#Nick Dent

[apeachkingdom]

Reese Rideout for JockButt

[cheebuss]

why ate your babygirls so fuckt up

punished for my sins with questionable taste

[rihaaish]

A new Jurassic World film is being made. In honour of that, here is Nick Mohammad performing the libretto he wrote to John Williams' Jurassic World theme tune, titled, 'What Could Possibly Go Wrong?'

They share their DNA with FROOOOOOOOGS!

[tyankochan]

these are my favorite guys🥺They are so nice, sexy and charming😭Although the fever may subside, they are still my favorite characters!

Is Dragon Quest played overseas? Do you know psaro?🤔

[howmanyholesinswisscheese]

let’s create a universe where everything’s fine. where marias fine and talos doesn’t die and sorens alive and well and skrulls are polyamorus and talos and fury are crime fighting husbands with an australian shepherd puppy and a long, relaxing retirement plan.

please marvel.

just let me have this.

[actualsunflower]

Long time coming, huh?

[fictionallawyersmackdown]

Round 1A: Poll 4

[jackbatchelor3]

Tony from Hollyoaks and Lola from EastEnders, so that's a win.

🏕️🌴🕷️🐍

Shame that xenophobic serpent is there too.

[justinhubbell]

Hyperactive as in

"I run into many things."

Put in the tags how many scars you have and how you got them

[rambling-at-midnight]

Second Chances

Summary: It’s not common knowledge that you have a superpower: regeneration. You didn’t think that would be a problem... Jason and Damian think otherwise.

Relationships: Jason Todd x Vigilante!Reader, Damian Wayne & Jason Todd & Reader (platonic because they’re brothers duh)

DAMIAN WAYNE IS MY SON I LOVE HIM SO MUCH (I just watched the Supersons movie he makes me smile so hard)

Word Count: 4.8k

Content warning for temporary character death. Reader’s vigilante name is Ghoul, BTW.

Jason is in the shower when he hears someone break into his apartment.

He groans, makes sure all the shampoo is rinsed out of his hair, then grabs the knife mounted to his curtain rod. It’s not the first time someone has attacked him in the shower, and it probably won’t be the last. Still, Jason wishes they would at least give him time to grab a towel. It’s just as uncomfortable for him as it is for them.

This time, they actually do. Maybe they’re going to be polite enough to wait for him to finish cleaning all of Gotham’s sludge off his body. Jason would appreciate the sentiment more if the upcoming fight wouldn’t immediately dirty his body again with their blood.

He doesn’t turn off the shower when he steps out, dries his feet on the bath mat. He’s reaching for his towel when he hears one of the intruders say something.

He recognizes that voice.

Jason sticks his head out of the bathroom and glowers. “What are you doing here, brat?”

Damian Wayne, one of Bruce Wayne’s many children and the current Robin, scowls right back. “Why is your shower still running, Todd? Do you not care for conservation efforts? There are people in Michigan who would—”

“Okay, Dami,” interrupts another voice.

Jason’s whole body flushes. He makes sure every part of him except his face is hidden behind the door when a second person comes into view.

Your vigilante costume is zipped halfway, the top pulled down and sleeves tied around your waist, exposing the compression shirt with kevlar-like weave you wore beneath it. A large bandage is wrapped around your upper arm, growing redder by the second.

“Hi, Y/N,” Jason says. Does he sound too excited? Does he not sound excited enough?

You just smile. “Hey, Jace. Sorry, we came by for first aid supplies. We’ll be out of your hair in just a sec.”

“No, don’t rush on my account,” Jason says. Does he sound too desperate? “Just give me a—”

He ducks back into the bathroom to turn off the shower after making sure he’s clean and one hundred percent soap-free. Not expecting company, he’d only brought a pair of boxers and military-style shorts in with him. Rushing, hoping you don’t leave before he gets out (Damian can leave, though) he pulls both on and slams the door open.

It hits the wall so hard it rebounds back into Jason’s hand. You jump at the sound, nearly poking Damian with the needle in your hand.

“Watch it, idiot!” Damian snaps. To Jason, he says, “You just dented your wall. Moron.”

“Don’t talk to them like that,” Jason says sternly. God, he knows why the brat is so prickly, but he still got on Jason’s last nerves. He checks the wall, hoping the brat exaggerated, but nope. Another dent to match the nicks, scrapes, and bullet holes that already littered his apartment.

He is never getting back his security deposit.

You’re about to stitch up a cut on Damian’s arm when Jason clucks his tongue. “That doesn’t look good.” The bandage around your arm is sodden with blood.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say dismissively. “Ready, Dami?”

Interestingly enough, the brat doesn’t tell you off for giving him a nickname. It seems to be a privilege reserved exclusively for you and Dick; every time Jason tries, he’s vehemently told off.

Then again, his nicknames are usually derogatory. That might contribute to it a little bit.

Damian sets his jaw and you stitch him up quickly, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” every time his fingers twitch—the only indication of pain he’ll show. Jason eyes the bandage around your arm with worry, but the blood stain doesn’t grow any more in the interim.

As soon as you tie off the thread, Damian hops to his feet and scurries for the bathroom. You start to get up, brow pinched with worry, but Jason says, “Let me look at your arm.”

Your eyes take a while to slide from the shut bathroom door to Jason’s face, but then you say, “Yeah, okay,” and sink back into your chair.

To distract you as he unpeels the sticky bandage from your arm, Jason asks, “So you’re on babysitting duty now, huh?”

“Oh, no, Damian and I patrol together every Friday night.” You use finger quotes with the other hand and say, “B think it ‘promotes more accountability’ when someone gets injured during patrol if they have a partner.”

Jason frowns at the sight of the cut. It’s obviously from a knife, and not pretty, exactly, but also not big enough to let out as much blood as soaked through the bandage. “Who did this to you?”

“Just a typical goon. It’s really not a big deal.” Your eyes follow Jason’s gaze. “I guess it bled a lot, huh? Like a head wound. You know, disproportionate.” You tug your sleeve over the wound.

“Y/N is not as weak as the rest of you,” Damian sneers, having vacated the bathroom on silent feet. You jump, and so does Jason, even though he has Batman-honed instincts.

There’s just something intoxicating about your presence. You’re… distracting.

It was manageable back before Jason was Robin and you were one of his classmates. You were obsessed with Batman and crimefighting, and Jason was a bookworm, so your friendship shouldn’t have worked, but it did.

Then, ironically, Bruce Wayne adopted him and Jason became the crimefighter. He never told you about his identity to protect Bruce’s, but you figured it out when he died.

Then he came back to Gotham, hellbent on revenge, and burned every bridge he’d ever built. Including the one with you.

Jason still could barely believe you give him the time of day after all the awful things he’d said and done. But you’re just as obsessed with redemption and forgiveness as Bruce, and he will never take that for granted.

His fascination with you was manageable before Jason died, but it’s downright consuming now.

Jason can’t believe how you’d grown up to be so… so flat-out amazing. Graceful, and maybe not as skilled at hand-to-hand as the rest of Gotham’s vigilantes, but you adapt with a long-range fighting style. You’re strong, and self-assured, and really, seriously gorgeous.

Jason realizes his hand is still on your arm, touching the soft skin, and he yanks it away as if burnt. He doesn’t understand how you remain so scar-free despite years of crimefighting, and he’s abruptly self-conscious about the marks that litter his torso, arms, and legs. Your eyes roam over them, lingering on his chest and stomach

He’s most self-conscious about the jagged ‘J’ carved into his cheek, and Jason tries to cover it with his hand without drawing attention. That doesn’t work—he looks like a weirdo waving his hands around—so he tilts his cheek away so you don’t have to see it anymore.

You clear your throat and look away, as if embarrassed for some reason.

Damian’s gaze pingpongs between the two of you before he rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically. “Are you two finished?”

You push away from the table and make a grabby hand. Damian rolls his eyes again, but he sidles closer, and you check his stitched cut. Your thumb rubs over the raised line of stitches like you’re trying to wipe his pain away.

Jason realizes he’s staring at the bottom lip you’re jutting out in sympathy. He flushes again.

After everything he did, he can’t expect anything more than friendship from you. If that’s what you’re willing to give, he’ll never push for more.

“I am fine, Y/N,” Damian said, pushing your hand away, albeit gently. A hint of whine entered his voice and Jason blinked. It wasn’t often that he heard Damian sound like an actual kid. “Can we resume patrol now?”

“Wait,” Jason hears someone say, and it’s—him, he’s the one saying it. “Are you hungry? I have a casserole in the oven.”

Damian snorts. “My apologies. I did not know you had adopted the personality of a middle-aged white wom—”

You cover Damian’s mouth with your hand and say, “That sounds great, Jay. Thanks.”

Jason’s greedy. He’ll take whatever scraps he can get from you.

The three of you eat, the conversation pleasant whenever Damian isn’t threatening Jason because Jason taunted him. You laugh as they bicker, used to the antics of Gotham’s vigilantes by now.

Once everyone is done, it’s just about time for the Red Hood to start his patrol, so with a little cajoling from you, Damian agrees to let Jason tag along until your patrol ends. Jason suits up, and you lead the charge out of his apartment window, followed by Damian. Jason is last out, stopping briefly to make sure the window latches before stepping off the fire escape.

The sensation of his stomach rising is familiar from so many years of grappling through the city, but no less exhilarating. He follows your and Robin’s flipping shapes as the two of you tear through the city. The bright primary color accents on Robin’s suit and the pale gray color of your own shouldn’t blend in so well with Gotham’s shadows, but you and Damian manage pretty well. It turns into kind of a game of tag, and whenever he gets close enough, you grin and twist away, muffling laughter behind one hand.

He could definitely catch you, but he thinks you’re enjoying the game of cat-and-mouse just as much as he, if not more.

Jason’s just thinking to himself that there’s not much crime tonight when the Batsignal lights up the sky.

“Way to ruin the mood,” he grumbles. The game is over. The three of you grapple toward the giant light without any more flipping or laughter.

Jim Gordon obviously isn’t expecting them when they land. After all, it’s common knowledge that Ghoul is a Bat-affiliate, but Red Hood’s alliance with the Batclan is still relatively new. Shaky.

And a lot of people still think the Red Hood hates Ghoul. Admittedly, the way Jason tried to kill you when he returned hadn’t helped the rumors.

It made sense at the time. He’d also tried to kill Batman, Nightwing, and Robin, so it’s not like it was entirely personal. You don’t hold a grudge.

“Where’s Batman?” is his first question.

You shrug. “Running late.”

Jason’s not sure if that’s true. With you and Robin patrolling Newtown and Otisburg, Spoiler and Red Robin handling everything from the Coventry to the Upper East Side, and Black Bat and Batwing watching over everything else but the Tricorner, the city is in pretty good hands for the night.

And yes, Jason’s knowledge about patrol schedules is from his days as a crime lord, but it still comes in handy as a reformed vigilante.

“Why did you summon us here, Commissioner?” Robin asks.

“Bane escaped Arkham earlier tonight,” says the Commissioner. “We have reason to believe he’s hiding out in Amusement Mile. The Joker’s not out, for one, and we have a… witness… that claims to have seen Bane in the park.”

“Where is this witness?” Robin demands.

“In our holding cell, sobering up,” Gordon says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Oh, great,” Jason says. “So it might have been Bane, or it might have been one of those giant stuffed bears at every amusement park.”

You elbow him in the side and promise Gordon, “We’ll check it out, Commish. Let you know when he’s handled again!”

You and Robin balance on the edge of the roof. Jason asks in a low tone, “Batman’s not coming tonight, is he?” He would have already been here.

You and Robin share a guilty look.

Jason sighs. Bane is a tough opponent, possibly their strongest rogue. It’ll take a lot of force to bring him down… force he’s not sure you and Robin can muster. You’re good vigilantes, don’t get him wrong, but Robin is a prepubescent boy and has the height and muscle mass to show for it. You’re strong and graceful and should be fine as long as you keep your distance, but Jason’s the only one that comes close to Bane in terms of muscle mass.

It’ll be up to him to keep the two of you safe.

“I think I parked my bike somewhere around here,” you say. “It’ll get us there faster than grappling.”

Jason thinks something is stuck in his throat. He croaks, “You have a motorcycle?”

You nod. He can’t see your face beneath the mask, but he’s pretty sure you’re smiling. “Got it just a couple weeks ago, but I needed Earl to paint it over.”

“It is parked in that alley.” Robin points.

“Okay,” Jason says. “You two drive to my apartment. I’ll follow above, then we’ll head to Amusement Mile.”

“Aye-aye,” you joke. “Come on, bud.”

You and Robin swing away, the younger boy loudly complaining about the myriad nicknames you think up for him. Jason swings away to get a headstart. A minute later, the sound of a bike engine revving hits Jason’s ears, and it isn’t long after that he looks down to see you and Robin on a pale bike painted in the same colors as your suit.

You look up and wave.

Jason almost misses his next swing. He swallows and has to look away. Seeing you on a motorcycle…

As soon as he puts the key in his bike’s ignition, you speed away, tires squealing against the asphalt. Jason grins and twists the throttle. He shoots onto the street and hunches low to decrease wind resistance, pushing the bike hard to catch up to you.

You wear no helmet, but you’d forced Robin to wear one. He sits behind you on the bike, arms locked around your waist. At the sight of Jason, he makes a rude gesture, but Jason just huffs out a laugh. The brat likes to aggravate him on purpose, but it’s hard to feel annoyed when he drives next to you, racing side-by-side.

It doesn’t take long to reach Amusement Mile. You and Jason shift gears, rolling to a stop.

“You and Robin go high,” Jason instructs. “I’ll go low.”

“Roger.” You kick the stand for your bike, then you and Robin shoot your grapples for the nearest roof.

In seconds, the two of you are out of sight.

Jason swallows. He hates this strip of clown-themed land. The Joker isn’t in it currently, but it still reminds him of that madman.

Come on. He shakes himself. Jason can’t afford to get distracted. Bane is dangerous.

Jason makes no effort to muffle the sounds of his footsteps as he strolls through the park. A plastic bag drifts along the path with a gust of wind, and a couple bowling pins on the ground roll. But apart from that, the park is empty and quiet.

Too quiet.

Jason turns just in time to avoid a crushing blow to his head.

He hits the ground rolling and comes up with guns blazing. Bullets deflect off Bane’s armor, and he doesn’t seem to feel the ones that burrow into his skin.

“You will not stop me, Red Hood,” says the mechanized voice. “No one will stop me in my pursuit to break Batman, even though he sent you in his place.”

“He didn’t send me,” says Jason.

Help comes from above. A steel bola—one of your weapons of choice—whips through the air and wraps around Bane’s throat. He chokes and reaches up to untangle it. At the same time, a Batarang slices through the air and cuts straight through one of the hoses pumping super-steroid into his body.

He groans. Drops to one knee.

Jason spares a glance to the rooftops, but he only sees Robin.

That moment of distraction costs him. Bane surges back to his feet and tackles him. Jason hits the ground, the back of his head colliding against the pavement so hard his vision blacks out for a moment.

He blinks away the darkness in time to see a punishing fist aimed right for his head. There’s not enough time to dodge. Jason can only brace for an impact… that never comes.

The hook of a grapple is embedded into Bane’s wrist. Its line is taught. On the roof of a decrepit popcorn stand, Robin yanks back with all his might.

Jason knees Bane in the crotch, then elbows him in the face.

Bane grunts and yanks his arm forward, pulling Robin right to the ground in a flutter of cape, but Jason slips out from beneath him and rolls to his feet. Bane may be strong, and his hits may hurt, but that’s only if they connect. And Bane isn’t very fast.

The engine of a bike roars, and your voice shouts, “Hood, out of the way!”

Jason obeys without thinking. It’s a good thing he doesn’t hesitate, because he barely dodges your motorcycle before you ram it full-speed into Bane.

Not even the giant can resist a motorcycle going full-throttle. He topples back, and you keep driving, treating his body like a ramp.

Jason laughs despite himself. “I can see tire tracks on your face, ugly!” He and Robin throw knives at the same time. Robin’s slices off another steroid line. Jason’s lodges in Bane’s shoulder. It should have severed his deltoid, leaving his arms useless, but the man doesn’t react to the pain at all.

Getting run over pisses Bane off. You turn in a sharp circle on the bike and rev your engine, obviously ready to try the same trick twice.

But Jason sees the tension in Bane’s legs, and he’s shouting for you to stop after you start.

You don’t listen. You just drive.

Bane sidesteps your bike at the last possible second, and his arm shoots out. His hand is large enough to wrap around your entire throat, and it yanks you off your bike, which skids away with a screech of tire and metal. You choke, scrabbling at the iron fingers around your throat.

Jason has his gun out in a second, but Bane holds your body in front of his. So Jason shoots his foot. It doesn't have an effect.

“Ghoul!” Robin shouts. He unsheathes his katana.

“I tire of this,” Bane says through his modulator.

He snaps your neck.

“NO!”

It’s like the world slows down. Jason can only watch as Bane carelessly drops your lifeless body.

He sees Robin lunge with his sword. He sees Bane casually backhand him so hard he drops his katana. Robin flies backward, hits the popcorn stand, and slumps to the ground, motionless.

Bane steps on you—your body—and something in your spine cracks. Something in Jason’s chest cracks, too, and he sees green.

The Pit surges.

After it recedes, Robin’s katana is lodged firmly in a moaning Bane’s side. Every one of his steroid pumps is severed, and his mask is cracked. He’s weak enough without his Venom that three Bat-restraints and a set of handcuffs can hold him.

Huh. Jason’s surprised he didn’t kill him.

His knuckles are bleeding; they’re slick inside his gloves. When he flexes his fingers, pain screams up his nerves, through his arm all the way to his heart. At least two are broken, and another knuckle might be dislocated. His jaw hurts, his brain is pounding—concussion, probably—and his knee feels swollen. But he can put pressure on it, at least, and he limps to a stirring Robin.

“Hey,” Jason says. His voice is rough. He doesn’t remember yelling. He tries to crouch, but can’t with the stiff knee, so he just kind of collapses in front of the kid. “Robin. Status report.”

The kid looks at him, wobbling even though he’s sitting down. One hand goes up to touch the back of his head, and the tips of his gloves gleam with dark blood when he pulls it back. “Possible concussion,” he says with a wavering voice. “Ribs—”

Robin gasps and stumbles to his feet.

“Don’t—”

Jason tries to grab him, but Robin wobbles out of his reach. He walks hunched over in a zigzag, limping to your—

Jason grunts and stands back up. “Hey, hey, Robin.” He gets between the kid and you. “Don’t. Don’t—don’t look.”

“Do not stop me, Todd,” hisses the kid, and wow, he must be seriously out of it to use Jason’s civilian name. “Let me see them.”

“You don’t want to,” Jason says grimly. He’s seen snapped necks before, and they’re… Well, they’re as unnatural-looking as they sound.

He hears a rushing in his ears. A wave of grief is cresting, ready to sweep him away, but Jason has to keep it together for Robin. He barely hears his own voice when he says, “Ghoul’s gone.” He can’t say the ‘D’ word. Not when he feels like puking.

“Unhand me, you blackguard,” Robin hissed. “You do not understand. They might be—”

“They’re not.”

“Todd!” the kid says, voice rising into a shrill.

Something clicks behind them.

Jason whirls around to make sure Bane hasn’t broken out of his restraints.

He hasn’t.

So what made the noise?

He and Robin are looking right at the body when some invisible force takes your head and—and wrenches it.

Robin lets out a low cry.

Jason feels frozen. He doesn’t stop the kid when he stumbles forward and collapses next to the body. His shoulders shake, head bowed with grief.

Jason is still watching when he sees your chest rise and fall with a breath.

“Oh, what the fuck,” he whispers, stumbling back. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the—”

Your head raises, and you reach to your neck with a wince.

Robin freezes.

“Ow,” you grumble, pushing up to your elbows. “That sucked.”

“What the fuck?” Jason exclaims.

“What is going on?” Robin demands.

You look between the two vigilantes. “Sorry to freak you out, guys.” Which is a completely underwhelming thing to say when you just died and then unsnapped your own neck.

Robin makes a low, wounded sound, then throws himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck and squeezing hard. You hug him back just as tight, murmuring low things that Jason tries not to hear. It’s a personal moment, and he feels like an intruder, but he can’t move. His feet are planted to the ground.

Seconds ago, you’d been dead. No doubt about it. Bane had snapped your neck and you had crumbled like paper.

Now you’re breathing and alive.

It doesn’t compute. It doesn’t make any sense.

Robin comes to the same conclusion, because he pulls away and pinches your arm. “How is this possible?”

“Bud, do you remember when… you remember when Pyg got me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I don’t,” says Jason. Professor Pyg kidnapped you? What the fuck? When did that happen?

You look up at him, still holding Robin close. “We weren’t exactly on speaking terms when it happened, Hood.”

Oh.

“But Father ran his tests and said his experimentation just gave you advanced healing,” says Robin.

“Which is technically true—”

“Resurrection is quite different from healing!” the kid says.

“Wait, you knew they had powers?” Jason asks Robin.

The kid sneers at him. “Of course. I was the one that found Ghoul, and I patrol with them at least once a week. It would take an unobservant fool to miss their obvious healing abilities."

Jason bristles with indignation.

Robin's head turns on a swivel to glare at you. "It was less obvious that you have nothing to fear from physical injuries. Informing me of this fact would have greatly reduced the chances of experiencing emotional distress at the sight of your dead, mangled body."

"I know," you say, cupping his chin in your hand. "I'm really, really sorry, Dami."

"Do not address me as such," he says, "we are in costume." Robin huffs and scrambles out of your lap, brushing debris off his suit. Then he wobbles and nearly falls over, and you lunge to catch him.

"Woah, bud, you okay?"

"He's concussed," Jason says.

"Too concussed to ride on the back of my bike?"

"Of course not," says Robin. Then he leans over and pukes.

"Oh, Batman's gonna kill me," you mutter.

It's a much tamer drive to the Batcave, in case Robin rolls off the bike accidentally. He doesn't, but you do have to stop a couple of times so he can lean over the side and retch.

When all is said and done and you're back at the Cave and Alfred and Bruce are fussing over Damian, you and Jason hang back a bit. He can't stop sneaking glances at you. Your Ghoul mask is off, and there's a little dried blood around your nostrils, and your hair is a little sweaty, but you're the most beautiful thing Jason's ever seen.

You're alive. He can hardly believe it.

You suddenly sigh and mutter, "I guess you're mad at me, too?"

"What?" Jason startles.

"For not telling you about my abilities."

"Y/N—"

"I just didn't want you guys to think of me differently. Duke has his powers, yeah, but he was born with them. I got mine from Pyg. I didn't want everyone to start treating me like a victim."

All things considered, you're remarkably well-adjusted for someone that survived Professor Pyg's experimentation. "You're the strongest person I've ever met, Y/N," says Jason. "Your powers don't change that. They make me feel a little better about you patrolling at night, anyway. They're basically like... a second chance."

You snort. "I think I'm on my fifth chance by this point."

Jason shakes his head. "How did you keep your powers a secret, again?"

"Well, the first time, Pyg shut off my heart, but that didn't shut down my body. When I actually noticed that I couldn't die, though, was that time one of Cobblepot's goons stabbed me in the neck and I woke up in the middle of a shootout. Now that wasn't fun." You grimace. "A bullet caught me in the head and I died as soon as I sat up. The Bats were too preoccupied to notice me, luckily. Then there was that time with the poison dart that I kept a secret, and now this time." You smirk, cross your arms, and bump Jason's hip with your own. "I'm beating you in the resurrection department, aren't I?"

Jason huffs, pretending to be offended, and your eyes widen. "Oh, my God. That was in such poor taste. I'm so sorry."

"No," he says, trying to hide the twist of his lips. If it was anyone else saying it, Jason would probably kill them. "No, it's okay. I'm just glad you're all right. It would have been awful if you'd died and I never took the chance to..."

"Chance to what?" You look up at him through your eyelashes.

Jason's breath catches in his throat. He's never done this before, dammit, but seeing you die today made him remember just how limited their time is as vigilantes.

Well, maybe not yours, but he walks a thin line.

"Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?"

You blink. "What?"

"Do you," Jason says slowly, feeling sweat prickle on his hairline, "want to... Um. Get coffee? With me. As in, like—"

"A date?"

"Only if you want to."

You nod, eyes sparkling. "Hell yeah I want to!"

Damian, Bruce, and Alfred look over at your raised voice. Their disapproving smiles are all eerily similar.

"Sorry," you whisper. You look back at Jason and say, "Yeah, I'd like that. I've been waiting ages for you to ask."

Yes. You said yes. Adrenaline rushes through Jason's veins, and he only barely resists the urge to pump his fist in the air like a moron. He's brave enough to tease, "Well, why didn't you ask me?"

Your face flushes and you look away.

It's at that moment that Damian calls, "Y/N. Stop twittering with Todd and come here. Your presence is required."

"Seriously," Jason said under his breath, "the way he talks like a Victorian child doesn't bother you at all?"

You're smiling. "I think he's adorable." You walk backwards to the brat, making a phone gesture with your hand and mouthing to Jason, Call me.

He definitely will.

"Master Jason," comes Alfred's disapproving voice when he turns back to his bike. "Don't think I didn't notice that you have your own injuries to tend to."

Of course, that sets off Bruce's worry alert even more.

Jason groans. He won't be able to sneak out for coffee with you for an entire week after this whole debacle.

DC Taglist

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever tag list

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

Let me know if there's anything you guys want to see with Jason in the future. My requests are open!

[lanabuckybarnes]

BABYGIRL, Challenge for you:

Slutty little Drabble, kinky and the first character you think about.🤭🤭

| CottageCore | 18+ MINORS DNI

Everyone Knows to steer clear of the small cottage in the woods. Everyone except the Princess. Now she must deal with the consequences of her own actions — not that she’s complaining.

[More from Beast!Ari]

✧ Pairing ✧ Beast!Ari Levinson x Princess!Reader

✧ Warnings ✧ Size Kink, Dom!Ari, Rough PinV sex, Unprotected Sex, Dacryphilia, Breeding, Dirty talk, Squirting, Dumbification, Overstimulation, Belly bulge, Cum swelling, Knotting, A little Aftercare but definitely not enough for what you’ve been through - Any more lemme know!!

✧ Author Note ✧ Ohhh bbg thank you for the request, I’ve got a lil something for ya ~ ALSO my first time writing for someone that isn’t a Sebby character but @buckys-wintersoldier will tell you I have been OBSESSED with this man, I’ve written so many little drabbles about him and annoyed her with them 🤭🤭

✧ Word Count ✧ 799

Skirting about the palace halls unseen is virtually impossible when you’re 7ft tall. Yet Ari does it effortlessly. Each night since you invaded his cottage some time ago, professing your name and title he’s come for a piece of you. And every time he’s left you writhing underneath him.

You slipped on the silk sleep gown, sighing satisfyingly at the feeling of it draping down over your bare ass before slipping under your heavy sheets. Your eyes tugged downwards with sleep when the soft nocking has them snapping open again.

You should’ve been more embarrassed at the feeling of your slick arousal coating the tiny gusset of your thin panties. Behind the door, in all his glory was The Beast. Or as you’d come to find he preferred, Ari.

You’d heard stories of Ari from when you were a wee one “Don’t go into the cottage in the woods” this and “there is a hideous creature who calls that place home, people who have gone seeking it have not returned” that. You didn’t think the man eyeing you like prized venison was ugly at all, he was huge; his thin shirt ripped and ragged, barely covering his corded muscles each time he moved a little, the coarse hair over his chest and arms making your mouth dry.

Then there was that thing between his legs. You didn’t think you could ever go back to another man after Ari had plunged himself into you the first time, almost splitting your hungry snatch in two. That definitely wasn’t ugly.

✧ ✧

“Ari! Ari Ari” you moaned like a madman, hips pushing back to meet every one of the beast’s delightfully hard thrusts, tears flowing down your cheeks. His huge hand clapped over your mouth, thumb running up and down the bridge of your nose soothingly.

“Gotta be quiet little queen, don’t want the king to hear you” he snarled, sharp canines nicking the stretched skin of your neck as he pulled your face back.

For someone so concerned about your father hearing you both he certainly didn’t care about the loud squeaking of your thick mahogany bed, the headboard thumping dents into the wall it rested on. No, it was his beastly nature to have full control over you, that meant subduing your noises when he saw it fit.

Every time his thick, heavy cock pulled out a stream of your juices squirted onto the steadily soaking sheets, your walls singing at the small reprieve before squealing again when he speared it back in. Your cervix was most definitely bruised, the pain was almost too much for you to bear each time his plush tip kissed it.

“Aughh little queen, nothing but a village whore for your beast’s cock. What would your kingdom say when I pumped that belly full of cum, giving you my cubs…mmm shit squeezing me, you want your belly swollen because of me?” He groaned animalistically, his free hand pressing down into your tummy. His pace slowed for a second, a whimpering sound falling from his lips before he pulled you up into his chest, his paw for a hand grabbing your clenched one and pressing it to where he just had.

When you felt it you came undone, his head poking against your belly each time he sunk in; it was too much, far too much to hold back.

“Mmm flower you’re milking me, you like the feeling of me in there? So deep in that little body…fuck…oh little Queen beg for my come, beg for it inside that little womb” Ari’s voice wavered, his thrusts increasing to an almost impossibly fast pace and leaving you almost completely dumb with overstimulation.

“Want you cum Ari…fuckfuckfuck! Please Ari need you to swell me up please please ahhhh” you screamed, uncaring of volume as you came again with Ari, your vision going white as he held your body still, strumming your little clit as he filled you.

His hand moved with yours, running it over your now swollen tummy. His knot sitting thick and heavy at your entrance stopping any of his thick cream from slipping out.

He lay you on your side, his heavy body plastered on your back, his lips kissing up your neck before licking at your ear.

“Good little queen, all swollen with beast’s essence, make adorable babies…keep you to myself and make sure my queen is happy for the rest of her life” Ari mumbled, his settling finally and his arms holding you tighter.

You weren’t sure how much of it Ari meant, was it just talk from his high or was he planning on giving you everything he proclaimed? You weren’t sure and you were too dumb to think right now, but the thought of living in his small cottage away from the limelight, having his babies. It made you safe.

✧ ✧

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[my-thoughts-and-junk]

the sequellll

thinking about fallout 4 against my will

[bbokicidal]

"Settle Here; Let Me Love You" - [B.C.]

Pairing : Bang Chan / Chris Bang x Reader

Warnings : Overall Fluff, Small mention of Chris' tendency to look down on himself

Word Count: 850>

Looking at Chris was like peering at the hardcover case of a book you'd just bought off a dusty, cracked thrift shop shelf.

The feeling of running your hands over the soft skin of his shoulders and biceps was akin to trailing your fingertips down the spine of the book. It was new to you - had once been someone else's. It was soft and offered a sense of warmth and familiarity but held texture that proved it had been someone else's before sitting on that shelf; Bumps and soft crevices of scars that held experience from whatever may have caused them - be it small accidents or marks he'd had from birth. The gentle ridges of the title printed along the spine were the beauty marks painting Chris' skin; The small print of the Author's name was that of his mother.

Meeting his eyes was the same as opening the cover for the first time; Flipping through the first few title pages that were a soft and small insight on what the story would be about - maybe mentioning who the book was written for; Why it was written in the first place. His eyes held a sincerity that likened that of the first page of the first chapter - and both made you feel the exact same way. It was a breath of fresh air, something of a new start, and looking Chris in the eye - though you had been together for some time now - always managed to bring the butterflies back into your ribcage.

Every turn of the page was a day spent with him. Every sip of coffee was a word on a page; Every word spoken between the two of you was soft dialogue that brought two characters closer together.

His smile was the climax of the story.

The wide, gummy brightness that showed all of his teeth and made his cheeks dimple in deep - His eyes crinkling, shoulders pushing up towards his ears and head tipping one way as a feeling of bashfulness pushed into his chest. The feeling it created in your own was the same as the excitement and joy of sliding your hand over the last page of the book; Reading the final sentence and slowly pulling it to a close, flipping the book back over to peer at the cover one more time before it was set on your shelf to be adored in passing.

And this book wasn't perfect. You knew that; He knew that. With the nicks and scars, dents of being tossed around and told harsh words; The subtle but apparent fraying and tearing of the edges of the cover. It stuck out on the polished wood of the shelf it now sat upon, lingering with the others.

You'd given him a chance.

Took a look at him. No judging by the cover, just flipping through the pages and reading the back to raise a brow in interest - and taken the plunge into falling in love with him and his story.

And though you could read this story over and over - falling more in love every time you spoke even just a few words in exchange with him - you would always continue to learn something new.

"... What?" Chris murmurs, having taken notice that your eyes had been lingering on him for a while now off to the side.

You blink once, twice - then offer your boyfriend a soft smile that he knew all too well. You'd been lost in thought again, peering at him while spacing out and talking to yourself in your head.

"Nothing," You hum in reply, reaching to take his hand and rub your thumb along the ridges of his knuckles. "You're just beautiful."

Chris' cheeks dimple under the sweetness of his smile, his lips pressed together and the corners turning downward in a habit he'd picked up from Changbin. He giggles, looking back down at his phone in favor of trying to hide the red tint that brushes over his cheeks.

You let the brief conversation end there. No more words need to be said, feelings laid out with just a few short sentences between the two of you.

As you peer a bit longer at your boyfriend, the adoration in your chest begins to settle - the excitement of just being so close to him dulling from a rolling boil to a subtle simmer.

Perhaps you'll look back on this again in the future - continue to make the connection after a sequel is written and the two of you are experiencing the journey of the story together - hand in hand, facing the world together under the sunlight of the blue sky instead of being alone under the white lights of a studio.

But for now you'll continue to read the story that is Chris Bang, over and over until your eyes lull with sleep and your hands fight to turn the page. And continue to love it as much as you did the first time you read it through.

[dancingtotuyo]

13. with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: you adjust to life with a newborn. Joel finally gets to tell you something

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed. Spoilerish for TLOU 2

Chapter Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, smidges of angst

Notes: And thus we enter the third and final part of this beloved story. This chapter starts to play with some of the canon of TLOU II as will the rest of Part III

As always, a huge shout out to@janaispunk for beta reading.

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader!

Words: 3642

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

Three Years Later

Willa sits at the kitchen table, chin resting in her palms as she stares out the window. It’s cracked open, allowing the chilly fall breeze in as it plays with the dark curls on her head. She’s been there since breakfast, kicking her legs in thoughtful silence with a stack of untouched art supplies at her side. 

You’ve never seen her so still or quiet, keeping an eye on her as you bustle around the house, cleaning and preparing for Joel’s birthday dinner. This is the first year he’s really allowed you to celebrate it. You’ve done small things in the past. A cake after dinner. A small wrapped gift. It’s a hard day for everyone. It’s the day that life as everyone knew it ended, but you have reason to celebrate. He’s growing older, an accomplishment in its own right, the gray in his hair beginning to take over the brown. You like it. It means he’s still here. 

Willa is still kicking her feet at the table when your stomach growls. The clock on the wall reads just after twelve. Carter is at school. Joel has assignments until dinner time. You fix two sandwiches and slice some veggies. You set a plate in front of Willa and then slide into the chair across from her. 

She lets out a deep sigh that seems too big for her small frame to hold. A smile edges at your lips. “What’s wrong, Sweetpea?”

“I don’t know what to make daddy.”

“For his birthday?”

She nods. 

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about all day?” 

“Yeah.”

You smile assuringly at her. “You should eat. It always helps me when I can’t think.”

She lets out another sigh, but picks up the jelly sandwich you made her. Her lips smack as the jelly oozes out of the sides, sticking to her fingers and leaving pink smudges along her cheeks. Willa appears unbothered by it, head nodding back and forth as she eats. 

You manage through most of the meal without intervening until she goes to push back her hair with a jelly soaked hand. “Whoah Whoah Whoah!” You’re out of your seat, grabbing her wrist in the nick of time. She looks almost startled. “Your hand is covered in jelly. I don’t want it to get into your hair.” 

“Oops,” she smiles. “Sorry, Mommy.”

“It’s okay,” You sigh, reaching for the dish cloth in the kitchen sink. The last thing you need to do is work jelly out of a three year old’s hair. “What kind of cake should I bake for Daddy’s birthday?” 

“Chocolate,” Willa grins as you wipe down her hands and mouth.

“That’s your favorite,” you chuckle. 

“Daddy likes it too.”

“Chocolate it is then.” You kiss her cheek. 

She beams up at you and then a light bulb goes off in her eyes and she quickly digs into the meager art supplies you’ve collected over the last several years. You watch her for a few short moments as she bustles forth with clear determination. Then, you bake a birthday cake. 

Midway through, you exit to the living room, only to set the needle on the record player. When you return, Willa’s head bounces back and forth in time as she hums the words she’s already memorized. 

As she finishes her project, Willa jumps down, scurrying out of the room in a flash. You smile to yourself. 

Carter bustles in, throwing his backpack onto the floor with a thud. “Are you denting the walls again?”

His face appears around the corner with a lopsided grin you’d seen on Gabe a thousand times. The ache is dull in comparison to the joy it brings you. “That only happened once.”

You wink at him, tossing him an apple. He catches it with ease, the product of countless hours he and Joel spent outside with a baseball and tattered gloves. 

“How was school?” You smile. 

“Good.” He bites into the apple with a satisfying crunch, before standing on his tiptoes to kiss your cheek. You lean over to close the gap, but it’s admittedly not as large of a gap as it used to be. He’s growing faster than you like.

“Just good?”

He nods, mouth full of apple, but chooses to speak anyway. “I saw Ellie. I invited her tonight.”

You keep your face neutral, far experienced now in keeping the war between Ellie and Joel from your younger children. “What did she say?”

“Maybe.” 

Your eyebrow raises. You can’t keep the hints of surprise from your face, but you’re saved from having to make a response. 

“Carter!” Willa rushes in, out of breath and in a flutter like the world might stop at any second. She pushes her hair out of her face. You really wish she’d keep the hair ties in, but she says it pulls her head. Your daughter meets her brother’s eyes with a serious weight in her eyes. “I need your help.”

“With what?”

She glances at you, like she's not sure you can keep the secret swirling in her little mind. “Daddy’s birthday present.”

“Okay,” Carter shrugs. Willa rushes out in the same flurry with Carter following. 

“Don’t leave the apple core in your sister’s room!” You call after them with only the slam of Willa’s door in response. 

As far as baking cakes, well, it wasn’t your strong suit before the world ended, but you manage. You’ve never received a complaint from the kids, but you know they prefer Maria’s cake to yours. You should have asked her. You slide the iced cake into the fridge just as Joel arrives home. 

“There’s the birthday boy.”

There’s a deep chuckle in response. “The house is suspiciously quiet.”

“Your children are up to no good. I’m sure.”

“My children, you say?” His sturdy arms wrap around your middle and you lean back. “What they do?” His lips play behind your ear. 

“Not sure. They’ve been shut up in Willa’s room for over an hour.”

Joel chuckles. “Perhaps they’re forming a mutiny.”

“I hope not. We’re getting too old for that.” 

“Might just let them take over. Then we could live out our days in peace. Prop our feet up while they get to work.”

You hum softly. “Doesn’t sound half bad.”

“That’s what happens when you get old,” he kisses your cheek. 

“Are you calling me old, Joel Miller?”

“You’re almost 50, Sweetheart. You’re about to join the ranks. I’m just preparing you.”

“I’ve already got the achy back and creaking knees.”

Joel chuckles. “Guess I got to throw you a birthday party too.”

“I think we can just skip that.”

Joel clicks his tongue. “No, we’re gonna celebrate. We’re gonna start doing alot more celebratin.”

“We haven’t even had your birthday party and you want more?” you can’t contain the laughter rising in your chest. 

There’s a deep sense of rightness in this moment. The fears you harbored for so long, melting away with each year that is passed. It’s not completely gone by any means, but it doesn’t keep you from living anymore, embracing what you have. 

He nuzzles into your neck, his scruff scratching softly against your skin. You’ve both aged these past couple of years, be it biology or the two young kids you’re raising, but you see it in yourself now too when you look in the mirror, the way the wrinkles cut deeper into your forehead and around your eyes. And maybe, you’d had a harder time accepting the gray hairs that seemed to multiply each day than you wanted to admit, but you embrace it now. You embrace all signs of aging. Aging is a good thing. 

“I think we should start celebrating everything.”

“Are you having a midlife crisis?”

“Think it’s a little late for midlife… What’s after that?”

You shift a bit in his arms, trying not to dwell on the first thought that that pops into your mind. “I think midlife works.” 

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Joel grins. “It’s not a midlife crisis.”

You hum, a look on your face that says, yeah, sure, okay. 

He laughs in response. “I’m gonna go shower. Doesn’t sound like the kids will let me in to say hi.”

“The door is probably barricaded.”

“Shower it is,” Joel smiles, giving you one last kiss before the stairs creak with his weight. 

Dinner is all but ready, and the kids are still locked in Willa’s room when Joel comes down the stairs. His hair hangs in damp ringlets, longer than he’s let it get before. You have to admit that you’re liking the extra length. 

“Can you go tell the kids they need to come set the table?”

“Time to bring down the barricades, got it.” Joel winks at you. 

You can hear the commotion down the hall, Willa yelling that Joel is not to come in. The back and forth of getting the kids to agree on coming out. Joel’s grunt as Willa inevitably jumps into his arms with zero warning. It’s all familiar and warming. It fills your home with love. 

The kids scurry out. Joel aids Willa in fishing out the silverware while Carter grabs out the plates. Another well rehearsed dance. A slice of normalcy Joel never imagined he’d get again in this lifetime. 

He’s pulling glasses out of the cabinet Carter can’t reach yet when there’s a knock on the door. Joel looks at you questioningly. Tommy and Maria never knock. You shrug. 

Ellie’s nervous face and Dina’s smile greet him when he opens the first door. Joel’s heart leaps in his chest as his jaw drops slightly. “Ellie… hi.”

“Hi.”

“Happy Birthday, Joel,” Dina smiles. 

“Thanks, Dina.” Joel nods but quickly returns his eyes to Ellie. “Thanks for coming.”

She forces her lips into a tight line. “Carter invited me.”

“Still glad you came.” Joel still seems a little bit stunned. “Why don’t the two of you come on in?” He steps aside. Ellie refuses to meet his eyes. Dina pulls her inside. 

He stays by the door, overhearing the surprise in your voice when you spot Ellie. Carter and Willa’s joy at having her here. His heart aches. It always does when he thinks about the distance between them, but she came. That has to be a good sign. 

“I see we got the welcoming committee tonight,” Tommy says as he walks into view, hand in hand with Maria. Elias darts forward, narrowly brushing past Joel. 

“Happy birthday, Uncle Joel!” He says without stopping, more focused on finding his cousins than bothering with his uncle. 

Joel chuckles, accepting Tommy’s hug as he approaches. “I see where I fall on his list of priorities.”

“You’d think he didn’t just see Carter at school.” Maria laughs, offering her own greeting to Joel. 

“Thank you for coming.”

“When do we not show up?” Tommy grins as the three of them make their way inside.

Carter and Willa have already added the extra place settings for Ellie and Dina. Carter slides right next to Ellie, making conversation about the moon and constellations. Joel slides into his chair at the end of the table. You catch the way he looks at Ellie. The way she expertly avoids him. You’re not sure how she does it, seemingly present but expertly able to avoid any and all conversation with Joel. Tommy and Maria’s presence seems to make it easier.

You knew what he did hurt, you just never expected the two of them to go this long in limbo, orbiting each other round in round, never coming to a resolution. As much as Joel looks like someone totaled his pickup and shot his dog when he glances her way, he still manages to enjoy the night. Ellie being here, whether she talks to him or not, is the greatest gift he could have asked for.  

You take his hand, squeezing it gently. He presses it to his lips, winking at you playfully. The balancing act can be tiring, but he’s simply happy tonight. 

You’re not offended when the cake on the plate of the adults remains mostly uneaten. The cake is dense and dried out. The kids don’t seem to mind.

“Can we do presents now?” Willa asks, frosting sticking to her face in multiple places. You can only imagine how sticky her fingers are. 

“Wash your hands first,” you say.

Willa nods, sliding out of her seat and rushing out of the room. 

“Can I get anyone anything to drink? Water? Tea?”

“Coffee?” Joel grins. You have been able to rangle up beans each year for his birthday, except for this year. 

You shake your head. “Unfortunately, not this year.”

“No coffee? That’s it, party’s over folks.” He playfully hits the table with his palms, winking at you. 

He receives a smack to the back of the head, and a deep chuckle greets your ears. You smile, setting the kettle on the stove. He’s happy and relaxed, bubbling over with a calm joy, pure and untarnished. You like this side of him. It’s like a piece of the first version of Joel you knew. The same laughter and smile Sarah pulled from him long before the world dug its ugly claws into either of you. It’s only become more common in your home over the years. 

Maria joins you as you start to wash up a few dishes while you wait for the kettle to boil. Both of you watch the table with keen eyes as your family sits around it, complete for once. Joel and Tommy chat about their patrols. There’s been an uptick in infected. They’re worried about a colony coming in. Dina and Ellie engage with the boys at the other end of the table, some debate about what happened at kickball last week. 

“You better not be washing dishes, Sweetheart. That’s my job,” Joel says. 

“It’s your birthday.” 

Joel raises an eyebrow at you. “You cooked, and baked a cake.”

“More like attempted,” Tommy teases. You stick your tongue out at him like the mature 49 year old woman you are. 

Once the team is ready, you set a mug in front of Joel. He thanks you before his brow furrows. “That’s not my mug.”

You know he’s talking about the owl mug, the one you push to the back of the cabinet because you think it looks at you funny. “No, it’s your new mug,” You smile. “Happy birthday.”

Joel picks it up, inspecting it closer. It’s slightly faded but otherwise in pristine condition. Two fawns frolic against the picturesque forest that’s delicately painted along the outside. His eyes narrow slightly at you, a playful volley of looks and unspoken words passing between you. 

Joel chuckles, stealing a chaste kiss from your lips. “Thank you.”

“You can use the owl one when I’m not around.”

“So never then?” 

“I mean, ideally, yes.” 

“As sweet as this is,” Tommy says, interrupting the two of you. “I’m afraid we came empty handed.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t expect anything less. Besides, I’ve got everything I need right here.” He looks around the table that includes everyone in the world he loves, aside from Willa who is still busy cleaning herself up. 

“You’re going soft in your old age,” Tommy smacks his brother on the back. 

Joel shrugs. “Happens to the best of us I guess.”

“Daddy! I’m ready!” Willa calls, bursting into the room, small package clutched in her hands as she rushes to his side.

Joel picks her up with a slight groan, setting her on his lap. “I’m ready, Wildflower.”

She laughs, handing him the box as she pushes her curls from her face. “Carter helped too.”

“I’m excited to see what it is,” Joel smiles, attention solely split between his children as he carefully opens the box. 

He’s confused at first, pulling the delicate construction from its box, some combination of paper and old cardboard carefully put together. It takes a second, but then he registers the small arrows fastened into a minute and hour hand against the background. Carter’s oversized numbers unevenly circled around in one to twelve. 

“It’s a new watch,” Willa grins brightly. “Cause yours is broken.” She lifts his wrist as if to show him the broken watch for the first time. 

You catch the shine in Joel’s eyes and the bobble of his throat. “Thank you. It’s a very nice watch.”

“It latches too,” Carter chimes. “So you can actually wear it.”

Joel inspects it further, seeing where the kids had carefully cut holes in the band and managed to create a fasten. 

“Mommy can help you,” Willa says. 

You smile, leaning forward to fasten it to Joel’s wrist, right above his first watch, the one Sarah fixed for him. You’re careful not to break it. It’s not the most secure thing in the world, but Joel beams with pride as he shows it to Tommy and Maria. 

“Do you like it?” Willa asks. 

“I love it.” Joel smiles, squeezing his daughter tight. 

Joel falls beside you on the couch with a content sigh, letting his head fall back and his arm across your shoulders as he does. You smile, leaning into him. “You enjoy your birthday?”

“I’m getting too old. Reading that book about put me to sleep.” 

You laugh, pulling a blanket around your shoulders to stave off the cool air that drifts in through the cracked window behind you. “It’s a good thing I like you old.”

Joel hums, kissing your forehead softly. “Thank you for doing so much today.”

“It’s not like I don’t cook dinner most nights.”

“You baked a cake.”

You snort. “Attempted to make a cake.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first birthday where you messed up the cake.”

You groan, images of the cake you and Sarah attempted to bake for Joel’s 30th birthday flashing in your memory. It had looked nice enough, but tasted like baking soda. Joel chuckles. 

“Well,” You let out a soft sigh, holding back the smile that bites at your lips. “Guess it’s a good thing I have a back up plan.”

Joel’s brow creases. “Back up plan?”

“You are getting old,” you tease, your own mouth watering at the subtle cinnamon tinged air. “I thought you would have smelled it by now.”

Joel stops a second, paying extra attention to his senses. His lips tip up almost immediately as he clocks it. “Is that…”

“My mom’s peach pie.” You grin. Her peach pie filling had been legendary on the block and she’d passed along the recipe early on in your life. You made it each year as the peaches ripened, but you had taken care to freeze extra filling for Joel’s birthday this year. “You really expect me to bake a cake without a back up plan?”

Joel laughs again. “I love you.”

“Only for the peach pie.”

“Well duh.” He pulls you closer, leaving a sweet kiss on your lips. 

You laugh, returning the kiss. “It’ll be ready in about 20 minutes.”

“Perfect… enough time for me to give you something.” Joel reaches down, grabbing a flat package, wrapping in a cloth from under the couch.

“But it’s your birthday.”

“And I like seeing you happy.”

You roll your eyes as he places the thin, square gift in your hands. Your brow knits together as you pull the wrap from it. White corners catch your eye and with two men standing in a doorway. Fleetwood Mac reads centered above them.  A small gasp leaves your mouth. You haven’t heard this album in years. Your grandma’s copy had been badly scratched and warped before the outbreak and no one in Jackson seemed to own a copy. 

“Finally found that the other day. I haven’t played it yet, so I’m not sure about the condition- but it looked like it hadn’t warped too badly.”

“Turn it on.” You grin brightly, eagerly putting it back into Joel’s hands. Your body thrums with excitement. The songs you haven't heard in so long play in the back of your mind as Joel pulls the vinyl record from the sleeve and places it on the old record player in the corner of your living room. 

Static fills the speakers at the needle drops. You both wait with baited breath for the music to start. Monday Morning plays starts without warning, causing you to both jump slightly. A laugh tumbles from your mouth, eyes sparkling with joy as they meet Joel’s. He’s got a similiar joyful expression. 

“It’s much more lively than your version,” you say. You haven’t heard the recorded version in over two decades though Joel’s rendition is still a constant in your home. Willa calls it her song. 

Joel laughs, walking back over to you. “I doubt Willa will even recognize it.” He holds out his hand. “Come on.”

Your brow knits together as you take his hand. He tugs you to your feet. You secure the blanket around your shoulders as Joel leads you toward the front door and onto the porch. The cool September air greets you. The music filters through the open windows as the opening track fades into the smooth opening of Warm Ways.

“What are you doing?”

”Dancin.” He grins wrapping his arms around you as he begins to sway. 

You lean into his embrace, warm between the blanket on your shoulders and his torso against yours, head resting on his shoulder. You sway to the music, eyes closed. Joel’s head rests against yours, his chest rumbles gently as he hums along to the melody, lulling you as close to bliss as you think you’ve ever been. 

You nuzzle further into his neck. “I love you, Joel.”

He smiles, kissing your cheek. Both your eyes stay shut, relishing in the touch of the other. “Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that, Sweetheart.”

“Good.”

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa @tobethlehem

[darksigns-exe]

strange magic - witch!nick ruffilo x f!reader

warnings: Discussions of mental health, depression, anxiety, mentions of self-harm, knife related injury

word count: 4.2k

notes: I’m reading The Full Moon Coffee Shop by Mai Mochizuki at the moment, and it might have influenced some parts of this.

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

masterlist | series masterlist | taglist sign-up

You don’t remember where exactly you’d heard his name for the first time. Someone in your circle of friends had mentioned going to see him about a minor health issue they’d been struggling with and that no conventional doctor had been able to fix. It had taken them one visit to cure said ailment. 

Now, you didn’t expect a miracle cure, but at this point you’d take anything. Whatever it takes to make this feeling disappear. No psychiatrist or therapist had helped, you’d tried everything. 

Magic or something akin to it didn’t seem too unrealistic of an option at this point. Your friend hadn’t been entirely clear on what this guy exactly did or was, all they had mentioned was that his methods were unconventional. 

Armed with the address and maybe a little too much hope, you set off. The place is located in a wooded area, set quite a bit back from the main road. You park near the front of the driveway and walk the rest of the way, just like your friend had told you to do. 

The twisted path that leads you through the woods turns you around entirely, and after a few minutes you have no idea which way you’re oriented or from which direction you’ve come. 

Every step leads you deeper into this forest. As the trees grow taller and thicker, light and warmth become scarce, and you pull your jacket tighter around your body to ward off the chill. 

The path makes another sharp turn and suddenly, you find yourself faced with an almost dream-like glade. Light pours into the space, filling it with warm, golden sunlight. In the middle, sits a lone cottage. It looks a little ramshackle, the roof is tilted in an odd way, and you think that some of the beams must be old and slowly giving into the weight of the roof. There’s something comforting about the place, though. 

The door swings open just as you reach the three steps that lead up the small porch. The glimmering little trinkets and chimes that hang from the roof above it catch your attention. Despite the mass of things that are placed all over the porch and in the windows, it doesn’t feel cluttered. Everything is where it needs to be. 

Your attention is drawn to a sun catcher that seems to be made out of broken pieces of coloured glass and mirror. The little specks of sunlight it scatters all across you and the space around you are mesmerising. Perhaps you should find one like this for your own home. 

“Pretty isn’t it?” someone speaks from behind you and you find yourself twitching with panic. 

When you turn around, you find that the source of the voice is a young man with dark hair. He squints at you for a moment, before an apologetic smile works its way onto his face, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Would you like to come in?” You’re sure that this isn’t the man you’re supposed to see, he seems way too young to be some kind of miracle healer. Maybe he’s an apprentice or other kind of aide to this Nicholas. 

You follow him into the cabin. The inside is surprisingly simple, yet incredibly inviting. Most of the space is taken up by a large wooden table. It has dents and scratches in its surface that tell more stories than any person could. Warm light floods through the room, but you can’t find a single light source. The fireplace can’t be responsible for all the light in here. 

“Sit. Please.” he motions towards one of the chairs by the table. 

You hang your jackets over the back of the chair before you sit. He doesn’t sit, instead he walks over to the wooden counter. You watch as he searches through one of the shelves, until he produces two mismatched cups and saucers. 

“I hope you found the place alright?” he asks, as he picks up a variety of tins from a different shelf. 

“A friend of mine came here a few weeks ago and her directions were pretty good.” you reply.

He nods sagely, as if he knows exactly who you are talking about. 

“Your friend is feeling better? Her condition was quite worrisome.”

“It’s almost as if she was never unwell.” 

Your answer brings a smile to his face, “That’s good to hear. I don’t usually get to hear about the people who come here after they leave.”

He walks towards the fireplace and with the help of a seemingly hand knit pot holder, he retrieves the kettle hanging in front of it. He then proceeds to fill both cups with water before returning the kettle to its previous place. 

He places one of the cups in front of you, while the other is placed in front of the seat to your right at the head of the table. 

“So – you heard that your friend found the aid they needed here and decided that you would follow in their footsteps and find me. What can I do for you?”

“You are Nicholas?” you finally ask as the puzzle begins to make sense. 

His cheeks tinge the faintest shade of pink, “My apologies. Nick is perfectly fine. Nicholas always creates that image of a wise old wizard, and I’m —” he looks down his own body, “Not that.” 

The tone of his voice makes you smile. 

There’s something awfully comforting about him. Something about him sets you at ease, despite the deep-rooted worry that sits in your chest.  

“Can I see your palm?” Nick asks gently, holding out his tattooed hand to you. 

You place your hand, palm facing up, in his and he carefully pulls your hand a little closer to him. He tilts your hand for a moment, as if he is searching for something specific. The pointer finger of his other hand traces across the lines and creases in your hand with a barely there touch. 

The noise he eventually lets out feels a little unsatisfied. 

“The metaphysical can tell us a lot. But it is not without faults. It doesn’t take an expert to see that whatever it is that worries you has been with you for a long time. I can do a lot of things, dear, but I cannot magic away feelings and emotions.” He says eventually, “I can however try to help you find the root of this. That is the best I can offer you.”

For a moment, you feel defeated. Another person who wouldn’t be able to help. At this point, it really does feel a little hopeless. The darkness slowly creeps into your vision, that awful tightness returns to your chest. You can feel yourself getting dizzy and –

And then Nick’s hand curls around yours. It doesn’t stop the panic entirely, but his touch slowly the creeping darkness significantly. 

“Try to breathe. You’re safe here.” his voice soothes your nerves, wraps around you like honey, “Only very few people have left this place without an answer to their question, and I don’t think that you will be one of them.”

You don’t know why, but you want to believe him. 

“So many people said that they could help, but nothing ever came of it.” you say quietly, “I just want to stop feeling this way.” 

Nick lets out a heavy sigh, “I know what it feels like to feel left alone. If I could, I would take all of it away. But unfortunately, in this case, altering the mind is not something I’m allowed to do. I will try to help you as best as I can, though.” 

He gives your hand a little squeeze, before he releases it again.

Nick is silent for a moment, seemingly mulling through his thoughts. He gets up then. The scrape of his chair against the wooden floor takes you by surprise. He utters a quick apology, before he disappears into a distant corner of the room.

You finally have a moment to inspect the space around you. It’s as close to a witch's hut as you could imagine. Bundles of dried herbs and flowers dangle from the low wooden beams that support the upper level. Every surface is covered in trinkets and items, and you’re sure that they all have their designated spaces. The cobblestone wall above the fireplace is adorned with a pentacle made out of what you think is willow branches. They’re woven around each other to give it more structure, and in the space between the branches small flowers have been placed. You faintly remember reading that pentacle being are used for protection. 

Your eyes drift across the cluttered table in front of you and eventually land on your still steaming cup of tea. You finally take a sip of it. 

The taste of it is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You can’t identify every component of it, and really it doesn’t matter too much. All you know is that it feels like a long overdue hug. The first sip is enough to fill you with a comfortable warmth, like rays of sun falling through the trees on the first warm morning of spring. 

You take another sip, once again savouring the subtle sweetness of the tea. You’ll have to ask Nick what’s in this. 

Nick is still out of sight somewhere, but you can hear him rummaging around in the distance. You’d expect yourself to feel uncomfortable being somewhat alone in a stranger's house, but everything about this place felt so comforting that you couldn’t possibly feel out of place. 

Something catches your attention then. The quiet scratching of claws against wood, followed by a slightly croaky purr makes you scan across the space to find the source of it. Your eyes land on the tuxedo cat that emerges from the lower compartment of one of the many overstuffed bookshelves. The cat stretches and shakes itself before it looks around the room for a moment. It wanders under the table, and you freeze up, trying not to scare it away. When you peek under the table, you see the cat coming towards you. It takes a moment to inspect you, before it moves past you pressing its body against your calf. 

You hear the cat hop onto something behind you. Turning around to check, you see that it has settled onto a pillow on the windowsill, lounging in the little sliver of sunlight that falls through the window there. 

Nick returns a little while later, carrying a few books in his arms. He stops, cocks his head to the side, and then smiles. You realise then that he’s not looking at you, but the cat.

“Now you show your face.” he shakes his head, “Where were you when I could have used your help, huh? Out fraternising with that damn vampire's cat, I bet.” 

He sets the books down on the table. 

“That’s Jerry. He’s supposed to be helpful.” he says, glaring at the cat, “He doesn’t usually show his face when I have visitors. Looks like a good omen to me.” 

Nick takes a sip from his own cup. He closes his eyes for a second and lets out a content sigh. 

He files through one of the books, turning the open pages towards you. 

“I can’t make it go away, but I can give you things that might help.” he offers, “How is the tea?”

“It’s really nice. I wanted to ask about it.”

Nick sits up a little straighter then, “Lemon balm, lemon verbena and lavender. I’ll fix up a jar for you to take home.”

He continues to explain a meditation method he’d read about a while ago. Nick shakes off your concern about having tried meditation before. 

“This is different. I think it’s worth a shot. I have some incense somewhere that might help too.” 

That evening, when you drive home, your chest feels a little bit lighter already. Maybe it’s just the idea of someone being so willing to help you. Nick has no ties to you, no reason to be this invested. But he’d still sent you home with a freshly mixed jar of the tea you’d had earlier, a written up version of the meditation technique and several cones of incense with a crescent moon holder. 

You’d also agreed that you’d come back the following week to report back. In the meantime, Nick would do research of his own to see what he could do. 

You’re not sure which of the things helps, but when you set out to see him again a week later, you find yourself feeling actually excited. 

Your visits become more and more frequent. Over the weeks, you learn that Nick doesn’t like to venture into town, and so you offer to take care of his errands there in return for his help. Weekly visits become twice a week, and before you know it, you find yourself stopping by at Nick’s whenever you can.

 Your mental health makes working pretty much impossible, and having something to do again feels genuinely good. On some days, Nick puts you to work in the garden behind the cottage. On others, you get to watch while he works on whatever it is he does in the kitchen. 

It’s almost November when he asks you to help him with the apples. 

“What exactly are we making?” you ask as you continue to peel yet another apple. 

“Half of these will be crumble and the rest compote.” 

You turn to watch Nick tip flour into a large ceramic bowl. Your momentary inattentiveness makes your knife slip. You drop it as soon as the pain hits. 

“Shit.” you cry out, wrapping your hand around your pointer finger.

Something behind you clatters, before Nick pushes himself in front of you. 

“Oh no.” he says quietly, pulling a kitchen towel from one of the cabinet handles. 

He presses the towel to your finger, before he steers you over to the large table. 

“Sit.” he urges, “Hold the towel there, I’ll be right back.” 

Nick rushes off into what you now know to be the bathroom. He returns with a few supplies a moment later. He kneels down in front of you, carefully taking your hand into his. 

“Let’s see.” He peels the towel away, and you can’t hold the wince, “I’m sorry, dear. I know.” 

He wipes the wound clean with a fresh towel, careful not to agitate it more. 

“It’ll be good in a moment.” Nick soothes, “Just have to see how bad it is.” 

The sound he makes then tells you that it’s quite bad. 

Nick picks up one of the small tins he brought over from the bathroom. He applies some of the salve to the cut. It stings just a little bit, but not enough to be of note. He wraps a small bit of muslin around your finger, before he takes your hand into his again. You watch as his eyes close and his head drops. You’ve seen Nick work his magic before when Jerry got into scuffles with other animals during his nightly outings, but you had never felt it yourself. 

As his focus narrows down on you, warmth spreads out from your finger. It travels up your arm and through your chest. You can’t take your eyes off him. Nick’s whole body seems to have a faint golden glow to it. 

Just as the warmth threatens to get too intense, it fades out. 

Nick remains with his head bowed for a moment longer. He peels back the muslin. All that remains of the cut is a small crescent moon shaped scar just above the first joint. 

“There you go.” Nick says quietly, “All good.” 

He looks up at you with a soft smile. 

Your heart makes a little thump then. You’d noticed it before when he looks at you. At first, you thought that it was nothing but the beginnings of a good friendship. By now, you are sure that it is so much more than that. But then again, you’ve only known Nick for a little over two months, and you have no idea if that is even something he’s interested in. 

The moment pops when Jerry forces his way between the two of you. He lets out a very displeased sound, making it known that it’s time for him to get attention again. 

Nick huffs out a laugh before he drops his head again. He scratches the top of Jerry's head before he eventually rises from the floor. 

It takes you a moment to catch up with him again. The way he had looked at you still lingers in your mind when you rejoin him in the kitchen. Nick hands you the freshly cleaned knife, and you resume your apple peeling duties as if nothing at all had happened. 

Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon continues without larger incidents. You can’t tell if it’s in your imagination or not, but you think that Nick looks at you more often. And even if he does, you’re sure that it’s just to make sure that you haven’t injured yourself again. Working with him like this is incredibly comfortable. You don’t speak a lot, but you don’t feel as if you need to say a lot either. There’s no pressure to make idle conversation. 

With the crumble finally in the oven and the last jars of compote sealed, you finally sit down in the chair on his front porch. Nick had sent you ahead with a blanket, knowing that you tended to get cold easily. He joins you just a moment a later, with two steaming mugs in his hands. He hands one to you and sets the other down on the rickety little table between the chairs. 

For a while, you sit in silence, enjoying the serenity of the glade. 

You look over at Nick, only to find him shifting uncomfortably. You think that he looks as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t know if he should. And so you reach out, poking your finger into his shoulder. 

“Nick?”

He twitches, head quickly snapping towards you, “Yes dear?” 

“Everything okay?” 

Nick takes a rushed sip of his tea. He contemplates for a moment longer, and you have to admit to yourself that the way his expressions shift as he tries to make up his mind is rather cute. 

“Interrupt me if I’m touching on something off limits.” he begins, “Sometimes when I heal I get glimpses of that person's emotions. It’s nothing deep or elaborate, just a snapshot, if you will. And when I touched you –”

He doesn’t have to finish for you to know what he’s trying to get at. The pang of relief that had hit you when the pain shot through your body still lingered with you. It’s been a while since you’d purposefully taken a blade to your skin. Long enough for you to think that the gratification wouldn’t be there any more. You’d fought so hard to keep yourself from doing it this time. 

You can’t stop yourself from crying then. Nick’s hand curls around yours immediately. He doesn’t try to stop you, doesn’t tell you that it’ll be alright. You’d kept all of these feelings bottled up inside of you for so long, that you couldn’t stop them from bubbling over now. 

Nick lets you cry until the tears stop falling. 

Against what you’d expected, you don’t find pity or worry on his face. He meets you with a warmth that takes some of the ache away. 

You tell him then.

Every detail that you’d hidden so far. The awful memories you’d kept so close to your chest. Even the ones that you’d never felt comfortable enough to share with therapists. 

And Nick listens so patiently. 

For a brief moment, you feel bad for unloading all of this on him, but he quickly dismisses that idea. 

The sun has long disappeared behind the trees when you finish, and you shiver in the cool night air. 

“I don’t think that I’ve ever told anyone all of that.” you finally admit. 

“Thank you for trusting me with it.” Nick replies, squeezing your hand, “I want you to know that you can always come to me. It doesn’t matter what time it is, if you need a friend – someone to talk to – I’m here.” 

Nick offers you to stay at the cottage for the night. He’s adamant that you take his bed, not budging no matter how hard you try to change his mind. While his bed is nice and comfortable, you can’t help but feel bad for him. And after two hours of tossing and turning, you creep down the stairs into the main space of the cottage again. 

You find Nick still awake, buried deep in a book. He looks up when you step onto a particularly creaky tread. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, looking up from his book. 

“Could ask you the same.” 

He places the book on the low coffee table in front of the sofa. 

“I just feel bad about making you sleep on the sofa in your own house.” you admit quietly.

“What, you want to cuddle up?” it’s a humorous suggestion, but you can’t deny the appeal of it. 

Nick doesn’t wait for your answer and makes his way towards you. He follows you back up the stairs without another word.

Settling into bed with him is a little awkward at first. Both of you try to find a comfortable spot without getting too close to the other, even when you wouldn’t mind curling up next to him. This time, sleeps finds you easily. 

You wake up to a gloomy morning. The gentle rapping of rain on the roof makes you want to stay in bed for just a while longer. You pull the fluffy duvet around yourself, sinking just a little deeper into the warmth of the bed. You’ve been up in the attic of Nick’s cottage a few times, but never for this long. Just like the rest of the place, it’s so warm and comfortable up here. Most of the wooden cladding is covered with beautiful tapestries that mirror the Persian carpet that fills most of the space. 

Nick is still fast asleep next to you. He looks so peaceful, brow furrowed just a little bit. You almost want to reach out to smooth your thumb over the crease. You don’t want to overstep, though. 

Instead, you crawl out of bed as carefully as you can without waking Nick up. You know that he likes to start his morning with a strong black coffee. Just like you. 

By now you know your way around his kitchen and finding the ceramic filter, coffee grounds and his favourite mug doesn’t take you all too long. Manoeuvring the kettle was a different story, but you manage to make it work. 

By the time you climb back up the steep stairs towards the attic, Nick has already stirred from his slumber. He’s still hidden under the down duvet, but you can hear him quietly talking to Jerry. 

Nick looks up when he hears you approach and flashes you a sweet smile. 

“You’re a darling.” he says softly when you hand him his mug. 

You sit next to him on the bed, once again getting comfy. 

Nick takes a long sip from his coffee, letting out a content sigh. 

“Sleep alright?” he asks then, turning to towards you. 

You nod, “Thank you for letting me stay here.”  

“Of course.” 

You both fall silent for a while, comfortably nursing your coffees. You shuffle a little closer to him, allowing you to rest your head against his shoulder. Nick’s hand finds its way to your legs, resting comfortably above your knee. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you feel yourself melt on the inside. 

You don’t know where this is going to take you, all you know is that you’ve never felt this comfortable around another person. You don’t know how he does it, but Nick manages to make you feel as if you can beat this and come up on top, and really that’s good enough for you. 

By Yule, you’ve basically moved into the cottage with Nick.  It’s quiet and comfortable, and it does wonders for your health. You know that you still have a long path in front of you, but with Nick at your side, it doesn’t feel impossible any more. You’re busy with a batch of cookies when Nick comes in, a few extra logs for the fireplace under his arm. 

He shoves his freezing cold hands under your knit sweater, as he wraps his arms around you. You let out a little squeak in reaction, to which he gives an amused chuckle. 

“Smells good, what are you making?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You lean back against his chest, “Just sugar cookies.” 

He presses a kiss to your cheek, “Can’t wait. Do you need help?” 

You shake your head, “Go get showered. We can start dinner when you’re done.” 

Nick kisses your cheek again before he detaches himself from you, “Won’t be long.” 

As he heads towards the bathroom, Nick stops where Jerry is napping on the sofa. And when you look over to them, you realise that you’ve finally made it home. 

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