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puranami · 1 year ago

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✿ Fever - 1 ✿

A/N: Not included Brook and Jimbei bc I have absolutely no idea how to write them. Also, since Chopper is baby it would feel weird including him, even though it'd be in a purely platonic way. Just because of all the pining going on. Idk, I'd rather keep the themes separate, if that makes sense?

Summary: You're sick and try to ignore it.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Robin, Franky.

Content: SFW, G/N reader, no serious illness but Usopp's is a liiiiittle angsty bc of his mum, not proofread (effectively) bc it's past 2am ✿

(Part 2)

Luffy

✿ He's honestly oblivious to things at first. You are doing your best to maintain your usual level of enthusiasm but it's so exhausting, and that's the most he registers - that you're tired.

"Hey, did ya not sleep too good?" he asked, entirely too loud for the headache beginning to form. You groan and lean your head into your hand, as if that would somehow soothe things, but to no avail. "Don't worry about it, I swear it won't affect my duties," you say, not sure who you were trying to convince. Apparently it didn't work regardless, as when you looked at him he was just stood there frowning with his arms crossed, and his head tilted. Before you could say anything you were greeted with a rubbery palm lightly smacking against your forehead, earning a surprised yelp from you. "You're hot." "Luffy!" Of course he had to say it that way. If you weren't already burning up with this fever, that would've set your skin ablaze. He really had no filter, and he never realised how the things he said affected you. He removed his hand from your face to grab your own, turning to drag you back to your quarters, not listening to any of your protests on the matter. There really wasn't anything you could do once Luffy had made up his mind, and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't part of his charm. "No duties for you today, 'kay?" It may have been phrased like a question, but you knew it was 'Captain's orders.'

✿ You'd end up sleeping most of the day, with Luffy having gotten Chopper to look after you.

✿What you wouldn't be aware of was his constant presence while you slept, keeping a quiet vigil whilst he made sure the damp cloth on your head was always nice and cool.

✿ He just wants you to get better as fast as you can!

Zoro

✿ One word; clueless.

✿ It just looks like a hangover to him, what with the way you groan at the light, are unsteady on your feet, and complain about being nauseous.

"And I thought I drank a lot last night." he'd comment with a smirk. "Shut up, Zoro, you always drink a lot," you whine. "I didn't drink anything!" "The pathetic whining says otherwise." You threw the rag you'd been cleaning with at him. He raised an eyebrow, watching it harmlessly drop to the floor in front of him. "Your form is off." This man, you swear! You try to growl out an insult, but it dies on your tongue, a wave of nausea hitting in it's place, causing you to clasp a hand to your mouth. "Alright, easy champ, no need to strain yourself," Zoro raised his hands in faux surrender. "Come on, you gotta sleep this one off." He can't help but smile as you pathetically smack at him while he picks you up, opting for bridal style as opposed to flour sack, only so you don't empty your guts down his back. Saying that, he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy holding you like that, though you're far too busy trying to fight him to notice the dusting of pink on his cheeks. "Don't worry I'll get you through this. I know my way around a hangover." "I'm not hungover," you protest as he gently places you in a hammock.

✿ True to his word though, he does see you through it, even if 'it' is the wrong thing. Task failed successfully!

✿ Zoro stays beside you, makes sure you drink plenty of water, and get plenty of rest, even falling asleep himself at one point; his face inches from yours as he was leaning against the post the top end of the hammock was attached to at the time.

✿ Sadly you never saw that as you slept right through it. Would've been good ammunition to use against him when he needed taking down a peg.

Nami

✿ One of the people who would actually do a good job of looking after you. She's not got the gentlest bedside manner; she is firm yet fair, so you're in good hands.

When you don't join the crew for breakfast, Nami took it upon herself to make sure you hadn't gotten tangled in your hammock, or something equally as stupid. You wake up in a cold sweat when you hear your door open, and manage to croak out, "Nami? Oh, did I oversleep?" When you try to get up, she pushes you right back down. "Don't." Her tone indicates that she will not tolerate any shenanigans, and so you do as you're told. "You need to sleep more. I'll get you some water, and later Sanji will make you some soup." She tucks a thin blanket around you, so you don't overheat. "If you so much as try to get out of this hammock I'm going to tie your arms and legs together. Understood?" Unable to stop yourself, you let out a light chuckle. "Nami, you're so cute when you pretend not to care," the fever disabling any kind of filter you may have had. While it did catch her by surprise, you are none the wiser, as you quickly drift back off to sleep. Nami has to take a brief moment to collect herself again, silently cursing the noticeable warmth in her cheeks, then mumbling about how you're an idiot before leaving your room.

✿ Nami basically dictates how your day is. Lots of sleep, plenty of fluids and maybe a warm bath to help sweat this out, and of course she 'requests' (demands) Sanji make a hearty soup to help you get better, which he is more than happy to do for her!

✿ She'll deny it, but she sets up in your room so she can monitor you throughout the day, only going to Chopper for medicine if she thinks it's bad enough, deciding it isn't necessary to bother him with something so manageable.

Usopp

✿ He panics. Something about seeing someone he cares about getting sick makes him think of his mother, and he doesn't want to lose anyone else like that.

Usopp scoops you up and books it to Chopper. You've seen him afraid, but nothing this intense, and no matter how much you try to convince him that you're okay, and that it's just a cold - you can't seem to break through to him. "Chopper, please help! Please!" He begs as he gently places you on a bed. Tears are streaming down his face, as he takes your hand in a vice-like grip. Once Chopper confirms what you already tried to tell him about it being a common cold, he relaxes a bit. You don't hold it against him, clearly this is something deeper for him. Chopper's words, those of a professional, were very reassuring. "You just need rest, but I do have medicine to help with symptoms if you need," he says before putting a comforting little hoof on Usopp's knee. "Everything will be okay, I promise." Usopp takes a moment to collect himself before quietly saying, "Can I stay?" You and Chopper look at each other before smiling back at him, letting him know he is welcome to stay as long as he likes, or in this case needs. Neither of you press him on why this had him so scared, figuring he'll tell you if and when he's ready to.

✿ Chopper will handle all of your care, because Usopp refuses to leave your side.

✿ He keeps you entertained with his stories when you're awake, and scribbles on some loose papers Chopper gives him while you sleep. It's mainly ideas for things to make, and it keeps him calm.

✿ At one point he falls asleep with his arms crossed on the bed beside you, his little fingers linked with your own, like an unspoken promise that you'll get better, and he'll be there when you do.

Sanji

✿ As soon as Sanji catches on that you are sick, he decides to completely dedicate himself to your care and recovery! He's very attentive, and will do every little thing you want or need to get you back to health.

"Darling, I insist!" Every 'it's okay,' and 'you don't need to do all that for me,' will be shot down immediately. "What kind of man would I be if I let someone as lovely as you do anything in this condition?" He clutches his chest dramatically. "No, no. Don't you worry about a thing; I'll make sure you're well again in no time at all." You really don't have the energy to try and dissuade him, so you accept your fate, and let him dote on you the whole day. It's honestly really nice; you love having his attention, and are thankful that the fever hides your blushes, but you also can't help feeling a little guilty with how much he does for you. "Please don't overexert yourself on my behalf, I don't want you to end up getting sick yourself." "Even if I was sick, it wouldn't stop me from looking after you, my dear." You can't help but frown at this. He's so eager to do for others, but is painfully stubborn about receiving that same care. "If you're ever sick, Sanji, I'm gonna do everything that you've done for me - and I won't hear any objection from you on the matter!" You say in as stern a voice as you can manage with a sore throat. "Darling-" "Nope!" You cut him off quickly, "You deserve the same level of care that you give out!" He looks at you a little wide-eyed, an adorable blush creeping along his face. He lets out a small laugh. As much as he'd like to, he says nothing more on it; you're as stubborn as he is it would seem.

✿ Sanji makes lots of lovely food to help aid in your recovery; warming soups, peppermint tea, porridge with ginger and honey. Everything that soothes and settles, no matter the malady.

✿ His bedside manner is impeccable! He's so gentle with you, and he makes sure to check in as often as he can, whilst still doing his duties, getting as much done as possible while you're asleep.

✿ Like Nami, he only goes to Chopper if he feels your condition requires it. He's confident that his cooking will be more than enough to get you back to health.

Robin

✿ A blessing, and a curse. She's very logical, and she knows how to handle such a minor illness, but, she really can't help telling you all about other illnesses that have worryingly similar symptoms.

"Oh, this one is very unpleasant," she beams, and you can't help but press your hands over your ears. "Chopper!" You cry, before she can start telling you about this particular strain of 'instantdeathitus,' practically running into the infirmary with Robin hot on your heels, holding an open book on diseases. "Robin keeps talking about scary diseases and now I'm scared I'm gonna die!" After being given a quick check-up, and much reassurance that, no, you do not have a rare disease that can only be contracted on a specific island in a completely different ocean, and yes, it is just a common cold, you relax. Mostly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Robin says later once you have bundled up and settled down. "Your cold just reminded me of this book, and I thought it was fascinating. I just wanted to share it with you." She clearly felt guilty, and you appreciated that this was just how she is, but you really would've rather she'd chosen a different topic to tell you about. "Maybe, you have a book on old remedies you could tell me about instead?" Robin perks back up at this. She truly values how much you understand her, and she can see why talking about diseases when your ill is not the most pleasant experience, so this is a perfect compromise. "That's a wonderful idea," she smiles, and you swear she puts the sun to shame with how bright her smile is. "There might be one we can try that will help with your recovery."

✿ Once you get past the scary disease hiccup, Robin is a great companion, looking up home remedies, and trying out the ones that are clearly based on logic as opposed to superstition.

✿ If you find a good remedy, she's excitedly write it down, and later pass the information on to Chopper.

✿ She's happy to get you water when needed, and will watch over you as you nap in the library. It's one of the quietest parts of the ship, so there is no way to disturb you there.

Franky

✿ Aside from Chopper, Franky is genuinely the best at dealing with sick people. He tones down his behaviour, and knows exactly what you need to get back on your feet.

Your head was absolutely thundering, at least that's how it felt. Franky clocked onto your condition as soon as he saw you enter the kitchen, and once you had what you came in for, he hurried you off to his workshop. You thought it was an odd choice. "Shouldn't I go somewhere quiet?" "I know it doesn't seem it, but I can keep this place absolutely silent if I need to. No music, no one else barging in and making a racket," he said, keeping his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Also the walls are soundproof - keeps noise out just as well as it keeps my noise in." "Oh! That's really impressive," even when ill, there is a sparkle in your eyes when he tells you about pretty much anything he's designed or built. You notice his cheeks turning red, but assume that it's just from the compliment as he looked so proud when you gave it to him. "That's not all," he grins, "I've been working on a lil something, and now's the perfect time to show you!" That certainly piqued your interest, and he was doing a great job at distracting you from how bad you felt. Franky led you to one of the corners of the room, one that was covered in a large tarp. You'd seen it many times, and you were always curious, but he'd always brushed it off whenever you brought it up, so the thought of finally seeing what was under there was exciting! Pulling down the tarp revealed a little alcove that was almost like a nest considering the amount of cushions. "It's a space for you," he said sheepishly, "so you have somewhere comfortable to sit when you hang out in here. I figured you could rest there whilst you're ill, and I can look out for you." You stared at it in absolute wonder, big shining eyes darting between it and him. "It's absolutely perfect, thank you so much!"

✿ Franky kept the workshop quiet like he said he would, and whenever you needed anything, like water or medicine, he'd go and get it for you.

✿ At some point Chopper came in to check on you, since Franky had mentioned you were ill, but there really wasn't much to do about it besides getting lots of rest, and you had that covered.

✿ He'd work on his quiet projects, the ones still in the planning and design stages, whilst you slept peacefully in your cosy nest.

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pretty-toru · 2 years ago

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lovesick┆gojo satoru

୧ genre: fluff

୧ wc: 1.4k

୧ synopsis: megumi is sick with a common cold, and gojo is simply lovesick for you.

Gojo Satoru convinces himself that he's not jealous.

How could he feel such a prickling and burning sensation in his lower tummy, slowly rising towards his heart making his blood boil and face grow hot just because you're nursing eleven-year-old Megumi back to health? The same little rascal that he had previously gotten into a spat with over something stupid and it doesn't help that the brat's sticking his tongue out and pulling down his lower eyelid taunting him.

But of course, you're too busy doting over sweet and innocent Megumi to notice. Too preoccupied with fluffing the pillows for the young boy to rest his poor head on, gently tucking him in with a cozy throw blanket, putting something on the platinum screen with the promise of brewing him a ginger-honey tea to make him feel better.

No matter how much Gojo tries to ignore Megumi, his facial muscles twitch and contort on their own in utter dismay and his Six Eyes zeroes in on the couch-ridden boy with his lips curling into a deep frown before sticking his tongue back at him.

"Come on, Satoru. Be nice to him, he's really sick." You say as you start the kettle and reach for a mug from the cabinet. Gojo's forced to acknowledge that Megumi wasn't faking the snotty nose and loud sneezes, but he still doesn't like the idea of losing to one smug child and giving him the satisfaction that he's secured his revenge which is your devoted attention. Maybe Megumi knew that his guardian would go a wee-bit insane being treated as a second thought but Gojo will never admit that it's working.

"Hey honey, you know what? I don't feel so good either. Here, feel my forehead." Gojo takes your hand and places it over his forehead to check if it's warm to the touch and he makes sure to do his best impression of looking pathetically sick—droopy eyelids, jutting his lower lip into a pout, and slumped shoulders to get your sympathy.

"Satoru, you feel perfectly fine. There's nothing wrong with you."

"I swear I'm not feeling well. My throat feels weird and scratchy, my body feels flashes of hot and cold, my head is pounding and it's killing me, and.." Gojo tries to convince you that he's experiencing every symptom he could think of and you knew he was determined to be sick. Between your "uh-huh" and "right" you decide to humor him as you follow his explanation and tried your hardest to hold back a smile when he throws in an exaggerated detail or two.

"Alright, you big baby. We can't have you feeling sick now, can we? Can't have the strongest sorcerer out of commission for long, hm?"

"Nope, that'd be very bad. As long as you drop everything and pour all your attention on me, I should get better in no time. No pressure or anything, but the world does kinda depend on it~" Gojo flashes you a toothy grin then quickly remembers that he's supposed to be sick and feigns a cough or two averting your knowing glance.

"Hmm, okay I'll see what I can do. Now come here, let's get you all nice and comfortable so you can get your much-needed rest and get well again." You lead him to your shared bedroom and reflect the covers back for him to climb onto the mattress and ensure he's warm and cozy as you pull the comforter over him. For someone who's supposed to feel horribly ill Gojo sure can't seem to wipe the smile off his face. "You seem a little too happy to be sick, don't you think?"

"Just glad that you'll be the one to help me get back my strength is all." Through his fluttering lashes, he sports the most innocent and angelic expression he can muster and you can't help the soft giggle given his stellar performance up until this point.

"Alright, if you say so. I'll get you something to eat, okay? I'll be right back."

As you're turning on your heel to head for the door, Gojo pouts and protests. "Wha- No sweet kiss to hold me over? You might be a while and I'll get lonely since you're not here to keep me company."

"Aw, sorry baby. But you know there's no kissing until you're all better. Can't get myself sick now that I have to look after you and Megumi, right? I promise you I won't be long."

"...Not even a forehead kiss? :(" He murmurs under his breath as he watches your back to him and eventually disappears into another room. Once Gojo's left to his own devices, he wonders how long it would take you to complete your task on hand. He fiddles with his thumbs and counts the passing minutes. One minute becomes five, five becomes ten, then ten becomes twenty and he suddenly cannot bear to be apart from you much longer and checks on you.

"Sweetheart, what's taking you so long? I thoug-" And there he stumbles across the answer to his own question. Megumi is being spoon-fed rice porridge by you because he claims that his arms are too weak to do it himself and you couldn't leave him starved in his condition. Gojo appears crestfallen and disgruntled in the throw blanket draped over his lanky body and with a small huff he grumbles, "So that's what you've been up to. Fine, fine I guess it's up to me to take care of myself, huh?"

"What's wrong with him? Is he sick too or something?" Megumi asks nonchalantly as he watches his mentor's dejected form return to his bedroom to sulk. You gently shake your head and offer the young boy a soft smile, but you do feel a little bad that your husband has been acting unusual lately hence his needy and clingy tendencies.

"He's just going through a phase, but don't you worry about him and focus on getting better, okay? I'll find a way to make it up to him."

When you enter your shared bedroom with a platter of breakfast in your grasp, you found Gojo hiding under the covers in an attempt of giving you his silent treatment. You place the serving tray of food on the nightstand and situate yourself on the bed beside him, smoothing your hand over his covered shoulder as he's laid on his side with his face away from you. "Satoru, my love, I've brought you breakfast."

With a soft shrug of his shoulder, he responds with a strained hum but you know it's just him being melodramatic because he could never truly be mad at you. "Do you wanna tell me what's on your mind? I'm all yours if you come on out from under the covers."

Gojo shifts his body weight around and tufts of white hair start to peek as he gradually pulls the blanket down until you meet his azure gaze and he receives your sweet smile. "Hey there, is everything alright? Did I do something to upset you?" The tender warmth of your hand finds its home on his cheek with a gentle caress and he sighs contently at the familiar touch. You're patient as you wait for him to gather his thoughts, your fingers moving to his soft tendrils in soothing motions and he inches closer to you.

"You've never done a single thing wrong ever. You are perfect," he begins slowly. "I just missed you and ever since I got back from my mission you were too busy with the kids (Megumi and Tsumiki) that we haven't had any time together and I just wanna be with you." Gojo confesses as he's playing with the hem of your shirt, feeling a bit vulnerable to look you straight in the eyes. "Oh, and another thing... I'm not actually sick I only said that so you'd notice me more."

"Thanks for being honest with me. And I knew that you weren't sick. For someone who's supposed to be good at anything he tries, I'm glad that you turned out to be a pretty bad liar."

Gojo's face heats up at that and he unceremoniously buries his face in your lap from embarrassment, as muffled words of "Oh, so you knew. I thought I was pretty convincing" managed to reach your ears.

"Tell you what, how about we have ourselves a nice picnic this weekend? Just the two of us, I'll find someone to watch the kids. And I think maybe spending an afternoon in the sunshine will do us some good. What do you think?"

Gojo suddenly lights up at your proposal. "I think you're wonderful for planning the perfect date."

"You're sweet for giving me so much credit." Your soft laughter quickly melts his heart and he returns your affections, feeling a little more in love with you as you're both sharing a moment together. "I love you."

"I love you so much more, my sweet angel."

#a lil extra: megumi makes an origami turtle signed 'truce?' to which gojo responds with his own 'truce' and all is right in the world again #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk gojo satoru #gojo satoru #satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru fluff

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starlovesganyu · 3 months ago

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Hi Star! Can i request a reader taking care of Genshin/Star Rail girls when they’re sick or injured. And if you can include Furina that would be awesome!

taking care of them!

❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀

taking care of them when they're sick or injured!

thanks for the ask!

various characters x gn!reader

characters: firefly, seele, kafka, keqing, kujou sara, furina

warnings: none

not proofread

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

firefly -`✮´-

• will try and convince you that she's perfectly fine, not a trace of sickness present in her body, even though she has a burning fever

"i'm not sick! it's just a little hot in here..."

• she'll be adamant until you tell her to do a couple pushups (she collapses after the second one)

• if you bring her some soup, she'll be so excited to try your cooking that she ignores all of your warnings and burns her tongue

• will love to just to talk with you about recent events or look through your camera roll to pass time

"awww...you were so cute when you were a baby!"

• she'll actually stay in bed until you say she's all better! (only because she loves getting pampered by you)

• once she's all better, she'll text silver wolf about being taken care of by you just to make her jealous

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

seele -`✮´-

• will try her best to hide any injuries from you when she "walks" through the door

• she knows you're busy, so she doesn't want to add more to your plate </3

"i'm fine! it's just a little scratch...it'll be fine in the morning!"

• once you capture her (easy since she can't run), you'll realize that it's not just a "little scratch"

• will try and tell you not to call natasha under the pretense that "it's not necessary", when in reality she's just scared of doctor visits

• even though she is barred from her work, she does enjoy the extra time she gets to spend around you

• that being said, keeping her from going back out while she's still injured will be one of the hardest tasks of all time

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

kafka -`✮´-

• lucky for you, elio's script mentioned kafka getting sick for some reason

• she'll enjoy watching you scramble around and try to act almost motherlike, when usually, it's the other way around

• her heart will melt when she spies you trying to make her a meal

• you just look too cute, eyebrows furrowed as you try and make sense of the recipes while frantically running around to make sure nothing's burning <3

• seeing your face light up when she compliments your cooking makes her fall in love with you all over again!

• even though she's sick, will still tell you to come cuddle because how do you expect her to go days without holding you in her arms?

• no way you'll get sick right? it wasn't in the script!

you get sick :(

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

keqing -`✮´-

• she rarely ever gets sick, so coming home to her coughing in bed will definitely be a surprise

• her face will be very red, maybe because she's sick, but more likely because you gently placed your hand on her forehead to take her body temperature

• will try to convince you that she's fine and can manage herself, not needing you constantly fuss over her like she's a little kid

• but, when you bring her some water, she'll quickly gulp it down before sheepishly asking you for another glass

• when you settle down next to her with a book, she'll insist that she's okay, that you can leave her alone, but immediately regrets it when you get up to leave

"w-wait...actually, if it doesn't bother you...could you stay for a little longer?"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

kujou sara -`✮´-

• you always tell her to be careful before she leaves for training, so when she comes home holding her shoulder in pain, she already knows you'll be all over her

• she'll try her best to downplay her injury by tenderly raising her arm, but it backfires when she can only move it a couple inches

• will obediently go visit a doctor with you, but only because she hates seeing you so worried. it breaks her heart </3

• will apologize over and over again and promise to be more careful in the future

• you'll constantly have to stop her from doing tasks she shouldn't be doing while she's still recovering, like lifting heavy things or shooting targets with her bow

• will definitely hurt herself trying to give you a hug

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

furina -`✮´-

"i, furina de fontaine, never gets sick!" *intense coughing*

• will be pretty surprisingly energetic, treating you as if you're her servant, commanding you to do everything for her

• internally though, she's incredibly grateful you're here for her, she's just never been good with voicing her feelings <3

• to make up for it, she'll take you out on a nice dinner date when she's all better!

• she hates the taste of the medicine prescribed by sigewinne, so you'll have to sneak it into a slice of cake

• she may fake being sick even after she's gotten better just to have you continue to take care of her, and it'll be very convincing-she's not the best actor for no reason!

• eventually drops the act because she can't bear not hugging and kissing you any longer <3

a/n: thanks for reading!!!

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jude-duarte-wannabe · 2 months ago

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okay woah WOAHH THE LASTEST LEWIS ORDER!?????? SCRUMPTIOUS!!!!!

can i please have lewis hamilton serving bagel, croissant and oaty slice with sides of herbal tea, cortado and rice milk with EXTRAAA SWEETENER PLEASE?? maybe one where lewis is sick and not well, he's being very needy and clingy with wife reader? oh gosh i just know you're gonna do wondersss

a big old teddy bear

order up!

hi lovely thanks for the request, i have been dying to write this and get back to writing in general, order is extra sweet as requested and i'm so sorry for the long as wait time my lovely <3 your requested prompts will be bolded

pairing; lewis hamilton x female wife reader

blurb; your husband truly is just a big old teddy bear when he's sick

warnings; lovesick husband lewis, also vomit if you hate it [let me know if i missed anything]

bagel; "where you going, this ain't over" croissant; "don't you dare" oaty slice; "you smell like me" herbal tea; soft but only for you cortado; belly kisses rice milk; baby fever

currently playing; nightingale by demi lovato "can you be my nightingale, sing to me, i know you're there, you could be my sanity, bring me peace, sing me to sleep, say you'll be my nightingale"

"this is the last thing i need right now" you groaned as you looked down at the small patch of bile of your top before gazing back your daughter; sage who was almost six months old.

your day was going downhill rather quickly it seemed, first your production company demanded the album be finished by the end of the month and you had a sick baby to deal with and it seemed like your day couldn't get any worse until was made worse beyond measure by your husband.

ignoring the fact you loved him dearly, your husband was an idiot...

truly, i mean who in their right mind did a drivers parade in the rain without a coat, he'd claimed it was all for the sake of fashion but he'd quickly regretted that claim when he woke up this morning with a burning fever, it'd taken you twenty minutes of convincing to unattach his sweaty form from your own.

you placed sage down in her highchair for a brief moment and began to wipe the bile from your shirt with a damp cloth when a knock sounded on your apartment door and the relief that washed over you took over the need you felt to burst into tears, you'd convinced your mother to watch sage for the day so that you could tend to an over clingy sick lewis, not that you'd not her he was sick and work on the album in between.

the knock sounded again, a sharp contrast to the chaos swirling around you. “please let it be my mum,” you muttered under your breath, grateful for the brief moment of hope.

you opened the door to find your mother standing there, arms loaded with a container of what looked like chicken and sweetcorn soup. “i thought i’d bring you some comfort food,” she said with a smile that instantly soothed some of your tension. “and i see lewis is still in his pajamas.”

you sighed, glancing back at your husband, who was sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that he’d claimed was ‘just for decoration’ before he’d been been forced to admit he had in fact caught a miserable old cold. “he’s having a rough morning,” you admitted. “but you’re a lifesaver. i really need to get this album finished.”

your mom nodded, stepping inside and putting the soup down on the kitchen counter. “well then you go take care of that and i’ll take sage to her mummy and me class.”

you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you, a reprieve from the relentless demands of the day. you leaned down to give sage a gentle kiss on the forehead before hugging your mother tight. "i can't thank you enough for this"

your mother smiled warmly, her presence a comforting anchor amidst the storm of your day. “you’re doing so much, honey. just focus on your music and let me handle sage for a bit. she’ll have a blast with me today.”

you took a deep breath, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly as you watched your mom gather sage’s diaper bag and blanket. “i’ll try to make it up to you later. maybe an early listen for you and dad once the album is done?”

“deal!” she said, her eyes twinkling as she scooped sage into her arms. “now, don’t worry i’ll make sure she gets some fresh air and maybe a little sunshine.”

as your mom headed out, you glanced around the kitchen before deciding to help yourself to some of your mother soup, you poured yourself a bowl and placed it in the microwave to warm while you darted to your room to change your top, the smell of sage's vomit from earlier not the most pleasant.

you grabbed the nearest thing; which happened to be lewis's hoodie and slipped it on before shuffling back to the kitchen right as the beep of the microwave sounded.

leaning against the kitchen counter, you took a few spoonfuls while mentally organizing your thoughts about the album. the chaos of the morning began to fade as you savored the warmth of the soup and the knowledge that you finally had a moment to yourself.

after finishing your bowl, you settled at the kitchen island perched on a stool, surrounded by sheets of lyrics and your laptop. you opened a blank document and stared at the screen, letting the silence wash over you. just as you were about to type, the shuffling of feet caught your attention as lewis appeared, still wrapped in his blanket.

“did you just eat soup without me?” he grumbled, his voice hoarse but playful.

you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of your husband. "you look like a raccoon that lost a fight with a rain cloud,” you teased lightly, but concern laced your words.

he padded over, his movements slow and deliberate, like a sloth navigating a jungle. you observed him, half-amused and half-concerned and before you knew it he'd wrapped himself around you from behind. "you smell like me" he mumbled.

"no kidding, i'm wearing your hoodie" you giggled and leaned against him, you'd already come to terms that you'd end up sick eventually considering you had a sick daughter and husband.

"i love it" lewis chuckled, tone exhausted against your skin, you relished the warmth of lewis’s embrace, the blanket still cocooning him like a protective layer against the world outside. it was a familiar comfort, and in that moment, the chaos of the morning felt like a distant memory.

“i figured it was only fair to wear something that smells like you,” you teased, looking up at him. “you know, to keep the raccoon vibe going strong.”

he chuckled softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “well, if we’re both going to be sick, at least we’ll do it in style.”

you pulled away slightly to face him, finding a small smile beneath his disheveled braided hair. “so, what’s up, what's got you up from the couch, you need a warm drink?”

“i’d love a hot tea, actually,” he replied, his voice still raspy.

"coming up, you look like you could use a solid nap bub.” you replied removing yourself from his grip "in bed where it's comfortable, i'll bring the tea to you"

“sounds perfect.” he shuffled towards your bedroom, where you could hear him dramatically collapsing onto the mattress with an exaggerated sigh. you couldn’t help but smile at the sound—he may have looked and sounded like a raccoon, but he was still your raccoon.

after brewing a cup of tea, you wandered to the bedroom where you pretended to trip and like you were going to spill it "don't you dare" he mumbled which just brought on a giggle from you.

“here you go, my darling husband, a cup of tea for your recovery.”

lewis took a grateful sip and closed his eyes momentarily, savoring the warmth. “you know, i’ve always believed in the healing powers of tea” he said, setting the mug down and looking at you with an earnest expression. “and i believe in you.”

you felt a rush of warmth at his words, a reminder of the bond that held you both together even amidst the chaos of parenthood and illness. “i’m trying to find a way to balance it all,” you admitted, running your fingers through your hair. “but some days feel like an uphill battle.”

“just take it one step at a time,” he encouraged, his voice gentle. “and remember, you’re not alone in this. we’re a team, right? just like we promised in our vows”

you nodded, the weight of his words grounding you. “yeah, a team, when your not a sick little bear. i just want to finish this album and maybe put something out there that captures everything we’re going through.”

"well maybe you could write a song about all of this,” he suggested, gesturing between the two of you. “the craziness, the love, the messiness of it all, it could be something really meaningful to both us and other parents"

his suggestion sparked a light within you, and you could almost feel the lyrics forming in your mind. “that’s actually a lovely idea,” you said, excitement bubbling up. “i want to capture everything—the sleepless nights, the laughter, the moments when everything feels like it’s falling apart, but somehow it all makes sense.”

lewis smiled, propping himself up on one elbow. “exactly, you could show the beauty in the chaos. i mean, look at us right now,” he gestured at his disheveled self and your slightly rumpled hoodie. “this is our life, and it’s messy, but it’s ours.”

you felt a swell of affection. “i love that about us. even when it’s tough, we manage to find the joy in the little things.”

“like this tea,” he said, taking another sip and savoring it with a blissful expression before sitting up and placing it on the bedside table “and this very comfy bed.”

you rolled your eyes playfully as he took a hold of you and pulled you closer, he was always so clingy when sick. “yes, yes. the tea and the bed are great, but don’t forget our amazing baby girl, she’s the best part of all this.”

lewis nodded, his gaze softening. “indeed, sage is our little miracle. she gives everything a new perspective.”

“she does” you tried to leave his hold, the creative spark igniting within you once more.

"where you going, this ain't over" lewis mumbled as he collapsed onto the bed and pulled you down with him, rolling around until you laid on your back and he was snuggled against your tummy, lifting the fabric of his hoodie to kiss at your skin,

"i want another one" he wished, he knew it was unrealistic to wish for another baby right now especially when sage was only half a year old but it's something that he desired so desperately.

you looked down at lewis, feeling a mix of warmth and surprise at his unexpected confession. “another one?” you echoed, brushing your fingers through his messy braids. “you know sage is still a tiny tornado of chaos, right?” you giggled.

he chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. “i know, but just think about it. the laughter, the cuddles… it’s all so worth it. plus, roscoe will have another friend.”

you smiled, the image of sage with a little sibling and your dog roscoe as it danced around in your mind. it was a sweet thought, but also one that felt heavy with the realities of sleepless nights and diaper changes. “you’re dreaming, my love. we’ve got our hands full as it is.”

“i know, i know,” he said, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “but i can’t help it. i love being a dad, and i can’t imagine our family stopping here. it just feels… incomplete.”

his earnestness tugged at your heartstrings, and you felt a flutter of hope mingled with apprehension. “what if we wait a little while? just until we get the hang of this whole parenting thing?”

lewis sighed dramatically, flopping back down against your tummy. “You know i'm not patient when it comes to things i want love but i guess i can understand the need for a breather. i just love our little family so much.”

you stroked his hair, letting the moment linger. “me too. i love sage more than i ever thought possible and you. i mean, look at you being all sweet and cuddly while your sick.”

he grinned, his playful side shining through. “i’m not just sweet and cuddly. i’m also super attractive and charming.”

“true, true,” you laughed, shaking your head. “but don’t forget to add ‘sick raccoon’ to that list.”

“hey!” he protested, feigning offense. “i’ll have you know this raccoon is incredibly charismatic, i mean i pulled you.”

as you both chuckled, the laughter faded into a comfortable silence, the weight of your earlier discussion hanging in the air. you felt your heart soften, realizing how much you cherished these moments of connection, even amidst the chaos.

“i guess i just want to make sure we’re ready,” you said after a beat, your tone more serious now. “sage is so little, and we still have so much to learn.”

lewis nodded, his expression thoughtful. “i get it. i don’t want to rush into anything either. i just want you to know how much i love this—us, our family and i’m excited about what the future holds.”

the sincerity in his voice warmed you, and you leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “we’ll figure it out together my love, like we always do.”

“exactly. together,” he replied, grinning up at you. “and besides, when you start writing songs about our family, i’ll have all the inspiration i need for my own solo album.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “right, because that’s what the world needs—a collection of raccoon-inspired ballads by the worlds best formula one driver.” you giggled.

“i could make it happen,” he said, pretending to be deep in thought. “track one: ‘cuddles and chaos.’ track two: ‘diapers and driving.”

you burst into laughter, the tension from earlier dissipating completely. “okay, okay, maybe i’ll consider a collaboration, just don’t expect to go solo anytime soon.”

“fair enough,” he said, lifting his head again and looking serious for a moment. “but when the time comes for baby number two, just know that i’ll be ready.”

you looked into his eyes, the sincerity of his desire making your heart swell. “and i’ll be ready too, whenever that time comes but right now, i just want to enjoy sage and you—this moment.”

lewis smiled, that familiar warmth returning to his gaze. “that’s the best thing you've said all day" he replied.

as you both settled into the cozy embrace, the world outside faded away and in that space, this moment, it was just you, him, and the love you shared—a beautiful mess of laughter, dreams, and all the moments yet to come.

"i love you, you big teddy bear" you mumbled as he began to doze off while still clinging to your body, you truly couldn't have wished for a better life than the one you had, it was the best thing that had ever happened to you and you were determined to never lose it.

#formula one #formula 1 #formula one fanfiction #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton fluff #f1 #lewis hamilton x you #dad lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton

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junixscribble · 6 days ago

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SCREAMS ur responses are so good ty for feeding us I'm so excited for your writing omggg

ANYWHO. SO. You mentioned Jayce giving Viktor a raspberry and also the tags on the s2 art so~ let's humor that~

Raspberries are arguably one of the most childish and intimate forms of tickling because well duh. I feel like Viktor probably never had a raspberry before Jayce (at least not one he remembers). He probably saw parents blow raspberries onto their giggling kids and thought to himself "I guess it's funny, or feels weird". Never considered just how bad it could tickle.

Jayce on the other hand is FULL OF LOVE and definitely has fuzzy memories of his mom pressing her lips to his belly when he was younger. Even just tickly kisses would take him down! He's a tummy guy.

Anyway, I feel like Jayce would suddenly remember that he can Do That to Viktor one day, and he just HAS to try it out. Poor Viktor probably looks in absolute horror as Jayce pushes his shirt up and takes a big breath in Like???? What are you DOING Jayce?!?!? Then when he touches down, Viktor SCREAMS. Like full on EEEEEEEEEEs because holy shit it tickles so so so bad. Probably knocks his head against the floor as he shrieks. Jayce has big ol powerful cheeks and a scratchy face (before the beard) so it's unbearable 💔

Poor Jayce probably gets a metal leg brace to the head as Viktor jerks his legs involuntarily. And oh boy does Vik blush because ??? WHAT WAS THAT????

You know how I said I was taking so long cause I had Ideas? Well. Here you go!

Fruit

Title: Fruit

WC: 1376w

Summary: Tensions are high in the lab with tight deadlines. Arguments are had, resolved, and when under inordinate amounts of pressure one must make time for stupidity.

——————

Viktor rested his head against the blackboard, sighing. Work had been trying lately. The council was expecting something big, and fast, so he and Jayce often found themselves burning the midnight oil more often than not. Their late nights and stressed disposition had led to a decent few arguments, mainly about stupid things such as who left the dishes all over the kitchen. Most recently it had been about an equation that had ended up half rubbed out - neither of them could decide who had done it, and both were saddled with figuring out what had been written down and rewriting it.

They had been ignoring each other for most of the day, and to be honest Viktor was tired of it. These hours only passed quickly when there was chatter and ideas being thrown about like darts at a board. With nothing but chalk scratching breaking the silence, the seconds were painful. Usually Jayce was the one to break such silences, but he had been steadfastly soldering one of his gauntlets for the past hour and a half.

For once in his life, Viktor put his stubborn nature aside and relented. He set his chalk down and wiped his hand on the side of his pants before walking over to Jayce, leaning on his crutch. Jayce didn’t look up on his approach, and Viktor stood awkwardly by him for a full minute until he put down the soldering iron.

“If you have something to say, say it.” Jayce said through gritted teeth. Viktor shifted his weight awkwardly.

“I… am sorry. About the equation. Truthfully, the last few days have been melding into each other, and I can’t remember who wiped the board. It very well could have been me.”

Jayce sat up straighter, genuine surprise in his eyes. “You’re not here to berate me some more?”

Viktor flushed, looking aside. It was hard to keep composure when Jayce was looking at him like a kicked puppy. “No. I should not have done so in the first place.”

There was a moment of silence where Viktor was convinced Jayce was going to turn his back on him, but before the idea could make a home in his head Jayce was up and his arms were wrapped around him.

“It’s okay. We’ve been working hard, and I’ve said some things I regret too. Still partners?” Jayce asked, pulling back slightly.

Viktor allowed himself a smile and put a hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “Of course. Now, I’m sure I have some alcohol in here from last time…”

…

The next few days were a complete turn around from the stress. Now that they weren’t on edge around each other the ideas were flowing and problems that seemed impossible suddenly had clear solutions.

“Ha! If I reverse the polarity on this, it will stop the hex crystal from spinning out of control!” Viktor exclaimed, nearly throwing his screwdriver. Jayce pushed away from his workbench and cheered.

“Man, we are on a roll.” He sat contended for a bit before furrowing his brow. “Vik, I’ve just realised I’ve never asked you about your family.”

Viktor turned to face him, amused. “And what started this train of thought?”

Jayce shrugged. “I was just thinking.”

“Dangerous, coming from you. Anyway, there was never much to speak of. Never had siblings, my father was absent before I was born, and my mother passed when I was quite young. As was the way of most in Zaun.” Viktor said.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. The life I lead now… it makes up for it.”

Jayce tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Aw, I’m glad to hear I’m like your family.”

Viktor sputtered. “I- what…well-”

Jayce laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Ooooh, we should do family things! Have a big awkward dinner with aunts you’ve never met, create unnecessary drama,...”

“Jayce, it sounds like you are describing the council.” Viktor commented, half a laugh on his breath.

Jayce mimed vomiting and pouted before lighting up like a candle. “No, of course not. I couldn’t do this with any members of the council.”

Viktor assumed he was talking about their banter, so he smiled and turned back to his work. However, the minute he picked up his pen he was grabbed from behind and wrapped up in a hug. He squeaked in surprise and swore in his native tongue before going limp in his embrace - he’d learned there was no escaping Jayce when he got lovey-dovey.

“You know something else families do?” Jayce sing-songed, being a dick about it.

“What, Jayce?” Viktor sighed, playing along.

It turned out there was no verbal response to that question - that being because Jayce had taken the opportunity to worm his fingers under Viktor’s arms and start wiggling on his ribs. Viktor immediately curled in on himself and made a strangled noise, pushing at Jayce’s hands.

“No! Jahayce, you bastard-” He yelled, squirming. Jayce just laughed, pulling him away from the bench and over to the couch they had set up. Viktor knew what that meant, and he knew it could lead to him not getting back to his work for at least an hour. When one of his moods struck Jayce was hard to escape - not that Viktor minded too much. He could admit he needed the break, and he could put up with Jayce.

Nevertheless, he protested. “Jaaaayce JayceJayceJayce we can talk about this, no? You don’t have to- haha! You don’t have to do this!”

“Oh, but I do.”

Viktor half-fought Jayce trying to shove him down on the couch, swearing the whole time. The minute he was down, Jayce would go ham and he wouldn’t know peace. Despite the half-assed attempts at escape Jayce successfully pinned an already laughing Viktor to the couch, and Viktor braced himself. What came, however, was hands deftly pulling up his shirt in one quick movement.

“What the fu-” was all Viktor managed before Jayce took a deep breath and blew a raspberry on his stomach. Now, Viktor had seen this done before - often parents with small children - but always assumed the resulting laughter was because of the general silliness of the action. Never in a million years had he expected it to tickle so fucking badly.

Viktor let out what could only be described as a screech at the contact, immediately kicking out and bashing his head on the back of the couch. Jayce nuzzled his face into his tummy, grinning, and Viktor broke into a chorus of cackles.

“JAHAYCE! Whahaha- whahat are you dohohoing??”

“What do you think?” He replied, still speaking into Viktor’s stomach and by god he was going to dissolve because his stubble made it so much worse. Viktor shrieked again when Jayce blew yet another raspberry, squirming within an inch of his life.

“Yohou fucking asshole!” He yelled out for nothing, getting rewarded with Jayce’s fingers joining in the fun by kneading into his lower ribs. He made a series of high pitched sustained yelps at this, caught between the sensations of rough hands on sensitive skin and lips over spots he was discovering were really ticklish. After one particularly potent raspberry, Viktor accidentally sent his knee straight into the back of Jayce’s head, finally halting the onslaught.

“Ow!” Jayce cradled his head while Viktor caught his breath, quickly covering his stomach.

“You deserve that!” Viktor admonished, sitting up. His eyes were wide, staring at Jayce.

“Have you… have you never had someone blow a raspberry on you before?”

Viktor shook his head. “That affront to dignity is named after a fruit?”

Jayce laughed. “Yes.”

“I was not expecting it to… have such an effect.”

“No? If it’s too much, I won’t do it again-”

“No!” Viktor said before he could stop himself. “I mean, ah, I can handle your bullshit if I must, Jayce.”

Jayce raised his eyebrows. “Do you want me to do it again?”

Viktor turned red. “Of course not.”

Despite this, he sank further into the couch and his shirt rode up slightly. He didn’t pull it back down. Jayce grinned.

“Well regardless, I’m not done with you.”

It took very little time for Viktor to start cackling. Again.

#arcane tickling #jayce talis #viktor arcane #lee!viktor #arcane jayce #tickling #asks #this one has a Lot of exposition and I am a bit tired but there is heaps I want to do with this concept lollolo #still decently happy with it though #here you go <3

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mrsbarnesblog · 9 months ago

Note

the reader has been begging rafe to watch vampire diaries with her because its her favourite show but its always been a firm no. rafe did something ( it can be anything ) and it upset the reader a bit and rafe asks the reader how he can make it up to her and she asks for girl night with rafe. face masks , making tiktoks , listening to music and of course watching vampire diaries

Vampire Diaries

Word count: 0.8k

Warnings: none

A/N: thank you for the request <3 Rafe would've definitely pretended to be annoyed but secretly enjoyed it lol

“I'm sorry, baby, okay? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.” Rafe kneeled in front of you, as you were currently sitting on the couch, endlessly scrolling tiktok and paying literally no attention to your boyfriend.

You two just had a small argument, and with Rafe’s short temper, it quickly went downhill. Even though there was nothing too serious and you knew that Rafe didn’t want to upset you, it still hurt you a little bit, so you wanted to teach him a lesson.

“Please? Look at me, pretty girl. I’m really sorry.” He rubbed his hands up and down your thighs, leaving a few soft kisses. “How can I make it up to you, huh? Do you want to go shopping? Spend all of my money? Go on a date to your favorite place? Kick me? Just tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

You were trying so hard to keep back a smile forming on your lips. Because who would’ve thought that Rafe, the big, scary and moody guy, would beg for your forgiveness, literally standing on his knees? You finally put your phone down, looking at your boyfriend and studying him for a few seconds.

“Have a girls night with me.” You smirked, seeing how his brows slowly furrowed.

“Excuse me?”

“Girls night. Masks, snacks, music and vampire diaries are included.” His eyelids lowered, looking at you suspiciously.

“Were you planning on pulling me into that shit? ‘Cuz I ain’t doin’ that. Told that a million times already, babe.”

You just rolled your eyes, going back to your phone and acting like you didn't notice the way Rafe was burning holes into you with his stare.

“Are you really gonna ignore me again? I said, I’m sorry.”

“And you also said that you'd do anything that I asked for. That’s what I’m asking for. Just one night, Rafe. No one’s going to see you being soft and cute except for me, you grumpy ass.” You held eye contact for a few seconds, already seeing how Rafe was hesitating between giving in and continuing to act like a child.

“Fine. But only one time, got it? And you can’t tell anyone about it.”

***

“Did you just take a photo?” Rafe’s head snapped towards you and you innocently bit your lip, locking your phone and putting it away.

“Maybe… But you look really cute, just wanted to have it for myself.” You smiled at him, moving closer on your bed and fixing a few strands of hair that fell out of Rafe’s white bunny headband. He did look cute, laying and watching your favorite series only in his gray sweats, with no shirt, and most importantly, with a Hello Kitty sheet mask on his face.

Before that, you had already cleaned and exfoliated Rafe’s face while sitting on top of him, which was the only reason why he didn’t complain every second, and then you brought all the possible snacks from the kitchen and took your favorite masks with you. It took quite some time to convince him to put it on, but a few kisses worked just perfectly.

As the twenty minutes on your timer went off, you took both of your masks off with Rafe mumbling “finally” under his breath, and with another bag of chips, you snuggled into your boyfriend’s side. “Vampire Diaries” that you convinced him to turn on were currently only on the third episode, and you looked up from Rafe’s shoulder, noticing that he was actually looking at the screen.

“I told you that it’s good.” You giggled, shoving chips into your mouth and then giving a few to Rafe. His hand wrapped tighter around your body, bringing you even closer.

“It’s not.”

“Then why are you watching it?” You arched your brow when he looked down at you.

“Because you told me too. You know that I hate this type of stuff, right, babe? This girl shit is not for me.”

“Whatever you say, Rafey.” Your hand stroked his bunny ears, which were still holding his hair, then cupped his face to place a kiss on the lips. You knew that Rafe was just being stubborn and that he actually was enjoying your evening together; it was obvious by the way his body was in the most relaxed state possible, there was no usual annoyance, and he had that look in his eyes. The one that you always saw whenever you two were alone, when you were wrapped up in each other’s arms, when you made him happy and safe. “Thank you for this. It means a lot to me.”

“ Anything for you, baby.” Rafe softened, lips curling in a lazy smile, as he caught your lips in another kiss. “Now watch your goddamn show, or I’m gona turn it off.” Rafe pulled away, playfully rolling his eyes at you, yet still looking back at the screen, now also too hooked on to miss any second.

#rafe x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #soft!rafe cameron

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sweetkpopmusings · 27 days ago

Text

miserable (you & me) | s. changbin <3

a/n: i currently have a long weekend thanks to the thanksgiving holiday, so i'm in a bit of a writing frenzy. since i just posted some ateez fluff, i figured i should give into the stray kids angst demon again >:^) please enjoy a moment with changbin <3 pics not mine~

content: angst, happy ending | wc: 1.4k | warnings: none really! | pairing: changbin x gn!reader | requests:open

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

어떻게든 같이 걸어가려, I feel so tired but I can't give you up, my babe / “somehow try to walk with you / i feel so tired but i can’t give you up my babe”

changbin stared at some indiscernible object in the distance–or, rather, the direction opposite you–biding time until he absolutely had to respond to the information you just shared. sure, he was happy for you, but he couldn’t ignore the burning in the back of his throat as he tried to say encouraging words. the inner conflict was eating him alive, yet he felt he had no other choice than to be here and listen, like any good friend would.

it wasn’t the first time he had been in this position. he ended up here, again and again, because he didn’t know how to get out of it. behind every i’m rooting for you and they’d be crazy not to say “yes” was an i can’t get you out of my head, you know? every time i look at you, i feel my whole self coming undone, only being put back together when you look at me begging to be said. but he couldn’t. changbin wished he could. he practically pleaded with himself each time he saw you to finally say something. changbin pretended it wasn’t his fear of you rejecting him that held him back. he swore that once he had figured out the right words, he would find the right moment, and then, once everything fell into place, he would bare his soul to you. changbin convinced himself he wasn’t a coward by reminding himself that someone as perfect as you deserved the perfect confession. even if it meant he spent years hiding and hurting.

“changbin? did i lose you there?” the corners of your mouth upturned as you gently and playfully waved your hand in front of his face.

instinctively he smiled back, laughing a little despite the growing pang in his chest, “no, no, i’m right here.”

“good! because i haven’t gotten to the best part of the story yet,” you grinned before continuing to tell changbin all about the cute interaction shared between you and the coworker you were crushing on.

he couldn’t believe the beaming look in your eyes could hurt him so much. jealousy would do that though: make something so beautiful of yours hurt because he wasn’t the one igniting that beauty. that wouldn’t stop him from relishing in it though. your energy, your presence, it was always a gift, even if it broke his heart.

“so that’s when i figured, what the hell? i asked them out right then and there. they got flustered–it was so cute–and then they said ‘yes!’ we’re going out this saturday. can you help me pick out my outfit?”

changbin, who always turned to putty when he saw your puppy-dog eyes, let out a breathy laugh, “yeah, sure, i can help pick out the outfit that will get them to fall in love with you, just so they can break your heart in a few months like everyone else.”

changbin’s face filled with shock and regret before you could finish processing his words. it hurt you, but, judging by the slump in changbin’s shoulders, what he said hurt him even more.

“i’m so sorry for snapping, y/n, i–”

“no, it’s fine. i talk about them too much. i’m sure you’re tired of hearing me ramble on about all my crushes, especially when my dating life is so unlucky,” you forced a smile, aware that changbin saw right through you, as he always did, “i should probably go, so you don’t have to suffer through my rambling any longer.”

the way changbin looked at you kept you frozen in place. you wanted to turn and walk away before tears slipped down your cheeks, or, worse, before either of you said something that would hurt the other. but the way changbin watched you, the way his breath staggered, the way his eyes revealed he had no intention of every looking away from you…it all kept your feet firmly planted on the ground.

changbin, knees weak and trembling, felt adrenaline coursing through his body. he stood in front of you, hands in his pockets, unsure if this was the moment to finally reach out to you. when he saw you break your gaze away from him to glance toward your route home, he knew, deep down, that it was now or never. he may have already ruined things by snapping. he figured it was better to ruin your friendship by showing you how much you were loved, rather than leaving you hurt with harsh words.

“y/n,” changbin took a deep breath when your eyes once again locked with his, “that was rude, and i hope you know that i never get annoyed by your rambling. i could hear you talk forever, even if it’s about someone you like, as long as that someone makes you happy. i just…it can be hard for me sometimes because…well…i like you. i have liked you for so long, but the timing never feels right, and everyone else seems to have the courage i don’t because you keep ending up with other people. if you’re happy, i’m happy. i guess i just can’t hide it anymore. i like you. i always will.”

changbin paused, eyes brimming with tears, and he mustered up a smile so you didn’t feel forced to comfort him, “i know you like them, your coworker. if your feelings for me aren’t the same, that’s fine. or, i mean, i at least can live with it, as long as you’re still my friend. i can’t give you up. if you need time away from me because of this, i understand. i hope this hasn’t made things too weird. i hope, more than anything, that we can still be friends. a life without you just doesn’t feel like the right life for me.”

you bit your lip, keeping yourself quiet until changbin finished. it was only fair to let him ramble after you had been talking his ear off all night. then, once you were sure he had said everything he meant to, you smiled. changbin, despite himself, let hope bloom in his chest when he saw the smile grow on your face.

“changbin,” you shook your head, laughing quietly in disbelief, “why didn’t you say something sooner? i like you more than everyone else.”

changbin’s eyes got so big you couldn’t do anything other than giggle. a few words from you, and he looked like he was over the moon.

“you…like me?”

“of course, changbin. are you free saturday? i just have to cancel some plans, but then i’m all yours.”i’m all yours turned changbin’s chest into a fireworks show, so, rather than answering you, he broke into a fit of giggles and wrapped you into his arms. he was, always and forever, all yours. he did not need any courage to tell you that, over and over and over again.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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messenger-of-babel · 11 days ago

Text

Blue is a Christmas Colour

Summary: You attend a Christmas party held by the titans and spend the evening trying to avoid your crush. (Dick Grayson x reader)

Word Count: 2.1K

Notes: Def pushing everything back by a day, I got sick (curse the Aussie summer heat) so I'm taking it easy. Not many warning for this one, except maybe a slightly OOC Dick? Idk I've never had to write them not in pain before.

~RiRi <33

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You had exactly one hour before the Christmas party, yet you were faced with the classic Hallmark crisis of having nothing to wear.

Sure, you had been confident in your outfit a day before the party. You were sure it was going to look nice a few hours ago, and you were convinced you were ready to leave the house and arrive early as you were getting dressed. However now that you were looking at yourself in the mirror, you just couldn't feel comfortable in the outfit. Despite being something you wore no problem last year, it somehow didn’t look right on you, the material was puckering in the wrong places and for the life of you, you couldn't get the fabric to fold down flat.

So now it was thrown across the bedspread alongside half of your wardrobe, a steadily rising pile of red, green and white. You ran your fingers through your hair in frustration. You weren't sure why you were so concerned about looking your best for a simple Christmas party. You had been invited to an end of year get together by the Titans, despite only joining their ranks earlier in August. You told yourself that it was because of being new and wanting to make a good impression, that you could let your hair down and have fun. That you weren't always the hard ass, follow the protocol type that you were at work. You told yourself that it was because you liked Christmas and wanted to just celebrate the holidays in style. Or maybe it was the fact that you were technically in the public eye at all times since you didn't wear a mask, and what if you got caught off guard on your way there? There were a million excuses that you made in about the span of a minute, just to ignore the real reason.

To try and block out the memory of how your stomach fluttered when the team leader, Dick Grayson asked if you'd like to attend. Forget the way that your cheeks burned with heat catching sight of his smile, or the thudding of your pulse against your neck when he shielded you during a mission. You refused to have a one-sided crush, so with a groan you rubbed your hands over your face.

Thirty minutes to go and you were now staring at yourself, happy yet mortified with your outfit choice.

Who said blue couldn't be a Christmas colour? you had split it up with white, but you still chewed your lip. Maybe I could say it's like a snowflake, you thought to yourself. Or like a Jack Frost theme. Still kicking yourself over your outfit choice, you had no time to dally. You were locked into this now. You threw on some accessories on your way to the door, making sure you had your keys and phone in your purse before locking your apartment and hurrying down the stairs. The lift was broken, so by the time you finally got to the lobby you were out of breath from your clipped jog, scanning your FOB to get to the garage.

Settling in behind the wheel you buckled in and checked your phone to make sure there wasn't anything you needed before arriving. The group chat was pinging with people's ETA’s, and you typed in your own "On my way, be there about ten." before locking your phone and putting it back in your purse. Your stomach rolled uncomfortably, making you tap your fingers on the wheel anxiously as you started up the car. Hopefully your subconscious wasn't too obvert, and people didn't have a laugh at you for the left field Christmas outfit. Hopefully HE wouldn’t laugh.

Yet if you had stayed in the group chat for just a moment more, you would have seen the blue heart react that popped up on your message almost immediately, before the other colours started adding to it.

You parked your car nearby the team headquarters, somewhere that you could slip away to easily at the end of the night without being worried about a stupid camera flash. The elevator ride up you couldn't help but fiddle with your fingers, rocking on your heels. You got this, no one's going to notice-

The doors slide open and you almost bump into someone, and you can feel their eyes scan across your figure like it's a hot brand.

"Hey, nice-"

"It's a snowflake." you blurt out, making Donna's eyes widen. She holds a moment before laughing, eyes crinkling as her head tips back.

"I was just trying to say I was glad you could make it." she grins, the confusion in her eyes overwritten by the laughter on her face. "And that blue is a good colour on you."

Your cheeks fill with heat, and you place your palms over them in embarrassment. "Oh."

"OH, is correct." she hums, shaking her head. "Come on, nearly everyone else is here."

Donna links her arm with yours, pulling you further down the hallway until you can hear the faint sound of Christmas music and chatter from behind a door. She pushes it open confidently, half dragging you into the room with her.

The room is decorated lavishly, tinsel and wreaths hanging off every roof and column edge. The few standing tables are filled with ornament table arrangements, and there's an icy sheen projected onto the dance floor. You wave at Raven and Kory lightly, who are standing on the other side of the room at one of the tables. Theres a small Santa hat clipped to Raven, most likely the work of the happy, red-headed alien next to her sporting two mini hats of her own.

You're still new, so you feel awkward talking so casually to some of the other members by yourself, so you stick as close to Donna as possible. She had helped you out a few times on missions, and her internal resolve int the face of conflict had helped you mitigate your own panic more than you could count. It was the same confidence you saw on the battlefield that she used now, except instead of a warzone it was a somewhat active Christmas party.

Some days you wondered how you even got into the hero business in the first place.

The first time you had caught Dick's eye was when you were going to grab a drink from the crystal punch bowls on the side, weaving your way through the small crowd. He came up beside you, giving you that stellar smile that made your head rush.

"Hey."

"Hey." you replied curtly, unable to make anything else come out of your throat.

"You look nice."

"Thank you. It's a snowflake." you blurted, fingers tightening on your glass as you filled it.

"I can see that."

"Yes."

You had proceeded to scuttle away, leaving him slightly stunned. The entire way back to Donna's side you kicked yourself, nails digging into your palm out of frustration. You needed to put some distance between you two. You couldn't get attached. You needed to shake him like the flu, push down those jitters in your hands and round up those stomach butterflies with a net.

Dick Grayson on the other hand, appeared to be much more a trouble than you had begun to imagine. It was almost like he was tracking you down the whole night, appearing when you talked to Kory, sliding into the conversation when you struck one up with Gar. He happened to be around every corner fixing his shoe or making sure that the decorations were just right.

"Had to make sure everywhere was decorated." he'd shrug before striking up some awkward small talk. Teammates had begun to giggle, and so you finally left the main room when you could take it no more, hurrying into the hallway to take a break.

You sighed deeply, putting a hand on your forehead.

Now you were alone, now you could gather your thoughts-

"Do you not like me?"

Your eyes fly open at the sound of his voice. You should have known that if anyone was going to notice your disappearance, it was going to be him first. Dick stands a few paces away from you, suit crisp and holly pinned to his lapel. He tilts his head, studying your startled expression, while hurt is written on him like a book. "I understand that not everyone gets along, but I thought we got along fine before." he frowns. "Did I do something wrong? Could you tell me what I did?" he asks you softly, and you have to stop him there.

"You did nothing wrong. “You rush out, taking a step forward. "You're fine, it's nothing."

"Then why are you avoiding me?" the hue of his eyes flicker with a clear flame of hurt, and his hands hang limply by his side.

You sigh, fingers wringing together. "Dick it isn't you, it's just I-"

"You what?" he presses, stepping forward again.

"I just-"

"Just?"

"I like you, okay? And I don't know how to handle it!" You snap, the pressure welling up in your chest like a dam. He looks stunned at your outburst, and immediately you cover your face. You blew it, and you blew it big time.

"God, just forget I said anything actually. It's just the stress, it's all been getting to me, and the missions lately-"

"I like you too."

"It's all just been building up, you know? So sometimes I say things I don't really mean...what?"

Dick begins to laugh, running a hand through the black mess of hair. "I said I like you."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." he grins, coming to stand in front of you. "Why didn't you just say something sooner?"

"Because not everyone is a charming flirt." you shake your head. "And I wanted to keep things professional between us."

"I think you're very charming." he grins, eyes glinting in the low light like a cat. "Very charming and very professional. It's cute."

Your cheeks heat up, stealing the words from your chest.

"You know, I liked you since you had my six on the rooftop stakeout." He says quietly, eyes shimmering with a boyish look. A lovesick look. You raise your eyebrows in return. "The one where you almost got jumped by a henchman?"

"That's the one."

"I would have thought that was embarrassing for you."

"You stopped him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, by throwing a brick."

"See? you had it handled."

"It was the closest thing to me, and I panicked."

"Just take a compliment, will you?" He laughs, and the sound makes the tension melt from your shoulders as well. You laugh alongside him, not realising how close you had gotten. He was so close that you could fix the shift in his red tie and push the black strands of hair from his sparkling blue eyes.

"Merry Christmas." he says softly, eyes flicking around the hallway. "Say, are you much for traditions?"

You tilt your head at the sudden change of topic but follow his eyes up to see a white berried bunch of mistletoe hanging from the archway. "Did you plan this?" you accuse jokingly.

Dick puts his hands up in mock defence. "Hey, I did say the whole building got decorated." He teases, eyes flicking from the mistletoe back down to your lips. "Do you...may I?" he asks softly, eyes searching yours for permission.

You swallow and nod, blood rushing to your head as he smiles and draws closer. H his hand that comes to rest on your hip feels like a thousand degrees, and when you close your eyes and his lips slot over yours you feel like you're on fire. It only lasts for a few fleeting moments, his actions gentle and soothing before he pulls away. You find yourself wanting to lean forward and chase the taste of mint and candy cane on his lips, hazy as the giddiness sets in that you just kissed Dick Grayson.

"Wanna rejoin the party?" he asks, grinning as he sees the faint shock the kiss left you in. He offers you his hand and this time you take it with no hesitation. You offer him up a smile, seeing your own excitement reflected in the flickering of his irises.

"Sure." you hum. Maybe this wasn't the worst way to end a year.

"Oh, and no one is buying that snowflake story."

#messenger of babel #fanfic #dc comics #dc fanfic #dc #dc x reader #nightwing fanfic #nightwing #dc nightwing #nightwing fanfiction #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x you #dick grayson #riri's christmas special #christmas countdown #mistletoe

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 6 months ago

Note

hi I’m such a big fan of your writing 💕and overall so grateful that you write for Donna since I feel she is very underrated especially RE Donna

but I wanted to request ✨ a scenario where Donna and R are having a normal afternoon and R out of nowhere blurts out how they used to do modeling for a little while and Donna get curious so R shows photos of a photoshoot where she wears a little revealing dress and Donna get slightly jealous so R convince Donna she will give her a personal photoshoot and so they do it and it turns into smut

go Donna please 🙏

also if you don’t want to it okay and you can just ignore this request but hope you have a good day ❤️☺️

Yess!! Thank you for your request and for your nice words!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

You can leave your veil on

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem!! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, fluff,

Word count: 6,440

Summary: Maybe a photo session can make her jealousy disappear...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!!I love you all!!!

“Be careful, it's hot,” Donna commented, leaving a steaming cup of tea on the table. You smiled gratefully, nodding as you looked out the window of the old house.

You could have tried to run away, escape from that cursed village, but you didn't. In your work as a photographer you had visited many places, but certainly none like that. A village set back in time, servant and faithful to someone similar to the witches in stories.

But, in reality, you saw no reason to do so. One priestess, four Lords, that was the system by which that place functioned. A castle, a dam, a factory, a house. Of all your options, the house was the best one.

Donna Beneviento, ventriloquist and doll maker, had a series of nightmares prepared for you, to drive you crazy.

You fought against those hallucinations, you screamed, you ran away until it was no longer necessary. No matter how much fear a woman like her could cause in someone like you, it wasn't enough. She was a mysterious, mourning figure that hid her face behind a black veil. The mystery overcame the fear and you stopped living those nightmares, to live in dreams.

Little by little, you got to know that woman, and the more you did, the more you fell in love with her. Compassion, love, you couldn't say why you didn't end up jumping into the void, down that waterfall. Maybe it was that Donna was as lonely as you in this world, maybe she didn't want to kill the last ray of hope of dark and lonely life.

So there you were, you had been on that estate for months and you didn't regret it at all. Her hidden beauty, which you forced her to show you, the changes Mother Miranda caused in her body, everything that gave her a complex was suddenly eclipsed by your kisses, by your words of love, by the whish to leave your boring life behind to join hers.

“Thank you, Donna,” you said kindly, as she sat in front of you, looking at you with that same bewilderment from the first day. An eternity could pass, but Donna would still wonder why you decided to stay, why you loved a sick, dark woman like her.

Her corners turned up as she raised her own cup to her lips. You sighed as you remembered everything that had brought you there, and above all, when you thought about the reasons that made you never want to return home, reasons that sat in front of you like every afternoon, that you hugged every night, reasons that had a first and last name: Donna Beneviento.

“Is it, is it to your liking?” She asked timidly, with the soft and hoarse melody she had for a voice. You smiled even wider, pretending you hadn't comically burned yourself.

“Yes, I... Ugh, it's perfect,” you said, fanning your mouth in a funny way, to which she laughed in a shy and funny way, looking away.

“I told you it was hot,” she murmured, with a knowing whisper, with that so intense look which could even pierce your skin.

“I should learn to listen,” you joked, shaking your head. “That's what they told me at school.”

“Did they tell you that it was hot?” The lady asked, disconcerted. You would always admire that shy innocence.

“No,” you said, laughing, making Donna look at you confused. “They told me that I didn't know how to listen.”

Donna Beneviento was a lonely woman. She had been alone for so many years so human relationships didn’t exist in her own world. At first you were surprised by those curious reactions to simple phrases or expressions, but little by little, you got used to them, finding them adorable in their own way.

“It's funny, they told me the same thing,” she said, with a melancholic smile. You nodded, blowing away the smoke of that burning tea.

“Did they? Because I think there is no one in this world who is capable of listening as well as you,” you said in a soft voice, making your compliments, once again, to get her cheeks blush.

“That's not true,” she said, downplaying that true fact.

After days of nightmares, you had only heard her speak through the Angie doll. It took a lot for Donna to be able to communicate with her own voice, even after your first kiss.

“Well, well, I don't want to contradict you but... Yes it is,” you whispered the last sentence, making the smile light up her face again, hiding it shamefully behind her cup of tea.

There was a small moment of silence, one of hundreds every day. A contemplative moment, in which your photographic eye admired each of her features, her figure. Yes, there was nothing more beautiful for your camera, you were sure.

“Mmm,” you murmured, savoring that delicious artisanal tea that Donna adored you with every day. “It's delicious.”

“Everything I make is delicious according to you,” she whispered, suspicious. Alert, insecurity approaching at high speed.

“Well, yes,” you said with a serious tone, crossing your arms. “Everything.”

Donna smiled again, shaking her head.

“Don’t say those things…. You know it makes me ashamed,” she said with a pink tone on her cheeks, with a mischievous but shy look at the same time.

“What did I say?” You asked amused, leaning your back on the couch.

“You know what you said,” Donna said hurriedly, with her hands trembling because of the shyness and nervousness caused by your seductive gaze. Yes, you said it on purpose.

“I said I like everything you make to me,” you said with an indifferent tone, ignoring that too obvious insinuation. “Why are you ashamed of that?”

“Because I... You know, you mean...” She stammered, further evidencing her nervousness.

“Your food,” you joked, leaving her completely confused and much more embarrassed.

“My food?” Donna asked, blinking profusely, looking with her eye for a place to hide after that sentence.

“Yes, of course, what did you think I was referring to, Donna?” You asked, biting your lip. Maybe you shouldn't play with her that much... But it was quite funny.

“I don't... You know what? I'm going to get more tea,” she said, getting up from the armchair to cowardly flee, as always when the conversation got a bit hotter.

“Uh, uh, honey…” You said hurriedly, standing up and grabbing her wrist tenderly, caressing her soft skin with your thumb. “Come on… Don't be nervous, it was just a joke.”

Donna nodded, letting you grab her waist and pull her into a slow, loving kiss, calming her breathing with it.

“So...” She murmured, with a more relaxed expression, playing with the buttons of your blouse. “You like my food.”

“I love it,” you said amused, stealing another quick kiss from her. “You have to show me how to make it.”

“Sure, of course,” she said, excited by the idea, moving away from you and dragging you back to the tea place.

“Before I met you, the only thing I could make was something prepared in the microwave,” you explained, sitting down again, changing the conversation to an easier and less... Hot one.

She nodded curiously, sipping her tea calmly, as if that little joke had never happened.

“Once, I remember that I had to promote some diet products. I was eating protein bars for a month, I guess that's my level of cooking,” you commented amused, remembering that part of your past. Donna looked at you curiously again, frowning.

“Em... Yes, I...”

“You didn't understand anything I said, did you?” You joked, making her shake her head, scratching the back of her neck.

“Niente”

“Niente,” you repeated, amused. “Well, I worked being a model once, you know, I had to take photos with products, with clothes...”

“Model?” She asked, this time leaning towards you, showing interest in that detail. You nodded, not caring.

“Yes, well, I had to pay for the photography academy somehow,” you explained with that same amused tone, which calmed down when you saw her confused and with an intriguing face. “Once a man from a clothing brand came and well, it is known that he found me attractive enough for the job.”

“A man? What man?” Donna asked abruptly, you couldn't tell if she was curious or annoyed.

“Well, one man...” You whispered, studying her movements. “Bah, it doesn't matter, that's part of my past.”

“It matters, who was that stronzo?” She asked, with a dark and worried tone. You should already know that your past, like lovers and relationships, was a completely forbidden topic in that house.

“Hey, don't worry, Donna, he was just a businessman,” you said, moving your hands to calm her increased, nervous breathing. “It's not a dark thing at all, I promise you. I just let them to take photos with new clothes, or things like that.”

“What things?” She asked, still with distrust in her voice.

“You know what? I better show you, I still have my photo book,” you said, patting your knees and walking towards the room.

Everything that had to do with the modern world aroused a certain curiosity in the lady in black, but also jealousy, a lot of jealousy. You couldn't blame her for being possessive, not after knowing her past. Maybe you thought it was a good idea to show her what you did when you modeled.

“Come, sit here,” you said, indicating the woman to come to your side, while you opened the photo book for the first page.

“It's you,” Donna said, bringing her closer to that photo, a bit provocative one, to be honest.

“Yes, of course, see? I wore clothes that they wanted to promote and they took photos of me, nothing strange,” you said, turning each of the pages slowly, being studied by the lady in black, who couldn't help but smile. “I looked beautiful, huh?”

“So beautiful…” She whispered with a tender smile, running her hand over one of the photos of her. “That dress is interesting. Maybe I can make a similar one for you.”

You nodded curiously, studying her reactions. Everything seemed to be going well, just one more afternoon in which you dedicated yourselves to talking about your past life, to astonish Donna with the world she didn’t know about, and she would never know about, the world you didn't want to return to.

“What is this?” She asked after a few minutes, with her expression changed, showing you a photo that occupied both sides of the book. A photo that even made you blush.

“Oh, well...” You whispered, taking the book and not having an answer that would help her face to relax. “Me, posing, with a dress.”

“That's not a dress, (Y/N), it's more like a long scarf, not even that,” she said angrily, looking at you with an expression that alerted even more jealousy. You had to make an effort to hold back your laughter at the reaction and shook your head.

“No, no, it's a dress, do you see the sleeves?” You said, pointing to a part of the photograph.

“What I'm seeing are your breasts,” Donna responded, without looking at your face, with her eye fixed on that photo, which, yes, was a little too suggestive.

“Oh, they can't be seen at all,” you said, downplaying it. Donna sighed, ignoring your excuses. “They are well covered.”

“I can see them,” she corrected, with a brusque tone. “You say everyone could see these photos?”

“Well, yes,” you said whispering, closing the book and leaving it on the side of the couch, with a shameful smile. “At least during the advertising campaign.”

“The campaign... Let's see if I find out, are you telling me that everyone could see you showing your breasts?” She asked, with an annoyed tone, her chest rising and falling rapidly again.

“Well, not everyone…” You said, shaking your head and rolling your eyes. “Only those who passed by the bus stop on line 4, those who bought fashion magazines, those who went to a hairdresser, those who…”

“Basta,” she said, having a hard time. Unlike you, who was having a lot of fun because of her absurd jealousy.

“Besides, you can't see my breasts, I've already told you,” you said in your defense, feigning anger and crossing your arms. “I don't understand why it bothers you, Donna. You've seen them too... And I know you love them,” you said in a seductive tone, nudging her, making her head turn towards you abruptly, with that childish anger in her look.

“I'm your girlfriend, (Y/N),” she hissed, revealing what you were to her right at that moment. You hadn't thought about it, but you knew that girlfriend wasn’t enough. She was the woman of your life.

“Oh, I see... You're jealous, huh?” You asked with a funny tone, launching yourself at her body to tickle her, which made her laugh, trying to push you away. “How jealous are you…”

“Stop, (Y/N),” she said, holding your hands so they would stop playing with her dress, diluting that funny moment with jealousy. “I don't understand why you had to do something like that. Showing your body to everyone is...”

“It was a temporary job, nothing serious, Donna,” you said calmer, worrying because her jealousy didn't seem to give in to your cuddling.

“It seems serious to me,” the lady in black protested, trying to calm herself down with your little tricks for anxiety. “I don't even want to think about how many people have seen you and…”

“Hey, come on. It's okay,” you said, wrapping your arms around her and rubbing her body to comfort her, something that usually worked. “That's the past.”

“That's what you say, but I don't even want to think about how many people look at those magazines and... (Y/N), they probably masturbated with that photo,” she said with a serious tone. But the words entered your mind causing you to laugh, a laugh that you couldn't contain.

“Masturbated? Donna… Really?” You said laughing, but with a stab of reality hitting you in the back. Well, she could be right and that was… Disturbing.

“I don't see where the fun is. I'm completely serious,” Donna protested, moving away from you to show how offended she was by your laughter.

“Yes, yes, it's just that... It's a very uncharacteristic statement for you,” you explained, letting her know the reason for your amusement. When Donna was nervous, she might say that kind of things. Well, nervous or terribly excited.

“Why? I used to masturbate before I met you. It’s a natural need” she said, still with that abrupt tone. You had to stop laughing or Donna would get really angry and you didn't want that.

“Oh...” You whispered with a different tone, returning to that tireless seduction that your body was asking for. “I see… And would you have done it by looking at that photo?” You asked in her ear, making her body shiver and the blush return to her cheeks.

“Yes, (Y/N),” she said in a barely audible voice, her fists clenched on her knees. “That's why I don't understand how you could...”

She couldn't continue speaking, because your lips crashed against hers abruptly, kissing her wildly, trying to make her passion blind her jealousy, at least a bit.

“I would love to see you doing that...” You whispered, giving her one last kiss and checking that your actions had an effect, making her smile slightly.

“Um, (Y/N), I...” She stammered, fleeing from the caresses you made on her chest, caresses that distracted her from her anger with unprecedented success. Maybe it had been the sight of your barely covered breasts that made her calm down. That excited you, a lot.

But an idea appeared in your head to interrupt that moment, a much better one, one that would dispel the doll maker's jealousy forever, or so you thought.

“Mm, I have an idea, Donna,” you said thoughtfully, making curiosity return to her face.

“What idea?” She asked, moving nervously on the couch, revealing her excitement, trying to hide it in the black fabric of her dress, a detail that you, of course, didn’t overlook.

“What do you think if you do a photo session for me? One just for you...” You proposed, resting your head in your hand and biting your lip as you saw how she played with her dress to hide her enthusiasm.

“A photo session?” The lady asked curiously, frowning, but interested, of course.

“Uh-huh,” you stated, taking her hand so she would stop playing with the black fabric and you could caress her. “One that only you can look at…”

“Only me...” She sighed with a smile, intertwining your fingers.

She seemed to think about it for a few seconds, but, after that time, she nodded profusely, giving you her approval.

“Wait, I'm going to get the camera,” you said amused, running towards the elevator stopping at the last moment to pick up your old modeling album with an amused expression. “I'll take this, to avoid temptations...” You joked, calming her protest at your inappropriate comment with a kiss on the cheek.

Well, at least you had managed to solve the jealousy problem and the idea sounded quite... Funny in your head, well, also in your head.

“Say cheese,” you said jokingly, shooting a photo towards the couch, catching Donna off guard, almost blinding her with the flash.

“Don't do that, (Y/N)” she protested, rubbing her eye while you laughed in amusement, looking at the result on the small screen.

“Oh, look how pretty you are...” You said, ignoring her complaints and showing her that improvised photo. Her natural expression was truly worthy of one of your favorite works, of course.

Donna leaned in to look at herself, and she stepped back immediately, shaking her head.

“No, I'm horrible,” she said, with that tone that betrayed nervousness, the fierce attack of her complexes again. You caressed her cheek, forcing her to look at you.

“You're beautiful, Donna, the camera doesn't lie,” you said softly, placing your lips on hers.

“But you do,” she said, ignoring your compliment, looking askance at that improvised photo. “I could never be a model like you. Not with my hideous face.”

“Oh, come on, Donna... You know you're beautiful, you know it, I know you know it,” you said, relaxing a bit, wiping away a tear that was slowly running down her cheek.

“I know you don't think that way but... Thank you,” she whispered, closing her eye due to your caresses, resting her hand on yours, squeezing it against her skin. You smiled, kissing her again, not insisting on making her complexes disappear. You had your whole life to get it.

“I have to make some room on the memory card... I took a lot of photos when I arrived at the village,” you commented, ignoring that conversation, which was getting really sad. “Oh, what the…? Angie!”

You shouted to the doll as you flipped through photo after photo, showing the irreverent puppet posing comically in many of them. What a session she had given herself.

“What do you want, stupid stranger?” The doll Asked, running towards you in a graceful and fast manner, climbing into the lap of her owner.

“Have you been playing with the camera?” You asked, ignoring her contempt. You would always be a threat to Donna, Angie would never like you, or so you thought.

“No,” she responded childishly, earning a suspicious look from her owner. You blinked in disbelief, turning the camera towards her.

“What is this?” You asked, going through the photos that the doll had taken one by one, making her laugh with a sinister laugh.

“Mmm, it looks like me,” the doll murmured, making you roll your eyes, with a severe pose, reminding yourself of your parents when you did something wrong.

“Yes, yes... What have I told you about touching my stuff?” You protested, sighing. “You could have broken it.”

-But I haven't... Look, Donna, this photo is great, don't you think? It's me, with me, and with you...” the doll said, ignoring your scolding, pointing to one of the photos that had Angie posing next to the portrait on the stairs.

Donna smiled, looking at you amused. You were incapable of getting as angry as you wanted.

“Wonderful, Angie, you are quite an artist,” you mocked, trying not to laugh to emphasize your annoyance. “Although I have to admit that I'm surprised that you've learned to handle the camera that well,” you said, more to yourself than to her. Angie jumped mockingly, pleased by your admiration.

“It's easy, stupid, you just have to hit that button,” she said, pressing the camera trigger and blinding you with the flash.

“Oh, shit...” You said closing your eyes and listening to the puppet laughing as she cowardly ran away from you. “Damn…”

“Are you okay, tesoro?” Donna asked, with a hand on her mouth that prevented you from seeing she was laughing. Laughing at you, of course.

“Yes, I... Are you laughing at me, Donna?” You asked amused, blinking to eliminate the lights that formed your eyes after that flash.

“No,” she said with the doll's fake tone, something that made you sigh with tenderness.

“Well, well, we'll see if you laugh so much after the photos you're going to take of me...” You sighed, getting up from the couch.

“But, but I don't know how to use that device,” she protested, allowing herself to be dragged towards the elevator.

“If Angie could do it, so can you... Come on, I have a lot of ideas...”

It took you a while, but you finally managed to make an improvised photography set. The place chosen was the doll workshop, one of the bleakest parts of the house, but artistically perfect. All those wooden limbs hanging from the ceiling and its stone walls and floor made it an ideal place for that private session, one that you were eager to begin.

“Just a bit more...” You said, giving instructions to the brunette to move a wooden table, which you would desecrate with your sensual poses “Perfect, leave it there.”

Donna sighed, unable to hide the desire she had for those photos, for that gift for her, just for her.

“Come,” you said, gesturing towards the tripod where you had placed your camera, pointing it at the middle of the room. The lady in black approached slowly, studying that curious device. “Look, Donna, you can see what you are going to photograph through this gap here. Come on, take a look.”

The lady obeyed nervously, looking into the camera and smiling afterwards, letting you know that she understood you.

“Whatever appears here will be seen later on that screen, right?” She asked curious. You nodded.

“Yes, but don't use it as a reference, the light could deceive you. Okay, then you keep the lens centered and put your finger on the button, like this,” you said, taking her hand and gently placing her finger on the button, making the lens move. “You see? You have to press it softly first to get it to focus, otherwise it will be blurry.”

“Oh, it seems complicated,” Donna whispered, checking what was in front of the camera and then above it.

“It's not, trust me. You'll do it great...” You said, patting her on the back and heading towards the suitcase you brought with you, choosing what your first item of clothing was going to be. “If you can’t, I can tell Angie to do it…”

“No,” she said abruptly. “I can do it.”

You nodded with a smile. Naturally, that was the answer you expected.

“Well, then... How about this one to start?” You said, displaying that red and provocative dress that aroused so much jealousy in the brunette.

“(Y/N)...” She hissed, annoyed by your choice.

“You don’t like it? My breasts can be seen with it...” You hummed, waving the garment comically until a shy smile formed on her face as she shook her head.

“Shut up and put it on,” Donna ordered, hiding her embarrassment with the camera while you played with the red fabric, making it look even more provocative.

Your modeling days were still evident in your actions, posing naturally under her attentive gaze, perhaps too attentive. You posed in a much more provocative way, making her hands shake when taking the photographs.

It was funny, very funny, especially when it came to raising a bare leg towards the table, or kneeling on it in a seductive pose, which made Donna have to clear her throat several times to focus.

After that dress, successive combinations of the clothes you brought to the village came: lace bras, negligees, your entire wardrobe being captured by the camera lens, as well as by the eye of Lady Beneviento, who seemed to enjoy that seductive vision, the provocative poses and the increasingly obvious lack of clothes.

“You like them?” The brunette asked after a fun and exciting time. You flipped through the photos and nodded in surprise. They were good, much better than you thought. Luckily, none of them would ever leave that house.

“Sure, it's a good job, Donna,” you said, hugging her waist from behind, making her laugh pleased. “Besides, they are all for you.”

“Yes, that's the best...” she sighed, looking carefully at the places of your naked skin, which you exposed on purpose.

“Wait, the best is yet to come,” you said amused, moving away from her and leaving the workshop.

“(Y/N)? Where are you going?” Donna asked, confused by your sudden escape.

You ran to the bedroom, eagerly looking for that piece of clothing you wanted to use on a crazy idea in your head, an idea that presented itself in the middle of that improvised session.

“Can I use it?” You asked, entering the workshop again and carrying Donna's black veil in your hand, that veil with which she covered her face long ago, and with which she continued to do so with anyone that wasn’t you.

“Um, yes, but... What do you want it for?” She asked confused, watching how you played with the black fabric in your hands.

“Well, I've thought that I would like a couple of photos with it on, if you don't mind, of course,” you explained, looking at that fabric, looking for the correct way to put it on.

“Fi, fine,” the lady in black murmured turning it over, and placing it on your head making you laugh with amusement.

“How can you see anything with this thing?” You joked, reaching out to touch her while you tried to make out something with your eyes. “Donna? Who turned off the light?”

“Stop fooling around and stand there, tesoro,” she said, amused, pushing you towards the table, which you prevented by digging your feet into the floor.

“Wait, wait... I'm not ready,” you whispered in her ear, moving away from her and pulling at the tie that kept one of your dresses stuck to your body. “I want you to take some photos of me with the veil on...”

“Yes, you already said that,” she said, confused, interrupted by a finger between her lips.

“Just with the veil on,” you whispered, slurring your words as the clothing covering you fell to the stone floor, leaving Donna in the same material, looking at you up and down, checking that during your escape to the bedroom, your underwear also disappeared.

“I think you like the idea, don't you?” You whispered again, biting her earlobe and running your hands over her body, caressing the incipient bulge in the black fabric of her dress.

She nodded nervously, closing her eyes at your fleeting touch, one that disappeared at the same time you walked away from her, leaning on the wooden table.

“Come on, move, Donna. Shoot,” you said seductively, making Donna blink and shake her head, her entire body trembling from the view she had.

Her attitude was much more nervous than before, taking her time with each photograph. You played with your body, opening your legs slightly, moving the fabric away from your face to show how you were biting your lip. It was a vision too erotic for Donna, who could not bear more than a dozen photographs.

“Wait, (Y/N),” she said stuttering, making you laugh and get off the table where you were kneeling, pushing the veil away from your face again.

“I hope you captured these last ones well, Donna, I think they're going to be your favorites,” you joked, continuing with your sensual movements, moving your hips in an exaggerated way as you walked slowly towards her.

“They definitely are,” the lady said, her voice low, moving away from your naked body, only covered in that black cloth.

“Mm, this photo session has warmed me up,” you murmured, removing the veil from your face and playing with it in your hands, surrounding the neck of the brunette with it. Donna was receding more and more. “Where are you going, my love?”

“Um, I...” She stammered, unable to speak clearly, with a marked and suggestive accent as she was dragged by her own veil towards your naked body.

“You're hot too, huh?” You asked on her lips, touching them but without kissing them, taking advantage of that erotic moment that you were not going to lose. “Shall we take a break, Donna?”

She nodded, unable to resist the temptation of kissing you in a hot, wet way, bringing her body closer to yours, making her arousal more than evident, something that made you moan in anticipation.

“I want to take you, (Y/N),” she whispered in your ear, making your entire body tremble in satisfaction from that statement. You smiled and raised an eyebrow, holding her gaze and pulling the black fabric closer.

“Mm yes, it could be a good break,” you said, removing the veil from her neck and walking towards the table, opening your legs again, shiny with excitement, making the humidity between them more than evident, running a finger through your folds under her attentive gaze and slow steps.

“Wait,” she said, approaching, but with something in her eye that made her reveal a hidden intention. “Put it on again, please,” she whispered, taking the piece of black cloth that was still in your hands and putting it back on your head, to which you frowned and laughed amused.

“Oh, fine...” You whispered, pulling on her waist, with the black fabric clouding your vision, but not your senses, which were beginning to burn with the kisses that Donna began to place on your neck. “Wow, do you like that?”

Donna didn't speak, nor did she nod. She simply caressed your face beneath her veil, letting you know her response as she played with the buttons of her dress.

You gasped at her seductive, burning touch, at how her hands ran over your bare skin, at how they covered your breasts while her mouth traveled down your neck and her body rocked against yours.

You laughed, closing your eyes, noticing how her hand moved the fabric away so her lips could devour yours for a few moments while her fingers played with your nipples and her obvious erection rubbed against your body.

“Mm, Donna...” You murmured, opening her dress so her torso was revealed to you, so her pale skin would send shivers through your body.

“Shh, silenzio,” she whispered, laughing sinisterly, squeezing one of your breasts with subtle strength, which made you gasp with pleasure and move your hips against her body. “They are mine, you understand?” She asked. “Just nod.”

You obeyed, curious about that question, about that attitude so out of the ordinary for Donna.

“Only mine, (Y/N)...” She sighed again, joining the movements of your body as her own bra gave way in your skillful and mischievous hands, hands that she grabbed immediately. “No, no, tesoro…”

“I'm yours?” You asked, defying her order to keep you quiet, pushing aside her veil so you could shamelessly capture her lips, making her move away, placing her hands on your chest.

“Mine, (Y/N),” she responded, slowly turning you around and leaning over the wooden table, leaving you completely exposed to her desires, to her body's desire to dominate yours, to make it hers, again.

“Very well, then make me yours,” you said amused, separating your legs, making her gasp at the exciting vision she had before her. Your face was still covered by that black cloth, which she placed in such a way that it wouldn't move, before leaning down to your ear and pressing her shaft against your wetness, now free of her underwear.

“Don't take it off, (Y/N)...” Donna whispered softly as her hands ran down your back, down your legs, until one of her fingers ran through your wet folds, making you moan and nod, moving your legs.

Her caresses were slow, almost like a small warning of what was to come. The wetness that permeated her fingers was enough to make her moan as well. The position you were in and the veil prevented you from seeing her face. You knew she was smiling, you knew she had that smile.

“Shh, stay still,” she told you, lowering your back so it leaned on the table while her finger played with your entrance, with your clit, moving in circles so your hips demanded a little more contact, just a little more.

Her hot commands entered your ears like a current of warm air, causing your legs to spread even further and her finger to slide inside of you slowly, making your world spin, making you fervently desire more contact, more pleasure, more Donna.

“Stop playing with me,” you protested, amused, feeling her finger curl inside of you, exploring your body, getting your walls used to the contact.

“I like to play with you,” she hissed, raising your back so she could kiss you on your neck and continue dancing with your body.

“Donna, don't make me suffer,” you begged, clenching your fists on the table as her finger disappeared from your body and her hands roamed your chest from behind, squeezing your breasts, claiming them as hers.

“Okay...” She sighed, leaving that game aside and approaching you, placing her shaft at your entrance but just playing with it, running through your folds in a hot and wet caress.

You moaned at the contact, at her erection caressing your body, making you claim her to be inside of you with a few discreet movements of your hips.

“Donna,” you said with a more serious tone, hitting the table with one of your fists, looking at her through the sides of the veil. “Please…”

She sighed, but she didn't say anything. She simply complied with your wishes, slowly inserting the tip, letting your body adjust to hers. You moaned in pleasure, noticing how your walls stretched, hugging her body in a terribly exciting way.

“Am I hurting you?” She asked by surprise at your hisses of pleasure. Donna always will be the kind innocent woman in black. She couldn't be any other way.

“No, no, move, please,” you said, moaning with pleasure when she was completely in you, sliding along your wet and eager insides.

She obeyed your request slowly also beginning to moan at the sensation, gently grabbing your hips to maintain a stable rhythm, but it couldn't help but be anxious, desperate.

The wooden table creaked under your movements, adding to the wet sounds of your improvised lustful act, turning that sinister room into the warmest one ever, the most obscene ever.

“You're so wet, (Y/N)...” Donna whispered in an amused tone, panting as she moved inside of you, alternating strong thrusts with weaker, more intense ones. Just the way you liked it. That was just for you. “Did you like posing for me?”

You smiled, grabbing the edge of the table to keep from losing your balance, moving your hips to match her thrusts, to feel how your walls hugged her erection, how they made it slide inside and almost out of you.

“Mmm, yes, I love posing for you,” you said almost without thinking, overwhelmed by pleasure, by all the sensations you had experienced, by the relief you felt between your legs and by the excitement that wearing that veil caused you.

“I see...” She murmured, laughing amusedly as she leaned over you, reaffirming her control, reaffirming that you were hers, reaffirming that she was inside of you and you, even if you wanted to, couldn't get away. You didn't want to either.

“Donna, fuck... I'm, I'm close,” you moaned with a growl, noticing how your body tensed little by little, how the pleasure clouded your vision much more than the black veil.

“You're rude, (Y/N)” she said, amused, giving you a small spank on one of your buttocks, which was the spark your body needed to arch completely, letting yourself be carried away by the waves of pleasure from your orgasm. A scandalous one, probably the most scandalous one you had ever had.

Donna held you tightly so she could continue moving inside of you, this time much faster, affirming with her actions how close she was to possessing you again. It didn't take long to happen, causing the heat to accompany your orgasm with her wet caresses, making you full of her again.

The lady sighed, letting herself fall onto your back, staying very close to you, inside of you as her body relaxed, enjoying the obscene wetness that dripped between your legs.

Exhausted, you turned around, pushing the black fabric away with one hand while you kissed her, as long as you owed her that love that you used to give her in those situations. Although this time, she didn't seem to feel insecure at all.

“I love you,” she said, returning to her being, returning to being the shy and affectionate Donna that a lust caused by you had hidden for a moment.

You took off the veil, passing it back around her neck and pulling it, looking at her with a loving and satisfied expression at the same time.

“Me too...” You sighed, returning her affection with a slow, loving and tender kiss, far from the previous actions. “Hey, I've been thinking...”

“What?” She asked curiously, burying her head in your shoulder, letting herself be embraced by your protective arms.

“I would really like to take some photos of you with the veil on too, just with the veil on...”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

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her-devils-advocate · 9 months ago

Text

I drag myself like a rug in the rain

pairings: Levi Ackerman x reader

genre: sickfic / fluff

summary: You are sick with the flu, yet refuse to admit it before a certain stern captain. He easily makes you swallow your pride.

The title is taken from The Amazing Devil – Blossoms. It was also a quick drabble written from my own frustrations of being ill!

word count: 1,015

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55134844

“You’re not going and that’s final. You look like you’re about to keel over.” Levi’s voice is stern, leaving very little room for argument, but despite his harsh words, his hands are gentle as he pushes you back down on the bed.

"I told you, I'm fine. I'm more than capable of joining the meeting!" Your voice is strained, the words coming out jumbled as you rush to finish the sentence before being overtaken by yet another coughing fit. You weakly glance up at Levi, the man standing before you with crossed arms and a highly unimpressed look on his face.

"Right," he drawls out, moving to the other end of your small bedroom to lean against the door as if you were capable of rushing past him to escape his scrutinising gaze. Part of you is tempted to try, just to cause some amount of annoyance. The more rational part stays still, knowing that in your current state, you would just prove his point faster than you’re willing to.

"If you can walk over to me with ease, then I'll believe you."

You scoff, ignoring the harsh tickle in your throat that the action causes, and slowly rise from the bed. Your body protests, the stiff muscles aching with each movement while your vision blurs. You push it down, refusing to let it show on your face as you slowly place a foot forward, doing everything within your willpower to take a firm step.

"When I make it to you, you promise to let me attend the meeting?"

"If you can make it over here, then sure. It’s not like I want to keep you locked up in here, lazing around all day when we have shit to do.”

“When.” You argue weakly, refusing to back down despite the nausea growing worse with each passing second.

“Besides, you know the meeting is important, especially since it's about the upcoming expedition. We can’t afford to miss a single one now that it's approaching us.”

He rolls his eyes, shifting his position to get comfortable against the cold stone, almost as if he's expecting to be stood there for a while. “Stop stalling. If you want to go to the shitty meeting so much, you know what you have to do.”

You give him your best glare, yet from the way his lips twitch with a concealed smirk, you know you must look like a mess. You have hardly slept, the night spent in a feverish daze, despite retiring to bed earlier than you usually would. The day prior was spent pushing your body beyond its usual limits, wanting to train as much as possible despite the chill air, the change of season growing more noticeable. You groan, regretting the past yet being unable to change a thing.

“You could simply order me to stay in bed, that way we could just avoid this whole song and dance. The fact that you aren’t giving the order proves that you think I’m fine.” You mirror his stance, crossing your arms against your chest with fake confidence and wishing that he doesn’t notice the slight trembling of your hands.

This time Levi lets out a small laugh. The sound is airy and unexpected, and your eyes widen momentarily, convinced that your sickness has finally caused you to hallucinate the rare, but welcomed sight.

“Nice try. We both know you wouldn’t obey the order, regardless of how sick you are, I’m not going to waste my time giving it. So if you would like to get this ‘song and dance’ over with?” Levi says as his eyes fixate on the way your breathing grows more and more laboured the longer you stand.

You deflate, knowing he has called your bluff. You give in and place your weight on the extended foot, shakily moving forward. Your bones feel like glass and your chest burns, but you manage to take the first step. You forget to keep up the appearance of health, more focused on actually getting your body to function under his piercing stare, yet you silently celebrate the hollow victory.

The mental celebration is cut short when you feel your legs give way, you squeeze your eyes shut, preparing to feel your weak body collide with the solid ground. Instead of the unforgiving floor, you are met with strong, firm arms wrapped tightly around you. You slowly open your eyes to be met with his silver glare. Annoyance is painted clear on his face as his lips thin into a straight line.

“This is why you should have stayed in bed, instead of wasting time and arguing with me over it.” Despite the glare, his voice is soft as it reveals his worry. Your health has always been his top priority, even when it's just a common cold making its way through the scouts.

Levi slowly lifts you and brings you back to the warm comforts of your bed. You snuggle against your pillow, letting out a defeated sigh as he brings the blanket up to your chin. He tucks you in tight and you let out a small, slightly delirious giggle, you almost regret it when his hands pause and he stares at you expectantly.

“Are you trying to make it so I’m physically unable to leave this bed?”

His features soften and he continues to help you get comfortable, smoothing out the cover until each crease that dares to mar your blanket retreats, “That’s not the worst idea you’ve had.”

You’re not sure if you want to bask in the compliment or argue that you’ve had better ideas and that he knows it. Your mind is made up the moment he continues to speak.

“That way we can minimise the amount of surfaces you can infect with your germs. We don’t want you infecting the others at the meeting, do we? Now stay put while I bring you some food.”

And with that, he turns to leave the room, a soft smile on his face as your strained shouts of protest and offence follow his retreating form.

#♥. writing #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot x reader #levi ackerman x you #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot #snk #aot levi

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devilfic · 10 months ago

Text

❝right place, right time❞

VII. twenty-one questions.

parts: previously / next plot: everything comes to a head. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, reader's a little stupid, descriptions of surgical stitching, blood, surgical needles, knives, violence, mentions of drugs and underage substance abuse (alcohol), minor character death(s). words: 11.4k.

a/n: it has been yet another hot minute and this chapter has given me a lot of grief in terms of all the ideas I had for it and what it ended up being. as you can tell by the word count, I could Not shut up

Alfred calls you bright and early to watch Bruce spar.

The billionaire had mentioned it before, and while you didn't doubt you would meet an untimely fate were you to challenge Mr. Pennyworth one-on-one, it was a whole other thing seeing them both on the mat.

Alfred is slow but thoughtful; when Bruce attacks, he goes for several hits at once. Alfred anticipates each one. He's more defense than offense, but when he strikes Bruce in the chest even you can feel it.

Bruce is lean, quick. He ducks and rolls and uses every part of his body, not just his fists. He looks a little sloppy when he wraps his legs around Alfred's—out of practice, maybe?—but it doesn't keep him from succeeding. Alfred fights like a soldier. Bruce fights like a martial artist.

Bruce makes a noise when Alfred falls to the mat and you spring up with attention, "Everything okay?"

You hear "his leg" and "I'm fine" overlap one another.

The real reason Alfred had called you was because he wanted you to watch Bruce hurt himself. The vestiges of a sprain, he guessed, that Bruce was too stubborn to rest. When he couldn't convince Bruce to pass on sparring, he resorted to you: "an objective spectator." Alfred had sounded pleased. Bruce had looked about ready to suplex him.

You head over anyway, ignoring the protests of the injured so you could kneel and survey the damage. "Can you walk?"

Bruce doesn't meet your eyes. He forces his body to stand, but you can easily tell he's favoring a side. You reach a hand up and pinch his injured calf, hearing him hiss through his teeth. "Of course it's going to hurt when you do that." He sounds childishly annoyed. Alfred is fighting a smile from his spot next to you.

"I don't understand. You're head of the company, you can afford to take a few days off. Even chair rest is still rest."

"Ah, but there lies the conundrum," Alfred pushes himself up to his feet, "he cannot sit still."

Bruce extends his hand to you, still avoiding eye contact. You hesitate but take it anyway, and the ease with which he hoists you to your feet is a bit disorienting.

Since your agreement with Batman, you were forced to be patient. After all, there were more pressing matters in Gotham besides your own ticking time bomb. He'd promised that he'd get back to you soon about Bruce and, until then, you would have to grin and bear it.

Alfred excuses himself to get busy with lunch the minute Dory enters with the groceries, leaving the two of you alone in the middle of the living room. "As your doctor," you begin, "I can't in good conscience let you keep pushing your body past its limit."

"It barely hurts anymore."

You bend as if you're about to grab at his leg again and he takes a step back, annoyed—if not offended, "You have no record of chronic pain. No record of serious past injuries at all. Yet you strain yourself doing... what, exactly? Sparring all day? You may be young, Bruce, but your body isn't indestructible."

You get the feeling he's heard this before, bristling like a scolded cat as you stare him down, "I'm fine," he brushes past you toward the table he and Alfred moved to the far end of the room, grabbing a sweating glass of water, "Alfred's just being... Alfred. He worries too much."

"I worry," Bruce raises a brow as he takes a swig and you clear your throat, "you said you need to be reminded to care of yourself. Well, that's my job now. Not that the hospital couldn't use more of your money but it's not worth the pain you'll be in." Bruce leans against the table, one leg crossed over the other. You approach, briefly taking note of the water that dribbles down his chin. "I'm starting to think you're just a masochist."

"Yeah? How do you figure?" His lip twitches up into a smile.

You open your mouth but the thought stops you cold. You were going to say, "Because I know someone just like you," but then you're transported back to that fateful morning where you first met. Bruce and all his... familiarity. The wild speculation of your exhausted mind. All of which, at the time, overlapped perfectly. Yet now that you knew them both better, they were worlds apart to you. Except for that one thing.

What was it that set them apart, again?

Your eyes drift up to Bruce's. "I get your type at General sometimes," you divert, "real pains in the ass."

Bruce steps closer to you with his glass abandoned on the table, "And your type can't seem to leave well enough alone."

You prickle. If it weren't for the fact that he was so clearly teasing you, you'd have lingered on the almost double meaning, "The fact you think this," you raise your foot and tap the side of Bruce's injured leg; his eyes narrow, "is well enough further proves my point. You need rest."

Bruce rolls his shoulders back; his compression tee clings to every muscle as he does, drawing your attention for a brief moment. "I'll think about it."

Your jaw drops. Bruce smiles. You feel a white hot flash of irritation that's wiped away when Alfred reenters the room, dishtowel thrown over his shoulder, eyes fixed on you, "Will you be staying for lunch?"

Before you can say no, Bruce interjects for you, "Yes. Thank you, Alfred." Then he turns to you, pats your arm like a friend, and pushes you in the direction of the kitchen, "I'm gonna shower. Make yourself at home."

You stumble over yourself, regaining balance just as Bruce's head disappears over the top floor banister. How quickly he could retreat when leaving you to the lions.

But Alfred is in a good mood today. Better than usual, actually. The hair on your neck stands on end as you follow him to the kitchen, preparing for the good mood to sour now that it wasjust the two of you, but it doesn't come. You watch him hum a little tune as he fixes up some vegetables to sauté.

You even find yourself getting comfortable at the island when he breaks the silence, "I appreciate what you're doing for Bruce... regardless of its efficacy. It's nice to know someone else has common sense in this house." Alfred sets down four empty plates at the breakfast table.

You take note of his tone, an improvement from his barely concealed dislike from weeks before. You take that as a small victory for today, "It's like arguing with a brick wall. How have you managed it all these years?"

"Like a soldier." Without asking, he fills a glass to the brim with water and hands it to you.

"Right. You're a veteran." Your observation gives him pause, the food he tends to at the stove crackling away. "I can tell. I've treated a lot of veterans so I can spot them from a mile away now."

Alfred snorts, straightening his shoulders. "I served as a young lad. Eventually retired and came here, took on the job as the Waynes' butler and bodyguard. I've been with them for quite some time. Since before Bruce was even born."

"You practically raised him."

"Rather... clumsily, might I add," Alfred glances at you and you're surprised to see him bashful, genuinely, "protecting him, I could handle. Raising him... well, that was another matter entirely."

"But you did a pretty good job. I mean, he's accomplished a lot. Especially with the mayor. I imagine that's why he's working so hard: really seems like he's dedicated to restoring his father's legacy."

You can't help the little hook you throw out.

Right before the Mayor was elected, when a bomb shook the penthouse of 1939 Kane St., Edward Nashton had taken to the airwaves to out Thomas Wayne as a cold-blooded killer. Not long after, the man who'd pulled the trigger was shot dead in the street before he could be brought to justice. That would bring anyone out of hiding.

Wayne Enterprises inevitably challenged the claims, Bruce Wayne had taken to his father's defense in an impassioned press conference that even you tuned into, and Gotham General made the decision to keep his father's statue in the courtyard.

It was never ruled out, though. After all, all of the Riddler's other exposés were true. But there was no paper trail. Nothing but he said, he said, and with everyone involved dead, it was Bruce Wayne's word over a zealot who'd flooded the city.

You take a sip from your glass to let Alfred ruminate on his reply. He doesn't raise his eyes to you again, "Precisely."

"I've been keeping a close eye on him in the news. His philanthropy this past year has been really remarkable." That was a bold-faced lie. You'd been keeping an eye on him for the past few weeks. Everything else you knew about Bruce Wayne's newfound appreciation for the poor and needy came from Em. "Some of the people at the party, however..."

"Councilman Roberts, was it? He was awfully spirited from what Master Bruce relayed to me."

The very mention of his name makes your blood pressure spike, "The guest list was very diverse."

Alfred transfers the cutting board to the sink, "Master Bruce has his reasons. He's become rather fixated on the state of political affairs. First behind the scenes, and now..."

"Now center stage." You finish for him, swirling your glass. "Think he'll run for office one day?"

Alfred looks somewhere between amused and horrified.

It would be natural. Thomas Wayne had almost done it. Why not Bruce? It'd be a comeback story for the ages if someone didn't try to kill him again.

"I'd rather he keep out of it. Being in a position like that has never been his true calling."

"Yeah? And what is?"

Alfred doesn't look like he wants to say. He scrubs at the surface of the wooden board, absentmindedly brushing the same spot clean over and over. His eyes catch yours for a split second, just as quick as the smile that he flashes when the answer finally spills out of him, "Altruism."

You and Alfred don't talk much more until Bruce comes down. Dory joins you all at the table soon after and, rather awkwardly, you find yourself having a quiet lunch with the Waynes. Hooks abandoned. Fish not caught.

You wait for what feels like hours, but eventually he arrives.

His car is an absolute monster. It growls as it pulls up beside you in the withering glow of street lights, and if it weren't for said lights, it would blend into the shadows almost completely. The raindrops that dot the hood help catch the light on the deep black paint job.

You look for the door handle but it opens for you. Inside, you see Batman with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. You swallow. This is new territory.

You throw your bag in first, then climb into the passenger seat, very aware of the pocket knife stuffed in the pocket of your scrubs. You go to close the door and it closes for you all on its own. Behind you is an intimidating engine that vibrates through your every bone and muscle, and when you look to the driver, he is staring straight ahead. A few beats pass as you try to keep your teeth from chattering, "Do the seat belts move on their own, too?"

Batman looks at you from his peripheral. Then—twisting in his seat—he reaches across you to retrieve the seat belt, dragging it across the front of your body until it clicks at your side, "'Fraid not."

Despite all the rumbling of the car engine, it's a smooth ride through the city. Even the littering of pot holes and uneven pavement doesn't ruin it. Still, it does nothing to quell your nerves.

You feel small, sinking into the passenger seat built for people wearing a lot more armor than you. You also note that there's nowhere for your legs to go underneath the seat. You bump the solid obstruction with the backs of your sneakers but can't make out what it is.

There are other weird things you notice when you start looking. Starting where your shoulders rest are six holes going down the seat, three on each side, all a foot apart from the last. You press your finger into one of the holes and feel hard metal on either side of the gap. Upon further inspection, Batman's seat has it too, "What are these for?" You ask.

Batman doesn't need to look at you to know what you're messing with, "Restraints."

You recoil, "I beg your pardon?"

"I could show you."

"I'm- sorry, what..." You bend at the waist to feel the metal plate beneath the seat and recognize that there are holes along the sides there too.

"In case I need to bring someone along who's less than willing. Metal bars are installed in the seats. Only I know how to activate them."

"Why your seat too?"

"In case someone tries to steal the car," he makes a turn into one of the boroughs and you realize you're getting close to your destination, "but I've considered putting a trunk in the back for... passengers."

"And where do you get the money for such... modest mods?"

At that, Batman does not answer you. You figured he wouldn't. There were a hundred answers he could give you that would surely, most definitely give his identity away. It doesn't stop your brain from beginning to wander.

It doesn't get very far before you're pulling up into the alley between two houses, shrouding the car in the shadow of Joey Russo's home.

It's not as nicely kept as the other houses on the street, and its age doesn't do it any favors. A lot of the off-white paint has been chipped off or discolored over the years. There's a piece-of-junk car in the driveway that looks like it works, but just barely. The lawn has outgrown the neighbors', kept at bay by patches of dead grass where you can tell someone had gone to town with weedkiller. There are old, faded garden decorations around the front porch. Some gnomes with their ceramic hats caved in, a wind chime missing most of its chimes.

You're wandering out of the alley and into the harsh, orange beam of the streetlight when you feel Batman's hand roughly drag you back into the dark. You're about to ask what the problem is when your eyes catch the side of the house.

There's a little window with its grey curtains shut, a dead flower limp on the sill. Next to the window is a backdoor cracked open.

You do not protest when Batman presses up against the side of the house and moves you behind him. There are dogs barking, cars driving by, faint sirens in the distance, but you can't hear anything from inside.

You watch as he presses his hand to the door and slowly pushes it open, peeking in from a safe distance into the dark. Most of the windows are blocked out by sheer curtains, and no light in the house is on from what you can tell.

Batman is a hulking thing, always, but every step is feather-light on the weathered floorboards as you both enter. There's no sign of Russo, even though the house feels warm. Like it'd been lived in recently. Your heart picks up as you swear you see a shadow move in the corner of your eye, but it's just the wind picking up one of the curtains.

You so desperately want to ask him what he's thinking but your voice is stuck in your throat, the thought crashing down upon you that you are here, that somewhere in this house is the man who had ensured you'd be here today (in nearly all the ways that that could apply), and that it was not so far behind you as you might've hoped.

And were you to get an answer—any answer—from Russo tonight, it would not change the fact that your name was still on Bruce Wayne's payroll.

You feel sick to your stomach all over again.

When the living room is clear, you're simultaneously relieved and terrified when Batman leaves you to scope out the adjoining dining room. The house is silent aside from your breathing.

It's a few moments alone that does it; you start to feel another wave of anxiety. It had been a few minutes, hadn't it? Maybe. A minute at least. You're not confident enough to go looking for Batman, and you fear calling out to him would just detrimentally unsettle the atmosphere. You listen for where he might be, any creaks in the floors boards, but there's nothing.

Just as you're about to step into the dining room yourself, something moves out of your peripheral again. Only this time, you realize too late that it's not the curtain.

You barely register the pain at first—the skin of your upper arm splitting in half—but then it's white-hot and you're choking on a cry before you can stop yourself. Something had rushed at you, a person. You shakily touch where they'd cut you.

Was it a knife? It had to be, with how cleanly it tore your skin. Your brain jumps to the next question: was it covered in anything? Would you get infected?

You stumble back and reach into your pocket for your own knife with a little more urgency. The person rushes at you again with something akin to a battle cry and you narrowly dodge their raised weapon, only the sound of it ripping through the curtains tells you it wasn't just another delayed reaction.

You slash at their back while they're still turned and manage to actually make a cut before jumping back. It's not enough, though. Your attacker spins and even though the light has now turned them into nothing but a silhouette, you can feel their crazed gaze on you.

It feels boiling. It feels personal.

Their breathing is ragged, panting from more than just the fight. It sounds like they're foaming at the mouth, rabid and wild, as they spit at you, "You should've died with your little bitch of a friend when you had the chance."

The anger in their voice stuns you before the words do.

They come at you again and you sidestep them once more but it's staggered, allowing the tip of their weapon to slice your cheek open. When you cry out this time, you yell for Batman.

You don't have any concept of time right now, but as you fall to the floor, you swing at your attacker's ankle, hoping to cut a vein, when you feel Batman rush past you and directly into your attacker.

They both crash into the coffee table, glass and wood shattering in a cacophony. You watch through burning eyes as the two wrestle each other, keeping your hand pressed to your arm to still the bleeding even as it slips against the skin. Batman has them pinned when your attacker starts wildly kicking, and one of his feet hits Batman hard in the leg. You don't expect it to be the leverage he needs, but it's enough to daze Batman—he looks suddenly awash with pain—and that's all the attacker needs to slip out from beneath him and head out the back door.

Your heart stutters. How hard did he have to hit him through the suit for it to cripple him so easily?

Batman tries to recover, tries to deploy the grapple gun in his gauntlet to trip him, but he slips into the alleyway just narrowly. Batman is after him in an instant.

You force yourself up from the floor to follow after him, when you realize that within all that commotion, no one else in the house made themselves known.

You stumble up the staircase, haphazardly swiping at the wall for light switches that might help clear the spots in your vision. "Russo!" You call out, and your voice is shaky. You realize you're trembling.

There are too many doors on the upper floor but there is one that is cracked open. You rush toward it first, shoving it open with your good shoulder.

And there, to confirm your worst suspicion, is proof.

You've had enough training in your field not to immediately vomit at the sight even as the smell overpowers you. He's lost weight and he looks smaller than he had been when you were just sixteen. Laying on the floor, drenched in his own blood, Detective Joey Russo isn't the crystal clear picture you'd preserved in your head these past 17 years.

You make it only a few steps before falling to your knees beside him. It's clear he'd passed from the stab wounds not long before you'd arrived and there's just so many. His chest, his stomach, his arms and legs and skull—his face had taken the worst of it. Whoever had done this had been furious.

You can barely bring yourself to stare into his eyes but when you do, you sob. You try to look anywhere else but your eyes just catch on pictures of him on the wall, happy, smiling, with a wife and a kid who leave no traces of themselves in this room.

It's just him. All alone here.

You sway a bit as you reach a hand up to shut his eyes but the blood on your fingers stops you. You realize that you've left a trail on the way up here, and as your eyes retrace back to the bedroom door, you see Batman standing there looking down at you.

He doesn't ask, just walks over to you and hoists you up to stand, forcing you to lean into him for support.

The time between him finding you and the walk downstairs passes in a muddy amount of time and you're stumbling into the hood of his car as your head swims.

You must be losing a bit of blood.

Batman presses a hand to your arm. His other hand goes to your cheek and you flinch away at the sting.

You watch him dizzily. He reaches down to the bottom of his cape and rips a strip off to tie around your bicep. "GCPD is on the way. We have to get you stitched up."

"If only there were a surgeon around." Batman doesn't find your joke funny. Neither do you, all things considered.

The doors open on their own again and he sits you in the passenger seat, leaning it back as far as it'll go before buckling you in. You think you feel his hand linger on yours before he abandons you for the driver's side. The thrum of the engine is the least of your concerns now.

You're halfway down the street when you mumble, "He said... I should've died."

"Stop talking." He doesn't say it with menace, or at least not the kind where you actually mean it. It's all bark and... worry, you think.

You hate the smell of your own blood, which is funny because it smells about the same as everyone else's and usually that's just fine for you. Or maybe you're still smelling Russo's.

You think of your attacker. About what they said. That you should've died with your "little bitch of a friend". It's too convenient to not be—one of the street lights you pass is far too bright and you have to shut your eyes to keep the thought going—be about her. And why her? Why Russo? Why now?

17 years of nothing. And now everything at once.

"Russo," your voice is weaker, "we gotta go back for him."

"Stop talking! I'm trying- shit." This is the most panic you've ever heard in Batman's voice before. The most fear. He hadn't been this worried when he was dying on your living room floor. "Please." He begs.

You're of sound mind enough to know what he's really asking. You should know, even as you sway in and out of consciousness.

You conserve what little energy you have left to focus on the side of his face. His jaw forever clenched. Eyelashes long enough to catch the city light on. And although it's not entirely clear from the angle you're laying at, you search out the blue of his eyes as his face turns to look at you. It's the last thing you see before you give in.

When you come to, you are laying in a hospital bed with a throbbing arm and an equally throbbing cheek. Your scrubs are still in tact, even with the bloodstains down the front and sides. The knees of your pants are stained too, and you are harshly reminded that this blood doesn't belong to you.

The next thing you notice is Em sitting in the chair beside your bed, head thrown back in a peaceful nap. She must've heard—or seen, you don't recall getting from the car to here—and came to keep you company. You'd reach over to tap her knee if it were your good arm's side. The next thing you notice after that is that there is someone else in the room with you two.

It takes a second, but you remember him: a kindly face even with the cloud of disturb that hangs over him. When he sees you're awake, he gets up from his position against the wall and approaches the other side of the bed, "Detective James Gordon," he introduces himself, nodding to you, "we met at the precinct before."

Your voice comes out scraggly, "I remember you."

He flashes you a quick smile, "Well, I'm happy to see you're alright. You lost a bit of blood, but your friend—" A pen materializes in his hand and he points it at Em, still dead to the world, "—said it was just a few stitches."

"Are you here to arrest me?"

He's trained well enough not to look shocked, but you see his expression shift, "Why would I arrest you?"

You swallow, looking down at your scrubs once more, "I assume you're not here to talk about our mutual friend."

James nods. "We examined Joey Russo's home. We found, among other things, your DNA on the scene. Blood in the living room and... upstairs bedroom."

You pinch your pants leg, trying to get at the skin so you could keep the churning of your stomach at bay. Anything to distract yourself from the very vivid image of Russo's lifeless eyes.

James clicks his pen and you focus back on him. He's got a small notepad in his other hand with a few words already written down. You wonder what he's written about, what he's thinking about you right now. "From what I understand, you dropped by the precinct recently asking for the whereabouts of Russo and were denied given his retirement. You mentioned that you were inquiring about an old case involving yourself, is that correct?" James continues after your nod, "You brought this up to the Batman too."

"Yes," your voice wobbles, "I asked if... he could help me."

"And?"

"He said no."

"But you were both there tonight. So, what happened? Why were you looking for Joey Russo?"

You lean up on your good arm, allowing your legs to swing from the bed so you could sit upright in front of James. One glance over your shoulder tells you Em is still asleep, "I told him it was urgent. I had reason to believe confidential information about the case had been leaked to someone. I wanted to confront him, find out if he... was the one that leaked it."

"The case being part of your sealed juvenile records, correct?" James casts a look over you, somewhere between pitying and skeptical, "given your involvement in this situation, I was given access to this record. Detective Russo worked your case 17 years ago, and was, in fact, the person to get your records sealed in the first place. Along with... three others, I believe. And you believed someone had unauthorized access to it?"

"I know- I know. I know they did."

"Can you tell me the name of this person?"

Detective Gordon seems trustworthy. Batman trusts him, you can tell that much. It's just the saying it out loud part that trips you up, "My, um... my employer. Not Rudy, but Bruce Wayne. I'm his personal doctor. I became aware he had this information and wanted to check with Russo myself before I said anything."

James doesn't bother hiding his intrigue this time. His eyebrows shoot up a bit when you say Bruce's name, "Right. And... do you have proof that he has this information? A picture or a recorded conversation, a witness even?"

Of course not. You'd been happy enough to get out of that penthouse without being caught. Your silence is answer enough. James writes something down on his notepad and nods at you, "Well, a single person—especially not a civilian employer—should be able to access something that's not public record. Even Russo couldn't, having been retired. I can't imagine Russo was the one to give him that information unless he just had a file lying around, and I doubt he did. He never revisited that case before he retired in any capacity."

"Is there any way Bruce could have accessed it?"

"There's plenty of ways if you have an in somewhere and the leverage to do so, but this is all speculation. I can look into it, though. See if anyone's accessed the file recently, sniff around. If you come across anything solid, let me know."

You doubted you would. After that night, those files had probably gone into a room with lock and key.

"There was something else that I wanted to talk about, though," James shifts closer to you, "Our mutual friend assured me that you've never been to Russo's house before tonight, and that he had been with you the entire time you were there. From what I understand, there was someone else in the house with the two of you. Do you have any idea who he might've been?"

"No, I... I didn't really get a good look at him."

"What about his voice? Could you describe it?"

"Uh, young. Sounded about my age." Your fingers grip the bedsheets tightly, "He said something. He said that... I should have died. Along with my friend."

James' eyes narrow on you, "Your friend?"

"Alex," you choke out, feeling a tear spill out of your eye, "I know he was talking about Alex."

"Hm. You think that's why he attacked you? He knows you?"

"But I don't know him."

James flips his notepad back a few pages, "There were eight people there the night Alex Villanueva was murdered, including herself and you: your three friends, none of whom have stepped foot in Gotham since 2019. The shooter, Natalie Young. Her younger brother, Dimitri Young. And a fellow member of their gang, Lucien Goulding. Natalie was killed in a shootout 17 years ago, Goulding is currently in prison, and Dimitri... he should be serving life in prison right now."

Your brows furrow, "Should?"

"He and several other inmates were reported missing from Arkham five days ago."

Your mouth goes dry. You squirm in bed with a sudden urge to take off running and never look back. Maybe you'd aim for your mom and dad's in New Jersey, or maybe the Atlantic.

You remember when Dimitri was a head shorter than you, had yet to sprout up so young. You remember what it was like looking at this kid not much younger than you, green eyes watering, curled up on the concrete as Alex kicked and punched and bled him until he could barely limp home.

And how he looked when Natalie came for you. Still a kid.

"Bat said he was about 5'11, 210 pounds, green eyes, shaved head and tattoos. A bit different from what he was when you last saw him. It makes sense you don't remember."

"He wanted to kill me." You whisper.

James—he's an angel, really—gives you a moment to let it sink in. "We want to put a security detail on you. We have strong reason to believe Dimitri was the one to kill Russo, and it's very possible you were next on his list, but I don't think he anticipated you being there tonight... which might've saved your life."

You shake your head, "Batman saved my life."

The detective smiles, "Twice in a row might make him your guardian angel." The both of you turn when you hear Em stir awake from behind, and James goes to dismiss himself, "Well, thank you for your time. You should probably be heading home to get some rest soon, but if you think of anything else, please don't hesitate to let me know." James hands you a business card, "And I'll look into Bruce Wayne for ya. Could be something there. Our mutual friend might know. Take it easy."

"Wait," you call, before he can get out the door, "Russo. He had a- a kid. A son. And a wife, I think. They weren't at the house. Are they okay?"

James looks a little pained as he answers you, "No... uh, his son was murdered a while back. His ex-wife's been living back home in Boston ever since. She's been notified."

There isn't much else to say after that, so he ducks his head as a final goodbye and exits the room, raincoat swaying behind him.

You're awoken by an incessant ringing about 24 hours later.

Popping one eye open, your brain takes in the shadowy lighting of your living room, blinds still halfway up from when you'd first returned home early that morning. Judith had caught you slumped outside of your apartment door and flanked by two officers—roused by the sound of you coming home late—and had helped you to your couch, poured you a glass of water, and stayed with you until the painkillers put you to sleep.

Frankly, you gave yourself permission to lie and rot today. But the ringing would not stop.

You grab your phone, uncaring of the caller, and accidentally press it to your cut cheek with a hiss, "Yes?"

You expect it to be Em, checking in to see if you were still alive. You also expect it to be your mother, checking in to make sure you still planned on staying in Gotham. You even expect it to be Rudy (who had been just about on the verge of tears when he saw you with a busted cheek).

It's none of them. "Can I see you?"

You place the voice instantly, actually going breathless. "I'm- what's... what's wrong?"

Sitting up hurts like a bitch and you realize that you're about two hours past your scheduled Tylenol. You inhale through your teeth and try to gather your bearings.

"I got... stabbed," Bruce sounds guarded, but it shockingly doesn't come across like that's because of the stabbing, "I need your help."

"Jesus! You need to call 911. Or- or get one of your ten million drivers to take you to the ER, or call a fucking helicopter to-"

"The tower, can you come? Now?"

You weren't supposed to be driving. The cops had brought you home, and you very much did not want to ask for that favor. You drop your forehead into your palm, massaging your temple with your thumb, "How deep is it? Did you stop the bleeding?"

"I've got something on it. I just need you to stitch me up."

You glance around the room, hazy, and reach for your water, "I'll need a ride. Can't drive right now."

"He's waiting outside." The line goes dead.

You don't believe him until you go to open your apartment door and see a suited man leaned against the opposite wall, nodding politely at you. You must look like you've sprung from the dead after last night, but no one makes a comment about it. The two officers on either side of the door nod to you, "Says he's a driver for Bruce Wayne and that you'd know what he was here for. His ID checks out, but we're gonna have to tail him if you go with him."

You shut the door and look through the peephole, but the driver looks comfortable waiting.

You'd wonder how Bruce knew you'd need a ride before you said as much, but it was clear by this point that he knew everything about you.

You probably shouldn't go. Not until Gordon looked into him, or Batman. Right?

You root around in your coat pocket for the phone Batman had given you and send a quick text to his number.

Going to Wayne's. Tell Gordon to hurry up with a warrant.

You pop two pills and pull on your coat.

When the elevator doors part, you drag yourself down the hallway, up the stairs, and into the main room. Alfred nor Dory is anywhere to be seen, but with it being past 10 at night, you can only imagine they're off to bed by now. There is just a single light coming from the kitchen, and when you turn to the breakfast table, there is Bruce. Waiting.

He doesn't look at you when you approach, however. One of his hands is holding stained gauze under the neck of his shirt, and the other is gripping the table with white knuckles. You wash your hands at the kitchen sink, then round up on his left side where he's pressing against the back of his shoulder, just out of reach for him to stitch himself. You fear he would've tried had you not answered the phone.

Or, God forbid, come to you.

He looks up when you're right in front of him, scanning you quickly, "Are you okay?" He doesn't sound all that surprised to see you like this. It raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

You pull the neck of his shirt down to survey the damage, for lack of a good explanation, "I'm certain I've got a better excuse than you." Bruce shifts when you move his hand away, exposing the bloody flesh that makes you wince. You set your things on the table and command him to lift his shirt. He hesitates. "What is your excuse?"

"Got caught off guard."

"Where?"

Slowly, Bruce slips his shirt off, allowing you to see the full expanse of his back. There was the angry red stab wound, but there were other things too: moles and beauty marks scattered across his skin that paled in comparison to the several jagged lines across his shoulders and lower back—pink raised skin where it looked like he'd been cut before. Cuts that had healed years ago. You hover your fingers above one and realize they're shaking. "You never told me you and Alfred fight with knives."

"We don't," he glances at you over his shoulder but looks away just as quickly, "some of those scars are from martial artists I trained with in Thailand."

"Some?" You see so many, and those are only the ones that leave visible scars.

"Others are from the Russians."

You begin to lightly clean around his wound and ready the anesthesia but, despite the fact that he cannot see it in your hand, he waves it off completely, "Are they... the people who gave you this?"

He goes silent again. You feel like you should stop asking questions at this point, but they itch at your throat.

He wouldn't call you here to fix this unless he had nowhere else to go.

When you make the first stitch and he doesn't flinch, your eyes flit to his other scars. Martial arts training, he said. The second stitch and still no response. On the third stitch, you press your thumb against the edge of the wound and push down. He actually swears at you as blood dribbles out of the wound, and the hand that had been gripping the table reaches back to grab your lower thigh, effectively bringing the operation to a halt.

You shove his hand off, "What the hell happened? Your hands, your leg—that was easy to explain. But this?"

He has the audacity to glare at you over his shoulder, "I don't pay you to ask questions."

"No, you don't. And yet you could've hired anyone but you hired me. Even though..." You trail off, eyes blazing, because you're not feeling that confident, "the least you can do is tell me what happened."

Bruce holds your gaze until you feel your knees begin to wobble in place. For once, he doesn't look like a wide-eyed, nervous animal in front of you. He looks angry.

Then it's gone. Bruce rolls his shoulders back and you watch the needle, still hanging by its thread, roll against his muscles. More blood seeps from the wound as your hands itch to get back to work. "One question," he starts, looking away from you, "the night of the party, upstairs. You told Alfred no one got on the elevator. But you did, didn't you?"

You swallow. "He said it was broken."

"Be honest with me and I'll be honest with you."

"About anything?"

From behind, you can see Bruce's jaw twitch just so, "Everything."

You step closer. Taking your needle, you resume the suture, "A question for a question, then. To keep it fair."

"Alright."

"Tell me what happened."

"I was looking for someone."

"Who were you looking for?"

"That's another question."

"Fine," you try not to take your frustration out on his skin, "I did. Who were you-"

"Dimitri Young." You still in your stitching. It feels like your heart is inside your head, thumping against your skull with every beat. "What did you see down there?"

You have to rake your petrified brain for context, having nearly forgotten everything that had come before... before... "I- I was... nothing." Bruce hisses through his teeth and you realize that you're just pressing the needlepoint into his skin mindlessly. "Files. A computer. A car underneath a sheet, some tools, a motorbike. A TV playing the news." You don't bother with hiding it now, "How do you know about Dimitri?"

"Because I know about you. Why did you go down there? Not knowing what you might find?"

It takes all that you have to keep the burning tears at bay, "Because I don't trust you. Because everything about this has felt off. I needed to know what you were hiding. What are you gonna do with what you know?"

Bruce takes a moment as if he's thinking about it, but when he answers you, you're for once certain of his honesty, "Nothing. I might set it on fire, if that's what you want."

"You could have another copy lying around. Or a way to access it again."

"I could. But I don't. And I wouldn't want to." He turns his head over his shoulder and you are frozen under his stare, "I'm being honest with you."

"How did you get it?"

"That's another question."

You complete the next few stitches with a little more force than needed, "Then ask me something."

"Why did you take the job if you didn't trust me?"

You laugh humorlessly, "Because I knew the pay would be fucking ridiculous. How did you get my file?"

"You wouldn't have turned me down the first time if that were true."

"Answer me."

"Be honest with me, I'll be honest with you. Why'd you take the job?"

"Because-" You choke, "you... sent me those ridiculous flowers and a handwritten note." Bruce's head tilts, you choke out more, "And when I asked you why you offered me the job, you said that it was because I noticed you were hurt when no one else did. And I said it felt like more than that. I think- I have been trying to get an answer."

Bruce studies you. He must believe you because he finally answers your question, "Russo had nothing to do with it."

"Who did you pay to get it for you, then?"

"That's-"

"Just ask me, God damn it." You finish off the suture and bite off the thread.

"Why did you turn your life around?"

You'd thought about that a lot after that night. The simplest answer was right there, but if you were being honest with yourself (and you were being more honest than you would've liked tonight), you really didn't want to die. "I wanted to live. That's what I'd always wanted. Even though I... really didn't act like it. I never wanted to live more until that moment." This time when you lock eyes with Bruce, you don't want him to look away. Maybe it's because he's defeated you, broken your pride, whatever. Right now, you want to see him.

You don't have to ask again. You watch him rise from the table, flexing his back again, and though you want to scold him for irritating his stitches mere seconds after you've finished them, you just... don't have it in you.

And then he's standing face-to-face with you.

You think the lights and painkillers are deceiving you at first, but this close, you are certain: he is littered with scars and wounds color-picked from late twilight skies. His back doesn't even look this bad. It's always been more than bruised knuckles and leg sprains.

And it's familiar. All of it. Bruises and cuts new and old, the shape of him, the color. The stab wound is new but all of this is months (years) in the making.

The closer you get, the more it knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes follow the length of his torso and then—your fingers press against his side, up against a healed gunshot wound. You brush your thumb against it. It makes you feel nauseous.

You look up and he's looking at you. Defeated. Relieved. You can feel the denial creeping in but it all clicks into place, doesn't it?

The bullet wound, the limp, the job offer, the sprained leg. You couldn't see it because, frankly, they couldn't be any more different from each other. And yet...

Bruce's hand covers yours and keeps it there.

That damned bullet brought you together. It had brought Batman to you, it had brought you to Bruce, and it had solidified in no small way that whatever had led you to this moment in time was years in the making. All because you wanted to live.

"Come with me." And Bruce leads you upstairs.

17 years ago.

"I think it could be good," Alex holds up the bottle to you, "if you're down."

You hate the taste of whatever she's giving you but it does make you tingly. You take a big swig and set it between you on the concrete, "You know I'll go wherever you go."

Alex grins, "That's the spirit!"

On Tuesdays, you and Alex like to watch the cars go by from the alley. It's between a Thai restaurant and a laundromat so it always smells good; if it's not the fabric softener, then it's the pho. It's where you always find her. After a few heart-to-hearts spent curled up on the ground with her here, it became "your" territory.

Claiming it didn't stop people from holing up inside and standing around a barrel fire, nor did it stop the laundromat owner nor the line cooks from coming out to smoke and take out the trash. But it did mean that you both liked it here. For lack of other places to go.

"You know that piece of shit from the Vipers won't take no for an answer?" Alex kicks at a rat that scuttles past, making sure it wouldn't take a bite out of her ankle.

"You're very popular, it's not a surprise."

"Shit, it's just cause they know my parents don't give a shit where I go. They're all like, 'Come join us! You could be one of our best! We'll pay you more in a day than you'd make stealing in a week!' but they don't talk about all the kids floating in the river when they try to do better for themselves."

"Like you'd let someone boss you around." You giggle, and Alex beams.

"No way in hell! I love my independence. See, I can take whatever I want whenever I want. Those sad fucks in the Vipers have to answer to some... some random guy they rarely ever see. Why would I want that?"

You'd seen the kids the Vipers recruited. There was no age limit, some as young as nine were happily making deliveries. It used to be a joke in your school that any kid with a front door would end up in the Vipers eventually.

You wondered if you would've ended up there too, had you not been with Alex.

Your makeshift gang of two which had grown by three in the last few months was less organized than the Vipers. It didn't pay unless you pulled your weight, and most of it was at Alex's discretion. For the most part, none of you moved without her. She was the head, the leader, and the only reason you could afford your new winter boots this month.

And you would truly follow her wherever she went.

You watch a few more cars pass. You press your head to the brick and let the sounds of the city light your nerves. That is until you feel a breeze where Alex had once been. You open an eye and find her inching further into the alley. "Hey," you call, but she turns and shushes you so your next words come out in a whisper, "where you going?"

She frantically waves you over.

You don't see what she's looking at until you get about halfway down the alley, but the voices are crystal clear at this point. There's a woman and a young boy standing off behind a dumpster, but when the woman catches sight of you and Alex, she shoves something into the boy's hands and dips around the corner. The boy, flustered, is just barely able to put it away before Alex is grabbing him by the arm and dragging him into the light.

It becomes clear that he's not a young boy. He's about your age, maybe off by a year or two, but so thin and lanky that his puffer jacket engulfs him completely. Alex yanks his sleeve down to reveal a poorly done tattoo of a snake going up his upper arm, jagged and unfinished like he'd run off in the middle of getting it done. It didn't seem too far-fetched an idea: the guy looked 92 pounds soaking wet.

"You're on the wrong turf, kid." Alex warns, but you know her tone of voice is too final to be a warning.

The guy yanks his arm back, "Fuck off."

You realize what he was fumbling with when the woman had run. A small bag of something white, and a wad of cash sticking out of his pocket. You snort, "Dealing for the Vipers a little far from home, aren't you? You must be new."

The guy tries to escape but Alex grabs the hood of his jacket and drags him back, "We'll overlook the trespassing if you give us a cut."

"Leave me alone. This place doesn't belong to anyone." But as soon as he says it, Alex takes a hold of his dirty blond hair and yanks his face up to look at her. You go to grab his money while he's distracted but you don't expect him to brandish a knife until he slashes at you. He misses, but it sets Alex off.

She uses his hair to throw him into the side of the dumpster and you can see the thoughts rattling around his head upon impact.

"Right, everything belongs to the Vipers. Is that why your boss is still Falcone's little bitch?"

The guy is indignant against the taunts. He tries to slash at her but Alex is faster, always has been, and she has his wrist in a death grip before he can even get close. You watch her twist it back until he lets out a cry of pain, the knife clattering to the floor at your feet. You take it and hold it up to his neck, watching his eyes go wild between you and Alex.

"Give us the money and we'll pretend this never happened-" you start, but jump back when you feel something wet hit your cheek. You almost don't believe it, but the guy has some spittle dribbling down his bottom lip and a satisfied smile when you lock eyes with him again.

Alex wasn't just fast. You remember her standing up to your childhood bullies between classes and giving them shiners that she still bragged up to this day. It took a few years before you both stopped ending up with twice as many injuries, and a few more years after that before you stopped having bullies at all.

And this guy— maybe he didn't know what he'd gotten himself into and that extended to more than just this moment in time—was half the size of the guys Alex had beaten to tears in the past.

It does not surprise you that he crumbles to the ground with the very first punch to his gut. Alex hits hard first to make the fights quick, and so when her next punch lands on his nose, you know that something has been broken. With each kick to his gut, the tears free flow as if surely, the next hit will kill him.

You watch silently. Alex is unforgiving.

After a minute or two goes by, he is so beaten down that he wheezes every time he breezes. You're certain Alex has gone overboard but something in your heart swells at the thought that it was for you.

When all is said and done, you snatch the money from his jacket and he doesn't bother to stop you, head leaning against the ground as tears and blood and snot trickle into a puddle. For good measure, Alex snatches the drugs too, "Don't show your face in this alley again or you won't leave alive."

And you know this is a lie. A trick to make her bigger and badder. A threat that she would never follow through on. Because Alex always made herself look bigger, badder, scarier, deadlier. It's what protected you both on the streets. It's what made you follow her, what made your friends follow her.

Alex was everything, and you would follow her anywhere.

You ride in silence together down to the terminus. You feel much the same as you did the first time. Bruce pulls back the gate and you spill out into the dark, but much like before, the lights and TV kick on. The News 7 jingle plays, Bruce pads over to mute it.

You watch him stand a few feet away from you, avoiding your eyes as they sweep the floor. There are those same tools scattered about, hubcaps stacked on top of tires, wires going from one side of the room to the other. It looks just like you'd last seen it, only the car that had once been covered by tarp is now on full display. It gleams in the overhead lights, as much of a monster in clear view as it was in shadow.

He really wasn't shitting you.

When you still don't say anything, Bruce walks over to his desk. Underneath it is a crate full of folders, and you realize he's getting yours when he turns and holds one out to you. You take it, inching closer. Without a word shared, Bruce pulls up something on his computer and you nearly flinch when your mugshot is reflected back at you on one of the screens.

"Your record isn't accessible unless I use a workaround which isn't... legal, but it's how I found your file without Russo. The GCPD doesn't know." You peer at him from the corner of your eye, urging him to explain, "I taught myself how to get in."

Your eyes are welling up with tears the longer you stare at the younger version of yourself. Bruce continues, "I know what the record says. That they traced back a few robberies to you and your friends over the years, and that you'd had a run in with a Viper the night you met Russo. You helped track them down, took out a portion of the gang's operation, and your record was sealed. That's all."

"They didn't trace all of them back to us," you start, not really wanting to talk, "just some. There were more."

Bruce seems to sense that as he closes the record, "It's your turn. To ask, I mean."

You look at Bruce in the face and hate the softness there. You can't be angry, or numb like you wish you could be. Your chest is all twisted up with emotion with no one feeling staying for long, even if it would flare up again every once in a while. "Did you know about me before or after you asked me to work for you?"

"Before. After that morning, I couldn't stop... thinking about you. Truth be told, me and Alfred have been doing this alone ever since I started. Before you, he was the one that would stitch me up, kept me out of doctor's offices where someone might talk. But he was also running the company for me, and taking care of me, and worrying about me. I knew if I was going to commit to this, I would need to try and stay alive, and I always meant to find someone but it wasn't an easy decision to make. Until I met you."

You know it's his turn now, but you can't help asking, "And you didn't think... maybe the kid with a record would be a bad idea?"

Bruce cracks a smile, "I mean, the stitches never got infected." You would've laughed at that if you were in a better mood. "I wasn't always so understanding. But I imagine someone who's dedicated the better part of their life to saving lives has more than made up for it."

Your head automatically shakes, "I can never make up for what I did."

"You don't have to tell me everything," he begins delicately, "but I need to know what Dimitri is after. I need to know what he's thinking. You're the only one who can help me."

You blink away a few tears and plop into a stool by his desk, dropping your head in your hands. The memories suffocate you, rushing at you like a flash flood. You don't know where to start, let alone what you want to tell him. An hour ago, you were certain he was caught up in a Gotham mob, planning to use your history as blackmail for... something.

You can't quite reconcile the feelings you have for Batman with the face of Bruce Wayne. Or who you thought was Bruce Wayne.

But he was right. You were the best chance at catching Dimitri. You were the only one who could make it up to Russo.

You swallow at the memory of Russo's mutilated body, but then... you remember him in that police station. When you were 16 and wishing you were dead. You suck in a sharp breath, "I met Alex when I was a baby. I mean, we've known each other for a long time- knew each other. She and I used to be attached at the hip. She protected me from bullies and I would sneak out at night to listen to her vent about her parents, about Gotham. She fucking hated it here. I did too.

"Alex and I learned that if you want to survive, you have to be powerful. So we became powerful. You might not think a pair of 14 year olds are all that powerful in the grand scheme of things but when it was just us against the world, it was addicting. When we wanted something, we just... took it. We started off pickpocket-ting on the streets, usually assholes who could afford to lose a hundred or two. And then we started robbing places, small-time stuff, you know. Run down houses, apartments, swiping out of registers when no one was looking. If anyone gave us shit, we just turned tail and ran. It was hard enough trying to make ends meet for our parents, and we liked the thrill of it. We rarely ever got caught.

"Eventually, some of our friends from school joined us and we become a little piece-of-shit gang. God. We were like... fucking 15, running around the city like we were so big and bad. My parents had no clue what I was really up to but they knew something was wrong. I didn't care. I was with Alex and I would follow Alex anywhere. We had this little alleyway, right? Between a Thai place and a laundromat. That's where I could always find her. And one day, we were fucking around and caught some guy dealing back there. Alex got pissed. We tried to take his money but he defended himself. I said something... he spit at me. And Alex just lost it.

"She beat him into the concrete and I just... watched. This guy, couldn't even throw a punch if his life depended on it, and she just wailed on him. And I watched. And I liked it. I felt powerful. We felt powerful. I know, a pair of jackass teenagers hurting people for fun? We were pathetic. But it didn't feel that way, being with Alex. She was my best friend."

The tears are free-falling now and you don't even bother to wipe them away. It would feel cowardly. You couldn't hide from Bruce now, not anymore. Not if he wanted to believe in you. "We didn't know who this kid was, other than the fact he was a Viper. A young one, a weak one. We didn't think he'd even last a week. Most kids like him end up getting disposed of by the boss anyway. And then all five of us were fucking around in that alley again when they showed up: the guy, Dimitri, and his sister Nat and this other kid. All of 'em Vipers.

"Nat wanted the money and the drugs back. Kid had a black eye so I guess he'd gotten shit from his boss about it. Alex was... indignant. Refused. For once, I begged her to give in but she just wouldn't fucking listen. Of course she wouldn't, do you know how much I enabled her? We were on top of the world, why would she give in? And she really pissed Nat off with that, but then she started mouthing off and then... Nat shot her. Right in front of me. It was instant."

Bruce remains incredibly still. His lips part to say something but nothing really comes out. You keep on going, "I was so shocked that I didn't even move when Nat turned the gun on me. It was like... I don't know, it was like I couldn't quite believe she was dead. But I understood what happened. Logically. I saw it happen. I saw the bullet in her brain. And when Nat turned on me, I think a part of me just... didn't want to have to think about it. Like a coward. If it wasn't for our friends pulling me out of the way, I wouldn't... be here. Next thing I knew, I was at the GCPD getting investigated for murder."

"They thought one of you did it?"

"The cops that brought us in, yeah. They just so happened to be around the corner when we ran into them. By that time, Nat and Dimitri had run off. The cops thought it was some fight between the five of us and that one of us pulled the trigger, but they couldn't find the gun. That's when Detective Russo showed up."

"And he offered to get you a plea deal."

You nod, sniffling, "He told me... he said that he could tell I'd never seen something like that before. There was no way I could've done it. And when I couldn't even finish the whole story without choking up, he said... he said that in exchange for our help catching Natalie, he would make sure all the crimes they tied back to us were sealed and expunged."

"What about Natalie? How did they find her?"

"The GCPD had been looking into the Vipers for months. Vipers almost exclusively recruit minors because they're more loyal, but there wasn't a way to get in without putting some innocent kid in danger. So they had us look into it. We found one of their hideouts by the docks. GCPD wanted to get the kids out and into the foster system since a lot of them were orphans, like Natalie and Dimitri. But the ambush didn't take. They got a couple kids out but... a few died, including Nat. Last I heard of Dimitri, he got tried as an adult for killing a cop during the shootout. That was life in Arkham."

Bruce shifts closer, "Until he got out. And he came looking for Russo."

"He was just a kid, Bruce," your voice cracks, "he was just a kid. He couldn't even defend himself. And because we were assholes we got his sister killed and we got him put away. He was just a kid."

"So were you."

Something about the tender way Bruce says that makes you sob. For years, you've looked back on that moment with so much guilt, knowing how lucky you were to make it out of that situation alive and unscathed. How lucky you were to be taken seriously, to be cared for, for a detective like Joey Russo to show you a picture of his kid in his wallet and tell you that he would hate to see them in your position.

You were lucky that you got to fix your grades and go to college, study medicine, save lives, be here. Natalie didn't get that. Dimitri didn't get that. Alex didn't get that.

"You said... you said you hated Gotham. Why did you stay?"

You wipe at your cheeks, "I- I honestly... I wanted to. My parents made a deal with me that we would leave for New Jersey after I graduated but I didn't want to leave. I couldn't. I couldn't leave Alex. I couldn't leave the city, after all I'd done to it. In it. I wanted to leave like my friends because the guilt was so much but I felt obligated to fix it. I wanted to help people. Not hurt them. And I've worked hard to do better. I just can't leave. I don't want to leave."

What surprises you is the hand on your face afterwards. Bruce cups his your cheek. His thumb brushes away some tears, and it feels so unlike Bruce even though it's him, even though he's the one who cradled and comforted you after being held hostage, even though he was the one that stood on your fire escape and confessed that he trusted you, liked you even. Your brain just sort of stops there. You melt like putty in his hand. You realize you've been craving a gentle touch like this for a while.

"Then you won't have to," Bruce casts his eyes to the side, looking at where you laid your file on the desk. You can see the cogs turning beneath his furrowed brow, "I'll make sure of it."

"How?"

"...You won't like it."

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