kinds, so do please choose whichever one you resonated with the most in the previous point 🫶🏻

group one

If you resonated with group one it is very much likely that your future spouse is currently married. Their guilt revolves around not actually loving their spouse, but everyone praising them for being a good parent. In their eyes, a good parent is loving towards their spouse in order to set a good example.

At first I actually wrote father, so this could be a man who grew up in either a household where the mother was respected.. or one where she wasn’t and he hated it. That honestly depends person to person, but the whole point is they love their mom and want to honour her by showing that they were raised right.

Either way, they want to be a father their children they look up to.. they do. [I know that sentence doesn’t make sense, but someone’s guides want me to form it that way so I am keeping it.] They just can’t do it, because they just don’t love their spouse at all. It’s not that they want their kids to hate their parent(s), but they cannot bring themselves to keep doing this for long.. which makes sense, they will meet you after all.

They could also at times when they feel stressed could potentially be more cold towards their kids than intended or just not live up to the mental image they had of themselves in their head. It’s those ‘I love you but I don’t like the way you are acting right now’ moments. Honestly they really just seem to be a new parent, not really used to kids crying or being overwhelming… so they could at times act in ways they aren’t proud of and will forever be ashamed of. Doesn’t seem like a bad person tho, just lots of big emotions.

group two

If you get uncomfortable by sexual things easily, please do prepare mentally or skip this because I am going to be picking up on their guilt in regards to sexual experiences.

So, I do think they have an immense amount of guilt because they do not think they are a good son/daughter/kid. People have this certain image of them, that they are good, angelic or even perfect.. when that’s far from the truth. In their eyes at least.

They do think like this because they feel an intense sense of shame. Your person for sure has a porn addiction, although it’s not severe, it doesn’t stain their mind or influence the way they behave with people at all. It’s just that if they feel the urge, they need to get rid of it. Thus, the guilt, they get called a good kid and they immediately remember their acts and feel sorry. They feel like they are unintentionally putting on a facade. Which is not true in the least, they are a good person. Unfortunately, they just don’t have a good relationship with sexual things.

They feel ashamed about certain kinks they have, even if it’s truly not inappropriate or uncommon. The things they watch, think and sometimes even that they are attracted to multiple people.. even if they are single. They are an insanely loyal person though, do not get them wrong.. it’s just that they get little crushes. Which we all do! But your person truly feels guilty and wishes they could just keep with one crush.. it makes them feel like a scum, if you will.

Truth to be told, they just want to be loved, they need a support net, a lifeline that will make things okay.

Most of these issues stem from trauma, and while I can pick up on several I will not be saying them since it would be disrespectful to tell their vulnerable moments to everyone on the internet 🙂‍↕️ So, sorry! I cannot tell you the hardships they went through. Since they are your future spouse, they will tell you themselves eventually.

⭑ what they wish to be more complimented on

Nothing! This is the shortest explanation out of all the piles in this topic.. because there is truly nothing they wish to be complimented on.

They just want to improve themselves, live a good life and be the person that they strive to be. There is this ideal version of themselves that they wish to achieve, as long as they can do that they don’t really care what people say. Good or bad, they don’t give much importance to people’s compliments because at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter and can change in the blink of an eye if the person just oh so ever slightly changes.

They just wanna be well disciplined, well mannered, hard working, well kept and in shape. They have high expectations of themselves and they wanna reach it. So that’s what they focus on, not what potential compliments they could get if they improve if that makes sense?

Compliments don’t matter much to them, it’s just that they have a breaking limit / point when they can’t handle hearing them anymore. A few times it’s fine, but eventually they will get annoyed by them. Especially if it’s repetitive. It’s like an ick, or they can tell when someones fake. To them it’s one of those little annoying moments in life that you sorta have to politely go through in order to avoid trouble or more bothersome things to deal with. Kinda like washing dishes! (Lol, what?)

possible ages : late teens (17-19), early twenties (20-24), mid thirties!

— ✮⋆˙ : taylor swift playlists , jerseys , papaya (fruit!), cannibal by kesha , hentai / yaoi / yuri , painted nails (red / hot pink) , lovebird , 00s / 10s movies

my dearest pile three, your future spouse is going through it 😞 thankfully they will be able to heal from all of this! I don’t blame them for the guilt that they feel, but please don’t be too harsh with your words when it comes to them! It’s something that will stick even if they like to pretend that they don’t care, ya know?… I am sorry that I couldn’t dive as deep into their guilt as possible but privacy exists for a reason! Didn’t wanna be disrespectful.. Either way, if you enjoyed the reading and perhaps feel like it feel free to check out my paid readings! thank you for reading!

[moonstruckme]

hey! could i request a james potter x reader fic pls?? i have been thinking about him specifically non stop and now i just wanna be domestic and cute with him-

Me too lovely :')

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 661 words

You’ve told James that you’re painting your toenails on the kitchen counter because it has good light, but he knows it’s really because you want to be near him. He’ll have to clean the counter again after you go, but he’s not complaining. He wants you near him too. 

And anyway, the kitchen does have good light. It streams in through the window to tangle in your hair and glance off your skin, illuminating the concentrated set to your mouth as you bend over your foot on the counter. 

James kisses you lightly, and one corner of your lips quirks up like you’re trying to stop it but can’t quite manage. You taste sweet and a bit tart. 

“Don’t mess me up,” you warn. “This is my last coat, it’s do or die.” 

“Stop eating my blackberries,” he counters, “and we’ll see. No promises.” 

You finish with your nails, setting the brush back in the polish and nabbing another blackberry from his bowl. James gasps, betrayed though not surprised. He pinches your side.

You laugh, leaning away from him fruitlessly. “Stop, I’m going to knock polish onto the rug!”

“You could at least vary your snacking,” James says. “My fruit salad is going to have hundreds of pieces of melon and two blackberries if you keep on like this.” 

“I just like blackberries best.” 

“So does Remus,” he chides with no real severity. “And when he gets here later today and they’re all gone, who do you think will be blamed?”

You bat your eyelashes at him, smiling angelically. “He doesn’t need to know there were going to be blackberries in here to begin with, does he?” you ask. The hope in your voice sparkles like sunshine off the ocean. 

James caves instantly at that tone, but he pretends to take at least a second to mull it over before capitulating. “Fair enough. Have at them, lovie. Leave no trace.” 

You descend like a hawk upon your prey, clawing through the bowl of fruit and popping blackberry after blackberry into your mouth. 

“I’m thinking of going to the store in a bit,” you say. 

James grins down at his cutting board, slicing the skin off a wedge of cantaloupe. “To replenish Remus’ blackberry supply?” he asks. He knows you’re too tenderhearted to truly rob his friend of something he enjoys; you’d be racked with guilt for the rest of the night. 

“To get lemons for lemonade.” You touch your big toe delicately, testing the dryness of your polish. “And if I stumble upon blackberries that look good while I’m there…” You shrug, turning away from him like you think you can hide your smile. As if he can’t hear it in your voice. “Then maybe I’ll grab some. To keep the peace.” 

James reaches over and grips your foot, channeling as much love as he can fit into a good squeeze. You gasp and nearly shriek when his thumb digs into a ticklish spot on your arch, grabbing onto his shoulder to keep from tipping off the counter. He sets a hand on your side to help, and he can feel your ribs shaking as you laugh. 

“Sorry, sorry,” James laughs. “I forgot about that spot.” He didn’t. “Wait for me to finish and we’ll go together, yeah?” 

Your nose scrunches with your smile. “Why, you wanna keep an eye on the blackberries?” 

“I was thinking we’d just get extra,” he proposes. 

You hum contentedly, and he takes the invitation to get further into your space, his hip bumping against your leg. “That’s very chivalrous of you,” you reply, your teasing softened by fondness. 

“Well, I do try. Pretty girls need to be kept happy, yeah?” 

You laugh again, grabbing James’ face in both hands. He knows when you let go, there’ll be sticky purple fingerprints on both of his cheeks. He doesn’t mind. 

“Flirt,” you accuse. 

James pushes forward until his nose is pressed up against yours. “Only for you.” 

[theres-a-body-here]

If requests are open, could you do killers of your choice reacting to the new guy?

Like, the Unknown managing to lure them in by mimicking a survivor's voice

I took some creative liberty for this TW: Violence, death Characters: Trapper, Knight, Blight Male!reader mentioned

The Trapper - Evan MacMillan

Evan is working on his bear-traps in his warehouse. The realm is silent, the sounds of faint cawing and the rustling of leaves echoes through the estate.

Out of nowhere, a voice calls out

"E...van?"

He stops working immediately

That was your voice, but you'd left for a trial just a while ago

There's no way you'd be back this early

Evan sighs rubbing his temples

Maybe he's been working for way too long; starting to hear things

Before he can go back to tightening bolts, he hears it again

"Evan"

He immediately stands up, so abruptly that his chair falls over

The stomps outside, confused and a bit worried

"(Y/N)?"

He hears no response

The air is still and the hairs on his body stand stiff

Suddenly, the smell of rotting flesh and wet copper

Something was wrong

Evan notices that even the crows have stopped making sounds

Slowly, he tries to head back into the building; he needed his cleaver

He turns around to look at the entrance to the warehouse, only to see it

The Unknown was hiding, waiting for him to see it

It attacks Evan before he can react

The first thing on Evan's mind, once the Entity revives him, is to find you

The Knight - Tarhos Kovács

Tarhos was sharpening his sword in the Borgo, listening to the crackle of the fire he sat by

The peace is interrupted as a bloodcurdling scream pierces through the air

It's you, or at least it sounds like you

If Tarhos had taken the time to listen, he would've noticed how off it sounded

But he was way too panicked to think

To him, you were in danger

With sword gripped tightly, he booked it to where he heard the scream

"(Y/N)! WHERE ARE YOU, MY LOVE!?"

He's absolutely distraught

"SPEAK TO ME, (Y/N)!"

every one of his questions is answered by another screech, coming from another direction

Before he knew it, Tarhos was worn out and exhausted

It seemed that was the thing The Unknown was waiting for

Before Tarhos can even think about catching his breath, The Unknown attacks him from behind, knocking him clean off his feet

A tendril of flesh stabs into Tarhos's thigh

The Knight reacts quickly, swinging his sword and slicing the appendage through with one slice

"It...hurts... No...m-more"

It spoke in your voice, as if mocking Tarhos

His heart sunk into his chest, mind flooding with questions as to why this creature knows what you sound like

The Unknown shrieks as it feels his flesh sizzle, snapping his head around to see Alejandro pressing his hot iron into it; the rest of the Compagnia manifesting alongside him

Seeing the thing distracted, Tarhos stabs the beast through the chest

The Unknown is unnerving unaffected, pulling away before crawling away on all fours

Tarhos isn't having that, reeling his arm before throwing his sword like a makeshift spear, pinning The Unknown's hand into the ground

He grits his teeth as he stomps towards the monster, screaming at it

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY (Y/N)?!"

Durkos and Sander rush forward as well to kill the creature

The Unknown uses its axe to chop its own hand off to escape

"(y/n)... my (y/n)" it repeats mockingly as it slinks away

The Blight - Talbot Grimes

Talbot was working on his serums and elixirs when he heard your voice

"Hey....co...come over.....here"

Right off the bat, he knew it wasn't you

Talbot knows you

He knows your every scream, moan, laugh, and tone

This was something attempting to mimic that

Despite knowing whatever was calling out was trying to luring him in, he was curious to see what exactly it was

He makes his way outside, albeit apprehensively; his cane and syringe ready

The voice speaks again

"Wha...what is that...?"

It seems to be repeating something its heard previously

Were you in a trial with whatever it was?

It also seems to be getting better at mimicking you

Talbot hurries his steps to find the source of the voice

Its not long before he comes face to face with The Unknown

Talbot isn't afraid, he's downright furious

Whatever this monster was, it clearly had some contact with you

Why else would it know how you sound like?

The fight isn't pretty; both sides inflicting heavy damage on the other

In the end, The Unknown screeches as it retreats from sight, slinking away into the fog after seeing that Blight wasn't easy prey

Talbot managed to stab the syringe into the thing, acquiring a blood sample

Experimentation could wait

He needed to find you

The real you

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience:~The gradeschool host is the naughty type!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: Tamaki gains an apprentice, but you are a little too knowledgeable on his true intentions ➼ what to expect: "Would he wait do you think?" "I think he would...when you have a look like that you find yourself to be incredibly...patient" ➼ warnings: none ➼ Part five | Part seven

When you enter the host club that day the last thing you expected to find was a literal child. Yet as you stepped through the doors to music room three there was one sat concerningly close to Tamaki and a guest. "What's going on?"

"Tamaki's got an apprentice" Kyoya recaps, eyes focussed on the scene unfolding. "How old is this...apprentice?" you hesitate to call the child that but struggled to find a better word. "Not old enough to be here" Haruhi points out.

Isn’t it a bit strange, making Shiro observe him up close like that?”

He hums, “There is a theory that people are considered more beautiful the closer they are viewed. Tamaki seems to live by that theory.” He says it like he has it memorized- which he probably does.

"Hmm is that why you always insist on sitting near me during club hours?" you joke, batting your eyelashes dramatically, to your surprise this seems to fluster Kyoya a little, or at least much as one can expect from him "I- Well- thats so i can get your consultation on things"

“You look more like the carp that swim in my pond at home. I’d never give false compliments like that!”

Both of your attention is drawn to Shiro, already running his little mouth.

“Carp?!” The guest cries out, an embarrassed blush flushing over her cheeks. Tamaki is quick to reach out and comfort her.

“Oh, don’t listen to him. He’s just a kid- you know how kids are- they can’t help but be honest.”

“Oh, Tamaki.” You cringe at his statement and sigh.

“Honest?!” She shrieks, turning herself away from Tamaki, shedding tears.

“But that’s just his opinion! I wouldn’t say you look like a carp, and even if you did, you’d be the most beautiful carp of them all!” Tamaki tries his hardest to console his guest, but it only results in further insulting.

“So I am a carp!?” She gasps, shrieking once more. You have half a mind to cover your ears but only wince.

Tamaki, dumbfounded, “Uh, no, that’s not what I meant.” He sweats.

“Tamaki, you’re an idiot!” An all too familiar phrase.

“No, wait! Mermaid Princess!” Tamaki reaches for her, desperate.

Blank-faced, Shiro stands beside him, “Man, what a crybaby.” He scoffs, utterly unfazed by the whole ordeal.

Tamaki peeks at him over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed, and teeth bared, growling animalistically. How could such a young child have lost him a guest already?

Hikaru snickers, “So how’s it going, boss?! That’s an adorable little apprentice you’ve got there.” He finds it hard to withhold his laughter.

“Hikaru…” Hikaru’s attention only diverges when he hears his twin’s whining voice.

“Do you wish you had a little brother like Shiro?” In a split second, invisible to the naked eye, Hikaru sweeps Kaoru up in a tender embrace, cradling him against his body.

“Don’t be silly. I could search the globe, and I’d never find a better brother than you, Kaoru.” Hikaru presses his lips to the top of Kaoru’s head.

“Hikaru.” Kaoru lets out in a breathy moan, his eyes hooded in his brother’s embrace.

Two patrons pop up over their shoulder, “Look! They’re doing it!”

“It’s forbidden, brotherly love!”

Shiro stumbles back, grips the table, “They’re homos! And they’re brothers! That makes this totally ‘insectuous’!” He grips his grade school uniform tightly with his other hand.

You appear behind him, “I think what you meant to say was incestuous.” You nod firmly.

Before he has a chance to reply, Shiro is firmly embraced by Honey.

“Hey, Shiro-chan! You wanna have a piece of cake with me? We’ve got three kinds: chocolate, strawberry, and lime.” Honey dangles from Shiro’s shoulders, roughly similar in size.

Shiro roughly shoves him off, “Hey, back off! What grade are you in, anyway?! Why are you wearing a high school uniform?” Shiro nearly shouts, irritated to no end.

A large shadow casts over them, “Something wrong, Mitsukuni?”

Shiro looks up, and, to his horror, Mori stands before them.

Honey leaps toward Mori and wraps himself around him. “That’s not fair! A little kid like you isn’t supposed to have a cool, older friend like him!”

Truthfully, both are in the same class.

Shiro backpedals a little, unintentionally bumping into your leg, wipping around to stare up at you in shock. He stares at you for a moment as if analysing you, eyes landing on your pile of notes about the host club tucked under your arm.

"Are you some sort of super fan for these weirdo's or something"

Your jaw drops, what is intended to be a laugh instead comes out as a scoff, resisiting the urge to ball up your fists at a child. Kyoya's gaze frantically darts between the two of you, nerves rising as he recalls how you felt when your position was dismissed not too long ago by renge.

You let out a shaky breath, turning to look up to Kyoya "I can't deal with him, don't make me" you plead "You deal with them everyday" he nods to the other club members. You sigh, knowing he had you cornered.

“Okay, that’s enough! I think Shiro should take care of the tea for us, don’t you?” tamaki interrupts, nervously handing a tea tray to you to give to Shiro.

"Fine, but watch out it's heavy" you conceded, leaning down a little to offer the tray to him, which for a moment he seems to accept, wrapping his hands around the handles, however as soon as you let go the tea tray falls to the floor, shattering what is easily upwards of sis figures worth of ceramic.

"It’s not my fault I dropped it. It’s your fault 'cause you’re the one who made me take it in the first place.”

You quite nearly lost it at that one, about to lunge at the kid.

Before you can make any move, Kyoya wraps his arm around your torso and tugs you back, his strength preventing you from moving. You grunt and squirm, eager to give Shiro a piece of your mind.

“That’s enough, y/n, if you're charged with assault you'll never gain citizenship and you would have to go home” his reasoning, although dramatic, is clear. You slump in his arms and let your features go blank with a deep sigh.

“I’m not here to carry tea sets- I’m here to learn how to make women happy!” Shiro’s voice has reduced to nothing but a whiny, high-pitched tone to your ears.

“You won’t get anywhere with that attitude. And I am not going to let you disrespect y/n. So!” Tamaki points his index finger in Shiro’s direction determinedly. “Put this brat in isolation!”

More than eager to comply, the twins are at his side, “You got it, boss!”

An iron cage falls from the ceiling on chains and traps Shiro where he stands. “What’s going on here?! Why’d you put me in a cage all of a sudden?!”

“Yeah, and where’d it come from? This is supposed to be a music room, right?” Haruhi questions aloud, tilting her head at the cage.

Shiro climbs onto the bars of the cage, “This is no way to treat your loyal apprentice. Now let me out of this cage!” He demands irritatedly.

“Not until you’ve learned your lesson. I made you my apprentice because I thought you were serious about becoming a host, but I guess I was wrong.” Tamaki sighs woefully, intending to draw a reaction from the grade school student.

“I am serious. Totally serious.” When Tamaki refuses to reply, unconvinced and sipping his tea, Shiro falls desperate.

“I want you to teach me how to make a woman happy!”

Still, nothing. No one is convinced. Especially not you as you sit near Kyoya on a love seat, boredly flipping the pages of a nearby book as he writes adjacent to you.

With a defeated cry, Shiro falls to his knees, gripping the bars tightly between his fists. This draws your head up to glance at him.

“I’m gonna run out of time. Please, won’t you teach me?” his tone is no longer demanding, only forlorn and pleading.

“You’re a host because you like girls. You like bringing a smile to a girl’s face- that’s why you do it, right?”

Shiro’s pleading manages to draw Tamaki’s attention, only earning a side glance.

“Please, won’t you teach me how to be like you? You’re a genius at it! You’re the king!”

You look at tamaki, knowing that all anyone has to do was say the K word to convince him.

The titles Shiro’s given to Tamaki in his desperation calls the aforementioned king to his feet. He feels a sudden urge to teach him again; God could only know why.

“Well, you may be a brat, but I admire your desire to become a host, so I’ll teach you.”

This draws no reaction from Shiro.

“You know, Shiro, you and I are so much alike.” Tamaki wraps himself in his own arms.

Haruhi appears, “You poor kid.” You snicker at that.

Shiro straightens immediately, a smile stretched across his cheeks, “Then you’ll help me become the kind of host that can make any woman happy?!” his tone is hopeful.

“Of course, making women happy is the sole purpose of being a host. If this is what you really want, Shiro, then you have to figure out how to use the material you already have.”

“What does that mean?”

At the opposite end of Shiro’s cell, Kyoya appears. Shiro stands with his back pressed to the bars in sheer terror at his appearance.

“You see, here at the Ouran Host Club, our policy is to use our individual personality traits to meet the needs of our guests. For example, there’s Tamaki, who is the princely type.” he nods over to the leader who is staring wistfully out of a window.

"the strong, silent type" he nods over to mori, who is holding up honey on his shoulders. "The boy lolita type" The twins soon slide in , attempting to steal the attention

"The little devil type" you attempt to hold back a laugh at the name, fogetting that was the label that had been given to the two of them. "And the cool type"

You once again look up to Kyoya, forgetting that he had a host type at all, he rarely ever actually saw clients. But then again he definitely fit the bill.

It makes you wonder what he would be like if he ever dropped the persona. All of the hosts had personas they played up during club hours, you knew that, but even when there were group hang outs with no clients, his never drops, maybe he relaxes a little, but theres always that wall.

It makes you wonder how much you know about him at all, what do you know about him that wasn't curated for your perception.

"It’s all about variety. And now our group is complete with the addition of Haruhi, the natural."

The complete host club stands in front of Shiro’s cell, “It would seem that right now we have a perfect blend of characteristics, so it’s going to be difficult to find a new type for Shiro.”

While you stand off in the distance behind them, watching from afar. It hasn’t been much different from this before, but when you notice it, it feels a bit difficult. You fold your hands behind you and hang your head. It’s not like this isn’t expected.

“If you go by his age, he should be the boy Lolita type.”

“But Honey-Senpai’s already got that covered.”

Tears streaking down his cheeks like a river, Honey turns to the club, “Is he gonna replace me?” he sniffles.

“Oh, come on! Is that all you’ve got?”

Your head snaps up at the unbodied voice. But when it clicks in your mind, all you can do is groan and fall clumsily onto the sofa behind you.

A powerful motor rumbles under the floor and shakes the ground. Renge rises on a platform as she does.

Renge sighs pensively, “Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but what’s with the lackluster character analysis? I must say, I’m quite disappointed. I thought I taught you better.” she shrugs.

You laugh to yourself looking at the two of them, he brought this on himself.

“Alright then. How would you work Shiro into our collection of characters? He can’t be the boy Lolita because Honey’s already got that covered.” Tamaki lifts a sobbing Honey by his underarms to present him to Renge.

“You just don’t get it, do you? Now listen up! There are plenty of girls out there who have a thing for younger boys or boys with baby faces. These girls would be considered shota fans. Now, shota can be a fairly broad category, so it’s important to know that the genre can be broken down into many different smaller sub-categories. For example, shota fans with an interest in Lolita boys would favor a boy like Haninozuka-Senpai.”

Kyoya’s pen moves furiously quick to record every word Renge says.

“But this little boy is different. If I had to pick a character for him… Yes! He’d be the naughty-boy type, without a doubt!” Renge’s smirk and determined gaze ought to terrify Shiro further.

“The naughty type?” He inquires curiously.

The cage rises off the ground and back into the ceiling.

“Now, to play up the naughty type, you have to wear shorts.” Renge crouches and points to Shiro’s uniform shorts, nodding, “Okay.”

She blasts her whistle again, “You’ve gotta have bumps and bruises! Give him a couple of scars!”

The twins are hunched by Shiro, covering him in bandages and marking him up with a pen.

The whistle, again.

“Run like a spoiled child! Make it reckless!” Shiro sprints on command.

“Now I want you to trip and make it big!”

Shiro’s foot catches on a taut rope with a yell, and he crashes to the ground with a loud thud, face first.

Renge bends near Shiro, her eyebrows furrowed, “Are you okay, little boy?” The character doesn’t last long; she blows once more on her whistle. “Now give them your catchphrase!”

Shiro wipes his cheek with a far-off look in his eyes, “No big deal, it was nothin’.”

Renge coos, “That was perfect! Absolutely perfect, Shiro!” She gushes.

Tamaki claps his hands together gently, “That was outstanding. I never knew you were such a great coach, Renge.”

Renge laughs haughtily.

“Oh, I never knew you were such a great coach, Renge.” Your face scrunches as you mock Tamaki, reaching for the teacup and saucer before you and taking a long sip.

Shiro stumbles to his feet, an alarmed expression crossing his features.

“Ugh, I’ve had enough of you people!” He captures everyone’s attention, including yours. You set your cup and saucer down as you observe.

Shiro practically shakes with frustration, “This is so stupid- none of this is ever gonna help me make her happy!”

You can see the panic in his eyes; you stand, head tilting, “Her?”

Shiro breaks into a run for the door.

“Shiro!” You call.

Oh. It all makes sense now, how did you not realise sooner.

“Wait, Shiro! We haven’t taught you how to apply the techniques you’ve learned yet!”

The door slams, and he’s gone. Your shoulders drop. Renge climbs back onto her platform, descending into the floor.

Much to your absolute delight.

“I swear, younger boys are good for nothing. I went to all that trouble to coach him, and he quits.”

“I can’t believe he ditched us because he didn’t like the lesson. What a selfish little brat.”

“There aren’t many people who’d enjoy that kind of lesson. But never mind that, did you hear what he said?”

You roll your eyes "You call yourself romantic experts, don't you see? didn't you hear what he said? This is about a girl!"

They stare back at you blankly, heads tilting to the side.

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“How… on earth… did we let them talk us into this?” You grumble, picking at your skirt. Haruhi crosses her arms adjacent to you.

“It’ll be okay, y/n-chan. It was so easy to sneak in, and wearing this uniform, I really look like I’m in elementary school.” Honey peeks around the corner, dressed in a grade school uniform.

You and Haruhi, respectively, are dressed in middle school girls’ uniforms. Haruhi wears a darkly colored wig, and your hair is styled neatly straight, clip-on bangs secured to your hairline on the center of your head. They nearly cover your eyebrows, two longer pieces framing your eyes. You look exponentially younger, it reminds you of when you first arrived in Japan.

“Yeah, you do. I understand why they wanted you to wear an elementary school uniform. I mean, we are sneaking into an elementary school, and you totally fit in, Senpai.”

You and Haruhi stand on the opposite side of the doorway, Haruhi leaning on your shoulders.

“What I don’t understand is why they made us dress up in middle school uniforms,” Haruhi grumbles.

"Why did we even bother with disguises? We stick out like a sore thumb!” You growl in a harsh whisper, the outfits not really doing much for your heights.

A pair of doors creak open as the remains of the host club observe the three of you.

“Oh, there’s a reason, a damn good reason,” Tamaki assures, more to himself than anything, adding to his slight delusion of having completely protective intentions.

“This way, Haru-chan and y/n-chan!” Honey exclaims cheerfully, wrapping his arm around your own, as you, in turn, wrap your arm around Haruhi’s. The three of you trail along in a chain, you and Haruhi in your miniskirts that both of you try not to pay attention to.

“Aren’t they the cutest?” the twins exclaim.

“Oh, look at her in that miniskirt. Haruhi looks like a little doll!” Tamaki sighs.

Kyoya takes a moment to glance up from his book, catching you in the uniform as well. He can feel his lips tug upward, although the darkness shields his face, and that helps a little. You look youthful and optimistic, something he hasn’t noticed from you in a long while, it reminded him of when the two of you first met.

He quickly caught that he was smiling, and he was smiling because you were seemingly happy. it was strange to him, well-it's not like he wasnts to see you miserable- but why was he getting happy that you were happy?

Maybe it was because you were his fiance and he has a level of responsibility for you, but that is strictly business, he has to remind himself that now. He could not understand. What was this feeling?

He doesn’t stay silent for long. “So basically, you just wanted to see her dressed up like that.” he accuses with a sly smirk.

“A fair reason, of course.” Kyoya nods to himself.

Honey pries open the door to a classroom, “This is it. Shiro-chan’s classroom.” He creaks it open enough to fit inside. “When I was in elementary school, this was my classroom too!” he glides between desks excitedly.

You and Haruhi enter shortly after, marveling at the size of a mere elementary school classroom.

You place a hand on an empty desk, “There’s nobody here.” you acknowledge aloud.

The club appears. “So the kid’s classroom is empty, is it?”

The twins are the first to arrive, “This sure takes me back.” They chorus, striding in casually with their hands tucked into their pockets.

“I wonder if doodles are still on my desk.”

“Doubtful, the school changes out the desks every year.” Kyoya voices from behind them.

“Let’s check out the cafeteria after this.”

“I wanna see the old gym.”

“Good idea, Kaoru!”

You roll your eyes as you realise the true reason why you were in uniform “Hey! If you’re just gonna barge in here like that, then why’d we wear these stupid disguises?” You whine.

“Don’t worry about it.” Hikaru shrugs, his brother mirroring him.“There’s no one in here to catch us.” Kaoru informs.

“That’s my point!” you deadpan.

“And besides, who wouldn’t want to see you in this adorable little uniform?” Kyoya tugs at your collar gently and playfully, kknowing that you probably hated everything about this situation.

“Of course you only compliment me when I am seething" Kyoya casts his eyes down, “I think you look fine.” He shrugs.“Ah, I can see straight through your little 'disguise’ plan, mister, I-”

Suddenly, footsteps echo in the hall outside. None of you miss it.

You grab Kyoya by his wrist and yank him down under a desk along with you. The other hosts duck in nearby desks with gasps.

What you didn't consider was that it is tight fit for even one person never mind two, resulting in you and Kyoya being closer than ever. Physically that is.

“If the teacher finds us-”

“-we’ll have a hard time explaining why we snuck in.” the twins voice their concerns.

"Shut up" you whisper yell from across the underside of the desks Kyoya smirks "mad are we-" You press a finger to his lips and give him a stern glare, “You’re not very good at being quiet.” your voice is considerably quieter than his.

His eyes move down to your finger upon his lips, and so do yours. The two of you realising what exactly you were doing with a delay. blood rushing to both of your faces.

What happened next was peculiar to you, because it was not something you could describe. Suddenly you can feel you're heart thudding against your chest, your eyes lock as you feel yours almost melt in a way. Your mouth hangs open as if something is on the tip of your tongue but at the same time you can't form any thought of a word.

You linger for a moment before you notice the footsteps receding, breaking the sort of trance that held the two of you, your finger falls from his lips and your head snaps to the door. You quickly escape from your compromising position and head for the door.

The club groans exasperatedly as you peek out to watch the teacher turning the corner with no indication of catching the lot of you.

In your normal voice, “It’s alright, he’s gone. But you guys, we came here to get the scoop on Shiro, so what do you think we should do now?” You direct them back to the task at hand as they climb from their desks.

Kyoya’s migrated to the other side of the room, where pictures are pinned to the wall along with Honey.

“Well, here’s something interesting.” he captures the club’s and your attention. You stride to stand near them, “What’d you find?”

Kyoya points to a picture of Shiro at a piano with a girl his age, looking cheerful.

A look you had only seen on him once, however you quickly realised that wasn't the only time you had seen that look today.

“Hey, that’s Shiro!” You smile, stepping closer and craning your neck upwards to get a closer look.

“So he’s in the Classical Music Club.” Kyoya acknowledges.

“He looks like he’s enjoying himself. It’s nice to see him with a smile on his face. I had no idea he could look so sweet.” You hum, finding great comfort in knowing he’s in a club that makes him happy. Or, at least with someone that evokes that feeling.

Tamaki takes a moment longer to gaze at the photo.

“Yeah.”

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You all find yourselves watching Shiro through a window in the room where the Classical Music Club congregates. He sits wistfully at a large window, far from the other children, peering out of the glass as he balances himself on the ledge.

“There he is! There’s Shiro-chan!” Honey gasps.

He looks pensive, thoughtful. Someone would say almost grumpy but the best word you could place for it was forlorn.

“Excuse me, Takaoji?” the calling of his name only earns a side glance.

“I’m sorry, but have you been practicing the new piece teacher gave us?”

“The new piece? Not really.”

“If you want, I can show it to you. Do you wanna come play it with me?”

“No thanks, you go ahead. After all, there’s only one grand piano. You should use it, Kamishiro.”

The girl stares at him a moment, a little disappointed, before shrugging it off with a smile, “Thank you! I will then! And if you want to join me, just let me know.” She hints.

As she begins to play, a soft smile stretches across Shiro’s face, and his eyes slip shut.

You and the club look on with intense curiosity. Although, Tamaki’s expression is solemn.

Just at that moment, a girl leaves the music room and is immediately approached by Tamaki.

“Pardon me, mademoiselle.” He offers her a white rose, “I’ve never seen a rose more lovely than you, my dear. Here, this is for you.” Tamaki’s ever-charming tactics prompt the girl into answering his questions.

“I was wondering if you could tell me anything about that young lady playing the piano. Do you know her?” his voice is gentle.

“That’s Hina Kamishiro.”

“Her name is Hina?” Tamaki clarifies.

“That’s right, but you better not fall in love with her.”

What a strange thing to say, especially for an elementary school girl.

Tamaki pushes further, “Why?”

“Didn’t you know? Hina has to move away soon. Her dad just got a new job in Germany, so they have to move there at the end of the week-”

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

Everyone’s attention is drawn to an enraged Shiro, practically shaking with fury.

“I want you idiots to leave immediately!” He orders.

Tamaki decides he’s had enough of Shiro’s ungrateful attitude and his mysterious motives.

With his blonde fringe covering his eyes, he lifts Shiro off the ground and hauls him over his shoulder with little effort, not even blinking an eye.

“Put me down! What are you doing?!”

Much to Shiro’s dismay, Hina peeks out from the music room to watch this embarrassing display.

The rest of the club follows in suit, “Let me go! Just put me down! Where do you think-”

“It’s time to go, guys. Quit thrashing around.” Despite the circumstances, Tamaki’s tone is relaxed and unfazed.

As the group returns to the club room, Tamaki tosses Shiro down on the nearest sofa, the room shrouded in darkness.

Shiro grunts at the impact and promptly sits up, “What is your problem you, big idiot?!”

His fringe still covering his eyes, Tamaki turns to you and gestures to Shiro. You nod.

“I’m sorry, but you’re the idiot.” Shiro instantly shuts his mouth, staring at you with wide eyes.

“You said that you wanted Tamaki to teach you how to make women happy. But that’s not what you wanted, is it?” You point an accusing finger close to his chest.

“You don’t want to make all women happy; you’re concerned with the happiness of one woman in particular. She’s the only one you care about, Hina Kamishiro.”

“But I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do to help you with that, Shiro.” you let your fingers drag across his chin before receding and allowing Tamaki to step in.

“Listen, Shiro. I know that I told you, it’s the job of a host to make women happy. But when you care for someone, you must find the courage to express what is in your heart. You have to tell her how you feel about her!”

“You didn’t come to me looking to become a full-fledged host. You want to be a full-fledged man.”

Shiro leans forward and hangs his head, placing his hands over his knees, “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve run out of time. I just wanted to hear her play before she left for good. That’s all.” His bratty composure has wholly fallen, giving way to his longing, loving side.

“That piece she played. It’s Mozart’s Sonata in D major for two pianos, isn’t it?” Tamaki pulls away a pale yellow curtain to reveal a grand piano in all its glory. He lifts open the lid and reveals the shining black and white slick keys like they’re brand new.

“Wait a minute, since when is there a grand piano in this room?” Haruhi drawls, confused.

“Well, this is a music room, after all-”

“So why wouldn’t it have a grand piano?” the twins ask as if it’s obvious.

“It is a music room, after all.” Kyoya sips a cup of tea, seated across from Honey and Mori.

“It is a music room.” Mori’s monotone voice is low and soothing.

“It’s always been there. We just had it covered up.” Honey shrugs as he swallows a bite of cake.

Tamaki poises his fingers over the keys and begins to flawlessly play the piece in question.

As usual, Tamaki seems to be putting no effort into his performance, his fingers gliding skillfully over the ivory keys like gentle feathers ticking the surface. It’s a learned skill.

Shiro rises from his place on the sofa to watch in awe.

“Awesome.” he exhales breathlessly. He is certainly someone who can appreciate this sort of skill.

“For the next week, you will spend your mornings, lunches, recesses, and free time after school in piano lessons with me.”

“But, why?”

“You wanted to be my apprentice, right? Besides, that young lady looked like she wanted nothing more than to play the piano with you.”

It’s like watching a creature in its natural habitat- Tamaki on the piano.

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You and the hosts stand in two lines on either side of the doorway, welcoming your guest, “Welcome, princess, we’ve been waiting.”

“I present to you, Shiro Takaoji’s piano recital.” Tamaki gives way to reveal Shiro sitting at a grand piano, an identical one just beside him with an empty, calling chair. Shiro’s face remains stoic as his gaze bores into the keys in front of him.

Hina hesitates in shock, her eyes wide and innocent as she processes her surroundings.

Tamaki pulls out the empty chair and gestures to the piano, “If you please, princess.”

She finally puts the pieces together for herself.

“Let’s play together, Hina.” Shiro flashes her a genuine smile.

“Okay!” She agrees quickly, settling down beside him, and they both begin to play.

With fond expressions, you and the host club are the perfect audience.

You and Kyoya watch from a distance, even both of your somewhat cold exteriors melting at the sight of young love blooming. "It must be difficult, moving to the other side other side of the world so young"

You hum "It is." you mutter, not entirely sure whether or not he was referring to Hina, or you. "I just pray that Hina is good at german" you whisper, silence between the two of you. Kyoya knew your struggles when you moved to Ouran well, everyone did. It wasn't that you didn't know Japanese, but knowing it and using it are two different things. It didn't need to be restated.

"At least...Even if she isn't....she'll have someone waiting for her" now this was an odd, not in the context of Shiro and Hina, that made perfect sense, but the two of you did this a lot, talking about one thing when in reality you're talking about each other.

"Would he wait do you think?"

"I think he would...when you have a look like that you find yourself to be incredibly...patient"

Next time on patience 'Jungle pool SOS!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000

[amostimprobabledream]

The Sweetest Violence (Homelander x Reader)

Just a lil drabble, also available on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/57696463

"Sssh..." Blood. So much blood. The fetid stink of it is everywhere. It fills up your nostrils and chokes up your senses. It's thick and sticky in your hair, hot and drying in stiff patches on your skin. You feel like you could take a hundred showers, soak in the bath for hours and hours and it still wouldn't get rid of the sensation of blood clinging to your flesh. Homelander doesn't seem to notice or care about the blood. He carries you easily, clasped to is chest, his own face splashed with blood, dark patches of it staining his blonde hair. The brilliant blue of his eyes seems to burn through a streaky veil of scarlet, made all the more vivid by the contrast. "It's all right," he whispers to you as he walks, his soothing tone at odds with the gore-soaked state of him. "It's okay now. Ssh. You must've been scared, huh?" Yes. You were. The people who took you saw you as nothing more than an object, a tool with which they could use against Homelander. You could tell by the impersonal way they handled you, the way they barley looked at you and didn't bat an eyelid at your screams and shouts. That scared you more than anything, the dead, cold looks in their eyes, like you were trying to communicate with machines, not people. If they could be so indifferent to your fear and confusion, what would they care about doing more permanent damage?

So, when you heard it - the rush of air and signature boom of one of Homelander's signature landings, those dramatic superhero drops that signify I am here, it was like divine intervention. The relief that hit you was like no high you'd ever experienced before, the way you imagine a shipwreck survivor must feel when they finally see the boat that's come to save them after being stranded in the brutal, unforgiving seas. That was, until Homelander got to work. Bodies. Ripped apart like paper. Heads not rolling but exploding like watermelons struck by a bat. Unholy shrieks of horror and agony drowned out in wet gurgles of blood. Eyes shining like warning lights in the gloom - inhuman, like a monster from a nightmare. You could only curl up as best you could and close your eyes to the carnage, a sob tangled in your throat, but you couldn't quite drown out the screaming and your imagination supplied you plenty of images that rivalled the horror of what was happening.

When Homelander calmly melted the chains on you and hoisted you up into his arms, you briefly wondered if you were about to die too - even though he'd come to rescue you. Your mind  is in a haze -a long time ago, somebody had explained to you the difference between horror and terror, and you felt it keenly now. You're not screaming or thrashing to escape, or outwardly freaking out at all. Instead, you feel like you've been plunged into a pool of still, frigid water and simply wait under the surface, unwilling to expend any energy into swimming up to the surface and peering out at whatever may lay above. You retreat into numbness, curiously swamped with cold despite how hot Homelander is. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his suit, your breath coming out in sharp little pants. Homelander can hear the frantic pounding of your heart and how you breathe like there isn't enough air, but he assumes that it's from the fear of being kidnapped, of men in dark clothes and with dead eyes. It probably hasn't even crossed your mind that the one who has driven you to this heightened state of fear is him. And you don't want him to think it, so you nuzzle deeper into him, you can't seem to stop hyperventilating no matter how you try. "S'okay," Homelander shushes you, misunderstanding your trembling, a gloved hand petting your hair like he's trying to soothe a skittish animal. He's so monstrously strong he can hold you, a grown woman, easily to his body with just one arm, and you automatically wrap your legs around him, a gesture you've done many times before, but never in this context. He's being so gentle with you that it's hard to believe you just witnessed a man being torn in half by Homelander's bare hands. "You're safe. I've got you." Yes, he does. You're locked in his powerful embrace like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. You bury your face in his chest to hide your expression as well as seeking comfort - it seems perverse to look for it from a man soaked in blood, but what else can you do? You let yourself be lulled into a calmer state, his warmth seeping into you and the slow, rhythmic motions of his hand in your hair weirdly comforting.

But you don't miss the gravel, the hint of threat in his voice when he speaks again. You know it's not directed at you, not his sweetheart, but you still feel a shiver lick down your spine as he speaks; "No one will ever take you away from me."

[ghostf1ux]

Shock Therapy

Day 12: Shaking

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CWs: Electrocution, non-con touching/biting/kissing (referenced, not shown), medical inaccuracies (probably)

Part 1 (here) || Part 2

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

Jason groaned as his body was tossed unceremoniously onto damp concrete floors. His teeth sank further into the gag that had been shoved haphazardly into his mouth, muffling a string of curses aimed at his captors. Some of them only laugh at his attempt to take stock of his surroundings despite the blindfold and his lack of usable fingers to pry it off.

Not for lack of trying.

Okay, so, assessment of the situation. There are at least four guys in the room with him, heavily muscled but potentially not heavily armed. Pistols, most likely, if he had to judge just by the amount of noises they made while moving him. Metal shackles around his wrists with a chain attached and sharp little pronged spikes on the inside to keep him from struggling too much, he can already feel the welts and scratches made by them, and soon he thinks they'll start drawing blood. Blindfold means they don't want him seeing them, which means they can be tracked. Gag is because Jason managed to bite a chunk of flesh out of someone that resulted in his face getting a nice, warm spray that made something inside him sing. His thoughts and movements are still a little fuzzy and weighted, courtesy of whatever drug they used to knock him out with. Him waking up sooner than expected is what prompted his ability to start running his mouth, so to speak. 

As fall as injuries go, he mentally catalogues general scattered bruising from the rest of his patrol and the uncaring moving of his body throughout the kidnapping process, as well as a broken left foot and ankle from his attempts to actually fight back. Because of this, they decided his feet didn't need to be tied together once he was thrown in here.

It's almost insulting, but with the current situation, he can't actually find it in himself to be insulted.

The metal shackles cuffed way too tight around his wrists are tugged upwards by a connected chain, a snarl of protest blocked by the gag. Instead, he throws his good leg out in the direction of whoever had decided it was safe to stand above him, relishing in the sharp crack and shriek of pain following it.

“Oh you little bitch!” One of the men roars before there's an angry shuffling of footsteps and–

Jason curls back in on himself instinctively as the blunt object slams down on his midsection, biting down hard on the gag to prevent any noises from coming out. He won't give them the satisfaction. Not from the first hit to his ribs, or the second to his uninjured leg, or the third to his shoulder.

He sneers up at them as best he can from behind the gag, grinning. If that's all these chumps have, he'll be fine. They're not even using a crowbar, they're using a boring old baseball bat. Not even creative.

“Boss isn't gonna be here for a bit,” one of them proposes to the others, the sound of dragging wood across the cement following it, along with a couple slaps against what Jason would wager is a leather-gloved hand. “He said we had to get him here in one piece, but he never said we couldn't have some fun of our own while we waited.”

Jason can almost hear the evil grins spreading across their faces, and decides that curling up further is probably the best course of action right now. 

That doesn't stop him from tensing, bracing at the approaching, circling footsteps.

He grits his teeth at every blunt blow of a weapon, not letting out a sound even when he can feel his bones grinding and splintering under each hit. His eyes squeeze shut in some attempt to block out the pain, because even if he's experienced far worse than this, at least it's not a crowbar and at least there's none of the trademarked insane, maniacal laughter from the fucking clown.

He can survive this, if this is all they've got.

He can survive this.

Jason flinches violently into a curl impossibly tighter when one of them lightly kicks his shattered foot.

He can survive this. He just needs the Bats to figure out his location. Either that, or find an opportunity to escape. 

The latter is looking like more of a distant idea than actual possibility with every bat or kick to his battered body.

Then, with the creaking of a door, the mounting pain stops, along with the mantra Jason had been reciting mentally. Shoes click against the floor, but not like heels, not sharp enough, like dress shoes. He's intimately familiar with that sound due to Bruce. Weight tells him it's a person lighter than the ones circled around him. The shuffling of fabric is familiar enough of a sound to not be anything but expensive.

“I presume you've had your fun?” An accented voice asks, clipped with… disappointment, maybe? Jason furrows his brow at the question, jaw grinding against the gag.

“Uh– yes boss,” one of the nameless men answers quickly. There's a click of a tongue.

“Jacket, shirt, shoes, gag. I want them gone. Dispose of them along with the rest of his gear,” the accented man orders. “I want to hear him sing.” 

So this is the boss. Something about him sounds vaguely familiar, but Jason can't put his finger on it. He doesn't have the time to figure it out before his limbs are being yanked around and the remainder of his gear, the only thing keeping him even relatively safe, is cut off and discarded like trash.

That shit's expensive, damn it.

The gag is removed before his shoes are, and something tells Jason that was on purpose because it takes everything in him not to scream when they roughly jostle his broken foot in an attempt to get his boots off. They succeed eventually, but not without Jason jerking away at the slightest movement and biting his cheek and tongue so hard they bleed. It's only the paper-thin thread of self restraint that stops anything but a groan from being audible.

By the time they're finally done, Jason's teeth are watering uncomfortably, but he swallows down the bile that threatens to spill at his pain. His vision is white and blurry, even with the blindfold.

I can survive this. I've had far worse.

He's panting and cold-sweating profusely when those shoes click to a stop next to him and the man crouches down, grabbing Jason's jaw and tilting his face with an appraising hum. Sparks dance across his skin, making him prickle uncomfortably and he tries to yank himself out of the contact, only for the fingers to dig further into his skin in a bruising grip. The tingling under his skin sends an almost-pleasant warmth through his body, if it weren't for the fact that it rubs his nerves the wrong way. Something niggles the back of his mind, but his thoughts are too hazy to get a solid grasp of what it is.

“You're just as stubborn as they say, Hood,” the man praises. Something dark settles in his gut. “It'll make it all that much more fun to break you down, and build you back up. Doesn't that sound fun to you?”

Jason spits a glob of blood and saliva at the man. “Fuck you,” he snarls, finally tearing himself out of the man's grasp. It's then he notices how fucking cold it is in the room. He shivers, failing to suppress the wince at the way it aggravates his grinding bones.

The man just chuckles lowly, rising to stand up. A moment later the shackles around his wrists are being tugged up up up– dragging Jason up with it. The most he allows to escape is stuttered breaths and a few short, silent gasps when weight is put on his bad leg. It hurts like a motherfucker, but Jason doesn't let him know as much, instead grinning a bloody grin down at him once the machine lifting him settles. Because even with how he's hanging from his wrists and standing on his foot (the other one he keeps lifted gingerly away from the ground in some meaningless effort to keep it from hurting further), he can tell he still has a height and weight advantage on whoever the fuck this guy is.

Of course, that advantage is lost due to his restraints and general state his body is in.

“Mm, what a pretty bird you are,” the man croons, trailing a finger across Jason's jaw. With the position he's in, with his head trapped between his arms, he can't do much, but he takes the opportunity to lurch forward with snapping teeth.

Fangs clack shut over empty air, a disappointment to Jason. Seemingly unconcerned, the finger traces over the artery along his neck, and then the whole hand closes over his throat. The other rests over his sternum, that same fleeting warmth emanating from the touch.

“Or perhaps ‘mutt’ would be a title better suited for you.” He squeezes, nails gouging into the sensitive thinner skin of his throat and Jason can feel warm blood streaming down his frame, he can the way his breath becomes blocked, and it's strange because Jason knows from firsthand experience that choking someone one handed is a lot hard than you think it is but he's clearly got the strength to do it and the warm tingling under his skin where the hand is touching him is getting hotter and sharper and–

A scream is trapped between his jaws as his body convulses and then locks, his legs jolting out from under him at the sudden shock of fiery electricity coursing through his muscles. His nerves are alight and his throat is constricting, his lungs have stuttered and are struggling to try to get oxygen to the rest of him. Muscle spasms send his pain receptors into overdrive, and it's too much, he can't fucking do anything except feel pain, he can't breathe, I can't breathe–

It disappears. Jason forces himself to heave in a breath even with how his ribs protest to it. His head hangs briefly while he regains his bearings, slowly getting his uninjured foot back under him so all his weight isn't on his shoulders and wrists. Each subtle shift makes him wince, and he fully flinches with each shiver that wracks his body. The new layer of freezing sweat and streams of blood only serve to make the cold worse, and he fucking hates how he can see what this guy is trying to do to him.

“You handled that well, mutt,” that accented voice praises after about thirty seconds of letting Jason recover. It comes from behind him now, but he doesn't bother turning his head to pay any obvious attention to it. That is, until there are hands on his waist that radiate that tingling warmth, stopping the shivers from agitating his injuries further. He growls, low in his throat, far more animalistically than any human has any right to sound. Thumbs trace the lines between Jason's muscles and across the scars littering his body without a care in the world.

He snarls venomously. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

“I'm sure you'll be begging for them soon enough,” an easy reply murmurs, and Jason can hear the nasty fucking grin in his voice as they grip harder, enough to bruise, to bleed, and it's just enough warning for him to brace himself for the next wave of–

He can't help the guttural shriek that rips itself from his mouth, legs spasming before his body drops sharply onto his wrists. His throat constricts, gurgled screams still trying to escape him. The hands, the fingers, the nails stay embedded in his skin as they drag– scratch– gouge lines up towards his ribs, around his front, right over his diaphragm and if he could even get a hint of a breath before he definitely can't now– not with the way his ribs creak, the way his muscles contract, the way his back tries to arch and bend and twist away from the cause of his pain, the way his body practically locks in a never-ending existence of drowning in the constant agony–

The warmth is swept away by a near-blinding chill that wracks his body with shivers so bad he nearly doubles over again just as he had regained his footing, but only just. Tears spring freely from his eyes at the next bout of shaking, a sob trapped in his throat and it hurts, everything fucking hurts–

“Say the magic word, and this'll go away,” the man's voice lilts and when the fuck did he get so far away? When did he end up in front of Jason, drumming his fingers against a shitty metal chair? When did he start hearing the soft clinking of metal against metal, a chain being fiddled with?

When was there a quiet, dangerous buzzing from somewhere vaguely above him?

He doesn't have the time to get his thoughts together enough to prepare himself for the rolling wave of stabbing, burning pain so hot it's cold starting in his wrists and spreading down his shoulders, enveloping his chest, through his thrashing legs and curled toes– he can't– he needs to move, to get away, but all he can do is jerk involuntarily and hear something crack and something tear and something break–

And then it stops, and Jason practically goes limp, his breaths coming in heaving, panting, wet gasps that make his ribs grind in protest but he needs oxygen, he needs air and it's right there, it's surrounding him, he's practically downing in it but it doesn't matter because he still can't breathe.

“We have all the time in the world, yknow,” that voice mentions. “I'd be dismayed if this is how we spent it.”

Jason tries to make his mouth and throat work the way he wants them to, tell the guy he can fuck right off because he is nowhere even close to the line that marks when he starts begging for anything, especially something that would just hurt him more in the end. But all that comes out is a wet, raspy growl in dissent. Something wet and painfully cold trickles down his arms.

“Your choice, mutt.”

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

It's…how long is it? It could've been twenty minutes or two hours when the first whimper escapes him. He's almost constantly shivering now, when he's not being overwhelmed with crackling pain that rips through his insides and makes spots dance across his extremely limited vision.

The shocks are frequent and long, each one feels like hours even if Jason logically knows they can't be more than fifteen minutes at the longest.

Unfortunately, logic isn't something he has access to right now.

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

It's an even shorter amount of time when his thoughts finally finish drifting away and all that's left is pain and hurt and cold and he whines– he fucking whines when the man who's been circling him like a shark– so close but never touching, his warmth just barely out of reach– pulls away. He can't stop it, he can't even try. Not when he's been hanging here for hours that feel like days, not when there hasn't been a single sound aside from his own sobs and keens and rivers of blood cascading down his body drip drip dripping onto the floor into an ever growing puddle and that fucking asshole's perfectly poised honeyed words slipping in his ear in the times between vague awareness and overwhelming agony.

So when his head is lifted just enough for a warm hand to pet through his sweat-soaked hair he lets it, just this once. He lets the other rest on the small of his back, digging into his skin until he bleeds and it's okay because then that warmth, that tingling bounce of mini shocks travels under his skin and eases through the rest of his body and somehow he manages to slump even further. He slumps into the man holding him here, expensive silk and some shitty floral scent taking over his senses and for a moment– for a moment it's just so nice. He can just forget, for a moment, but only for a moment. For a moment, forget about the excruciating pain of his bones cracking under his skin, forget about the cold, the blood, the–

His mouth flies open in a silent scream when that sparkling warmth flares into a blazing inferno and it has his burning, aching muscles spasming to life when they just want to rest, he just wants to rest–

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

I'm so tired… please, anyone–

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

I– I can't– it's too much, it's too fucking much–

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

“Look at you, mutt, already breaking so well for me,” that voice purrs along the shell of Jason's ear, running his hand gently, softly, delicately up and down Jason's side, over burned in handmarks, smeared blood, and distinctly cracked ribs that make every labored breath rattle through his chest. His heartbeat is fast and erratic in his ears, nearly as loud as the persistent ringing that's accompanied him for so long.

How long has it been now?

Something in his gut twists at the blank space filling the answer to that question.

Too long, maybe. A while. Does– Does anyone know I'm here? Are they even looking for me?

They're whispers of feelings rather than full thoughts. His mind, fractured in some attempt to maintain some sanity for later once he's out– if I get out– 

That honeyed voice, too sweet to do anything but set muffled alarm bells off in Jason's fog-clouded mind, coos against his raw, torn skin, right against his pulse where blood seeps steadily out from a past wound there. “Just divine. You'll be the perfect little pet mutt for me, won't you?”

A broken little whimper falls from limp lips as teeth tear the gouges on his neck open further, another cascade of blood rolling down Jason's chest. The man's grip on his hips turns hotter, brighter, bruising, and it's low, too far down, enough to send some layers of his fog away giving way to panic and fear and no that's not right I don't–

And then it's all washed away in layers upon layers upon layers upon fucking layers–

There's a crash Jason's body instinctively flinches at, even with his spasming body protesting and fighting against him at every turn. There's voices, multiple voices, and they're so loud, it hurts, he just wants to stop hurting, and suddenly his head it yanked back by his hair and a stuttered, broken cry escapes him but he can't even begin to be quiet, to understand what's happening, so he tries to close his mouth, maybe, but blood and saliva is dripping out of the corners regardless and he can't move, he can't think, he can't even fucking scream when the pain gets worse and somewhere, distantly, he feels like maybe he wants to die again. That would be better. Same way, too. The crowbar would be better than this everlasting torment that comes with every unwanted, gut twisting touch and caress and kiss and bite–

And maybe he'd prefer that horrible laughter instead of the sugar-dipped tooth-ache inducing litany of low words and promised peace if he just bends a little, just cracks a little, just breaks a little–

“–ood? Hood!” A voice fades in over the ringing, tinged with something akin to… worry? Or panic? Hm. They sound familiar. “Fuck, Nightwing, hold him– Wing! Hold him up, I need to get the shackles off.”

The first warmth leaves and Jason doesn't hold back a despaired keen, weakly trying to search for it despite the fact that he's long since lost the strength to even twitch his head in any direction.

Someone makes a wounded noise, footsteps rushing to shuffle towards him. Jason flinches when arms wrap around him, holding him to their chest. His breaths were already raspy, fluttering little things, but the additional pressure on his ribs makes him choke on a wet cough he doesn't have the fucking air for and it hurts so god damn bad, he just wants to not hurt anymore, please–

“Shh, shh, I've got you, we've got you, little wing, it's okay, you're gonna be okay, you're safe now,” a new man whispers into his hair, voice hushed and strained with something Jason can't really identify, but he sounds familiar, so familiar, and the name rattles around in his head like he should know who it refers to–

“Little wing, it's time to go!”

“Cmon little wing, I'll catch you if you fall, I've done this before!”

A flash of blue, and a blinding smile to light up a room. The familiar scent of a particular laundry detergent, the man's favorite cologne, and kevlar.

“Take it, Jason. You've earned it. I'm passing on the mantle of Robin to you, little wing.”

Jason tucks his face in the crook of Dick's neck, trying not to be overcome with sobs. A gloved hand runs smoothly over the back of Jason's head, through his short hair and threading through his curls, smoothing the fringe off his forehead. Dark words are muttered somewhere behind him, swears, threats, plans, who's–?

His first wrist is unlocked and gently lowered to his side, but that doesn't stop the sharp, cut off gasp that escapes him, or how he goes entirely, bonelessly limp in Dick's arms.

It forces him to use both hands to support his weight, but it doesn't matter because he's here. They came for him. That's all he needs.

The next wrist slips loose from its shackle just as it's unlocked, sharp stabs of pain barreling through his arm straight to his chest and he flinches, jerks, spasms for just a moment before his quiet, panting breaths are the only movement his body makes. He's moved, and then laid down on someone's lap, head cushioned on both sides by bent legs.

“Hey, hey, open your eyes, Jay. Come on, stay with me here,” the voice from before is pleading now, voice higher in both pitch and volume. Jason furrows– or tries to furrow– his brow in confusion, because didn't he…?

With effort– too much fucking effort, he's so tired, he's exhausted, he just wants to go home– he manages to peer blearily up through tear-clumped lashes at the vague forms above him.

The first one, closer to him, domino lenses blown wide with worry is Dick. The stark blue against toned skin gives him away immediately. He smiles down at Jason, and it's a strained, worried thing but it's there nonetheless.

Off to Jason's other side is a red and black form, glancing at him with more properly disguised worry between wrapping something around his wrists. He seems to soften when Jason meets his gaze though, nodding to himself. Or maybe to Jason. Then turns back to his work.

Jason's eyes drift shut again, head lolling listlessly to the side, pressing closer to Dick. He briefly feels him tense, and maybe he starts panicking, but Jason just can't bring himself to care. He's with his brothers. They'll get him out. They have him. They came for him.

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - graveyard shift

The dinging of the door alerts Sarah of someone walking in, and she barely glances up from her phone to see who it is. It's past midnight and somehow her coworker John managed to convince her to take over his graveyard shift at their convenience store. He owes her one, because she's been standing here for an hour and nobody's come in.

Not a surprise to her - nobody likes to stay out past sundown in Amity Park, even after nearly three years of ghosts appearing all over the place.

But still, it happens sometimes. So she doesn't look up. The dinging bell just lets her know that it's not a ghost, and that's really all she can ask for. The last time she worked late and a ghost came in, she was cleaning the shelves from some weird goo for an hour.

However, the lack of footsteps in the store after a few seconds worries her enough that she forces her head to lift. And a frown weaves its way onto her face when she sees no one at the door, nor anyone in the closet aisles.

...Shit, was there really a ghost here? Can they ring door when they come in? Normally she sees them just phase right through. And normally they glow, bright and jarring that leaves a migraine building behind Sarah's eyes.

Her eyes quickly scan the shelves again, looking for anything out of place -- anyone with too many heads, or too many teeth, or snakes for hair. She's pretty sure a coworker saw that once when they were working graveyard.

But she still sees no one. Apprehension raises the hair on the back of her neck, and she straightens up from her lean against the counter. Fuuuck. Was this one of those... marshmallow ghosts? An animal ghost?

Sarah really does not want to have to fight off a three-eyed raccoon looking-thing with eagle feet. She's heard the horror stories. And there was no way to contact the Phantom or the Red Huntress to come pick it up -- and she wasn't gonna try her luck with the Drs. Fentons.

Her fingers itch for the broom hanging on the wall behind her. It probably won't do much against a mutant raccoon-ghost-monster, but it'll make her feel better.

There's a rustle and crinkle in the candy aisle, and Sarah's hands are curled around the broom before she could blink. Her heart beating in her chest. She walks out from the counter, the bristled end raised like a bat in the air as she creeps apprehensively towards the noise.

There's nothing there when she peers around the side, and the aisle shelves are tall enough that she can't see over them.

She raises the broom higher. Sarah was in softball. She could take out a raccoon-eagle-hybrid.. thing.... easily. She just... needs to pretend its a golf ball. Except golf isn't softball so that's a terrible comparison.

Oh god she was gonna get her face ripped off, wasn't she.

John so owes her one. So much.

Creeping down the aisle, she keeps her ears perked for any new sounds. But all she can really hear is the soft pop music playing on the store speakers -- chosen by yours truly from her own personal playlist -- and the hum of the freezers. Ugh. This was not good for her paranoia. Like, at all.

Sarah's down at the end of the aisle when she feels a quick set of taps on her shoulder. Her nerves are already shot, so she shrieks and whirls around on her foot, swinging the broom blindly.

Only to be met with sudden and blunt resistance. Blinking rapidly, Sarah stares up and sees a black gloved hand gripping the broom handle tightly, small white bandages peeking over the side around five fingers. Following the hand down connects it with an arm, and then a chest, and suddenly she's staring at a black hoodie and black jacket.

When she tilts her head up, Sarah comes face to face with the bone-white mask and the terrifying, unearthly green eyes of their local vigilante, the Phantom.

...Holy fuck. It was the Phantom.

He was taller than she initially thought. Was her jaw on the ground? Probably. It was flapping like a fish out of water. "I- uh, you-- buh--"

Slowly, the Phantom raised his free hand and wrapped it around the handle of the broom. Sarah watches, wide eyed still and stammering as he firmly plucked the broom out of her hands and turned to lean it against the shelves.

Something about him doing that must've kicked her brain back into gear, because the first thing that comes out of her mouth is; "Your eyes are really green."

And she was going to lock herself in the freezer in the back for that one. She feels her face grow hot with embarrassment, and the Phantom only looks at her blankly. Her eyes shift nervously. "Well, it's true."

It was! The green eyes of the Phantom was his most defining feature other than that unsettling mask he wore. Especially considering they were the same color as some of the ghosts. It was one of the many, many creepy things about the guy.

Looking at it gave her the same, faint headache as when she stared at a ghost for too long. So Sarah drops her gaze a little to avoid it.

The Phantom remains silent, but he raises his hands and signs something to her that she doesn't understand. Fuck, that's right. He didn't speak - and Sarah doesn't know any ASL.

Sarah cringes. "Sorry, I don't know ASL."

She can feel his burning green eyes boring into her, and he remains as silent as the grave as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a phone in a plain black case. She watches him turn it on -- or at least she assumes he does, there's a privacy protector covering the screen -- and type something into.

He holds it up to her face when he's done, and she squints at the screen. In the notes app, a small text reads; 'We're ready to pay.'

..Oh. This wasn't Sarah's night. Embarrassment flashes hot through her and she forces out a laugh in order to try and quell it, Phantom shoves the phone back into his pocket. "Oh! Oh, right! I'm sorry, I'll uh- get up to the front--" She stops in her tracks.

Wait. Did that message say 'we?'

She smiles nervously, tilting her head up at the Phantom as her brows thread together. "Um," she swallows dryly, "we?" Didn't... didn't the Phantom work alone?

As if startled, the Phantom jerks. And for the first time since he showed up, he blinks and turns around. Which personally, doesn't bode that well as the Phantom swivels his head from side to side like he's looking for someone.

Sarah thinks, after the Phantom stalks up to the end of the aisle and looks around, she hears him sigh. And when he walks back, he snatches the broom with an elegant twist and knocks it against the shelves.

Thud, thud, thud!

There's very, very quiet shuffling that Sarah would have missed if she hadn't been looking for it, and then silence for a few seconds, before suddenly there's a small child pushing past her side and over to the Phantom.

And in the process, scaring the shit out of Sarah.

She squeaks and jumps, nearly tripping over her own feet as the child makes a spot next to the Phantom's side. "Where did you come from?!" She says, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

The child says nothing, just stares at her through a creepy bone-white mask reminiscent of the Phantom's. Although unlike the Phantom, he was wearing some... kind of... dark red ninja outfit?

Sarah really wasn't quite sure. It was partially covered by a jacket that clearly belonged to the Phantom and with the sleeves rolled up multiple times to his elbows. The jacket alone nearly obscured the sword attached to his hip.

...Why the hell did the child have a sword.

She looks between Phantom and the child, at a loss for words. Why-- why did the Phantom have a kid with him, why was the kid wearing a mask like his.

"You have a child with you." Sarah says bluntly, her voice flat. It betrays how shocked she feels. The Phantom doesn't say anything, as she should have expected, but he does nod shortly.

The child bristles slightly, but says nothing. Part of his mouth was uncovered, and she watched it twist downward into a scowl at her. Unlike the Phantom, his eyes were not green. She couldn't see his eyes at all, actually. They were shadowed by the mask.

There's the sound of paper thwipping, and like a magician pulling out a card, the Phantom holds out a note card to her. He stares, expectantly, and Sarah reluctantly takes it.

Written in neat writing and bold sharpie are the words; "This is Wraith."

...And that's it. Sarah glances up at Phantom. Then at the supposed 'Wraith'. Then back at Phantom. "You're bringing a child with you to ghost hunt?" She asks, and okay, maybe she's not able to hide all of the judgement leaking into her voice. "And you gave him a sword?"

The Phantom stares at her blankly, or well, probably blankly. All of his expressions are unreadable with the mask he wears. But the kid, Wraith, bristles again like a stray cat. His scowl deepens, he puffs up, and he opens his mouth like he's about to say something.

...Only for the Phantom to immediately snap his hand out and cover his mouth. Wraith makes an angry sound, and Phantom drags the boy into his side, seemingly nonplussed as he twists his wrist and pulls another note card out of nowhere.

"He is perfectly capable of handling himself." The card reads, and then continues; "I would not have been able to stop him anyways. Wraith would have followed me regardless."

Did he have these prepared?

Best not to question it, Sarah decides. The Phantom has always been strange. So she just nods mutely and stuffs the two notecards into her back pocket. "Okay," she says, and moves around the Phantom. "I'll check you out up front."

[daycourtofficial]

hello I would like a latte with marshmallow and vanilla

Okay I cooked a bit with this one 😭 Rhys needed a bit of a redemption methinks

Order your own coffee for gingerfucker week here

Latte with marshmallow and vanilla = fluff with Atlas and a bat boy

“Uncle Rhys?”

The small voice pulled him from the papers on his desk, amber eyes looking up at him. His nephew, Atlas, fidgeted on the other side of the desk, a nervous habit his sister, Atlas’ mother, used to do in her youth.

“Yes?”

“Can Nyx and I go flying?”

Rhys sat back in his chair, a bit surprised at his nephew’s question. His grin spanned his whole face, something he couldn’t contain whenever the pride of seeing his son flying through the air entered his mind.

His grin quickly slackened. “You can’t fly, Atlas.” The words punctured Rhys, reminding him of teaching Atlas’ mother how to fly centuries ago.

“I can hold him up, daddy.” Nyx came barreling into the room just in time to wrap his arms around Atlas’ middle, picking the Autumn heir up about a foot off the ground. Nyx’s tanned cheeks puffed out, exhausting himself with the effort as Atlas tried to reach higher, making himself seme further off the ground.

“Nyx can’t even lift you off the ground, Atlas.” He chuckled, getting up from his desk. He rounded his desk, crouching down in front of Atlas and Nyx. “How about we all go flying?”

The cheers from the two small boys grew louder as Rhysand stood to his full height, his wings sprouted from his back, enjoying hearing Atlas’ awe at the sight of them. He crouched back down, scooping both boys up into his arms before running for the balcony. He made his last step on the balcony, his wings beating behind him as there was nowhere left for him to land.

Atlas shrieked in his ear, wiggling to firmly have a hold on Rhysand’s neck as they flew higher and higher. The air was getting colder the higher they flew, the sky a bright shade of blue

Atlas’ screams subsided, turning into ooh’s and ah’s as he and Nyx tried showing each other the various spots of Velaris.

“There’s my school!”

“Is that Uncle Az?”

“There’s mommy’s art studio!”

Their words were filled with amazement as Rhysand remained silent. Atlas’ hair was so vibrant in the sun, it was nearly blinding. His freckled cheeks stretched taut, bursting with joy only a child knows.

Atlas reached for the sky, his short arms not long enough to capture the sun in his hand. Rhys’s wings were an act of defiance, determination to not be kept pinned down. Did the little boy know he couldn’t defy gravity by himself? That no one reached the stars without help?

He spun through the air, delighting in the childish screams that accompanied being upside down. He flew them over the tops of Velaris, his grin growing as he began their descent onto one of the many rooftops downtown.

The boys groaned, the end of the flight disappointing them. Rhys kept them in his arms - they were almost getting too big to carry, a fact he did not want to mention to either his mate or his sister.

He kept a tight grip on them, his fingers desperate to cling to their childhood, keeping them young and happy for as long as he could.

“What’s a midday flight without cookies?” Their small, round faces quickly lit up as Rhys maneuvered to their rooftop access door, slipping inside to indulge in the whims of two small boys.

[marie-swriting]

Let's Go Together - Stiles Stilinski

Drabble Masterlist

Summary : You and Stiles do a horror movie night and you later regret it when you hear a weird noise.

Warnings : mention of horror movies, feeling scared, happy ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English isn't my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 848

French version

Prompt : "Please tell me that was the wind." from this prompt list made by @the-moon-dust-writings

The title “The Nun” appears on Stiles’ computer and with the bowl of popcorn next to you, you start watching the third horror movie of the evening. Like the last ones, you’re not really afraid. You jumped at certain moments but nothing too bad. However, once the closing credits are rolling, you feel fear taking over your body as you think back to the several stories you’ve just watched. Yet, you don’t show anything to Stiles, too proud to admit it. He doesn’t seem scared so you don’t want to chicken out or he’ll tease you until the day you’ll die.

Tired by your horror movie night, Stiles puts down his computer before turning off the light. Cuddling together, you’re both ready to fall asleep. At least, Stiles is. Your eyes are wide open, your senses on high alert in case there’s a threat of any kind. You try to reassure yourself by telling you it’s not real. It doesn’t work. You turn around from Stiles and try to find a better position to sleep in, maybe it’ll help you. Alas, once again, you’re still awake. You sigh and turn again.

“Can’t sleep?” Stiles asks, startling you as you thought he was sleeping.

“No, I can’t find a good position.”

“Me neither.”

You growl in frustration. You get closer to Stiles again when there’s a sudden noise. You look at each other, completely panicked. 

“Please tell me that was the wind.” you whisper.

“Yeah, it probably was.” he reassures you but there’s another sound.

“What was that? Go check!”

“What? Why me?” Stiles retorts, appalled as he turns on the light.

“Because it’s your house.”

“So what? You should go.”

“Why should I?” you question him, shocked.

“Aren’t you the one who always says to kill the patriarchy you have to destroy gender norms? In this kind of situation, the man usually goes, so we’re switching. Go check what it is.” he exclaims, trying to get you out of the bed.

“I swear, you men fight for equality only when it advantages you! Come on, Stiles, go downstairs. You have a baseball bat!” you try to convince him.

“I can totally give it to you.”

“Your dad is the sheriff. You know more about safety.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Stiles, if I die because of a demon, I’ll come back to haunt you.”

“Y/N, demons don’t exist.” Stiles contradicts, failing to hide his fear.

“Yeah and we said the same about werewolves! And, if you’re so sure about it, go check.”

“I’m not moving from my bedroom.” he protests and you roll your eyes.

“You know what? Let’s go together. Take your baseball bat.”

You get out of bed, completely afraid. Stiles takes his makeshift weapon and looks at you, waiting for instructions.

“Go first, I’m following you.”

“Why should I go first?”

“If you really love me, you’ll sacrifice yourself to save me.” you affirm with a big smile.

Stiles stares at you with a deadpan look before rolling his eyes. You lightly chuckle before kissing his cheek.

“I’m joking, you know very well I’d never sacrifice you.” you add more seriously. “Come on, you have the weapon and I’m right behind you, don’t worry.”

Stiles sighs before opening the door while you grip on his pyjama t-shirt - no matter how stupid it sounds, it reassures you. At the top of the stairs, you notice lights coming from the kitchen, proving there’s a stranger. Your panic increases and you mentally say your last prayer as you walk down the last stairs. Stiles makes a sign to not make any sound. You’re about to enter the kitchen but you let go of a shriek when, by surprise, the person appears in front of you. The stranger puts his hand on his chest, lecturing Stiles. Opening your eyes - you didn’t even notice you had closed them - you only see Noah in front of you with a desperate look on his face.

“What the hell are you two doing?”

“We-”

“Well, actually-”

Stiles and you stutter for a few seconds before Stiles casually replying : 

“We were just trying to scare you.”

“Scare me? It’s four in the morning, you should be sleeping.”

“Well, I totally agree, we should, I mean, our joke clearly didn’t work, anyway.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna go to sleep and you should too.” Noah says before taking a step. “By the way, Stiles, your baseball bat isn’t a weapon.” he adds, looking at his son up and down.

You wait for Noah to be in his bedroom before breathing normally again. You stay silent for a second, feeling completely stupid.

“You seriously didn’t remember your dad was coming home right now?” you reprimand him.

“Oh, so it’s going to be my fault now?”

“Yes! If you had thought for a minute, we wouldn’t have panicked for nothing.”

“You are the one who scared me with your demon talk.” he retorts.

“Oh, please! You were already freaking out.”

“Anyway,” Stiles interrupts, “no more horror movies after midnight. And no one has to know about what happened tonight.”

“Agreed.”

Drabble Masterlist

[libraryofgage]

PJO Steddie Two

One

So, this part was kinda supposed to be attached to part one, but I got tired and the part was getting too long so here we are lmao

Anyway, we get a few parents revealed here, but most are still a mystery

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

---

Eddie is on the other side of the park and wondering if he has enough time to see that fake Parthenon when he hears the unmistakable sound of a harpy's shriek. Those things have nearly eaten him enough times at camp for their bird screams to be seared into his memory. And if he's hearing the overgrown chicken, that means it's found those demigod kids before he could.

Fuck.

He whirls around just in time to see the harpy shoot above the trees, wings flared and feathers bristling, before dive-bombing whichever unlucky kid it's decided to eat first.

"Motherfucking shit bitch," Eddie mutters, taking off across the grass to where the harpy dived.

On the bright side, he managed to find the kids pretty quick; he'd only been in Athens for a few hours. On the fucked up side, he might only be able to sneak one or two kids away from the monster. Which, like, he'd love to save more of them, but he's not exactly the best fighter. He's the best runner and hider. This is why he's sent on these missions: the camp has learned that stealth and hiding usually bring more kids into safety than straight-up attacking monsters.

Eddie skirts around a tree, just barely missing the branch that threatens to whack his head off. He can hear music (something light and jumpy, soft and clear) and kids shouting in what he assumes to be fear. Just based on the sound, he's not going to be able to sneak those kids away. They're probably right in front of the harpy.

He'll have to be a distraction so they can run. "I'm gonna fucking die today," Eddie says, resigned and annoyed all at once. He reaches up and tears off the guitar pic and chain around his neck, the small triangle bursting outwards into a shield with straps that wrap around his arm.

It's ready to withstand some harpy claws by the time Eddie gracefully trips over a tree root and reflexively tucks and rolls over his shoulder. He pops up from the ground, eyes trained to the harpy, and freezes as three very important things become incredibly obvious.

One: the kids are not, in fact, shouting in fear. They're shouting with excitement, cheering at the fight happening before them. Eddie watches as a boy wearing a baseball cap punches the air and shouts, "Get 'em, Steve! Fuck the bird up!" His words are quickly followed by two girls jokingly shouting, "Language!" in return before laughing.

Two: the song playing is coming from a Bluetooth speaker on the blankets. It's a pop song. At least, it sounds like one. It's definitely old, though, and he only knows the name (Dancing in the Moonlight, by Toploader) because one of the muses' kids sang it once at a campfire night when Eddie first arrived at the camp.

Three: the most gorgeous boy Eddie has ever seen is currently beating the ever-loving shit out of the harpy with a nail bat. His mouth is pulled back into a vicious grin, his hair is somehow unaffected by the violent swings, and Eddie can somehow tell he's dragging this fight out with the harpy to blow off some steam.

"Oh! Steve!" one of the kids shouts, a girl with a beanie covering her hair. Her hat seems to be shifting just slightly, but Eddie thinks it might be a trick of the light. "Hit her to the music, like one of those movie fight scenes."

Then Eddie hears the boy, Steve, laugh. The sound is bright and clear and pierces right through Eddie's chest. "Sure thing, kiddo," Steve says, sliding back a step and twirling the bat in his hand. He tilts his head, listening to the song and catching the drums and keyboard, and then jumps right back onto the harpy.

And he does it. He starts swinging and landing hits on the harpy in time with the drums. Steve roundhouse kicks the harpy in the chest right as a guitar solo starts, his foot making contact with the first strum. Feathers are bursting in the air around Steve, brushing by him and creating brief, tiny dappled shadows over his face. The way he fights is like a dance, especially when he has music to follow and an audience to entertain.

Here's the thing: Eddie has never been one to keep his imagination in check. Why would he? Some of his best songs have been inspired by daydreams. So, when he sees the most gorgeous boy in the world beating a harpy's ass with a violent yet graceful dance, Eddie really can't be blamed for daydreaming.

The bright sun is replaced by a full moon, the park has become the shore by the lake at camp, and the audience of kids has disappeared completely. It's just him and Steve at the lake, smiling at each other and dancing, trading off lead between them. Eddie spins Steve and Steve dips Eddie. Somewhere, Dancing in the Moonlight is playing softly, nearly drowned out by their quiet laughter and whispered jokes and the waves of the lake brushing against the shore.

Oh. Oh.

That stupid prophecy. It was talking about this. The oracle predicted this moment and, apparently, considered it important enough to actually tell Eddie about it months ago. And he's spent this entire time trying to fight that obscure prophecy, trying to turn it into something bitter and filled with rage when it's just...just Steve. And Eddie doesn't know Steve yet, sure, but not even the gods could stop him from giving it a shot.

"YES!"

Eddie blinks, dragged harshly from his daydream by the kids shouting with joy as Steve brings the bat down on the harpy's head. The monster bursts into that familiar puff of smoke and mist and dust, and the kids cheer even louder.

Steve grins and stands up straight, rolling his shoulders and cockily resting the bat on his shoulder. He starts to turn toward the kids only to stop when he's facing Eddie, their eyes meeting and catching right as the song finishes playing.

----

The rush of joy and adrenaline at beating the harpy is still surging through Steve when he sees the guy his age standing a few feet away, staring at them with wide eyes. For a brief moment, Steve thinks he's a human who just happens to be able to see monsters, too. They've run into a person like that before. Then he notices the shield on the guy's arm and realizes he must be like them to some degree.

Steve blinks, his shoulders tensing slightly as he studies the other boy. Hair that definitely needs a more specialized shampoo, big brown eyes, and a whole grunge kinda vibe that Steve finds inexplicably attractive. He could spend another hour staring at the guy, but then one of the kids leaps onto his back, laughing right in his ear and nearly making him go deaf.

"That was so awesome!" Dustin shouts, wrapping his legs around Steve's waist as the other kids rush to surround him.

El grabs his free hand, smiling up at him. "Thank you for dance fighting," she says, her words almost drowned out by the other kids shouting their favorite parts and Max insisting she could have helped with the fight.

Steve grins a little wider, feeling his adrenaline drain as the relief of keeping his kids safe takes its place. "She shouldn't have interrupted our day off," he says, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the kids instead of the guy still staring at them. "C'mon, we need to keep moving."

"Where are you going?"

The guy's voice is a little rough, and Steve thinks he'd be able to pick it out from any crowd after hearing it just once. He looks over at the guy, frowning slightly. "I don't think it's your business," he says, trying to ignore the part of him that feels bad.

Thankfully, the guy doesn't seem to care. He just shrugs and takes a few steps closer. "Oh, I don't know, big boy. I think your gaggle of demigods is definitely my business," he says.

"Is that a threat?" Steve asks, really hoping it isn't. It would be a shame to punch the guy's face.

The boy blinks, pausing like he's reconsidering how his words sounded. "Shit, yeah, that did sound bad," he says, frowning and tugging on a lock of hair. He pulls it in front of his mouth, a few more seconds passing before he says, "I'm gonna start again."

The guy clears his throat and the retracts his shield. It shrinks down into a guitar pic on a chain that he latches around his neck. "Okay," he says, "Eddie Munson, son of Hermes, future rockstar, and your guide to Camp Half-Blood."

"Future rockstar?" Max asks, her voice low and sardonic.

"Hermes has kids?" Mike asks.

"I've never heard of Camp Half-Blood," Steve says, pushing forward and herding the kids to stand behind him. He stores Eddie's name for later, forcing himself to focus on the whole Potential Threat to His Kids thing.

Eddie nods like this is something he's expected. "That's fine. Lucky for you, pretty boy, I'm here to explain it all."

"Pretty boy," Steve mumbles, doing his absolute best to not think about his face heating up.

From behind him, he hears Lucas groan, "Aww, man, they're gonna be gross."

Thankfully, Eddie doesn't pay them any mind. "Camp Half-Blood is a safe haven for demigods like us. It's got a barrier around it that keeps monsters out, and we make sure everyone is trained to fight monsters and survive as adults," he explains, grinning at Steve.

"Wait, how many more of us are there?" Will asks, poking his head around Steve to look at Eddie with wide eyes.

"Oh, hundreds. The gods aren't exactly known for keeping it in their pants."

"So, we'll be safe at this camp?" Steve asks slowly.

"Safe as can be, big boy."

"Is it demigods only?" Steve asks.

Eddie nods once, flashing a grin. "Of course. We've got one Olympian who helps run the camp as, like, a punishment thing. He doesn't do much, actually. But we've also got some nymphs and Chiron. Uh, there are a few monsters in the forest, but they aren't too dangerous. They're mostly for training. The main thing is that big dangerous monsters can't get to us, and the Mist keeps humans from stumbling on the camp, too."

Honestly? It sounds way too good to be true. Steve has spent years running across this country and back, collecting the kids along the way and struggling to keep them alive. How is he only now learning about some camp that's built just for kids like them?

"The Mist?" Dustin asks, pushing around Steve. He'd be halfway to Eddie if Steve didn't grab his shirt and drag him back. "What's the Mist?"

"It's, like, this camouflage thing that keeps humans from noticing monsters and our powers," Eddie explains, vaguely sweeping his hand in the direction of a few other park-goers. "It's why nobody started screaming when you beat that harpy."

"Oh, that's what it's called," Dustin says, his grin saying he's about to grill Eddie for all his knowledge if Steve doesn't stop him.

Eddie nods and looks over the kids before settling his gaze on Steve again. "You and the kids will be safe there," he says.

"I wouldn't mind settling down," Will says, tugging on Steve's sleeve and looking up at him hopefully.

The other kids nod in agreement, and El squeezes Steve's hand. "It sounds like it'll be safe for me, too," she whispers.

Gods, is it tempting. No more running around, a place they can actually settle down and call home. He could get a full night of sleep for once instead of waking up every other hour to check their surroundings. He wouldn't need to worry about food or clothes or what to do if the kids get sick.

Steve frowns slightly, thinking for a moment before looking back at Eddie. "What happens when we get there?" he asks.

"You'll be given the grand tour by yours truly," Eddie says, playfully bowing to Steve and the kids. "Then, you'll get sorted into cabins and start training."

"How will we be sorted?" Lucas asks. He sounds genuinely curious, so Steve swallows back his retort that they certainly won't be separated if he has anything to say about it.

"By your godly parent. So, pretty boy here will probably go into the Aphrodite cabin," Eddie says, winking playfully at Steve.

"Aphrodite isn't his mother," El says, pushing closer to Steve as the other kids agree.

Eddie blinks. "Uh, who is?"

Steve hesitates, studying Eddie for a few seconds before looking at the kids. This isn't something he should reveal without a general consensus from them. What he gets is a few shrugs, an exasperated sigh from Lucas, and some nods. "My dad is Zeus," Steve says, looking back at Eddie.

"Dude," Eddie breathes, his eyes wide as though his entire world has been shaken, "How the fuck are you alive?"

And Steve can't help it. He laughs, shrugging off the nerves he'd felt earlier because he just can't bring himself to mistrust Eddie. "It's a bit of a long story," he says, "but I could tell it to you on the way to Camp Half-Blood."

The way Eddie lights up is enough to slightly calm the ever-present anxiety that hums through Steve's veins. Maybe this won't be a disaster.

Tag List (there is definitely still room, so just let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie

[luxaofhesperides]

if you give a ghost a trauma: a parody fic

read on ao3.

Danny wishes to be sent someplace he could have a better family. Unfortunately, that lands him in a Gotham where tropes are made reality to the extreme. He really just can't catch a break. (or: a dcxdp parody fic where i make danny the only one able to see how bizarre things are. this does not help him in any way.)

. . .

“We’re gonna get you!” Maddie Fenton, a Bad Parent™ cries as she shoots her gun at Danny, her half dead son.

“No!” he wails, flying around as he dodges the shots. “I wish my parents weren’t trying to capture me for Evil Science Reasons! I wish I had a better family!”

“Lol, done,” said Desiree, snapping her fingers. 

Danny only has time to say Uh-oh before he’s sucked away into a magic portal and spit out into a dark and dreary city. In just the one second he’s there, before he even hits the ground, he hears gunshots, screaming, and the wailing of police sirens. Then he hits the ground and groans, releasing his ghost form to go back to being a human. 

“Where am I?” he asks himself, getting to his feet and looking around. The alleyway he’s in is empty and full of garbage just scattered around. Wherever he may be, it clearly needed to invest more in its sanitation department. 

He spots a fire escape on the side of a building and uses it to climb onto the rooftop, a totally normal course of action. Then he stares at the city, glowing with the street lights and neon business lights and a spotlight with the shape of a bat in it glowing on the clouds. 

“This might as well just happen,” Danny says, “My life is already so weird anyway.”

He stands there for some time, at a loss of what to do next. The wind is cold and brings with it a promise of rain, and from the looks of the dark clouds above him, it’s going to rain soon. Danny needs shelter, fast.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” says someone who snuck up behind him.

Danny shrieks and jumps, nearly going over the edge of the roof.

“Woah!” the person says, grabbing his arm and pulling him back to safety. “That was close!” 

Danny blinks up at his savior, then squints. This guy’s definitely not normal, since he’s wearing a domino mask and a lightly armored black suit with a blue bird emblem stretching across his chest. 

“Way to nearly kill him, Nightwing,” says a new person, dropping down onto the roof from the sky. This new person wears red and black, a pair of bandoliers crossing over his chest. 

“Well, I saved him, didn’t I!”

“Um, hi,” Danny interjects. “Thanks for grabbing me before I fell, but who are you?”

“You don’t know who we are?” blue bird asks rather incredulously.

“Do you think I’m asking just for fun.”

Red and black steps in with a smile. “I’m Red Robin, that’s Nightwing. We’re vigilantes trying to keep Gotham safe.”

Danny makes an educated guess that the city they’re currently in is Gotham. Not a city he’s ever heard before, but what does he know?

“Okay,” he says. There’s really not much else he can say.

“You never answered my question,” Nightwing says. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, just fine. No idea where I am or how to get home, but it can always be worse, you know?”

“Did you get lost?” Red Robin asks, pulling a holographic computer up from his wrist. Tucker would kill to get his hands on something like that. Danny wonders if he can get his own as a souvenir. 

“Something like that, yeah,” he replies. Another few gunshots ring out loudly through the streets, closer than they were before. Danny flinches, then ducks down a little, looking back towards the street apprehensively. “Um. You guys gonna do anything about that?”

The two vigilantes shrug, as if that’s an acceptable course of action. And then a hand shoots up and grabs the edge of the roof by Danny’s foot, making him jump in the air. Nightwing catches him yet again and moves him away from the ledge. 

A red helmet, leather jacket wearing guy built like a pro-wrestle hauls himself up the roof easily. There are guns tucked into holsters on his thighs and a red, block bat stuck on his chest. 

“Should I be concerned,” Danny says blankly. 

“Nah, it’s just Red Hood,” Red Robin replies, “The only person he ever tries to kill is me.”

“Cause you’re a replacement. And also, get over it, that was ages ago We’re good now. I haven’t even had a Pit Rage episode in months!”

“So the bullets you shot at me last week were just for fun?”

“Yeah, and they were rubber, so it’s not like you would have gotten hurt.”

Danny takes a few steps closer to Nightwing, hiding behind him. He’s getting bad vibes all around from that guy. 

“Tch,” a new voice says right behind Danny, making him flinch. A young boy with a sword steps out from behind him and joins the crew of vigilantes just hanging out on the roof. “As if he’s even worth that much attention.”

“Hello to you too, Demon Brat,” Red Robin says.

“How many of you are there?” Danny asks. “Don’t you need to like, protect the city?”

“Batgirl and Spoiler are working on it,” Nightwing says.

“We’re doing what?” another voice says, and a energetic blond girl dressed in purple armor hops onto the roof, tucking her grappling hook away. Following her is another person in all black, face fully covered, with stitches covering the mouth portion to make it seem as though they can’t talk. The person leaves the blond girl behind to head straight to Danny, making him take a few nervous steps back. 

“Dead,” she says, poking his chest with a finger.

Is that a threat? It feels like a threat. 

“No?” he tries. 

“What are you talking about, Batgirl?” Red Hood interrupts. “We all know the only dead person here is me.”

Everyone promptly groans, telling him to shut up about it and go one night without mentioning his death. 

Okay, that seems concerning! Is he another halfa? Is he like Vlad? Danny’s going to be so mad if he got dropped into another world directly into the hands of another Vlad. 

“You’re dead?” he asks, leaning away from Batgirl as she pokes him once more. 

“Yeah.”

“Same hat?” Danny tries, squinting at him.

“The fuck?” is the answer, which tells him that he probably doesn’t know what Danny’s on about. There’s still a 6% chance that he’s just lying to make Danny look like a fool, though. 

6% is more than 5%, which means it’s enough for him to just act on instinct and walk right up to the gun-wielding Red hood. He tries to consciously use his ghost sense, which is an odd feeling that reminders him of the moment before he hiccups. 

A light blue mist wafts out his mouth. 

Yep, the rumors are true: this man is dead.

“Once, again,” Red Hood says, “The fuck?”

“Seconded,” Nightwing adds.

“Third!” Spoiler joins in. 

Danny takes a page out of Batgirl’s book and pokes Red Hood’s chest. It’s very solid, only hard muscle, and reminds him a bit of Dan. That’s never a good sign. Something about Red Hood is making his skin crawl though, a sense of wrongness that sets alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind. 

“Did you come back instantly when you died?” he asks.

The white lenses of Red Hood’s helmet turn neon green. “Why the fuck are you asking me that.”

“Just checking. The green I’m seeing right now is making me think you’re a halfa.”

“What’s a halfa?” Red Robin interjects.

“An unlucky soul like me,” Danny responds, distracted. He lays his palm flat against Red Hood’s chest. The vigilante holds still, as if frozen, letting Danny do as he please. The ectoplasm he feels in other ghosts is usually calm, made unique by the personality of the ghost it belongs to, but it doesn’t roil and try to hurt the host like the ectoplasm in Red Hood is doing. 

He pulls back and looks around at the circle of vigilantes surrounding him. “Can anyone answer how he came back? Where did he even find this must rotten ectoplasm?”

“Pit,” Batgirl helpfully answers.

“Pit,” Danny repeats. “Like a pit of death? Toxic sludge? Landfill pit gone evil? What am I working with here.”

“Lazarus Pits,” the little one with the sword says. “How do you know about them?” He then pulls out his sword and points it at Danny, ignoring the way Nightwing hisses Robin, no! 

His name is Robin? Isn’t that just Red Robin’s name? Did this Robin have a color added to his name as well? 

“I literally don’t, but if it’s green and weird, then it’s probably ecto.” He turns back to Red Hood. “I’m gonna take care of it now.” And then he shoves his hand into Red Hood’s chest, ignoring the alarmed shouts from the other vigilantes. They try to pull him away, but Danny goes intangible, making their hands fall right through him as he gets a good grip on the ecto, sending his own out in a steady stream to chase the rotten flow towards his hand, then yanks it out. 

It’s green and goopy in his hands, steaming slightly in the air. “Ew,” Danny says. “That’s nasty. You were just living with this inside you?”

Red Hood doesn’t seem to hear him. 

Red Hood takes off his helmet and stares at the rotten ectoplasm in Danny’s hand. Nightwing approaches him cautiously, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Hood? You doing okay? How are you feeling?”

“It’s gone,” Red Hood answers, shocked. “The Pit Rage. It’s gone. I haven’t felt this clear headed since before I died.”

“That must have sucked,” Danny says empathetically, then shakes the nasty ecto off his hand. It lands on the roof with a wet splat. 

Once again: ew.

“How did you do that?” Red Robin asks, crowding into Danny’s space. Batgirl slides up behind him, trapping him between them. 

“Did you not just watch me yank it out? It was easy. Anyways, y’all got jobs to do, and I got places to go. So I’ll see you never!”

He tries to fly away, but only manages to get a few feet before he’s pulled down by multiple people grabbing at him.

“What is going on here,” A low, gravelly voice demands. Yet another vigilante appears, gliding out of the shadows. This one is much bigger than everyone else, cloaked in darkness, with a helm that has two little ear things poking out on top. 

“Batman,” Robin says, “This meta cured Hood of his Pit Madness.”

“I see,” Batman replies, looking Danny over. “Are you an orphan?”

What the fuck. Who just asks that?

“No.”

“Are your parents well?”

“Sure? My mom was pretty energetic while shooting at me before I came here.”

“You do not have to be unsafe in your home again,” Batman says, grabbing something out of his tactical fanny pack. “You can live with us instead.”

He holds out fucking adoption papers.

Danny backs up as fast as he can, shaking his head. “Oh, no! No you don’t! I did not trade one fruitloop for another!”

“No new brother?” Batgirl asks sadly. 

“Definitely not,” he insists. “No thank you! I’m fine as I am and fully plan on going home.”

Batman frowns. “You said your mother was shooting at you.”

“Yeah, and? The food in our fridge comes to life every meal and we have to fight it. This is normal for us. Chill out and put those papers away.”

The entire crew of vigilantes seems very put out with Batman obligingly puts the adoption papers away. 

“Yeah, I’m done here. Go back to protecting the city. I’m just gonna… go.”

Danny doesn’t wait for them to say anything else before flies away, remembering to go intangible this time. He soars through the polluted streets of Gotham, weaving between tall buildings made with dark stone and decorated with gargoyles. It’s all very dark and dreary, which means Sam would love it.

She would not be loving the pollution, though. Danny certainly isn’t. 

“I wish I could go home,” he says loudly, looking up at the sky expectantly. 

No magic portal appears to yoink him back. 

“I wish I was at home again, and not here!”

Desire does not appear to help him out. She leaves him stranded in Gotham, pouting at the sky until he gives up and flies down to sit on a new roof and angst about his situation. Hopefully this time a gaggle of vigilantes won’t bother him.

Resting his head against his hands, he sighs. Then again, and again, loudly. “Man, this sucks,” he says to himself.

“What’s got a kitten like you so down?” someone says behind him.

“I’m so tired of random people sneaking up behind me on rooftops,” he informs them without turning around. If they wanna talk to him, they gotta got to him, not the other way around.

“Ah, ran into the Bats, did you?”

They’re called Bats? But only two were Bats. None of the other vigilantes fit the theme. That’s just lazy and inconsistent. They should rebrand to something better.

The person walks over and sits down next to him. Danny glances over and is startled to find a woman in a leather body suit, with a hood that has cat ears and googles with an orange tint. 

…Is everyone in this city just dressed strangely at all times? Is this the normal fashion of Gotham?

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to stare. Who are you?”

The woman laughs. “Oh, so you haven’t heard of Catwoman?”

“Nope. No clue who you are.”

“Well,” she purrs, “A pleasure to meet you. I’m a thief.”

The dots connect in his mind. “Like a cat burglar!”

“Yes, like that.”

“Man, this city is wild and I come from a place that deals with ghosts on a daily basis.”

“So what are you doing in a place like this? Gotham isn’t kind to newcomers.”

Danny sighs, yet again, and tilts his head back to look up at the cloudy, starless sky. “I made a dumb mistake and got sucked into a magic portal that spit me out here. I have no clue how I’m going to get home.”

“Do you have a place to stay?”

He glares at Catwoman. “I’m not open to being adopted. I’ll just eat any papers you send my way.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she reassures, “I have no interest in being a mother. But I have a spare bedroom if you need it, and I wouldn’t mind teaching you a few tricks of the trade. It’ll be fun, messing with Batman.”

Ah, so she’s doing this for Trickster Reasons. Danny can respect that. 

And he also doesn’t have any other options. Considering how much gun violence and general violence he’s hearing in this city, he’ll probably be killed an embarrassing number of times just from trying to find a place to sleep on the streets for one night. Between cold, dangerous streets with storm clouds hanging heavy over his head or a guest bedroom in the home of a thief with a theme, there’s really no choice.

“If you don’t mind me hanging around, I’d really appreciate having a place to sleep until I figure out a way home.”

“Come along, then! I was just about to turn in for the night.” Catwoman stands up, stretches, then takes hold of the whip on her waist and snaps it out. She takes a running leap off the building, then throws her whip out to wrap around a billboard to swing across the street. 

Danny watches her go, then follows her lead, flying behind her, ready to catch her just in case. But Catwoman moves with ease, clearly experienced in recklessly moving through the streets, and makes her way to a highrise apartment with no trouble at all. 

They land on a balcony just as the sky rumbles with ominous thunder. Another second later, and the clouds open up and heavy rain begins to fall. 

Catwoman throws the door open and they both scramble to get inside before they get drenched. The lights flick on, revealing a stylish modern apartment, filled with art pieces and ornamental bonsai trees. A few quiet cries come from corners of the room, and then cats appear, one after another, moving around Danny’s legs curiously before turning to Catwoman. 

“That was a close one,” Catwoman says conversationally as she takes off her hood and googles, revealing her face. Her pixie cut is messy and her eyes are bright and sharp, just like a cat’s. “I suppose since we’re going to be working together from now on, that we properly introduce ourselves.” She holds out a hand for to shake. “Selina Kyle. I look forward to the trouble we’ll cause together.”

Danny stares down at her hand, then takes hold of it. Looks like he’s going to be a thief! Well, it’ll be a fun story for later. 

He doesn’t want his name attached to his new life of crime, though. And, he figures, this is a fresh start. New life, new name. There’s one that pops into mind immediately, and he latches onto it, ready to step into the world of crime. 

“Call me Neal Caffrey,” he says, shaking her hand. “I’m ready to start when you are.”

[pursuitseternal]

“𝕺𝖚𝖗 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉: 𝕷𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖘’ 𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙” ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 2, 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 ℑ𝔫 𝔇𝔦𝔰𝔤𝔲𝔦𝔰𝔢

Post-canon Lord Astarion x Cordehlia | E | 3K

🎨 by @marimosalad Crowdehlia Cordehlia’s co-creator

Summary: In the comfort of his arcane tower, Gale reveals the details of the mission for the Ascendant and his Raven, and grants them magical items to aid their quest. Left to their own devices, Astarion and Cordehlia do what they do best, finally alone…

CW: Banter, annoyed Tara, homebrew items (except the necklace really does exist, Act 3!), Quickie smut, bed creaking smut, desperate Astarion and Consort just as down bad for him. And poor Gale.

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 1 for “Our Blood is Thicker,” OG series

A loud, open-mouth scoff was Astarion’s reply to Gale’s dramatics. “I swear to the gods this had better be worth my time, or I’ll walk my way back to the necropolis. At least it’s pleasant there… and quiet,” he gave that annoyed smirk.

That impudent grin earned him a shove in his ribs from his love. “You’re not going anywhere without me, and I’m helping Gale,” Cordehlia’s tone was meant to provoke, her eyes meaning to goad him into obedience.

Irritated, Astarion narrowed his eyes, a silent dare, provoking her to hold to her threat. “Fine,” he huffed, relenting. “But only because I won’t let you out of my sight. Gods know what sort of trouble you’d end up in without me.”

Astarion extended a single finger to trace her jaw, one that Cordehlia snapped at with a sharp turn of her head.

“Ahh, ancient love,” Gale bit, sarcasm darkening the good natured tone he usually used. He leaned back in his chair, when suddenly, something fluffy and brown swooped into the open space of his lap before he could even cross his ankle over his knee.

Astarion fairly shrieked, fangs bared and glinting in the firelight of the study. “Mangy beast,” he huffed as he tried to catch his breath.

The cat turned her head, yellow slitted eyes roaming over their guests. “I hear you can view yourself in the mirror now, vampire, if your looking for the real mangy beast in this room…”

Two snorts came in reply, Cordehlia and Gale equally blushing and giggling and trying to hide their reactions behind their palms. “Tara, play nice with the other creatures,” Gale chided her, even as he rewarded her sass with a hearty scratch under her chin. “That one can change into a rather large bat and still drain you dry.” Gale nodded towards the Ascendant.

But Tara only laughed. “Only if he could catch me,” she fired back, fanning her own set of wings.

“Why, you…” Astarion bristled in his place beside Cordehlia’s seat, fangs bared, hissing and spitting like a tomcat himself.

Cordhelia smiled slightly. “Sadly, you’d have to content yourself with my one and only form, Tara, but if you recall, you enjoyed my fingers rubbing your belly.”

“I do remember, my lady,” the tressym purred delightedly, curling on her master’s lap to face her. “But Master Dekarios has just the solution to that little issue you mentioned about your form.”

“Tara, that was my big surprise,” Gale half scolded, half laughed as he tapped his finger on that tiny pink nose. A twinkle in his hazel eyes, and Gale’s hand glowed, summoning a pretty little black box, opening to reveal a stunning necklace, a little circlet of gold with a bright blue stone in the center. “This is the Corvid Token, a little bauble that will grant you the polymorph of a Dire Raven.” He grinned widely, watching as Cordehia’s pale face lit up in joy. “And I can think of no better home than around the neck of the Lady Corvus, the Ascendant’s Raven.”

Astarion cleared his throat, a little high-pitched and whiny. “I’m sure my Bride will put it to good use in my service,” he crowed, hand splayed on his chest.

Cordehlia threw him a self-righteous smirk, “Oh Gale, it’s perfect.” She turned her bright scarlet eyes on their friend, relishing the bristle of annoyance that flowed from her mate. “It’s been so long since I received anything so powerful and elegant all at once…”

“Now you’re just being mean and petty,” Astarion huffed under his breath, folding his arms and sulking.

“Don’t you fret, dear Ascendant,” the wizard chuckled, petting his purring pet as she nestled in his lap and glared daggers at the vampire. “I have a gift for you too. I wouldn’t send my dearest sanguine-sated companions into the proverbial lion’s den without some magical items of arcane significance.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s giving us weapons to help us in our…”

“Yes, I get it. Thank you, dearest treasure,” he interrupted, clipped and biting as he glared at them both.

A wry smile on his face, and Gale’s hands glowed blue. The light settled on Astarions crown, two matching prongs of cambion horns materializing from the light. “What in the hells,” the vampire snarled, spine going ramrod straight before it bent under the new weight. The magic gone, and Astarion gingerly felt along their bumped and curled edges. “Well, fuck, these are heavy. I’m used to you giving me a headache, Gale, but I didn’t realize you would manifest it quite so literally….”

Cordehlia gave a decidedly unladylike snort.

“Care to explain why I have devil horns, wizard?” He gave a disgruntled frown, his hands and arms gesticulating to the sudden monstrosity on his perfect hair.

“I kind of like them,” Cordehlia purred, grabbing his hand to pull him lower.

“You, shut it,” he smirked, his annoyance doubling by the moment.

Gale sat there patting his own chin, making faces and running his hand through his hair. As if he looked at his reflection.

“Hells, it’s not some invisible astral projection, is it?” Astarion somehow sounded even more peeved.

And Gale finally stood, Tara’s padded feet landing silently on the red carpet as she trundled away. “Where you are going tomorrow, you will need good disguises, and I will need to see your every move.” He waved to the horns. “Remember Wyll’s eye? The Sending Stone in the cuticle of your horns will allow me to see and communicate with you directly, oh mighty Ascendant.”

Those crimson eyes glared in ire. “So you’re keeping tabs on me? Checking your own face in the way you look from this… rack… on my head. I do so enjoy a good rack...”

Gale smirked, folding his arms. “I’m going to take the high road on this one and ignore your innuendo.”

Astarion sucked his teeth, “Really? I mean I knew you were a little fun, Gale, but no fun whatsoever? Gotten even more boring as a teacher or whatever in your quaint little wizard school, it seems.” He settled on the arm of Cordehlia’s chair, one arm wrapped around her back, the other teasing a finger down her front to trail in the valley of her chest. “I suppose, if the lewd humor is off the table, you won’t mind if I engage in some lewd behavior…”

Gale covered his eyes, “Hells, I can see everything you see, Astarion, including Cordehlia’s… ahem… décolletage. This was a mistake trusting you with a Seeing Stone imbued disguise…”

Tara purred a laugh from her cushion. “It’s not too late to just swap the roles… Make the preening male the small, winged creature and give the female the arcane treasure.” Her fluffy tail twitched. “She smells trustworthy.”

Cordhelia beamed.

Astarion rolled those red eyes so far back, they could have stuck. “Just because I can take wild form, a most ferocious bat, mind you,” he commented pointedly at the tressym, “it doesn’t mean that I am amenable to such a plan. I am… Ascendant… after all.”

A warm laugh, and Gale leaned forward. “Tara, play nice with our guests. We don’t get many. Even if your observations are, as always, astute.” The wizard lost that smile as he regarded his friends. “I realize you look and feel ridiculous and perhaps woefully unprepared. Allow me to illuminate you.” He leaned back in his seat once more, steepling his fingers as his elbows rested on the arms. “Are you familiar with the coven of vampires here, Astarion?”

His jaw clenched, his hand stiffened on Cordehlia’s shoulder. “Lord Malicus and I have... brushed elbows in the past, though never in any way that would leave me… unwilling to face him, shall we say,” his voice was tight, words dancing around the scars of his past even amongst closest of friends.

Gale gave a sigh of relief. “That is good, I thought I had been thorough in what research I could to see how often you might have crossed paths before, and while I consider myself to be exhaustive, vampires unsurprisingly do not maintain accurate records.“

“Yes, being creatures of the night will do that to you,“ Astarion said. “An innate tendency for secrecy is a must when one is a fearsome monster….” He leered down at Cordehlia, rakish and smirking to produce the desired effect. She was always up for a good fang-bearing leer.

But all she did was lean forward in her seat opposite Gale. “So these vampires took something from you? Something dangerous and powerful?”

The serious professor somehow looked suddenly more solemn than usual. “Yes, by Elminster’s beard. An item I had my sights set on for the studies at the academy. A most singular text of arcane knowledge and power. They nabbed it before I could retrieve it, holding it in their crypt beneath Malicus’ tower.”

Astarion had busied himself by feeling the ridged curves of his left horn, then he snapped to attention. “Another powerful… text? You are having us risk everything for… a book?”

“Was the Codex just a book? The Annals of Karsus? How about your precious Necromancy of Thay, hmm?” Gale tensed, those wrinkles forming between his hazel eyes.

Astarion glared, “Point taken. So your grand plan to purloin this book for you requires me to have horns and my love to be a bird?” He arched his brow, feigning a greater interest in his nail beds as he delicately fanned his fingers.

“Indeed, mighty Ascendant. You’ll use your status to gain entry to his gathering for Liars’ Night, a grand soirée of hedonism and blood. By all appearances, you’ll be alone, just a harmless corvid familiar resting on your shoulder…” his bright eyes danced with mischief as he skimmed them over Cordehlia’s playful grin.

“Well, all my years being Lady Corvus, the Raven, the Bone Picker and now,” she giggled low in her chest, “I finally get to test my wings at it for real.”

Gale guffaws, slapping his knee. “I know, I know, you’ll be the delightful Lady Crowdehlia!”

Astarion audibly wretched. “Oh Gale, even for your brand of humor that was… horrible,” he chided, tones of utter disgust in his purring voice.

Gale laughed heartily, “Why doesn’t my lady try her new form. I’m sure Tara would love to teach you flying if it’s a struggle. If you don’t take to it like a fish to water.” The way he made himself laugh only earned him a matching giggle from Cordehlia and a scathing eye roll and sneer from the Ascendant. A touch of her pendant, a burst of blue magic, and in place of a vampiric beauty in his chair there was a stunning black Dire Raven, glossy black feathers and shining beak and everything.

Astarion’s eyes were saucers, staring down at the massive black bird. Her heartbeat was the same, their tethered souls and minds still intact. “Oh, fuck yeah!” he heard her exclaim as the bird hopped around on the velveteen seat. Sleek black wings extended and she was off, flapping and cawing around Gale’s tower.

Heart racing in dread, Astarion jumped to his feet and tried to grab for her. What if she fell… what if she couldn’t land… what if that mangy beast forgot herself and decided it was supper time?

“Godsdammit Gale, she could get hurt,” he snarled, rounding on the wizard with red eyes blazing in misdirected rage.

But the bird… or Cordehlia… or whatever… just swooped deftly to land on the tip of his dark horn. “Relax, my love. It’s easy and… I haven’t had this much fun since we killed our way out of the Goblin Camp back in the day,” she laughed, ruffling her feathers and folding her wings.

The Ascendant looked down his nose at Gale, that wizard’s arrogant grin pissing the shit out of him for one reason or another, he wasn’t sure yet why. “Alright, Gale,” he spat the name with playful vitriol, “so as the devil in disguise and his crow familiar… we get into this Liars’ Night ball, we find the vault, break in, get your… ugh… book, and return it to you without them suspecting a thing?”

“Yup, pretty much!” Gale clapped his hands together and leaned back in his chair. “I’ll spare you the details, Astarion. They were never your thing anyway. I’ll give you lots of backs to stab and necks to bite and treasure to loot.” Gale’s smirk widened at his friends. “Just do not abuse the power of that Sending Stone in your horns. You can conjure or dismiss it at will like Cordehlia’s form, so please,” he grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose, “dismiss the horns before you get… horny.”

“Tch,” Astarion pouted, “you’re no fun, but fine.”

A swirl of magic and both vampires dismissed their gifted forms.

Gale stood. “Tara will show you to your room for tonight. Behave yourselves, please. I don’t have the same resources as you to clean up after your… activities, oh mighty Ascendant,” he laughs, a bit hollow and honest as he watches them walk down the hall after his tressym.

“I missed this…” Astarion whispered into Cordehlia’s mind as they followed Tara up some curved staircase to a spacious landing. “The thrill of adventure with you, the risk of being… caught.” His hand wandered slowly from her lower back to grip her ass deliciously.

Tara sat at the entrance to a small curved door in the hall. “Your accommodations, courtesy of the Master. Don’t make a mess,” she sighed, flicking her tail as she watched them disappear inside.

Cordehlia entered the small bedchamber, setting her bag of holding down and removing her new precious necklace. “Astarion, do you think—”

His kiss of fangs silenced her, hands gripping and turning her by the shoulders as he covered her mouth. Lips worked furiously, tongue demanding entrance to taste her, to tangle with her own. And Cordhelia melted into his arms, her thoughts scattered to the wind as they did the moment she tasted him.

“I need you,” he whispered into her mind. “Keep it quick and quiet and the wizard will be none the wiser.” His skilled fingers made quick work of her jerkin and top, palming and massaging her breasts the second they were freed. A low growl in the back of his throat, and he backed her blindly to the edge of the small bed, laughing as she tumbled unceremoniously into it.

Arms around his neck, she pulled him clumsily down on top, the bed making a loud thump as their undead bodies landed. Their crimson eyes locked together, waiting and panting and listening if they had been caught. After several long seconds of their pointed ears twitching only to hear the settling of Gale’s tower, they gave sighs of relief.

“Good,” Astarion whispered as he crushed her into the bed, lips already working furiously in another kiss. “I’m too worked up to stop, even if we were found out.” His chuckle was deep-bellied and rumbling, a constant low growl as Cordehlia pulled him into her with equal need. Her hips rolled under him, hands pulling on the curve of his ass to press his fine leather-clad erection against her mound.

His name tumbled from her lips, felt more than heard against his all-consuming lips. She bucked her hips, lifting them to frantically drag them to her ankles. “My love, please,” she moaned in her deep and musical voice. Once she kicked off her shoes and freed herself, a sigh and a smile slipped from her. The relief of his clothed cock on her bare folds brought tears to her eyes.

She rocked her hips, desperate for more… more friction, more him. “I’ve been aching since the necropolis,” Cordehlia rasped, her fangs clicking against his as her kiss grew sloppy and desperate.

“I know,” he taunted, a cheeky, arrogant chuckle as he slipped his fingers inside her to touch those perfect spots. “I could smell you. I always… smell you,” he growled, his body making the small wooden bed start to creak as he thrust against her harder. “Hells,” he grumbled, “quick and quiet and…” he quickly freed his cock from his trousers, sheathing it in that familiar tight warmth of his love, “don’t break the bed.”

Cordehlia clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the whimper that tore through her from cunt to crown. His hips rolled, dragging deliciously in her walls, making her unbearably and instantly wet for him. Her eyes went wide, staring up at his conceited smirk, scarlet eyes glaring her warning.

He rocked faster, the small wooden frame of the bed creaking, its joints protesting as Astarion lowered himself, his full weight crushing her into the poor feather mattress. His lips replaced her hand to gag and swallow her noises, his tongue tangling with her to keep her quiet. One hand gripped into the back of her head, weaving and snagging in her red-orange hair. Smirking, he knew just how to unravel her, his free hand reaching to pull her by her ass against his hips, letting his cock grind on her clit. And then, his knee— his cursed, blessed knee—pressed her open, splaying her wider to make sure he dragged his cock against her inner nerves with every rapid thrust.

An elven curse slipped past her lips, the bed complaining louder as he drew near his climax. His body moved with feral need, lost was all the care and caution. Cordehlia’s hand slapped behind her pushing the headboard back to tighten the creaking piece of shit under them. “Hells… quick and quiet, huh?” she mocked, her words scratched in her throat as she dangled on the edge of her own pleasure-wave.

“He should just be thankful I don’t leave you a wet… and bloody mess… all over his guestroom,” he snickered, his voice fading into pants and groans until he felt her squeeze him. Her walls clamped around him, her back arching off the poor bed, legs wrapped snug around his waist. “Cordehlia,” he hissed. He panted her name once more, those four sweet syllables breaking in his throat as he came. His fingers clawed into her neck and ass, his breathing ragged and hot in her ear as he emptied inside her. That wetness that seeped from her cunt poured from her as she came around him again, sweet walls fluttering in rapid uneven pulses.

Their foreheads pressed together, their sweaty damp skin sticking as they breathed and laughed and shushed each other.

A soft knock at the door made them jump out of their undead skin. “Breakfast first thing in the morning,” Gale’s voice called through the door. Then, there was a slight pause. “And there are fresh bed linens in the dresser against the wall…”

[fiction-is-the-new-reality]

Pt 4: If only you knew

Old Friends and Tears

word count: 2k

warnings: major violence, adult language, and angst

previous part series masterlist

It feels like you can’t stop driving away from the tunnel. Like you can’t put enough distance between it.

You keep thinking about Arkham Knight following you, which spurs you to drive faster and further. After making a loop around Miagani and ensuring that no one has followed you, you swiftly turn into an alley.

Switching off the bike, you take a few heavy breaths, calming your thumping heart. Your mind is still whirling from the fight.

You nearly jump out of your skin when a voice calls down to you.

“Almost didn’t recognize it was you.” Nightwing flips down into the alley. Stepping off your bike, you walk towards him, meeting him halfway. Dick opens his arms, and you lean in to hug him. He tightens his arms and slightly rocks you back and forth.

One of Dick’s many underappreciated talents is giving amazing hugs.

“Look at your fancy new suit. You’ve finally made it big.” He grabs your shoulders before pretending to wipe away a tear.

You playfully roll your eyes, “Always so dramatic. What are you doing here?”

He gasps and tosses a hand over his heart. “What? Not happy to see me?”

Giving him a deadpan look that he only laughs at, he finally tells you. “Bruce is looking into North Refrigeration, which is a job I’ve been working for months,” you interrupt in shock. “So he called you?”

“....Not directly. Alfred asked what I knew about North Refrigeration. He said Bruce was about to look into them. Figured he wouldn’t mind the extra hand.”

“Oh, so you invited yourself over, got it.”

Dick shakes his head before he gets serious.

“I heard about Barb. How are you holding up?”

“I’m just ready to have her back, even if I have to kick Scarecrow’s ass myself. What about you?”

“She can take care of herself. I’m surprised Scarecrow hasn’t thrown her back at us.” You both chuckle. You look at his eyes, which show unspoken fear. He’s worried about her, not like he’d ever say. The ever-persistent Nightwing, always the big brother, always calm.

“I know. I find it strange that Arkham Knight knew she was Oracle and, more importantly, where she was.” You sigh before continuing. “It makes me wonder if he’s been lurking and watching before all this.”

“You never know. It’s made it very clear that no matter how careful you are, there’s always a risk.”

Before you can respond, he presses his fingers on his earpiece. After a beat of silence, he speaks, “I gotta run. Bruce is waiting for me, but I’ll see you before I return to Bludhaven. I promise.”

“Call me if you need me!” You shout as he scales up the side of the building. Once he’s back on the rooftop, he waves goodbye before dashing away.

You roll the bike to the back of the alley and throw a black tarp over it, hoping it’ll blend in with the shadows. You decide to go back to the rooftops for a while. It’s easier to keep watch when no one hears you coming.

Getting up to the roof the same way Dick did, you walk to the opposite side and look out over the roads. You watch as groups of men run around beating each other, tipping over trash cans, and occasionally almost getting hit by cars.

Nearby, a piercing screech echoes out, making you wince. Startled by the unexpected sound, you quickly turn your head, scanning the area for any signs of movement. Your eyes land on a bird flying in the distance. You watch in sheer horror as the “bird” approaches. As it comes into focus, you realize it’s an enormous bat-like creature, and it is now barreling directly towards you.

“What the fuck!” You exclaim out loud, running towards the edge of the roof.

It gets to you before you can jump onto the street below. You crouch down, hands covering your head. It swoops overhead, and a piercing shriek fills the air, chilling you to the bone while the colossal wings whip chilled wind around you. The large beast lands on the street below, and men yell in panic, filling the air with their screams.

You stand there blinking momentarily, watching it move in a circle, screeching out what sounds like mournful cries. You take in the pale clammy skin, the white hollowed-out eyes, and the sharp teeth protruding from its mouth. As you think about your next move, it’s too late. The creature takes off into the sky again. The massive wings bring it toward your rooftop and you crouch low, bracing for its talons to cut you. Once again, you’re spared as it veers left at the last second. You begin running after it but aren’t fast enough to catch up. It rockets up into the sky and you lose sight as it flies behind the skyline.

“What the fuck?” You whispered.

On the other side of Gotham, the Arkham Knight enters a room where Oracle is being held. He leans against the doorway and watches her silently. Barbra glares back.

The silence is broken. “What the hell do you want?”

A robotic chuckle is let out. “Oh, Barbra, Barbra, Barbra. When did you become so rude?”

“Probably when someone manhandled me out of my home, got me thrown from a car, and locked me up in this room.”

“Hmm, yes, that was a bit rougher than I had intended. But honestly, you have Batman and that other birdy to thank for that.”

He stalks over to her and circles around the chair. She stays steady, showing no fear in the face of danger. A skill most will credit to Batman, but it’s a trait directly from her father.

She slightly jumps as his hand clamps down on her shoulder, and his helmet lets out an echoing hiss as he opens it. He tosses it on her lap. She glances down, wondering what he was doing.

“Don’t worry Babs. You’re just a pawn in this game, so as of right now, you’re safe.” Why did he sound so familiar? Why did she know that voice? Barbra racked her brain trying to figure out who that voice belonged to.

He walks around and her eyes land on his face, a gasp leaves her mouth. Her eyes must be playing a trick on her. Scarecrow must have injected her with fear toxin or gassed the room and she just didn’t realize it. That would be the only logical explanation as to why Jason is standing in front of her dressed as the man who has been terrorizing Gotham.

“Jason? H-How?” Her voice, barely above a whisper, is breathy with surprise.

“I know. Long time no see Babs.” He’s fully facing her now and she can see how the years have affected him.

His blue eyes, were bloodshot and sunken, with dark purple circles underneath. On his left cheek, a scarred letter J grabs her attention. And her eyes linger on it. She notices a recent scratch on his throat before he turns away from her.

“Jason! Why? Why are you doing this? How could you do this?” Her pain laces her voice. Tears glisten in her eyes, and confusion wrinkles her face.

“Like I said, you can thank Batman. Everything that has happened and that will happen is all because of him.” He walks towards the door.

“He mourned for you! We all did Jason.”

“Bullshit! It took all of about three months before I was replaced. Three months before I was forgotten! I was still alive while you guys were moving on!”

“We didn’t know, Jason. Please understand.”

Jason’s out the door before Barbra can say anything else. Once the door closes, she lets the tears fall out of her eyes.

Jason clicks his helmet back in place before entering the surveillance room. The monitors light up showing him the streets of Gotham. The Batmobile speeding after the tanks and the APC’s. A screen to the left side of the display catches his attention.

It’s Vulture. The one that escaped him. He watches as she take on a checkpoint with eight of his men inside it. His eyes tracked her every move, learning her fight patterns.

As Vulture knocked down a medic, one soldier holding two stun batons crept behind her, pressing the sparking stun batons against her back. Jason leans in as he watches her collapse to the floor. The three militiamen circle over her as she lies on the ground.

One bends down and once he’s close, she wraps her legs around his shoulders and springs her body upwards. They crash to the floor and Jason watches as the head of the militia bounces against the ground.

She stands, her hand reaching down to her waist, and pulls a small blade from her belt. It’s then hurled at the soldier with the batons, causing the baton in his right hand to slip out, dropping to the ground. With a leg sweep, Vulture disarms him, snatching the baton in a single fluid motion.

She swiftly turns to the other soldier and uses the baton to jab at his crotch, forcing him to drop to his knees. As he’s on his knees, she quickly flips to the other side of him, gaining some distance from the last soldier. She brings the baton down on the kneeling soldier’s neck, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground.

Now she’s facing the last soldier. The soldier runs and grabs a wooden crate off the ground. He launches the crate towards Vulture, but she pulls the crate out of the air and to her chest. Using the wall for leverage, she launches herself into the air, smashing the box directly onto his head. He stumbles back, and her roundhouse kick connects with his chest, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

She stalks over to the unconscious head commander and smashes the communicator, making the checkpoint walls collapse.

Jason presses the comm in his ear.

Having let go of the communicator, you allow it to crash on the ground. A crackling noise comes from the commander’s earpiece, followed by the Knight’s voice.

“Don’t get too happy, birdy. I’m still seeing and hearing everything all over Gotham. Maybe I should be the new Oracle.”

Your blood runs cold.

You snatch the earpiece out of the commander’s ear and the Knight laughs on the other end. Pushing the button down on the comm, you respond.

“Maybe you should stop being such a coward and show your face. Or do you hide behind that mask because your face is too mangled?”

The laughter from the Knight is unlike the previous ones. It is not mocking you or sarcastic. It’s dark, and you can feel the hatred behind it. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Just wait, this mangled mess will be the last thing you see with your dying breath.”

You waste no time leaving the scene.

The projectors around Gotham whirl to life. It’s a holding cell, and the camera zooms in on the person inside. It’s Barbra, slumped over in her wheelchair. Scarecrow’s scratchy voice comes through the speakers.

“How does it feel to see your city on the brink of ruin, your friends in the clutches of death?”

The screen distorts and then it’s Scarecrow’s face on the screen.

“You stretched yourself too far this time, Batman, and now your failure is all but complete. As that final, dying breath escapes her body, she will know you are the one who failed her.” The audio screeches out as the screen turns black.

You press down on your comm.

“Alfred, where is she being held?”

“Master Bruce said a safe house in Chinatown. He’s on his way now.”

Shit. You’re nowhere near Chinatown.

“Thanks, Alfred.”

You begin driving your bike as fast as you can, zipping around corners, and taking shortcuts through the infrastructure of Gotham.

As you get to the middle of Chinatown, you stop the bike and grapple to the nearest building. Listening closely for anything that will point you in the right direction.

Closing your eyes, you try as hard as you can. A minute of stillness passes, and then, like a whisper on the wind, you hear it. The distant, muffled thuds of gunshots punctuated Scarecrow’s voice, raspy and echoing. Your legs start running before you even realize it, your heart pounding in your chest as fear takes over. With a rush of wind in your ears, you leap from the rooftop to the next, landing softly in front of a heavy wooden door.

You’re about to open it when Bruce comes out. Without Barbra.

“Where is she? Was it a trap? Is she somewhere else?”

His blue eyes lock on yours. You can see the pain in them. His jaw tightens.

“No, no, no, Bruce.” You’re pacing back and forth.

“I was too late. Scarecrow he….was punishing me. He killed her.” Voice heavy with guilt.

“You’re lying! She’s in there.” You need to get into the building. You need to see that she’s fine and that she’s not really in there. Heading for the door, Batman blocks you.

“No, I’m not letting you in there.”

“You don’t give me orders! I-I need to see Barbra.”

He speaks your name softly. “She’s gone.”

You turn your back on him, taking a few steps away. Bruce does the same.

You dodge Bruce with a quick movement, adrenaline surging through you, your eyes fixed on the door as you sprint towards it. His arms reach out and grab you, pulling you into his chest and lifting you off the ground, like a child throwing a tantrum. You thrash in his arms, your movements frantic, as you try to break free from his hold. His grip on you becomes a vise-like clamp, his muscles tightening as he pulls away from the door.

“Stop it, Bruce! Let me go! It’s Barbra, Bruce, it’s Barbra, please!”

“You don’t need to see. It won’t change anything.” He holds you until you’ve calmed down.

Bruce, let’s go, setting you on your feet. Your shoulders sag and you look at the ground.

“I’m headed to GCPD to talk to Ivy. She was immune to the fear toxin.”

“You’re hoping she’ll help against the Cloudburst?” Your voice sounds small, even to your ears.

“She doesn’t have a choice.”

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