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olliewrites-stuff · 3 days ago

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Is this seat taken?

Kerrin vaulted over the metal bench and made a beeline for the figure huddled in the corner, her nose deep in a book about… something. Kerrin didn’t wear their glasses today.

Approaching the engrossed brunette, they gestured to the place directly next to her and asked, "Can I sit here?"

The reader jolted. Her nose withdrew from the book as a frown settled on her face. "No," she huffed shortly.

Undeterred, Kerrin continued, "Okay, how about here?"

The girl frowned impossibly deeper, "That's my lap."

Kerrin rolled their eyes, "Yes or no, you prick."

They watched with rising joy as the trademarked scowl made its way onto the girl’s face. Gods, they loved pissing off Laura. It was so easy! She’d made it very clear, long ago, that the two of them could never coexist peacefully. Kerrin had grown to revel in the unique and surprisingly vast range of scowls and frowns they could pull from the other.

If Laura was so determined to hate them, why not have fun with it?

The girl in question rolled her eyes viciously, “Like I’d allow your bony ass anywhere near my lap, you cretin.”

Kerrin grinned. Let it be known, it was by no means a friendly grin. No, it was self-serving and predatory. Like a hunter watching prey fall right into their trap. She’d walked right into it.

“Well, well, well!” they crowed gleefully, “How titillating to know that my ass has been on your mind! Interesting choice of word, you have there: bony. Not scrawny, not voluptuous, not thicc, but bony… You must've been studying my ass and its interactions with laps very closely! ”

Laura’s scrawny lips almost disappeared in the affronted thinning she put them through.

“It is quite an exemplary ass, I admit,” Kerrin drawled, “I never took you for an ass girl, my sweet! That juicy piece of information is my new learned fact for the day!”

Egged on by the other’s silence, they continued their fanfare, “It changes things up quite notably to know you’re admiring my ass from afar! I shall have to consult my wardrobe! Mayhaps some scandalously high booty shorts are in my near future…” With a suggestive eyebrow waggle, Kerrin continued, “Please know, my dear Laura, that the next pair of booty shorts I don, I don for your eyes, and your eyes only!”

Laura scoffed loudly. She closed her book with a loud slap and narrowed burning eyes at Kerrin. “You’re ridiculous. An absolute fool,” she hissed.

Kerrin grinned. They leaned their face close to the startled brunette’s, lips moving a hair's breadth from the girl’s as they whispered sweetly, “And yet, my darling Laura, I’m yet to hear you deny any of it.”

The brunette stuttered for a beat while Kerrin’s grin deepened. “For someone who’s meant to hate me, you spend a suspicious amount of time apparently looking at my ass, and you curiously refrain from denying you do so, despite multiple opportunities.”

In a moment of bold stupidity, swept up in their heated exchange, Kerrin closed the miniscule gap between their faces to suck Laura’s quivering lower lip into their mouth and nibble it. They released it a breath later, pleased to see the rising flush on her face.

“Not bad,” they breathed thoughtfully. “You don’t taste as bitter as I assumed.”

Kerrin straightened their back and began waltzing away from the frozen girl. They turned back momentarily to call out cheerfully, “See ya, sweet cheeks!”, leaving Laura to hold a silent hand to her lips in wonder, staring confusedly at their disappearing figure.

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“IT’S LIKE SOMETHING FROM A ROMCOM!” squealed Nyasha, flopping backwards onto the fading sunflower quilt. “Gods, I always knew there was unspoken sexual tension between you two!”

Laura rolled her eyes. Her best friend had never refrained from alerting her of this suspicion. Despite all attempts to deny and debunk the accusation, the bubbly blonde refused to change her opinion.

“It wasn’t sexual,” Laura claimed.

Nyasha’s responding laugh was loud and mockingly boisterous. She sat up on the edge of Laura’s bed, bent over at her middle, gasping for air between her guffaws. The blonde attempted multiple times to speak before being overtaken by another severe wave of giggles.

Rude.

“L - Laura,” she wheezed, “Hon, they suCKED YOUR LIP INTO THEIR MOUTH!”

The affronted brunette crossed her arms defensively. “It was just to take me off guard,” she defended.

Nyasha eyebrows wriggled disgustingly suggestively, “And based on the fact you haven’t stopped talking about it since, I think it’s safe to say it worked!” she crowed.

Sometimes, Laura regretted ever befriending Nyasha. Sure, she was her best friend, but she could be a dick. Especially when it came to interactions between Kerrin and Laura. The brunette chose this moment to dream of an alternate reality, in which, instead of sharing her juice box with Nyasha in kindergarten, she’d slammed her smug face into the mud.

Imagining 5-year-old Nyasha, face caked with mud, blonde hair dyed brown with the smelly substance, and tears paving their way down her rosy little cheeks, gave Laura a desperately required mental escape during the other’s ruthless teasing.

“In my humble opinion,” Nyasha continued, as if this was a reality in which her opinion was desired, “I’m glad Kerrin has finally made the first move to end your stupid feud.”

The steepled fingers really weren’t necessary. They made her look like a cheesy movie villain.

“This sexually-intense flirtation today was their attempt to, finally, express their desire to change the terms of your relationship…” She frowned, deep in thought, “God knows you weren’t going to make the first move. You’re both quite useless, really.”

At this, Laura scoffed, “They don’t fucking like me, Nyasha, be serious for a moment. They did the lip thing to take me off guard. What about the comment about the ‘flavour’ of my mouth?”

The blonde stood up rapidly, “Laura, there is no platonic or ‘enemy’ reason to suck someone’s lip into your mouth, and then whisper seductively about how they taste. I mean, come on, ‘not as bitter as I assumed’? Girl, they put thought into how you taste!”

Laura opened her mouth to argue. She stood there with her lower jaw hanging silently for a long beat before slamming it shut. It was no use. Nyasha wasn’t going to back down. The best thing she could do was leave their conversation be.

She frowned at the floor, “I’m gonna go make some toast,” she announced. “Do you want any?”

Nyasha shook her head.

Unbeknownst to Laura, her best friend snatched her phone as soon as she was out of the room, unlocking it and scrolling down the list of contacts…

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“You don’t taste as bitter as I assumed,” Kerrin mouthed sarcastically to themselves, allowing their head to fall heavily onto the desk in front of them.

What the fuck was that interaction earlier today? What the fuck was that comment??

Classes had long since ceased for the day, but their interaction in the lunch room still haunted Kerrin. The ghost of their actions followed them home, taunting mercilessly by replaying the conversation on repeat.

Christ, teasing Laura was one thing, but the lip thing?? That bordered on harassment! Screw it, lack of consent, with someone who hated Kerrin’s guts, it was definitely some sort of physical or sexual harassment. And, look, their history was rocky at best. The taunting back and forth for years reminded Kerrin of pulling pigtails on the playground, except they were grown-ass adults.

It had never, however, veered into this territory.

They groaned, wallowing in self-pity and self-hatred. They needed to turn themselves in. Apologise to Laura, then turn themselves in.

Just as they’d accepted their fate like one destined for the gallows, a ping from their phone attracted their attention. Kerrin grabbed the phone, face still smooshed against the desk, turned on its side to see the screen:

LAURAPALOOZA: about earlier…

What. The. Fuck? Laura never messaged them! Kerrin had forgotten her number was even saved to their phone; they’d exchanged details as a necessary measure during a group project in high school. The exchange was one of the most morose interactions Kerrin thought they’d had in their life.

Remembering their earlier decision, they decided to bite the bullet and respond:

KERRINATOR: hey. i’m so sorry. what i did crossed boundaries i shouldn’t have. i realise that now. it’ll never happen again, i promise.

Kerrin bit their thumbnail anxiously as the grey bubble that indicated Laura was typing appeared and disappeared multiple times. When no responding message appeared, they tried desperately to do more damage control.

KERRINATOR: i’m really sorry, Laura. i know we argue a lot, but i do respect you. the lip thing today was obviously unwanted and disrespectful. it won’t happen again.

…

LAURAPALOOZA: What if I said I wanted it to happen again?

Someone needed to call an ambulance, because Kerrin’s heart officially stopped.

They bolted into an upright seated position, mouth agape, staring at the ten little words on their screen.

KERRINATOR: actual?

As soon as their message sent, Kerrin stood, barely noticing their desk chair falling to the floor in their urgent scramble. What the fuck was happening? There was a two minute delay before Laura’s response pinged:

LAURAPALOOZA: Sure.

Well, the tone of that message sure was different, Kerrin thought. But, in for a penny, in for a pound, they supposed. Their dynamic was already fucked, what damage could a little honesty do, at this point?

Kerrin grabbed their phone and furiously tapped an honest response.

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Laura was livid.

No, scratch that, she didn’t think there was a word in the English language to describe just how incensed she was with Nyasha. To think that her best friend had unlocked her phone, abused her best friend privileges, and messaged KERRIN, pretending to be her, was fucking unbelievable.

Laura had returned, unannounced, to her own bedroom, plate of honey toast in her hand, with one piece already held between her teeth, and had frozen at the sight of Nyasha typing furiously on her phone.

The blonde’s head had whipped up at the sudden intrusion, startled, and looking suspiciously guilty.

This guilt immediately raised alarms in Laura’s head.

Nyasha didn’t do guilty.

The two remained in a silent, staring standoff, when Laura’s phone pinged. Nyasha’s eyes darted to the screen. Her eyes widened at whatever she saw there.

…What followed had been a whispered explanation and argument. Nyasha showed Laura the text chain with Kerrin silently.

Laura re-read the last few messages of the exchange incredulously:

LAURAPALOOZA: What if I said I wanted it to happen again?

KERRINATOR: actual?

There was no backing out. The least she could do to save face was to try and coax something embarrassing out of Kerrin, something to hold over their head as reason to give her some peace and quiet.

In a fit of rage, the brunette snatched the phone back and typed out a cold reply. Her fingers tapped the glass phone screen so viciously, the sound of each key being pressed could be heard throughout the room.

LAURAPALOOZA: Sure.

She threw the phone on her bed, turning blazing eyes to drill into a cowering Nyasha. “I can’t fucking believe you,” she hissed. The blonde hung their head in shame. At least Laura could revel in the fact that her supposed best friend felt bad about her actions.

When the phone pinged again, two sets of eyes swivelled to face it intensely. Laura squeezed her eyes shut and waved towards the device, “You read it,” she ordered Nyasha.

The blonde read the screen. Her eyebrows raised. Silently, she handed the phone to Laura without a sound.

KERRINATOR: with your consent, i’d do it again. i don’t know why we’ve wasted all this time fighting when we could’ve been kissing. i’d much rather kiss you again than annoy you just to have an excuse to interact with you.

What. The. Fuck?

The entire world, as Laura knew it, crumbled.

Kerrin was being so honest? And so… soft? Genuinely caring? Where the fuck had this come from? The brunette sunk to the floor, hands anchored in her hair. She looked searchingly at Nyasha, who stared back equally shocked and joined her on the floor.

The phone pinged again. Then again. And again.

KERRINATOR: with your consent of course! but who am i kidding, you probably hate my guts, and with good reason

KERRINATOR: shit, i’ve really fucked this up, haven’t i?

KERRINATOR: is it too late to say i’m just kidding? probably. fuck, i’m sorry.

Laura scrambled for the phone, and upon seeing the string of increasingly panicked messages, began drafting a message back… Her fingers remained poised over the keyboard as all words fled her brain. What the fuck could she say? This had gotten so messy.

She was surprised to feel an urge to comfort Kerrin. (Nyasha, and that little part of Laura’s brain that she resolutely ignored, would disagree, but she was in no state to consult either of them).

Laura squeezed her eyelids closed tightly. She pondered how she could reassure Kerrin.

Fuck it.

She tapped their contact on her screen and selected ‘Call.’

Valentine's OTP Prompts 10:

"I have some questions that I'm not going to ask. Except for the obvious are you okay?" "No, thanks for asking."

"Can I sit here?" "No." "Okay, how about here?" "That's my lap." "Yes or no, you prick."

"Why are you tracing my fingers?" "Because they're very pretty."

"Do I look okay in this? I feel kind of ridiculous." "The only ridiculous you are is ridiculously gorgeous."

"Have we ever done anything romantic?" "I find laying atop each other watching shit TV very romantic."

"Can you call my phone?" "Oh, sure." "Thanks-" *Friends Don't Kiss Friends blares*

"I think there's only one bed..." "Damn, fanfiction has taught me way too much about this scenario."

"Sorry to bother you, but can I sleep here with you?" "Wha? Why?" "The heat cut off and I can't feel my limbs."

"It's so dreary outside." "Then let's make it sunny inside!"

"Love is like a drug, and I'm not an addict." "Sure. I totally believe you."

#thanks for the writing prompt :)#olliewrites #ollie writes #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writeblr #writers of tumblr #writerblr #lgbtq relationships #lgbtq #enemies to lovers #'enemies' to lovers

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chloeangelbaby · 20 hours ago

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i'd been reading all your stories and omg i love them 🥺 can i request for something where crybaby reader is jealous? Something like Rafe selling his drugs and some girl trying to flirt with him, while reader is literally on his lap (almost falling asleep, because she didnt want to be in that party, but neither wanted to be alone without Rafe)

Thank you!! so much for all the love and I’ve been wanting to do a jealousy fic for a while now so this was perfect, I don’t think this is quite what you’re wanted but I still hope you enjoy.

Crybaby! Reader x rafe Cameron

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The bass of the party’s music thumped against your chest, its rhythmic vibrations almost lulling you to sleep where you sat on a worn-out leather couch in the corner of the room. You had been practically glued to Rafe’s side all evening, your head tucked against his chest, fighting off the weariness of a party you hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place. You’d come along because the alternative—staying alone in his too-big house—felt worse than enduring the noise and chaos.

Rafe had promised he wouldn’t leave you for long, but business was business. He’d been making the rounds, his baggie of pills tucked in his jacket pocket, slipping into conversations with all the wrong people. Each transaction pulled him a little farther from you, and your comfort slowly unraveled. Now, he was a few feet away, leaning against the kitchen counter with a blonde girl hanging off every word he said.

You tightened your arms around yourself, watching them through narrowed eyes. The girl’s laughter was loud and obnoxious, her hand brushing against Rafe’s forearm as she leaned in closer. Your stomach twisted with an ugly pang of jealousy, your tiredness melting into something sharper.

“Dolly,” Rafe had said earlier, tilting your chin up to kiss your pout away. “It’ll be quick. Just stay close, and I’ll take care of you.”

But now, he wasn’t taking care of you. He was entertaining someone else, his charm on full display. You could tell from the easy way he smiled at her that he wasn’t interested—not really. Rafe didn’t care about anyone but you. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was how her hand lingered too long and how her laugh was too bright. It made you want to storm over there and rip her perfectly curled hair out by the roots.

You shuffled in your seat, pulling your knees up to your chest as your heart thudded unevenly. A little voice in your head whispered that you were overreacting, that Rafe’s flirtatious demeanor was just part of the job. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being brushed aside.

“Rafe,” you finally called, your voice small but insistent.

His head turned immediately, his eyes softening when they landed on you. “Hey, baby,” he said, dismissing the girl with a casual wave before crossing the room to you. “What’s wrong?”

You tugged at his sleeve, urging him to sit beside you. He dropped down onto the couch without hesitation, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “You okay?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I want to leave,” you mumbled, burying your face in his chest. The warmth of his body and the familiar scent of his cologne helped ease some of your tension, but the jealousy still simmered beneath the surface.

“I thought you were asleep over here,” he teased, his lips brushing your hairline. “You looked cozy.”

“Was trying to,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “But that girl wouldn’t stop flirting with you.”

Rafe’s chest rumbled with a quiet laugh. “That’s what this is about? Dolly, she’s nobody.”

You pulled back just enough to glare up at him. “She didn’t look like nobody to me. She was all over you.”

He cupped your face with one hand, his thumb stroking over your cheek. “You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he said, his grin infuriatingly cocky. “But you don’t have to be. You know I’m yours, right?”

“You didn’t look like mine when she was practically sitting in your lap,” you muttered.

Rafe leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. “Baby, I’m only here because you are. You think I care about anyone else in this place?”

“I just don’t like seeing other girls around you,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. “Makes me feel… small.”

His expression softened, the cockiness replaced with something gentler. “You’re not small,” he said firmly. “You’re everything, Dolly. Nobody else even comes close. Okay?”

You nodded reluctantly, and he pressed a kiss to your lips, slow and sweet, as if to remind you of exactly where he stood. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I’ve got better things to do than hang around a bunch of idiots anyway.”

You smiled despite yourself, allowing him to pull you to your feet. As he guided you through the crowd, his hand firmly on your waist, you cast one last glance toward the blonde girl. She was watching you with a sour expression, and for the first time all night, you felt smug.

Rafe’s fingers gave your hip a reassuring squeeze. “Told you,” he murmured, leaning down so only you could hear. “I’m yours, Dolly.”

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daniiiboo · 1 day ago

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day 8 - Christmas Eve traditions - mv1

summary - You and Max have a unique tradition that only the two of you share every christmas eve.

trigger warnings - nothing unless your triggered by CUTENESS

dani's thoughts - HOLY COW AHRHRHRHRHRHRHRH I LOVE THIS

word count - 496

find the rest of my 12 days of chrismas here !

The snow fell softly outside the window, blanketing the world in a quiet stillness. The living room was warm and cozy, illuminated by the glow of the Christmas tree. Strings of white lights wrapped around its branches, and ornaments collected over the years told a story of shared memories.

You were curled up on the couch, your feet tucked beneath you and a steaming mug of hot chocolate in your hands. Max sat beside you, one arm draped along the back of the couch, his other hand absently twirling a candy cane between his fingers.

It was Christmas Eve, your favorite night of the year. Not because of the presents or the big family dinner waiting for tomorrow, but because of the tradition you and Max had started years ago.

“Okay,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence. “You ready?”

You smiled, setting your mug down on the coffee table.

“I’ve been ready all day.”

Max leaned forward and grabbed the small, wrapped box sitting under the tree, handing it to you with a crooked grin.

“You first this year.”

This was the tradition. Every Christmas Eve, the two of you exchanged one special gift. It wasn’t about grand gestures or expensive surprises, it was about finding something meaningful, something that spoke to the connection you shared.

You carefully unwrapped the paper, your fingers trembling slightly from excitement. Inside was a small wooden box. You opened it to reveal a delicate charm bracelet, each charm representing a memory you and Max had made together, a tiny car for his first championship, a plane for your shared trips around the world, a snowflake for the winters you’d spent in each other’s arms.

“Max…” Your voice caught in your throat as you looked up at him. “It’s perfect.”

He smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I just wanted something that could remind you of us, of everything we’ve been through.”

You reached out and squeezed his hand, your heart full.

“Okay, your turn,” you said, grabbing the small package you’d hidden beneath a cushion earlier.

Max raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, as he tore through the wrapping paper. Inside was a leather-bound journal, its cover embossed with his initials. When he opened it, he found the first few pages already filled with handwritten notes and photographs of moments the two of you had shared—your first date, road trips, quiet mornings, and candid snapshots of him laughing when he thought you weren’t looking.

“You always say you’re too busy to remember the little things,” you explained, “so I thought I’d help you keep track of them.”

Max stared at the pages for a moment before looking back at you, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I don’t know how you always manage to outdo me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

You laughed, leaning into him.

“It’s not a competition, Max.”

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“Well, if it was, you’d win.”

As the snow continued to fall outside, the two of you sat together, flipping through memories, creating new ones, and reveling in a tradition that was yours.

#dani writes ᡣ𐭩 #dani's 12 days of christmas !#max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #red bull f1 x reader

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gnawing-suspicion · 1 day ago

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Favorite Hannigram Fics of 2024

So! I’ve been thinking about making this list for weeks but it overwhelmed me — I started reading Hannigram fic this year and have consumed millions of words of it. I began without an ao3 account so many of the ones I started with are lost to the aether, but here are the absolute gems, the ones I can’t stop thinking about. Some are popular, others less known.

My tastes might not be yours, but I am drawn to excellent writing, slow burns, power dynamics and a healthy dose of twisted kink. So! ONWARD!

Note: The Shape of Me Will Always be You and Consenting to Dream are a given.

Blackbird by @emungere - “Shortly after Will kills Garret Jacob Hobbs, he and Hannibal stumble into a D/s relationship. It's a relief to have Hannibal telling him what to do, but the closer they become, the closer he gets to realizing who and what Hannibal really is.”

I love D/s Hannigram and this was exquisite. Everything by emungere is, of course, but this is my favorite.

Bram Stoker’s HANNIBAL by @dbmars - “Hannibal + Bram Stoker's Dracula + the classic novel = a new version of the seductive vampire legend.”

A love letter to both the 90s film and the original work. This is the longest fic I read this year and it consumed me for weeks. It’s gorgeous, sexy, beautifully-written and every casting choice made me kick my feet with glee.

Secretary by FragileTeacup and ThisIsMyDesignHannibal - “Will Graham needs a job. Since quitting the FBI, he’s been adrift for months, broken and lost; chasing a desire he doesn’t understand in increasingly destructive ways. What he needs is stability, direction, something to help put his life back in order and quiet the buzzing in his head.”

Secretary is one of my favorite films ever, and this take on it had me foaming at the mouth. It’s so good. SO GOOD.

Hinterland by @pastelwell - “When they crash into the water he believes it’s over. He followed his final impulse to do the right thing by his friends, his family, the world. The last flutters of morality within him had guided him, even as he looked into the eyes of a murderer who had somehow compelled his fall from grace. Here, in the frigid deep waters, their chapter is closed and their story is concluded. Except it isn’t. This is just the beginning.”

A divine post-fall fic of rehabilitation, angst, longing and some of the hottest smut imaginable. I love a post-fall fic and this is top-tier!!

With skin intact and altered souls by romanticallyinept - Will snorts his laughter, shifting to tuck his hands under his arms. “Come on,” he says, turning his head to look over at Hannibal. “The chances of two serial killers being in one car would be astronomical.”

They’re both serial killers!!! What are the odds!! This one is so fun, so fucked, so hot. Really great dialogue.

Our Shadows, That are Bold, Sing by @highermagic - “The monster under Will's bed calls himself Hannibal. He has lived there since Will was old enough to have a bed. He is very smart, and Will likes him very much. He protects Will's dreams, wakes him when he has nightmares. He embraces Will with shadows that black out the morning light when dawn comes, and sings soft songs that Will doesn't know.”

Listen, I read basically every one of HigherMagic’s fics this year. They’re all, every one of them, incredible. This one really got me, though. Monster Hannibal is my husband now.

patroclus in furs by bleakmidwinter - “Will Graham has been acting in heterosexual porn for years but is fired when his manager encourages him to take a higher-paying job for a homosexual centric porn company. There, he finds his expectations turned upside down.”

This is obviously ABSURD but oh my god, did I love it. Will Graham having a sexual identity crisis with notoriously sadistic porn god Hannibal is like candy to me. 10/10.

Cuisine Euphonique by thecountessolivia - “Nightmares brought on by a gruesome case lead Will to some unorthodox therapy in the form of a YouTube cooking channel.”

Will gets obsessed with Hannibal’s secret ASMR channel. Incredible phone sex is the natural conclusion. The descriptions of sound in this are viscerally gorgeous.

Funeral of Flowers by thecountessolivia - “Venice, 1870. The heart of winter. The once great city republic is on its knees. The banned institution of Carnevale lives on discreetly in the masked balls that light up the grand palazzi of the rich and the well-born.”

Hannigram at Carnevale. Sumptuous, longing, decadently described historical AU. Loved this to death.

Black Rock Mountain by bokunojinsei - “Will is a hitchhiker with questionable hobbies. Hannibal is a man who has questionable motives. When Hannibal drives by Will who just so happens to need a ride, things quickly take a turn from the questionable to the downright depraved.”

An even smuttier They’re Both Serial Killers fic that had me howling in the streets. You want bloody horny Hannigram? This is elite!!

To Fuel Your Radiance by GoldenUsagi - “AU where Will is the actual Devil. After Hannibal sells his soul, a fascination begins to develop between them. Will is intrigued by the unique monster Hannibal is, while Hannibal thinks Will is the most magnificent thing he's ever encountered. As their conversations continue, their involvement with each other becomes something else entirely.”

I’m not gonna lie, I think this was my favorite fic I read this year. Will as The Devil is so hot I screamed. There’s a scene at the end that is so fucked I lost my mind. Not even close to safe or sane. A masterpiece.

The Night Owl by sourweather - “Will works the graveyard shift at his University's 24 hour Library. There's another student who only comes in to study in the dead of night. Will can't explain why, but something about that boy has caught his attention.”

College AU! COLLEGE AU! Featuring some great Beverly fun.

An Ounce of Wit by winddragon - “AKA a modern magical AU where the entire point is to turn Will Graham into a catboy.”

The infamous Will is a Catboy fic that is somehow SO good. I had to be convinced to read this but I’m so glad I did. It’s an absolute delight, and the dark magic is so cool?! Goofy, yes, but delicious.

old-fashioned divinity candy by antiheroblake - “the relationship between old money, med student hannibal lecter and his newly rich sugar daddy, will graham”

An ongoing WIP that has me hooked by the throat. If you like the boys being absolutely stupid for each other and also absolutely stupid about it, you’ll eat this up. Young Hannibal is such an idiot. I love him.

in the gruesome do we trust by sidnihoudini - “Hannibal and Will have murder husbands mind palace sex, and Alana watches obsessively.”

I mean, it does what it says on the box. It does it SO WELL. Honk honk and, if I may add, awoooga.

show me where it hurts (I’ll lick it clean) by antiheroblake - “at 18, will inherits a ranch upon the death of his father, a man who died from a supposed family curse. at 33, will becomes prone to accidents, and the new town doctor starts to see him more than he sees his cattle.”

Accident-prone Will in the Old West HATES his sexy new doctor. You won’t believe what happens next!!!

Bring Out Your Desires by TheCosmicNSFW - “After spontaneously having to save a man's life inside an ambulance, Hannibal Lecter finds Will Graham being naughty in the bathroom. He decides that Will Graham might be a more valuable asset than he originally thought, and he convinces Will to let him work out his true desires - but is offering your mind to Hannibal on a silver platter such a great idea?”

An ongoing Hypnosis Kink fic that has absolutely inspired some of Fever Dreams. Bonus points for a fic that gave me a new kink!! Doesn’t happen every day!

The Sugar Bowl by BelladonnaWyck and raiast

Listen, ok, I like a sugar daddy fic. I’m picky about them, though!! This one involves University Will and he’s such a perfect mess.

Mine to Touch by piginapoketuesday - “Will's neck flushed with fear. Never being allowed to feed himself again. Learning to associate food with a swollen, untouched cock. Swallowing prettily and on command. His body betrayed him, and he moaned around the fork in his mouth.”

This one popped up during my exploration of the Sub Will Graham tag and woooooof, yes. Yes!!

2 weeks by EarthsickWithoutYou - “After reading the news of Will's marriage to Molly, an incarcerated Hannibal cannot bear their separation or his own jealousy any longer. He breaks out and finds Will, proposing a bet: that Will gives Hannibal two weeks to prove his love and convince Will to run away with him. If Hannibal succeeds, they will be together for life, but if he fails, he'll return to the BSHCI and never see Will again. With Hannibal's heart on the line and Will's inner moral conflict hard to hear above the roar of his longing for the killer, what choice is he going to make?”

Insanely jealous Hannibal + bone-deep yearning + “I can give you what she never could” = 🔥🔥🔥🔥😤🥵

Appetites of the Flesh by Magnetism_bind - “Will gets aroused at murder scenes. Eventually this gets noticed.”

A rec from @graciereadshannigram that also introduced me to a new kink. It’s twisted, obviously, but godDAMN it’s hot. And speaking of Gracie…

CrimsonDesires by Scifibabe - “Post-fall, Will and Hannibal discover that Alana became a bestselling erotic novelist and surprise! She based her characters on Will and Hannibal. Drunken dramatic reading of various passages ensues.”

This is absolute crack and I ate it up like ICE CREAM. A kick-your-feet delight. Watch as Will blushes so hard he nearly dies. And lest we forget my fave of her Kinktober fics…

Touched for the Very First Time by Scifibabe - “One night post-fall, Will proposes something new: letting Hannibal seduce him as if it's his first time. As Will slips into a younger, more hesitant version of himself, he’s reminded of all the things he's never let himself fully experience. With Hannibal guiding him through each step, Will discovers just how much he still craves being taken care of, in every sense.”

This blew my mind. It’s so hot. Thank you for the food!!!! Bonus mention for the Daddy Kink Fisting episode.

act on it by acheforhim - “Will is lonely and his long-distance fuckbuddy encourages him to pursue Hannibal.”

It took me MONTHS into reading fic to give omegaverse a try. I’m still fussy about it, but this one is so hot.

Graham Cam by bigfootghostdick - “In nearly every aspect of his life, Hannibal is wholly unabashed in the endeavors he chooses to take on, especially where Will is concerned. At his core, he lives outside the realm of societal norms, so in a twisted effort to learn more about the beautiful empath that has captured his attention so utterly, he decides to install hidden cameras inside Will’s home.

Will is blissfully unaware…or is he?”

Hdhagahajajbfdg.

Illicit Affairs by EarthsickWithoutYou - “AU in which Will is living a quiet, safe, but deeply conflicted life in Maine, married to Molly but secretly longing for his dark Becoming. Mired in self-hatred and despair, he seeks comfort in the church. But things get very complicated once he meets the new priest at his parish, Father Hannibal Lecter.”

I have a massive Priest Kink and this did it for me in every way possible. I love how all of EarthsickWithoutYou’s fics are so deeply religious. I’m not, but I love reading it!!

suffer does the wolf by cedarbranch - “Under extreme physical duress, a werewolf's transformation cycles may fall out of phase with the moon. Will has experienced it once before. He'd hoped he never would again. But the fall was not kind to him, and when two full moons pass afterwards with no sign of a change, something has to give.

The solution: a tight leather collar, woven through with pure silver chain to prevent unwanted transformation. Will hates the collar. But it might be different when Hannibal's the one putting it on him.”

I may be iffy on omegaverse, but I LOVE fics where Will is a werewolf. It just suits him. That plus BDSM power dynamics? SOLD

even though our love is doomed by bleakmidwinter - “Hannibal solves the mystery of time travel and he and Will decide to go into the past and take opportunities previously missed along with rewriting the regrets they each hold. Changing the past does not effect the future and they have free reign to play as the please.”

I loved this, oh how I loved this, particularly when they fuck themselves. What a treat for me!!

How to Be a Good Boy: A Guide for the Novice Werewolf by HigherMagic - “Will gets scratched by a strange dog during the full moon.”

I told you I like Will as a werewolf and this is peak!!

WHEW. I know there are more I could add and some I’ve lost track of or forgotten, but these fics changed me!! I obviously pored through the archives of a few authors - HigherMagic, emungere, MissDisoriental, thecountessolivia, EarthsickWithoutYou, Scifibabe, antiheroblake, bleakmidwinter and DBMars all kept me fed this year! 🖤 without all their incredible work I never would’ve started writing my own fic, so I’m deeply grateful.

I love this fandom and now that you can see my tastes, I am very open to your recs 🖤🖤🖤

#hannigram #hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal fic #Hannibal fic recs #hannigram fic rec #fanfic

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beomiracles · 2 days ago

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troublemaker prince beomgyu sneaking him and his secret-more-than-friends-kinda-fwb out to play in the snow together in the forest, making snowmen and having a snowball fight and it’s all cute and silly. She doesn’t think he likes her seriously though especially since they can’t really be together anyway but confessions end up happening after making snow angels together and they’re both laying on the snow floor

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐄'𝐒; 𝓐𝓓𝓥𝓔𝓝𝓣 𝓒𝓐𝓛𝓔𝓝𝓓𝓐𝓡 NUMBER 14 ; ❝𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤❞

“What’s wrong?” He asks, a small and adorable frown etched onto his forehead. Did he really not know? Did he really not realize how wrong this was, how this was bound to end?

pairings — prince!beomgyu x maid!reader warnings — kinda angsty, confessions, forbidden love trope

#serene adds ✎.. I tried to portray the emotions in under 1k words but whew it was hard >_< idk man, I think I just yap too much.. tv girl inspired title coughhhh

⸝⸝

“Beomgyu I don’t know… This is-” Beomgyu’s hand clamps over your lips as he shuts you up, his other one linking with your own as he pulls you through the thick snow. “Come on now, we’ve got to hurry!” He exclaims as he swerves past the many trees crowding your way. The forest was casted in a dim glow, the first rays of sunshine barely having made it over the horizon as Beomgyu had woken you this morning.

He urged you outside, whispering hushed nonsense about making snow angels and snowmen. Still, you followed along as the young prince scurried down the empty castle walls, your footsteps echoing off the stoned floors as you ran. — You half heartedly laugh as he pulls you through the snow covered woods, though your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Stopping by a small meadow, Beomgyu lunges toward the ground, his fuzzy coat getting drowned in a thick and heavy layer of snow, but he doesn't seem to mind. He’s already working on forming a large ball to act as the base for the snowman, mumbling something about you finding sticks for arms. You hum, patting the quickly melting ice from his shoulders as you glance around the area.

“Arms? What about his nose?” You inquire with a small frown. Beomgyu smirks, stuffing a hand into his pocket before pulling out an orange carrot. “I’ve planned ahead”, he states with a smug voice and you can’t do anything but roll your eyes, of course he had. — You set out to find the perfect pair of sticks as Beomgyu works on the body, molding it out of snow. Stumbling across a few broken branches, you pick them up as you study them closely. If you squint hard enough, they could just about resemble a pair of lanky arms.

You hurry back with your finds, presenting them to Beomgyu with a proud smile. He returns the gesture with a wide grin, “You’re amazing!” He lets you attach the makeshift arms and even the carrot for the snowman's nose. — Together you search the meadow for something to represent eyes and a mouth, finally settling on a pair of cones and some stones.

Once the little figurine is done, you take a step back to admire the creation. “He looks a little like you”, you say, letting your head fall to the side as you close one of your eyes. Beomgyu scoffs, his tone changing into an insulted one as he turns to you. “You’re acting way out of line, do you know who you’re talking to?”

Shaking your head, you clasp your hands in front of you, “I fear I have no clue..” The sickly sweetness to your voice makes for a poor excuse of innocence but Beomgyu plays into it as he smirks. — “Well I suppose I could forgive you..”, he shrugs, “But you’d have to pay me in return.”

You gasp, throwing a hand over your lips, “But with what money? Surely I have nothing that could interest a prince such as yourself, I mean, a mere maid like me…” — The smug look on his face only grows as Beomgyu takes a step closer. “Oh there’s one thing you could give me”, his fingers brush along your cheek, his touch warm against your cold skin.

“Really?” You say, cocking an eyebrow at him in challenge. Beomgyu chuckles, his grip on your chin growing firm as he pulls your lips against his. The kiss is sweet, it makes your stomach flutter and your chest tingle. And you don’t pull away, even when you’re out of breath. Because a small part of you feared that every time your lips connected, it would be the last.

You weren’t stupid. You knew that this would never last, this…thing, whatever it was that the two of you had, it would never work out in the long run. You don’t think Beomgyu had quite understood that yet.. Or perhaps he had, perhaps it didn’t matter to him in the way it did to you.

“Come on, let’s make snow angels!” His loud and cheerful voice pulls you from your thoughts, making you blink and before you know it your falling face first against the ground. “Beomgyu!” You whine, feeling the biting cold seeping through your clothes as the snow melts against your body. But Beomgyu ignores your protests as he spreads his arms and legs out, already working on his angel.

You try to mimic his actions, to smile just as wide as he does, to bask in the tranquility of the moment, but it seems nearly impossible, and Beomgyu soon catches on. — His movements come to a halt, his head tilting to the side as he watches you from his spot on the ground. “What’s wrong?” He asks, a small and adorable frown etched onto his forehead. Did he really not know? Did he really not realize how wrong this was, how this was bound to end?

When all you can give him is a small look of despair, a half hearted smile.. He sighs. Then he gets that look in his eye, the one that told you exactly what he was thinking of, and it was seldom something good.

“I want to take you to the banquet with me on Saturday”, he blurts, the words coming out before he can even stop them. Your jaw falls open, your heart practically stopping at the proposal. He wanted to take you to the banquet? Whenever you thought about yours and Beomgyu’s relationship, it was with an excited flutter in your stomach. Beomgyu made you feel desired, he made you feel wanted, that’s what all those nights in his bedchambers had been about. A mutual exchange of pleasure. So what if you did things like these every now and again? Did it mean he wanted more than the nights together? Did it mean he wanted more of you?

You hadn’t even dared think that thought, too frightened to be wrong, to get rejected. But now he wants to take you to the banquet… And he’s watching you with such adoration, you find it hard to ever look away. — “You do… want to go with me right?” He then adds, a bit of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

Yes. Yes you did. More than anything.

“I..” He begins, though quickly trailing off as he purses his lips, seemingly in deep thought. His warm eyes find yours, a glimmer of hope swirling behind them. “I really like you.” And you know he means the words. But he didn’t understand, did he? He didn’t understand that it was not how it was supposed to be.

And you don’t know how to tell him. So you don’t. You decide to keep those feelings hidden for at least another fortnight. You decide to let your selfish fantasy go on for just a little longer. You smile, and this time it reaches your eyes.

“I really like you too.”

taglist ✎... @liaatiny @izzyy-stuff @heeambi @saejinniestar @lickingan0rchid @hyunelixbun @lunesdesire @n0-thisispatrick @tyunderella @fancypeacepersona @hyunj00 @hwang-choon @soohashits @xylatox @lilbrorufr @ezeert @blossommi @beestvng @buttrry11 @minji-willstay

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#beomiracles ₊˚⊹ ᰔ #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu fluff #Choi Beomgyu x reader #Choi Beomgyu drabble #Choi Beomgyu x you #beomgyu x you #Kpop fanfic #Kpop drabbles #Kpop one shot #txt x you #txt x reader #txt imagines #txt fluff #beomgyu angst #txt angst #kpop angst

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bosbas · 17 hours ago

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Chapter 2: I won't confess that I waited, but I let the lamp burn

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 2.1k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, i still ship daphne and y/n tbh, daphne kinda going wild but i still love her your honor she's just a girl

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

May 27, 1812 - It was two weeks after Daphne had finally started being able to talk to her suitors, and you couldn’t help but feel your excitement bubbling when you saw her speaking with Phillip Norwood once again. He had little money, at least for Mayfair standards, and no title to speak of, but he made your best friend laugh. And that was all you really wanted from the man who would potentially be her husband.

You were interrupted from over-analyzing Daphne’s body language toward her suitor by someone clearing their throat next to you.

“Anthony!” you exclaimed as you turned, happy to see him. “I hadn't seen you tonight, my apologies.”

Just as the eldest Bridgerton began to respond, you caught Daphne laughing what could only be described as a flirty giggle, while Mr Norwood placed a hand on her upper arm. Distracted, you squinted to see if your best friend had placed a hand on his arm, too. You couldn’t wait until tomorrow when you would hear all about this encounter. You had been hearing about Mr Norwood for a few days now, and it was endearing to see how taken Daphne was with him.

“Hmm?” you asked Anthony, having entirely missed what he had said.

“I was just wondering whether you were going to… ask me to dance,” repeated Anthony, uncharacteristically hesitant.

You distractedly took in his words, tearing your eyes away from Daphne and seeing the man in front of you nervously rubbing his neck as he waited for your response.

“Oh, right,” you said, remembering where you were. You were supposed to stop Daphne’s brother from obsessing over her and her suitor, not obsessing over them yourself!

“The past few balls you’ve asked me to dance; I had just come to expect it at this point,” continued Anthony, still seeming a bit off-kilter as he reminded you that dancing with him had become a quasi-routine. “I didn’t know whether I’d done something to upset you or if you simply didn’t feel like dancing tonight.”

Seeing Phillip start to kiss Daphne’s gloved hand out of the corner of your eye brought you back to your senses completely.

“Not at all; I’d love to dance!” you blurted out, turning Anthony so his sister and her admirer were directly behind him.

You quickly grabbed Anthony’s hand and led him to the dance floor, tripping over yourself in an attempt to distract your best friend’s brother.

Almost instinctually, Anthony grabbed your waist to keep you from falling, an arm placed firmly around you as he held you close to him. When you finally felt solid ground again, you met his eyes.

“Thank you,” you breathed, suddenly feeling extremely aware of where his hands were placed and just how close your chest was to his. “I’ve just been a tad distracted tonight,” you apologized, doing your best to ignore how close his mouth was to yours.

Once again, as had become habitual, the pair of you began to dance. In all honesty, it was a delightful endeavor, at least for you. It was quite unexplainable, really, but you and Anthony seemed to move as one, and you had never expected something as simple as a dance to feel so… right.

“This is the first time you’ve asked me to dance, you know,” you teased Anthony as he spun you around.

“Is it?” he responded, amused at your observation. “Would you like me to call on you tomorrow, too, or is asking you for a dance enough?”

You knew he was only teasing, but you grew flustered nonetheless, tripping over your feet and almost falling to the ground once again. Even though Anthony was there to steady you with a hand on your hip and another wrapped around you, you ripped his hands away from you.

“No! That wasn’t– I mean, I didn’t–” you spluttered, an unexplained panic rising in you.

“I was only joking, Y/N,” he said softly, eyes wide as he took in your extreme reaction to what was meant to be a light-hearted comment. He supposed you very well and truly weren’t interested in him. And though this was a fact he knew already, this did nothing to quell the slight pang of disappointment he felt as he looked at the beautiful woman in front of him.

As the music ended and he led you back to the crowd, Anthony muttered to himself, “Though there are only so many times we can dance without courting before it’s considered improper.”

He shouldn’t have asked you to dance tonight, he scolded himself. Look at you, practically trembling at the mere idea of Anthony calling on you tomorrow. He should have just let it lie and not come to talk to you tonight. As was his nature, he would never forgive himself if your standing in the ton suffered because of a silly crush he could never act upon.

“Would it really be considered a scandal?” you inquired, feeling a tad self-conscious because you and Anthony had danced at every ball for the last two weeks.

Mortified, he turned to face you properly. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” he apologized. “But I promise you have nothing to worry about. It's only been a few dances, and seeing how close you are to our family it's hardly worthy of any gossip.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you nodded at Anthony, feeling much more calm.

Trying to lighten the mood, you teased him. “I didn’t know you cared what people thought of you, seeing how you’re the biggest rake in all of England, and probably beyond, too."

He rolled his eyes bashfully, never until this moment having felt embarrassed about how easily he was able to charm women, unmarried or otherwise.

“Well, I don’t care about what it means for me,” he said as if it were obvious. “I have no plans to marry anytime soon. But I’d like for you to be able to court anyone you want whenever you feel ready.”

“Oh,” you breathed, taken aback by how earnest Anthony was being. “I didn’t know you were so concerned about my prospects,” you said finally.

Quite nonchalantly, Anthony responded, “I vowed to my father to take care of you and my sisters, and I have no plans of betraying that promise.”

You felt your face growing hot. Perhaps it was the sincerity of the Bridgerton’s words, or perhaps it was how easily he showed his concern for you, but you had never felt quite so taken care of.

Your mouth was wholly uncooperative, and you couldn’t find the words to respond. Instead, you reached for Anthony’s hand and squeezed it, hoping it was enough to communicate how much you appreciated him.

His easy smile as he squeezed your hand back told you that he had heard your message with clarity.

Turning to scan the ballroom, Anthony grumbled, “Now where on Earth is Daphne? If she’s with that Norwood fellow again I swear I’ll ban her from leaving the house again.”

“I'm sure I have no idea,” you said innocently, having just seen the pair hand in hand as they made their way to the dance floor.

“Good-for-nothing rake without even so much as a title,” he muttered, setting off in the direction of his mother in the hope that she would know where Daphne was.

You shook your head amusedly. It was alarmingly easy to slip into this routine with him. You had known the Bridgertons for most of your life, but it had never felt so… natural with any of the other boys in the family as it did with Anthony recently.

But you paid this no mind. At least Daphne was getting to find a love match, Phillip Norwood or otherwise. So what if you were having a bit of fun with your ploy? You got to dance at ton balls without having to court anyone and watch your best friend fall in love at the same time. There didn’t really seem to be any downsides to Daphne’s little plan.

—

“Daphne, I can’t do that,” you insisted, your voice firm. "I don't even want to do that!"

“Please, Y/N. It’s the only way,” she begged.

Standing in front of you in your sunroom, on a perfectly normal Friday, she was asking you to start properly courting Anthony. As if it wasn't one of the most preposterous things you'd ever heard. As if your worth in society as a woman came almost entirely from whom you married, and she was asking you to make a mockery of it.

It had been two weeks of you breaking all social norms and asking Anthony to dance with you, and in the meantime, Daphne had managed to find a gentleman she actually liked. You should have known from the way she looked at Phillip, but it seemed that Mr Norwood wasn't just another suitor. He truly seemed to make your best friend happy, but you wondered if it was worth it for you if you had to court her brother.

Setting your feelings aside, you remembered that hadn’t seen Daphne this happy since before she came out last year, and it was upsetting to know that it could all go away if you decided to discontinue your ruse.

“Daphne, I don’t know that this is such a good idea,” you said, not as resistant as earlier but certainly not on board. Yet. "What is your goal with this? I can't for the life of me see how this would be more effective than just continuing to dance with him.”

“I would never force you to do this, and I would never want you to feel like you have to do it,” Daphne started, prioritizing your friendship as usual. “You are correct. Getting the chance to meet Mr Norwood has been absolutely wonderful and I am forever grateful to you for it. However, one dance every other evening is simply not enough to build a courtship. I need to properly be able to actually speak with Phillip when he calls on me, and I can’t very well do that if Anthony is watching me like a hawk. I would be able to do all of the regular courtship activities my brother does not allow me to if he is busy courting someone himself.”

Admittedly, she had a point. You found yourself nodding, not terribly repulsed by the idea of having Anthony show up at your door the morning after a ball with a bouquet, despite what you'd told Daphne earlier.

“But how exactly would this end?” you pressed. “Anthony and I can’t very well get married.”

Though you wanted nothing more than happiness and fulfillment for your best friend, courting the most well-known rake in all of Mayfair could have consequences for you, too. It was true, you weren’t particularly interested in marrying this season, but being romantically associated with the likes of Anthony Bridgerton was bound to start some gossip around Mayfair. So would ending said romantic association, which you knew had to happen eventually. As much as he was a rake, Anthony was one of the most desired bachelors in polite society, and ending a courtship with him might inadvertently harm your social standing.

Squealing, Daphne grabbed your hands and led you to the chaise near the window. As you sat down, she started talking excitedly.

“Well, it would only be for a few weeks. A month, at most. Or at least until it’s obvious enough that we’re getting married and my brother can’t do anything about it,” she assured you. “That will be enough time to have a proper courtship, and you can break things off with Anthony.”

You hum, deep in thought. “Won’t Anthony be upset?” you asked. Daphne knew him best, of course, but this seemed like the sort of thing that would tick off a man. That is, starting a courtship that was never bound to result in anything.

“You know he has no interest in marrying anyway, so I doubt you ending the courtship would be of concern.”

“That’s a fair point,” you agreed reluctantly. “He did mention that it might be seen as improper that we dance together so often yet aren’t properly courting. And though I don’t want to marry this season, I would eventually like to find someone. So I suppose this is what makes the most sense.”

Daphne squealed again, reaching over to hug you. “Oh, you truly are the best friend anyone could ever ask for.”

You giggled at her excitement, relieved that you could help your best friend find a fairy-tale love. And besides, you wouldn’t mind having to spend more time with Anthony.

—

previous part || next part || buy me a ko-fi!

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dreamdragonkadia · 20 hours ago

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Hiii! Could I ask for a Percy x reader with something moon and ocean related? Pls. Like how the moon pulls on the tides. Anyways I love your writing 💗💗💗

Absolutely yes!!! And thank you for the sweet comment, it means the world to me. I’m so glad to hear that, and I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. <33 p.jackson x reader

At first, the joke was how you were the moon to Percy’s sun—complete opposites, but always together. It was something lighthearted, tossed around the campfire after capture the flag or whispered during sparring matches. But that never quite fit, not until Annabeth made the comment.

“You’re not just the moon,” she’d said one day, her voice thoughtful in a way that made you pause. “You’re the moon that pulls the ocean that is Percy.”

The words stuck, reshaping the joke into something closer to the truth. How you were the calm to Percy’s relentless energy. The pull that settled his restless tides when everything else felt like too much.

And after that, everyone saw it. The way Percy trailed after you some days, matching your pace with none of his usual impatience. The way you could touch his arm or murmur his name, and suddenly all that frenetic energy in him would still like the water under a calm sky.

The two of you had been like that for years.

It wasn’t just in the quiet moments, though. You saw it in fights, too—how naturally you moved together, falling into combat as if you were halves of the same whole. Percy would charge in while you covered him without hesitation. Your shield was always there when he didn’t see the incoming blow. Your blade found its mark in the space he created, your movements deliberate where his were wild and free.

“Perfect balance,” Grover called it once, chewing on his tin can. “Like one big cosmic metaphor.”

You’d rolled your eyes, brushing him off. But you couldn’t ignore the way Percy grinned at the comment, like he liked the sound of it. Like he didn’t mind being tethered to you like that.

The moment that finally made you realize how much it meant to both of you came one evening, just after a long day of sparring. You’d ended up by the lake—your usual spot—and Percy, as always, had followed. He dropped down beside you with a groan, flopping dramatically onto the grass.

“You’re gonna kill me one of these days,” he said, his voice muffled against his arm.

“You’re dramatic,” you replied, though you were smiling as you nudged him with your elbow.

Percy lifted his head, his sea-green eyes catching the soft glow of the setting sun. He just looked at you, his expression softening. It was rare, these quieter moments with him, where he wasn’t buzzing with energy or laughter.

“What?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. Then, after a beat, he added, “It’s just… you always seem to know what I need before I even know it myself.”

Your heart gave an unexpected flutter at the sincerity in his voice. You opened your mouth to reply—something light to deflect it—but Percy spoke again.

“I mean it. You’re like the moon, pulling me back when I start to drift too far out. And I…” He paused, searching for the words. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Something in the air shifted. The joke—the metaphor—suddenly didn’t feel so funny anymore. It felt real, and suddenly all too there, and a little terrifying.

You swallowed hard, your voice quieter than you intended. “You’d still be you, Percy. You don’t need me for that.”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin small but there nonetheless. “But I like having you around anyway.”

It was such a Percy thing to say—simple, honest—and it made something warm unfurl in your chest. You looked at him then, really looked, and realized just how close he was. His hair was still damp from training, and the faint sunlight turned his features soft.

“Percy—”

You didn’t finish whatever you were about to say, because suddenly he was leaning in, his eyes flicking from yours to your lips as if asking for permission. And you gave it, closing the gap between you.

The kiss was tentative at first, soft and mostly unsure, like neither of you could quite believe it was happening. But then Percy’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch gentle, and you leaned into him. It wasn’t some grand, cinematic moment; it was quiet, like the two of you had been building toward it for years.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Percy rested his forehead against yours, his grin wide.

“Took us long enough,” he murmured, the laughter in his voice making you smile.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, your heart still racing. “But we got there.”

For a while, neither of you moved, content to sit there, the sound of the water lapping gently at the shore. Percy’s arm draped over your shoulder, pulling you closer like he didn’t want to let you go, and you let yourself lean into him.

Everything felt like it was exactly where it was supposed to be. The ocean and the moon, side by side.

#✨️by yours truly✨️#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson x y/n #bookish #percy jackson x you #pjo x reader

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dreamersworldduh · 1 day ago

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HI NEIGHBOR — PART FOUR

• JASON TODD x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — you’re new to the neighborhood and find yourself becoming friends with the residential bad boy, Jason Todd. From his perspective, you seem like an outgoing guy yet there’s a mystery to you he couldn’t quite figure out.

WARNING! Suggestive Langauge. Swearing. Violence.

WORDS! 9.7k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! Part Four—Thank you all for the love and support with this series. 🫶🏽

NEXT PART! FINALE

PREVIOUS PART! THREE

The soft, golden light of early morning filtered gently through the half-drawn curtains, casting a warm, hazy glow over the room. The muted TV screen flickered faintly in the corner, forgotten and ignored, its low hum blending into the peaceful stillness of the space. None of it mattered—nothing outside of the quiet sanctuary you'd both created.

The only thing that mattered was Jason Todd's strong, steady presence wrapped around you, holding you close like letting go was never an option.

You stirred slowly, still caught in the lingering haze of sleep. The first thing you felt was Jason's arm draped securely over your waist, his broad, calloused hand resting possessively on your hip. His thumb traced lazy, unconscious circles against your skin, even in sleep—grounding himself to you, anchoring you to him.

Your legs were tangled beneath the soft sheets, kicked halfway down the bed sometime during the night. Jason's chest was pressed firmly against your back, radiating warmth like a protective shield. You could feel every rise and fall of his steady breath, warm and soothing against the back of your neck. His familiar scent surrounded you—clean soap mixed with the faint, earthy undertone that was uniquely him.

For a moment, you simply existed in that warmth, letting it wrap around you like a protective cocoon. You couldn't help but smile faintly as you adjusted slightly, savoring the solid comfort of his body pressed against yours.

Jason stirred in response, letting out a soft, sleep-rough groan. His grip on your waist tightened instinctively, pulling you closer, as though even in sleep he couldn't stand the thought of you slipping away. His lips brushed against your bare shoulder in a slow, instinctive kiss—soft but possessive, like he was silently reminding himself that you were still his.

"Mmm..." he rumbled, his voice low and husky from sleep. "Don't move..." His forehead rested against the back of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he breathed you in like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

You smiled, heart swelling at the warmth in his voice. You let your fingers trace slow, lazy patterns over the strong, scarred arm wrapped securely around your waist, feeling his muscles twitch slightly under your touch.

"Good morning," you whispered softly, your voice still warm and drowsy, filled with quiet affection.

Jason hummed in response, his lips pressing another lingering kiss to your shoulder. His breath sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. "It is now..." he murmured, his voice rough but tinged with something softer—something real.

You shifted just enough to turn in his arms, your face inches from his now as you slid your arms around his neck. Jason's features were softened by sleep, his usually sharp, intense expression gentled by the quiet intimacy of the moment. His dark lashes rested against his cheeks, and faint stubble dusted his strong jawline, rough beneath your fingertips as you gently traced his face.

His blue eyes slowly blinked open, still heavy-lidded from sleep but warm and filled with something deeper—something unspoken but unmistakable. His gaze softened even further when he saw you, lingering on your face like you were something he couldn't quite believe was real.

"Hey..." you whispered, smiling as your fingers continued brushing softly against his cheek.

Jason leaned into your touch with a soft, content sigh, his eyes gleaming with warmth, devotion, and something far more intense—love.

"You're still here..." he whispered, his voice hoarse and quiet, filled with awe and relief like he'd half-expected to wake up alone. His fingers traced slow, reverent lines up your back, holding you even closer. "Good..."

His gaze lingered on yours, fierce yet tender, his expression so open it made your chest ache in the best possible way.

"I'm not going anywhere..." you whispered, your voice steady but warm. "After all... this is my room."

Jason let out a soft, breathy laugh, his arms tightening around you as he buried his face against your neck. "Shut up..." he whispered, his tone rough but affectionate.

Before you could respond, he tilted his head and pressed his forehead gently against yours, his breath brushing across your lips. His hand cupped your jaw, rough fingers cradling your face with surprising tenderness.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he kissed you.

It was soft but sure—warm and lingering, like a silent promise. His lips moved against yours in a slow, tender rhythm, equal parts gentle and possessive. There was no urgency, no rush—just the quiet, undeniable reality of you and him, here and now.

When you finally pulled back just enough to breathe, Jason rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still locked on you with unwavering intensity.

Memories surged, sharp and vivid—Jason's voice, low and rough with emotion, whispering against your ear in the dark, his hands trembling just slightly as he held you close like you might disappear.

"I love you."

The words echoed in your mind, fierce and raw, wrapping around your chest like unyielding steel. He'd said it. He'd meant it. The memory clutched your heart, making your breath hitch all over again.

"Last night..." you began softly, voice trembling just slightly. "...You said—"

Jason's gaze softened even further, already knowing what you were about to say. His expression turned serious but open, his heart laid bare.

"I meant it," he whispered, his voice steady and resolute. "I love you." His eyes gleamed with quiet intensity, unwavering. "I'm not... taking that back."

The depth of emotion in his voice hit you harder than any confession ever could. He said it like a fact, unshakable and undeniable—something he couldn't not feel.

Your chest ached with warmth and something so much more than you'd ever expected.

"I love you too," you breathed, every word soaked in meaning, in truth.

Jason let out a shaky breath, relief and joy flickering across his face. His hands cradled your face gently as he kissed you again—deep, slow, and tender—like he was memorizing every second, every breath.

And in that quiet, perfect moment—wrapped in Jason Todd's strong, protective arms, tangled together beneath the soft sheets—you knew.

There was no going back.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

Knock. Knock.

The sharp sound of knuckles rapping against the door shattered the peaceful stillness like a blade cutting through silk. Jason's entire body tensed against yours, his breath hitching for just a moment as his sharp instincts kicked in. His eyes snapped open, alert and dangerous—years of living on the edge leaving no room for complacency, even in the quiet safety of your shared space.

His grip on your waist tightened protectively, his fingers curling possessively over your hip like he expected a fight. His chest, pressed firmly against your back, went rigid as he slowly pushed himself halfway up on one elbow, eyes locked on the door.

"Jason! Y/N! It's me!" came a familiar, exasperated voice from the other side—Tim. "Bruce wants you two downstairs—something urgent."

Jason groaned audibly, dragging a hand down his face as he slumped back against the bed, his head dropping onto the pillow with a thud. His entire posture deflated, shoulders sagging with deep annoyance.

"You've got to be kidding me..." he muttered, voice thick with frustration.

You couldn't hold back a soft laugh, pressing your face into his shoulder as he glared daggers at the closed door like he could will it to vanish with sheer force of will.

"I swear," Jason growled under his breath, his jaw clenched in irritation. He shot you a pointed look, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was this close to losing whatever was left of his patience.

Before you could tease him, Jason's expression shifted. His intense eyes darkened with something far more heated, locking onto yours with deliberate focus.

"We're finishing this later," he promised darkly, his voice low and rough, filled with dangerous intent. The words sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Before you could react, Jason's calloused hand cupped your jaw with gentle, commanding roughness, pulling you in for a slow, lingering kiss that left you breathless. His lips moved against yours in a way that was both tender and possessive, like he needed to memorize the taste of you before the outside world could steal you away.

"Jason!" Tim's voice rang out again, more impatient this time. "Seriously, Bruce is waiting!"

Jason broke the kiss with a groan of pure aggravation, resting his forehead against yours for just a moment as he fought for control. You could feel the tension still simmering beneath his skin, a frustrated growl rumbling in his chest.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" he snapped, his voice gruff with annoyance as he finally pulled away. He reluctantly rolled out of bed, the sheets slipping from his frame as he grabbed his discarded pants and yanked them on in one smooth, aggravated movement. His worn hoodie came next, though his broad shoulders still looked tense, his entire body radiating annoyance at being forced out of this moment with you.

Before heading to the door, Jason cast one last, lingering glance back at you, his eyes softer now, still gleaming with unspoken affection.

The warm scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon drifted through the grand, quiet halls of Wayne Manor, curling through the air like a comforting embrace. You made your way downstairs, still feeling the lingering warmth from your earlier morning with Jason. His touch, his voice, the way his lips brushed against yours just before you were both interrupted—it all clung to you like a memory you weren't ready to let go of.

Adjusting your shirt, you smoothed out the creases absentmindedly, still lost in the vivid recollection of Jason's protective grip and the way his eyes softened whenever they met yours. It felt like a moment suspended in time, separate from the reality waiting downstairs.

The faint clatter of plates and the murmur of familiar voices reached your ears as you rounded the final corner toward the spacious dining room. You paused, brow furrowing as you realized the voices were... different. It wasn't just the usual Bat-family gathering for breakfast—it was everyone.

Bruce. Tim. Dick. Damian. Jason.

And... new faces.

Conversation quieted as you stepped cautiously into the room, feeling several pairs of sharp, assessing eyes turn toward you. Curiosity sparked in some, amusement flickered in others—especially in Dick's. He was already leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, a knowing smirk spreading across his face as soon as he spotted you.

"Morning," you greeted carefully, your tone neutral but polite as you approached the large dining table. A flicker of unease tightened your chest—was this a meeting you weren't supposed to know about?

"Finally!" Dick exclaimed, beaming with exaggerated relief as he propped his feet on the edge of the table. "Took you long enough! Thought you and Jason got... lost on your way down."

Jason, seated just a few chairs away, groaned audibly and shoved a piece of toast into his mouth with far more aggression than necessary. He pointedly avoided your gaze, though a faint flush crept up his neck.

"Grayoson..." Jason warned, his voice sharp and dangerous—but there was a faint, unmistakable hint of embarrassment coloring his tone.

Dick's smirk widened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Relax. We're just glad you could... join us."

Jason muttered something distinctly threatening under his breath, glaring daggers at his older brother, while you bit back a laugh and slipped into the empty seat beside Jason. Your shoulder brushed against his in a small, familiar gesture, grounding you both. His hand briefly rested against your leg under the table—a silent, protective reassurance.

Before Dick could push Jason any further, Bruce Wayne's deep, authoritative voice cut through the room like a blade, instantly commanding attention.

"We have guests," Bruce announced, his piercing blue eyes sweeping across the table. "Introductions first."

He gestured toward the unfamiliar faces seated nearby.

"Cassandra Cain."

A silent, dark-haired woman inclined her head ever so slightly, her sharp, calculating gaze flickering across the room like a predator assessing every possible threat. She didn't speak, but her presence alone radiated deadly precision.

"Barbara Gordon."

You recognized her instantly as Oracle, the tech savvy genius who helps the Bat-Family—the confident poise, the unmistakable intelligence sparking in her bright eyes. She offered a small, welcoming smile, giving you a brief wave.

"Duke Thomas."

The young man nodded politely, his expression calm yet undeniably capable. He held himself with an easy confidence that spoke volumes.

"And Stephanie Brown."

Stephanie grinned broadly, practically glowing with energy. "Hey!" she chirped, playfully elbowing Tim, who responded with a long-suffering sigh.

Bruce's expression remained serious, his gaze locking onto yours with quiet intensity. "They're here because of what happened last night."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"We spotted Talia al Ghul."

The room went deathly silent.

You felt the air shift as Jason's entire body tensed beside you, his hand tightening into a fist on the table. His protective instincts flared instantly—always ready for a fight, always prepared to defend what mattered most.

Bruce's voice dropped lower, every word heavy with undeniable gravity. "After months of being off the radar, she was spotted near Gotham's south industrial yards. Watching. Not engaging... yet."

You swallowed hard, memories flashing behind your eyes—memories of the League, the relentless pursuit, the ambushes... and the cold, calculating intensity of her gaze, always watching.

"What does she want?" you asked quietly, forcing your voice to remain steady despite the growing dread twisting in your chest.

Bruce's expression tightened. His voice softened—but only slightly. "She wants... to negotiate."

Your pulse quickened, breath hitching. Negotiate?

Jason's sharp glare snapped toward Bruce, disbelief burning behind his blazing blue eyes. "Since when does she negotiate?" His voice was rough and dangerous, already ready to fight.

Bruce's jaw clenched. "She wants to discuss... your freedom from the League of Assassins."

The words hung heavy in the air, pressing down like a crushing weight.

You felt frozen, struggling to process the meaning behind them. Freedom? Talia didn't negotiate. She manipulated. She controlled. She destroyed. This couldn't be real—it felt like a trap, something meant to lure you into vulnerability.

"My mother..." Damian's cool, measured voice broke the silence, steady but edged with reluctant familiarity. "She is... many things. But she doesn't lie." His gaze was sharp, but honest. "If she intends to negotiate... she will."

His words held a weight only he could carry—spoken with the certainty of someone who knew her far better than anyone else in the room ever could.

Even so, Bruce's expression remained grim. His eyes swept across the gathered group, lingering briefly on each face. "Even if that's true... we proceed with extreme caution." His tone left no room for argument. "We're preparing for the worst. That's why Duke, Barbara, Cassandra, and Stephanie are here."

Barbara nodded firmly. "We'll have eyes on every corner of Gotham."

"And I'll run tactical interference," Duke added confidently. "If she brings backup... we'll see them coming."

Stephanie cracked her knuckles. "We've got this. She won't catch us off guard."

Your hands clenched into tight fists beneath the table. "More people..." you whispered, guilt twisting in your chest. "More people could get hurt... because of me."

Before you could say another word, Dick leaned forward, his intense gaze locking onto yours with fierce conviction.

"Stop right there." His voice was firm, resolute. "You didn't ask for this."

Tim nodded, his tone steady. "We chose to be here. You're family."

Jason's voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl. "She thinks she can take you from us..." His burning gaze met yours—fierce, protective, and certain. "She's dead wrong."

Your throat tightened, words failing you, but the looks in their eyes said everything.

The cold, mechanical hum of the BatCave's countless monitors filled the cavernous space, blending with the faint whir of tactical systems powering up. The glow from the massive Batcomputer cast sharp, flickering shadows across the dark stone walls, making the already imposing space seem even more ominous.

You stood near the main briefing table, surrounded by the gathered Bat-family, the air thick with tension and unspoken concern. Bruce Wayne stood at the head of the group, his posture rigid, expression carved from stone as he debriefed everyone on the upcoming negotiation with Talia al Ghul—a phrase that still didn't sit right with you.

Your mind was locked on his words, processing every tactical detail, every assigned role, but even with your years of experience, it was hard to shake the growing sense of unease coiling in your chest.

Jason stood next to you, closer than usual—not that you were complaining. His presence was steady, grounding, offering comfort even without words. His broad shoulder brushed against yours ever so slightly, a quiet reassurance.

Every now and then, your fingers would graze—just the faintest, accidental touch. His rough, calloused fingers brushed against yours for the briefest of moments, sending a spark of warmth through your otherwise tense body. It was almost imperceptible—likely unnoticed by anyone else—but it grounded you, kept you steady.

Jason didn't look at you, his blue eyes fixed on Bruce with laser focus, his jaw tight and shoulders tense. He was ready to fight—he always was—but this time felt... different. More personal.

You could see the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior, the dangerous fire in his gaze kept carefully in check. You knew Jason well enough to recognize when he was barely holding himself together—and right now, he was barely keeping it together.

Bruce's voice cut sharply through the tense silence.

"We have one chance at this." His tone was low, steady, and commanding—no room for argument. "Talia claims she wants to negotiate your release from the League. If that's true... we will listen."

Jason scoffed softly, barely restraining a bitter laugh. His fingers twitched at his side, brushing yours again—rough, frustrated, protective.

"But," Bruce continued, his piercing gaze flicking toward Jason, "we do not trust her. The moment she steps into Gotham, she is operating on our terms."

The Batcomputer screen lit up behind him, displaying surveillance footage from Gotham's south industrial yards where Talia had last been seen—silent, calculating, watching.

"Cassandra and Duke will cover the perimeter," Bruce instructed, his tone sharp and precise. "Stephanie and Tim will monitor communications and run interference."

Barbara, seated at the nearby console, spoke up with quiet authority. "I'm patching the entire surveillance grid into the auxiliary network. We'll have eyes on every entry point."

Bruce's gaze swept over the group, lingering on you briefly. "If anything feels off—if there's even a hint of an ambush—we pull out. Immediately." His voice hardened. "This isn't a rescue mission... it's containment."

Jason shifted beside you, muscles tense, fists clenched. His fingers brushed yours again, this time lingering just a second longer. You subtly turned your hand, pressing back against his in silent solidarity.

Damian, standing near the weapons cache, spoke up next, his tone measured but edged with quiet familiarity. "My mother does not bluff. If she said she intends to negotiate, she will."

His green eyes met yours briefly, sharp and steady. "But she will also have a plan. She always does."

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of his words settling over everyone like a heavy cloak.

Your throat tightened as the reality of the situation sank deeper into your chest. Talia never acted without calculation. Whatever this was—whatever her true intentions were—it felt like walking into a trap blindfolded.

Jason shifted closer, his fingers fully wrapping around yours for just a brief second, squeezing gently—reassuring, protective, real. His touch was firm, grounding you in the here and now, pulling you back from the spiral of uncertainty.

Bruce's gaze landed on you both, his expression unreadable but knowing. He said nothing, continuing his briefing without comment, though something in his eyes softened—just for a moment.

Jason slowly released your hand, his expression hardening once more as he focused on Bruce's next set of instructions.

"We meet her tonight at the docks. 23:00 hours," Bruce stated. "Standard containment perimeter. Full comms blackout on approach."

He paused, his gaze locking directly on you this time. "You will not be alone."

His voice was lower, quieter—but filled with absolute conviction. He wasn't making a tactical statement—he was making a promise.

Jason's intense gaze flicked toward you once more, and in his eyes, you saw the same fierce, protective determination burning bright. He would fight anyone—everyone—if it meant keeping you safe.

And in that silent, shared moment between you, words felt unnecessary.

Whatever came next, whatever Talia was planning—you weren't facing it alone. You never would.

Soon the group dispersed after the tactical briefing. The plan for the negotiation with Talia al Ghul had been set. Roles assigned. Contingencies prepared. The weight of it all hung over you like a storm cloud, heavy with expectation.

Jason lingered close as the others moved toward the weapons cache and comm stations, his blue eyes flickering toward you as if to silently check in. His hand brushed yours briefly—just enough to remind you he was still there, still ready, still with you. That touch steadied you more than you cared to admit.

Before you could say anything, Bruce's deep, even voice cut through the air behind you.

"Come with me."

You turned, exchanging a brief glance with Jason, before following Bruce deeper into the BatCave. His long strides were purposeful, his shoulders set with that familiar intensity that meant he was about to do something... significant.

He led you down a secluded path past rows of specialized weapon storage, past the armored display cases that held past Batsuits, each telling its own story of battles fought and survived. Finally, he stopped in front of a reinforced display case you'd never noticed before—a sleek, armored glass chamber built into the rock itself. Its contents were obscured by faint condensation from the cool, climate-controlled air.

Bruce rested his hand on a control panel embedded into the wall. With a low mechanical hiss, the protective casing unlocked and slid upward, revealing what was inside.

Your breath caught.

A new Batsuit. Your Batsuit.

The sleek, tactical armor was unmistakably yours—designed with precision and intent. Matte black plating covered the chest and shoulders, perfectly contoured for flexibility and protection. Dark green accents ran along the edges, adding a striking but stealthy contrast that set it apart from the other suits on display.

The chest symbol was bold—a sharp, stylized bat emblem forged in gunmetal black with dark green undertones that gleamed faintly in the pale cave light. The armor itself was a seamless blend of cutting-edge tech and brutal efficiency. Lightweight but durable. Stealthy, yet undeniably imposing.

Your hands unconsciously clenched at your sides as you took it all in. It was yours—crafted not just as armor, but as a statement. A promise.

Bruce's voice broke through your thoughts, steady and deliberate.

"You've earned this."

You turned, meeting his piercing gaze. There was no doubt in his expression—only certainty. Only belief.

"This isn't just protection," Bruce continued. "It's a symbol. A declaration that you're not running... that you're standing with us."

His sharp, calculating eyes softened—just slightly. "You've faced the League. You've survived them. But you're more than what they made you."

You swallowed hard, emotions stirring that you weren't prepared to face. For so long, you'd fought with borrowed weapons, using whatever gear was available. You'd been part of the team—but this was... different. This was permanent.

Your fingers brushed across the cool, reinforced armor of the chest plate, feeling the weight of what it represented. You weren't just a stray they'd taken in. You were family. A part of this.

Bruce stepped back, his face unreadable but his intent unmistakable. "It's time."

"Thank you, Bruce. For everything," You nodded slowly, steadying yourself as you traced the dark green emblem one last time.

The cold air of the BatCave wrapped around you like a second skin as you stood in front of the armored display case, your gaze locked on the Batsuit gleaming under the pale, artificial light. Its dark green accents traced sharp lines along its matte black plating, blending brutal efficiency with stealth and power. The emblem on the chest stood bold and defiant—a sharp-edged bat in gunmetal black with faint emerald undertones that shimmered subtly in the low light.

Yours.

You drew in a slow, measured breath as Bruce's voice echoed in your mind:

"You've earned this."

Without another word, you reached for the suit, feeling the cool weight of its armored components. The flexible plating felt solid but light, designed for quick, precise movement—a perfect balance between protection and speed. Every piece fit with mechanical precision, locking into place as you fastened the chest armor and adjusted the reinforced gauntlets lined with hidden compartments for throwing blades and tactical gear.

Sliding the armored boots into place, you felt their steady grip against the cold steel floor. The segmented thigh guards and knee plates adjusted seamlessly, moving with fluid ease as you tested your stance.

Finally, you grabbed the black-and-green utility belt, securing it firmly around your waist. Its compartments were streamlined, efficient, each section packed with high-tech gadgets, specialized gear, and hidden surprises meant for combat and survival alike.

The last piece rested in your hands—the sleek, battle-forged helmet. It was a modified cowl, built with reinforced plating while keeping a lightweight design for speed. Angular and fierce, its design mirrored the rest of the suit, with faint green etchings running along its edges. The lenses gleamed faintly, equipped with tactical overlays and advanced HUD interfaces.

You slipped the helmet over your head, feeling the secure, precise lock as the system came to life with a soft mechanical whir. The HUD's interface flared briefly across your vision, calibrating to your vitals, monitoring your environment, and connecting directly to the Batcave's tactical network.

The transformation was complete.

You exhaled slowly, adjusting to the suit's weightless precision, feeling its power settle over you like an extension of your own body. For the first time, you weren't just borrowing gear or surviving on someone else's terms. This was your armor—designed for your fight.

You turned toward the main platform, where the rest of the Bat-Family was gathered, busy loading gear and making final preparations for the mission ahead. Jason, standing near the weapons cache, was in the middle of loading his twin pistols when he caught the first glimpse of you emerging from the shadows.

His hands froze mid-movement.

For just a second, Jason's usually sharp, unshakable demeanor slipped—his piercing blue eyes widened ever so slightly as he took you in, stunned into silence. He'd seen countless suits before, but this—you—was something different.

Badass.

The word hit him like a punch to the gut. You looked absolutely lethal, radiating strength, precision, and quiet confidence. The way the dark green accents traced your armor's edges only made the design fiercer, more commanding. You didn't just wear the suit—you owned it.

Jason forced himself to play it cool, clearing his throat as he resumed loading his pistols, though his eyes kept flicking back to you like he couldn't quite help himself. His grip tightened around the weapon in his hand, fighting back the urge to just... stare.

Nearby, Dick let out a low, impressed whistle, breaking the heavy silence. "Damn..." he muttered, giving you a slow, approving nod. "Looking sharp."

Tim blinked, pausing mid-swipe on his tablet. "Whoa..." he breathed, clearly impressed despite himself. "That's... new."

Even Damian, ever the critic, arched a sharp brow, his green eyes gleaming with begrudging approval. "Acceptable," he said curtly, though you could tell he was more than impressed.

Barbara's voice crackled softly through the Batcave's intercom system. "Suit sensors are online," she reported professionally, though there was a smile in her voice. "Looking good down there."

Jason finally pushed off the weapons table, his stride casual but confident as he closed the distance between you with that familiar swagger he never quite hid.

"Not bad," he drawled, his voice low and rough—but there was unmistakable warmth beneath the teasing. His intense blue eyes raked over you with quiet admiration, though he played it cool, locking away the more... starstruck expression he'd worn just moments before. "You might even give me a run for my money."

You smirked behind the helmet's sleek faceplate, stepping closer until you were toe-to-toe. "Might?"

Jason's lips tugged into a slow, dangerous grin, the playful spark in his gaze making your chest tighten in the best way.

"Careful," he murmured, voice dropping lower, rougher. "Keep looking like that, and you're gonna make it real hard for me to focus on the mission."

Your gloved fingers brushed his briefly—subtle, but unmistakably intentional. His breath hitched just slightly, his rough exterior cracking for only you to see.

Before anyone else could notice, he stepped back with one last lingering glance, his smirk widening. "Better keep up."

With that, Jason turned sharply, calling out to Bruce across the platform. "We're good here."

You couldn't help but smile behind your helmet, already feeling the familiar, electric rush of battle readiness settling into your chest. Whatever came next—whatever this mission held—you were ready.

Because this time...

You weren't fighting for survival.

You were fighting for something that was yours.

The docks of Gotham's industrial district stretched into the dark horizon, shrouded in thick fog rolling off the icy waters of Gotham Bay. Dim industrial lights flickered faintly, casting eerie shadows across the rust-stained cargo containers piled high along the waterfront. The distant clang of shifting metal echoed like a warning bell in the still, frigid air.

You stood near the meeting point, back straight, senses on high alert. Every instinct in your body told you this was a trap—had to be a trap. But Bruce's plan required at least attempting diplomacy, even if none of you truly believed Talia al Ghul was here for peaceful negotiations.

The reinforced plating of your new black-and-green Batsuit felt secure, its custom-fit armor moving like a second skin as you shifted your stance. The familiar weight of your utility belt rested against your hips, every compartment meticulously prepared for combat—just in case.

Jason stood just a step behind you, his sharp blue eyes scanning the darkened shipping yard like a predator on edge. His gloved hands hovered near the twin pistols holstered at his sides, ready to draw at a moment's notice. His face was set in a grim, unreadable expression, but you could feel the protective tension radiating off him like an electric charge.

Bruce, clad in his imposing armored Batsuit, loomed silently to your left, his gaze fixed on the far end of the docks where Talia was expected to appear. Tim and Cassandra flanked the perimeter, concealed in the deep shadows of the cargo containers, their comms silent but active. Damian was stationed near the warehouse entrance, his green cape barely visible in the swirling fog, watching... waiting.

The air crackled with icy stillness—silent, suffocating.

Then, like a ghost slipping through the fog, she appeared.

Talia al Ghul.

She emerged from the mist like a living shadow, draped in a flowing black cloak lined with crimson silk, its edges swirling dramatically around her. Her sharp, regal features were framed by dark, cascading hair, her piercing green eyes gleaming like polished emeralds—assessing, calculating, dangerous.

She walked toward you with smooth, effortless grace—silent and deadly as a panther on the hunt. No visible guards. No League assassins. Just her.

You could feel the entire team tense around you, ready to strike—but she simply smiled, an expression dripping with amusement and something colder—something knowing.

Her sharp eyes flicked over the gathered group before landing directly on you.

And she smirked.

"Well, well..." Talia's smooth, cultured voice dripped with amusement. "I see you've dressed for the occasion."

Her gaze traced the sharp lines of your armored suit—the dark green accents cutting through the matte black, the bold bat emblem gleaming faintly against your chest. She raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening with pointed curiosity.

"Interesting," she mused, circling slowly like a wolf sizing up new prey. "So you've chosen to join... another family." Her voice was honeyed venom, smooth but cutting.

You straightened, locking eyes with her, refusing to let her words sink in. "I chose to stand with people who don't see me as a tool."

Talia chuckled softly, the sound as cold and sharp as steel. "Is that what you think?" Her eyes gleamed with something almost... pitying. "Have they convinced you that you belong here...?"

Jason's jaw clenched audibly behind you, his fists tightening at his sides, but you raised a subtle hand, keeping him from snapping—for now.

"This isn't about them," you said evenly, keeping your tone calm but firm. "We're here to talk about ending this. No more ambushes. No more assassins. No more running."

Talia tilted her head, studying you with quiet intensity. "Bold," she mused. "But do you truly believe it's that simple?"

Her gaze flicked briefly toward Damian, standing stone-still in the distance, his sharp features unreadable but visibly tense. The air between them felt charged, heavy with history too deep to be spoken aloud.

Bruce took a single step forward, his voice cold and commanding. "State your terms."

Talia's attention shifted smoothly back to him, her calculating expression never wavering. "Terms... how quaint." She clasped her gloved hands behind her back, circling slowly once more.

"I came here out of respect," she continued smoothly. "A courtesy, if you will. But do not mistake that for submission."

Her gaze landed back on you, sharp and knowing. "I could take you back. Easily. But... I'm willing to be reasonable."

Your fingers curled into tight fists, but you held your ground. "Reasonable?" you echoed darkly. "You call this reasonable?"

Talia smiled faintly. "More so than you deserve."

Jason took a sharp step forward, his voice low and threatening. "Say that again—"

"Jason." Bruce's voice snapped like a whip, holding him back, though Jason's searing glare never left Talia's face.

Unbothered, Talia let her gaze sweep over you once more, almost... fondly. "You've grown stronger... more defiant." Her voice lowered, turning almost thoughtful. "Perhaps... you are ready to be more than their pawn."

The words sliced deeper than you expected, hitting a nerve you hadn't realized was still exposed. But you refused to show it.

"I'm done being anyone's pawn," you hissed through clenched teeth. "I'm here to end this."

The silence stretched—long, tense, suffocating.

Finally, Talia exhaled slowly, almost... disappointed. "How unfortunate," she murmured, her gaze darkening with something far more dangerous. "I was hoping... you'd understand."

From the corner of your HUD's tactical display, you caught the faintest flicker of movement—shadows shifting along the cargo containers just beyond your line of sight.

Ambush.

Your heart pounded, instincts snapping into overdrive as your hand darted toward your utility belt. Before the first blade even left its sheath, Jason's voice rang out—a fierce, protective roar:

"MOVE!"

Your body reacted before your mind could process, instincts honed by years of training snapping into action. You dropped into a low, defensive stance just as the first blade hissed through the fog, embedding itself into a nearby cargo container with a violent CLANG.

Shadows peeled away from the darkened edges of the dock like living nightmares. Assassins in sleek, armored uniforms emerged from the mist with terrifying precision—silent, lethal, unrelenting.

You barely had time to draw your twin batons as the first wave rushed toward you. The electrified metal crackled to life with a dangerous whir, gleaming faintly in the flickering dock lights.

The first assassin lunged, twin blades flashing, but you sidestepped with fluid precision, slamming your left baton into their ribs with a sickening CRACK! As they crumpled, you spun and caught another attacker mid-leap, delivering a devastating upward strike that sent them sprawling into the cold steel crates.

Jason was already in motion, guns drawn and firing with deadly precision. His first two shots dropped a pair of advancing assassins, their bodies collapsing into the fog before they could even scream. Holstering his pistols in one fluid motion, he drew his combat knives, charging headlong into the fray.

He fought like a man possessed—raw, brutal, unstoppable. His blades flashed like twin silver arcs as he cut down anyone reckless enough to challenge him. His protective gaze still darted toward you between strikes, ensuring you were still standing.

"Stay close!" he barked, spinning to slam an attacker into the dock with bone-shattering force.

Across the dock Dick landed with a practiced, acrobatic flip, his electrified escrima sticks blazing with electric blue energy. He hit the ground running, cutting through two assassins with graceful, devastating strikes that left them twitching on the ground.

Right behind him, Tim's retractable bo staff snapped into place as he intercepted a trio of advancing attackers. His precise, calculated strikes dismantled their formation with ruthless efficiency, spinning through their ranks like a master tactician.

"Stay in formation!" Tim barked into the comms, already locking targets into his tactical interface.

Duke vaulted from a nearby crate, his enhanced vision slicing through the thick, rolling fog. His glowing fists slammed into the ground with earth-shattering force, sending two assassins hurtling into a rusting container with a metallic crunch.

"Eyes on the right flank!" he called out, already charging toward another enemy.

From the shadows, Cassandra moved like a ghost—silent, deadly, unstoppable. She hit the ground running, slipping through the crowded melee with inhuman grace. Her fists and feet struck with precision honed by a lifetime of lethal mastery, dismantling entire squads without a single wasted movement.

Stephanie surged into the fight, her combat batons spinning in a deadly blur. "Miss me?!" she shouted, driving an assassin into the ground with a brutal overhead strike.

Whereas as you twisted sharply, sending another assassin sprawling with a brutal strike from your right baton—just in time to feel the whip of steel cutting through the air near your face.

Talia.

She came at you like a storm, her curved blade gleaming under the dim dock lights. Her expression was one of perfect control—cold, calculating, amused.

You blocked her first strike with your left baton, metal screaming against steel as she forced you back with surprising strength. Her next swing came fast, aimed low—but you twisted, narrowly avoiding her blade and countering with a sharp elbow strike aimed at her ribs.

She caught your strike with serpent-like reflexes, twisting your wrist sharply—but you broke free with a sharp spin, landing a brutal kick to her midsection that sent her staggering back a step.

Talia's smirk widened, unfazed. "Better..." she purred, circling slowly like a predator. "But still so... unfinished."

Breathing hard, you raised both batons, readying for her next move. "You talk too much."

Her eyes flashed with dangerous amusement.

In a sudden blur of motion, she lunged, her blade aimed for your throat. You twisted sharply, deflecting her strike with both batons before driving your knee into her stomach with enough force to wind her—but she twisted with unnatural grace, her cloak swirling as she spun free.

"Good," she hissed, eyes gleaming with approval. "You've learned... but have you learned enough?

Her blade struck again in a sweeping arc, forcing you to block with both batons. Sparks erupted as steel screeched against metal, locking you in a brutal contest of strength.

"I don't need your approval," you snarled through gritted teeth, straining against her unyielding strength.

Her smirk deepened. "You've always sought it... whether you admit it or not."

With a sudden twist, she broke the hold, spinning gracefully into a deadly back-kick aimed at your chest. You absorbed the hit but stumbled back, narrowly regaining your balance before bracing yourself from parrying Talia's relentless attacks—but you refused to fall back. This wasn't about survival anymore—this was about ending it.

With a fierce roar, you surged forward, locking her blade against one of your batons while delivering a brutal strike with the other—finally disarming her. Her sword clattered to the cold steel dock, spinning out of reach.

Breathing hard, you leveled your baton at her chest, voice low, unyielding.

"It's over."

But Talia... smiled.

The sharp boom of distant explosives echoed across the docks, sending a powerful shockwave rippling through the shipping yard. Cargo containers toppled, throwing the entire team off balance.

From the mist... more shadows emerged.

Reinforcements.

But you had no time to focus on them as Talia surged toward you again—faster this time, more lethal. Her curved blade sliced through the air with expert precision, forcing you on the defensive. You blocked her strikes with brutal efficiency, every clash of steel-on-metal sending shockwaves up your arms.

"You fight like them now..." she hissed, her voice low and venomous, her strikes relentless. "Predictable."

You twisted sharply, breaking her momentum with a swift, calculated strike aimed at her wrist. She parried, but you anticipated the counter, driving your baton into her side with a sharp crack. She staggered back, a rare flicker of irritation flashing in her sharp green eyes.

"I fight for them," you corrected, voice steady despite the burn in your lungs. "Not for you. Not anymore."

Talia wiped a faint trace of blood from her lip, her expression sharpening with dangerous resolve. "You still believe you're free?" she sneered. "Foolish."

She lunged again—but before her blade could strike, the air itself seemed to shift, cold and electric, crackling with something far more ancient.

A deep, commanding voice cut through the chaos like the edge of a blade.

"Enough."

The fog twisted unnaturally, swirling into a dark, looming presence that seemed to consume the very shadows around it. You staggered back, breathing hard as he emerged—tall, regal, and unchallenged.

Ra's al Ghul.

His piercing, ancient eyes gleamed like molten gold beneath his dark hooded cloak, his expression one of calm superiority and absolute control. The League's assassins froze at his arrival, retreating instantly into the shadows like obedient phantoms.

Talia's eyes widened—just barely—before she straightened, drawing herself to full height with forced composure.

"Father." Her voice was clipped, wary.

Ra's regarded her with distant indifference before his gaze slowly turned to you.

"Impressive," he intoned, his deep voice resonating with cold authority. "You've grown... but you still limit yourself."

You tightened your grip on your batons, your breath still coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Every nerve in your body screamed to move, to fight—but his commanding presence held you frozen in place.

"I've seen what you are capable of," Ra's continued, stepping forward with measured grace. "Your potential... wasted on sentiment and restraint."

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I'm done listening to you."

Ra's smirked faintly—cold, calculating, dangerous. "Are you?"

He lifted a hand, and for a moment, you felt something—deep, pulsing... familiar. Like a fire burning just beneath your skin, waiting to be unleashed. The Chi energy.

“It is your destiny to become more... to transcend." His voice dropped lower, almost... coaxing. "Use it. End this. End her."

Your breath hitched as the charged power within you surged, begging for release. The air shimmered faintly around your fingertips, crackling like distant thunder. You could feel the raw potential, sharp and untamed—power that could end this fight in an instant... if you let it.

Talia's blade flashed in your peripheral vision, forcing you back into combat. She struck with ruthless, desperate speed, forcing you into a brutal exchange of strikes—faster, more dangerous than before. Every parry, every block drove you closer to the edge of exhaustion... and to her blade.

"You hesitate," Talia hissed, striking toward your ribs. You barely twisted away in time, her blade cutting through the armor's outer plating. "You've always hesitated."

Her words echoed in your mind—hesitate... hesitate...

The next attack came—fast, deadly, aimed at your throat—but this time, you moved.

The Chi energy surged from deep within, exploding outward in a crackling burst of pure force. Your baton glowed faintly as you struck with devastating precision, shattering Talia's blade in mid-swing and sending her sprawling across the dock with an agonized gasp.

She skidded to a stop, struggling to rise, her eyes wide with something she'd never shown before—fear.

Breathing hard, you advanced—every instinct roaring to finish the fight, to end it. Your hand burned with power, crackling with untamed energy, ready to deliver the final blow.

Behind you, Ra's voice echoed, cold and certain:

“Strike her down."

You froze, chest heaving, trembling with the force of holding back that destructive power.

"End her," Ra's commanded again, his voice low and relentless. "Or she will never stop."

You locked eyes with Talia—defiant, bruised, bloodied... but still alive.

And you made your choice.

With a sharp, controlled exhale, you extinguished the energy with a flick of your wrist. The crackling dissipated into the cold, foggy air, leaving only the quiet hum of your batons.

"No."

Ra's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

"You will regret this."

You slowly turned toward him, your grip tightening on your twin batons, instincts screaming at you to stay sharp. His piercing, ancient eyes gleamed with molten gold, fierce and calculating. He radiated control, power—command.

“Your mercy makes you weak," he hissed, stepping forward with measured, predatory grace. His cloak billowed in the icy wind, the crimson lining flashing like fresh blood beneath the dark fabric. "You had the chance to end this... and you chose weakness."

"I chose humanity," you shot back, voice rough but steady. "Something you'll never understand."

His lips twisted into something between disdain and cruel amusement. "Fool."

Without warning, he moved.

Ra's lunged forward, impossibly fast, his cloak swirling like a living shadow. His glinting blade flashed in the dim dock light, aimed for your throat.

You barely twisted in time, your left baton sparking as it met the ancient, razor-sharp blade with a clanging clash of steel. The force of the impact sent shockwaves up your arm, forcing you back a step.

He pressed the attack instantly, his strikes fluid, relentless—masterful. He moved with deadly precision, each slash and stab calculated for the kill. You blocked, twisted, and parried, but his blows came faster, stronger.

Jason's sharp voice crackled through the comms, punctuated by the deafening bang-bang of his twin pistols.

"He's engaging! He's fighting Ra!"

He fired off two more precise shots, dropping an assassin mid-sprint before charging toward you—only to be intercepted by a fresh wave of League operatives dropping down from the crates above.

"Dammit!" Jason snarled, holstering his pistols and drawing his combat knives. He struck with brutal efficiency, slicing through his enemies in a whirlwind of steel, desperate to reach you.

Nearby, Tim and Duke fought side by side, their precise, synchronized attacks holding back another advancing group. Duke's fists glowed with power as he shattered another steel-clad assassin's chest plate with a single, devastating punch.

"We're pinned!" Tim barked into the comms, spinning his bo staff with deadly precision.

Cassandra delivered a bone-crunching elbow strike that silenced another approaching attacker.

Dick's electrified escrima sticks crackled like live wires as he launched himself off a container, slamming two more assassins into the steel ground below. "We can't reach him—!"

Ra's blade slashed toward your head in a killing arc, but you ducked low, sweeping your leg out in a brutal kick aimed for his knees. He twisted sharply, narrowly evading the blow, his cloak swirling like a living shadow.

He struck again, forcing you into a relentless series of defensive maneuvers, each impact driving you back toward the edge of the dock. Your muscles burned with exertion, sweat mixing with the icy sting of Gotham's cold wind.

"You can barely keep up," Ra's taunted, his voice low and sharp, each word punctuated by another vicious swing of his blade. "You're wasting your true potential."

You blocked another brutal slash, locking his blade against your baton in a violent clash of steel. Sparks exploded between you as your arms strained against his overwhelming strength.

"I'm... not... like you!" you growled, forcing him back with a fierce twist.

Ra's struck again with merciless precision, forcing you into a desperate spin-kick that sent him staggering—but only for a moment. His recovery was instant, seamless—unstoppable.

"You are exactly like me," Ra's hissed, his eyes gleaming with fiery intensity. "The only difference is that you deny it."

His blade sliced low, aimed for your ribs, but you twisted away just in time, retaliating with a fierce upward strike that sent his weapon flying from his grip—clattering across the steel dock.

Breathing hard, you surged forward, driving him back with a powerful elbow strike, sending him stumbling toward the edge of the dock.

But Ra's only smiled.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he seized your wrist, twisting it painfully, forcing you to drop one of your batons. His other hand locked around your throat, slamming you against a rusted cargo container with brutal force.

You gasped, struggling as his iron grip tightened, cutting off your air. His inhuman strength crushed down like an iron vice, unyielding and merciless.

"Give in," he whispered, his voice calm but deadly. "Let the Chi flow through you... unleash your true power... or die."

Your vision blurred, stars exploding behind your eyes as your free hand clawed desperately at his arm.

But deep within, you felt it—Chi energy, thrumming beneath your skin, crackling like distant thunder... waiting.

No.

You slammed your knee into Ra's side with a sickening CRACK, forcing him to release you with a sharp snarl. You stumbled back, gasping for breath but already raising your remaining baton, the electric hum intensifying with crackling energy.

"I... don't... need it!" you roared, surging forward with every last ounce of strength, your baton blazing with energy as you struck with devastating force—sending Ra's reeling back across the dock with a thunderous impact.

Amid the chaos of the sprawling battle, Jason, Bruce, and Damian fought side by side, cutting through waves of deadly assassins with ruthless precision. Jason's twin pistols barked sharply, every shot landing true as he carved a path toward you, his sharp blue eyes blazing with singular focus.

"Push forward!" Bruce commanded, driving a heavy punch into an assassin's chest before slamming another into the steel dock with bone-shattering force.

Damian fought with deadly precision, his katana flashing in a blur of lethal strikes. His sharp, focused gaze flicked toward you briefly, his expression grim—he knew you were still locked in that brutal one-on-one fight with his grandfather.

But none of them noticed Talia, still crouched among the wreckage.

Her eyes gleamed with cold intent as she drew three razor-sharp throwing stars from her belt—each aimed with deadly accuracy toward Jason, Bruce, and Damian's exposed backs.

They didn't see them coming.

Ra's lunged again, his blade slashing in a vicious overhead arc. You twisted sharply, ducking beneath the deadly swing and slamming a brutal kick into his ribs, sending him staggering back.

But then... you saw them.

Three deadly stars spinning through the air—fast, silent, and aimed directly at the backs of the people you couldn't lose.

Jason. Bruce. Damian.

Your chest seized in sheer panic. They couldn't see it—not while locked in combat with the remaining assassins.

Move.

You surged into action without thinking, summoning every last ounce of Chi energy left in your trembling body. The crackling power ignited beneath your skin like wildfire, roaring through your veins.

You whipped your gaze toward a heavy, broken wooden crate resting on the dock just a few feet away—splintered, massive... perfect.

With a fierce shout, you kicked the crate with everything you had, sending it hurtling through the air with explosive force. It slammed into the throwing stars just in time, knocking them off course in a violent shatter of wood and steel.

Jason spun around, eyes wide, just in time to see the broken crate and ruined throwing stars clatter uselessly to the ground.

"What the hell—" Jason gasped, realization dawning as he caught sight of you, still locked in a desperate stance—Chi energy still flickering like distant lightning around your hands.

But you had no time to process.

A sharp, cold burn exploded in your side.

Your breath hitched, pain searing through your ribs with agonizing intensity.

Ra's.

He had moved the instant you were distracted—his blade now buried deep in your side.

You staggered, gasping as he twisted the weapon with cruel precision before ripping it free in one brutal motion, sending you crashing to the ground in a pool of your own blood.

The cold steel of the dock bit into your back as your vision blurred, darkening at the edges. The taste of copper filled your mouth as you struggled to breathe, each breath ragged and wet.

Ra's loomed above you, his expression calm, almost disappointed.

"You could have won," he said softly, his voice almost... pitying. "But you chose weakness."

The dock beneath you felt impossibly cold against your back as blood pooled beneath your armor, seeping through the cracks. Every breath was a struggle, each one burning like fire in your chest. Darkness clawed at the edges of your vision, threatening to pull you under... end it all.

But in that moment... you remembered.

The faces of the people you fought for—Jason, Bruce, Damian...Tim, Cassandra, Dick, Stephanie, Duke... The ones still fighting, still believing in you.

Jason's roar echoed faintly in your ears, fierce and desperate, cutting through the haze:

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

Your heart seized. You couldn't leave them—not like this.

"No..." you rasped, breath hitching, fists clenching against the icy dock.

You weren't done.

You forced your eyes open, blood pounding in your ears. A spark of something deep, ancient, and unyielding ignited within your chest—a burning pulse that refused to be extinguished.

Chi.

It roared through your veins like a living inferno, burning away the fear, pain, and doubt. A surge of power like thunder crackling beneath your skin, radiating out with unstoppable intensity.

Your breath steadied as your Chi energy burst to life—exploding outward in a shimmering aura of brilliant gold. The air itself seemed to vibrate with raw, unrestrained power..

Jason froze mid-charge, eyes widening in stunned disbelief as golden light engulfed the dock, cutting through the dense, swirling fog like firelight.

"What the hell..." he whispered, his voice breathless.

Bruce stilled, his sharp, calculating gaze snapping toward the sudden radiance. Even Damian paused, lowering his blade just slightly, his normally guarded expression flickering with something almost... awe.

The assassins stumbled back, stunned by the overwhelming presence now radiating from you.

Your eyes snapped open, glowing with fierce, blazing yellow light, radiant and unrelenting.

Power surged through every fiber of your being, enveloping you in a glowing, burning aura that shimmered like a living flame. Your wounds still throbbed, but the pain was drowned out by the sheer force of the Chi surging through you.

Ra's stared, his sharp, ancient eyes narrowing—but even he couldn't hide his expression of genuine surprise.

With slow, deliberate purpose, you rose to your feet, body glowing with otherworldly energy, cracks of golden light shimmering across your armor.

And then—effortlessly—you began to levitate.

The shattered dock creaked beneath your feet as you lifted into the air, glowing with fierce, unstoppable power. Every pair of eyes was locked on you.

Ra's stepped forward slowly, measured—calculating, yet wary. His ancient eyes burned with fierce curiosity... and something far more dangerous—pride.

"You've finally... embraced it," he murmured, almost in reverence.

Talia stiffened, her sharp green eyes narrowing, her fists clenched at her sides. This wasn't the ending she had planned.

You extended a hand toward the dock, forcefully pushing outward with a flick of your fingers. A massive blast of Chi energy erupted from your palm, sending nearby assassins hurtling into the steel crates like ragdolls.

The dock shuddered beneath the impact, the sound echoing like a thunderclap.

Your voice rang out—clear, commanding, and unshakable.

"This ends now."

Your voice boomed, amplified by the power thrumming through your veins.

"I am done running. I am done fighting a war that you started."

You fixed your burning gaze on Ra's, your words like steel.

"Come after me again... or them... and you won't walk away."

Ra's was silent for a long, charged moment, his calculating eyes gleaming with dark approval.

And then... slowly... he smiled, "You have become... more than I ever imagined."

His voice was low, dangerous, yet... genuine, "You've earned your freedom... for now."

He stepped back with regal, measured grace, his blade lowered—but his gaze never left yours.

“Remember this moment," Ra's said softly. "We will meet again."

With a sharp wave of his hand, the remaining assassins vanished into the swirling fog, leaving only the cold, broken docks behind.

As the fog cleared, your glowing aura finally began to fade, its warm light dimming as exhaustion set in. You swayed slightly, barely managing to land on your knees as the Chi burned away, leaving your battered body trembling from the brutal fight.

"Hey!"

Jason was there instantly, catching you before you could collapse completely. His hands shook slightly as he held you upright, his eyes still wide with raw emotion.

"Don't you dare pass out on me," he growled, his voice rough—but cracking with relief.

Bruce knelt on your other side, his sharp eyes scanning your injuries with grim focus. "We need to get him out of here—"

You managed a weak smirk, coughing through the pain. "Told you... I'm not done... yet."

Jason let out a shaky, relieved laugh, his forehead resting briefly against yours.

"Damn right... you're not."

And for the first time... you believed it, too.

#dc x male reader #batboys #jason todd x male!reader #jason todd #x male reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x male reader #batfam #cassandra cain #duke thomas #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #dick grayson #bruce wayne #damian wayne #tim drake

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starhvney · 2 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝟑 | 𝟏𝟔: 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

𝐂𝐖: um... more violence and mentions of traumatic injuries, cussing but like how offensive is that in comparison to the other stuff at this point

𝐀/𝐍: oh snap it’s going down (intense traumatic experiences)

𝐖𝐂: 4,600+

𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑: the one, the onlyyyy @arienic !!! *blows airhorn*

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒

laughter carries through the air, the mix of everyone’s joyous voices in the room warming your chest the same way your hot chocolate warmed your hands. you settle back into the ro'meaves’ couch, the worn-in material allowing you to sink into the cushions where you were lodged between lucinda and dante.

“okay!” aphmau squeals, clapping her hands excitedly in the center of the room. “it’s time to exchange the secret santa gifts!”

you’re perfectly content where you sit, though, with a soft smile on your face as you glance around the room. everyone was bundled up in their sweaters and cozy pajamas, excitedly getting up to give and receive their gifts and giggling as they bumped into each other. oh, you suppose you should get up when lucinda’s hand grasps onto your arm to help you along with her, the mature scent of her perfume wafting along your face and the tinkling of her bracelets pleasantly gracing your ears.

“c’mon, sweetie. you can’t fall asleep now,” she coos playfully.

“i wasn’t! just enjoying the moment,” you defend, only earning a teasing look from her in response before she prances off with an amused huff.

you shake your head, chuckling quietly to yourself as you pick up vylad’s gift, shuffling around the crowd and earning a hair ruffle from dante and a nose pinch from teony as you go, the two of them being the touchiest of your friends as always. not that you minded—coming from anyone in this room. you kind of enjoyed that you were close enough to them for them to want to casually reach out to you in a sudden burst of affection. it was cute.

vylad immediately turns to look down at you with a dimpled grin as you hold out your gift, giving you a grateful nod. “hey! merry christmas.”

“merry christmas,” you return, shuffling on your feet as he starts to open his gift, starting to feel a bit nervous if he’d like it.

his face lights up as he opens the box, mouth cracking open in surprise as he reaches in, pulling out the 35mm camera film bundle you got. “woah, there’s so much! and a calligraphy set too?”

“yeah… sorry i didn’t get as much film because it can get kind of expensive… but i thought i’d get you something you’d use the most.”

“no, no, don’t apologize. this is perfect!” he insists, his voice full of genuine thankfulness. “how did you even know i liked all of this? or what kind of camera i had?”

“i totally interrogated your mom about what kind of camera you had. shout out to zianna,” you laugh. “i remember you talking about liking photography and how you liked to write, so…”

“wow. i’m not secretive but i didn’t realize i was that easy to read,” he muses, wrapping an arm around your shoulder for a hug. “you really put a lot of thought and effort into this, i can tell. this is so awesome.”

“aw, i’m really glad you liked it.” you sheepishly return the hug before stepping back again.

“i more than like it, i love it. thanks!”

a gentle tap on your shoulder diverts your attention from the heartfelt scene you were in. nana gives you a sweet smile when you turn to her, her eyes forming into crescents as she presents a rather large pink gift bag with a cute snowman on it.

“hi! i was your secret santa,” she giggles as if it weren’t obvious.

“oh! thank you, nana.” you smile, taking the bag from her as she bounces expectantly on her toes.

“go ahead and open it!” she ushers, tail swishing behind her, the tiny jingle bell on the bow she used to decorate it tinkling.

you laugh lightly as you appease her demands, pulling out the tissue paper to reveal quite an array of gifts.

“so, i remember you mentioning you thought the cookie cutters i had were super cute when we were making those sweets for everyone… so i got you some! and—and those are some earrings that reminded me of you, and—oh! that’s a blanket with kitties on it,” she rambles, pointing out each thing with a shimmer in her eyes. “that’s a cute journal i got for you because we had talked about how you wanted to start writing down your favorite memories so you never forgot them. remember?”

“wow, nana. you didn’t have to get all this for me…” you murmur, mouth agape as you admire the hardcover journal in your favorite color, its pages glinting gold around the edge.

“of course i did! you were one of the first people to actually care about me and try to become my friend at the school.” she rocks on her heels, hands folding behind her back. “you mean a lot to me, so i wanted your gift to be special.”

pulling in a big breath, you swallow thickly, overwhelmed by the affection poured onto you. your friends’ laughter buzzes in your ears as you reel in the moment, eyes wide. “thank you, so much… you mean a lot to me, too.”

“but, um…” she murmurs your name, face turning gravely serious. “i have to tell you something.”

strange. this isn’t how you remember this going.

“if you want to come back to us, you have to wake up.”

“…what?”

“wake up.”

a sharp inhale through your lungs pulls a veil of darkness over your eyes, replaced by a gray ceiling. there’s no warm laughter, no welcoming fireplace; just the cold, damp room you’ve been forced into for who knows how long now. your fingers dance across the thin sheets, chasing after the ghost of warm hands encasing yours, only to be met with the scratchy material irritating your skin.

your neck hurts; externally as you reach up to feel a crusted-over bandage, and internally as a lump forms inside. vision blurs and fingers tremble as a pathetic sob wracks your chest, the choked noise of pain echoing in the empty room. turning on your side, you gasp for air, your breaths tight and panicked. you can move again, you realize, but when you attempt to sit up and stand your body gives out on you and sends you sprawling onto the hard tile floor. using what little strength you have, you use your arms to drag yourself to the bars of your cell, grasping the bars and resting your cheek on the rusted metal.

tears pour down your face while your chest heaves unevenly, soaking into the gauze on your neck and staining your dirtied clothes. weakly, you lift your hand again, realizing through your hazy eyes how thin and pale you’d gotten. you’d been fully drained, your body pulling whatever it could from your muscles and bones just to keep your heart beating. more cries leave your lips as you reach up to your neck once again, tugging at its tight constraints with an angry cry. as it loosens with an uncomfortable crack from your skin a wave of fear washes over you, freezing you in place.

what if your head fell?

short breaths are sucked in through your mouth as you try not to move, slowly loosening the bandages again until they finally give free, unraveling onto your lap. you stay still for a few moments, staring at the dark red below you, before reaching up to feel where the blade had been lined against your neck. there it is: an indent, perfectly horizontal, reaching across where your jugular was.

she must not have completely beheaded you. if she did, would you not have woken up?

a feeling of utter hopelessness creeps into your veins starting from your hands and feet until it spills out in the form of more tears, a piteous weep leaving your lips. none of this makes sense to you. not the pain… not anything she said about your parents… or the man… or men behind it…? she mentioned two, didn’t she? no, no that’s not what she said…

not what she said about…

not what she said…

no.

what exactly did she tell you?

why can’t you remember it?!

there was something important! information you had to keep if you got out of here! what is it?!

“what happened…” you hiccup, lungs catching and stopping, breaths hiccuping. “what did you…”

your fingers dig into the metal, pressing uncomfortably into your bones as you manage some strength in your lungs and scream at him, “what did you do to me?!”

the muscles in your throat strain in protest, cracking your words as they echo in the empty corridor. raspy coughs leave your throat as your remaining strength gives out and you go limp where you sit. it’s a few minutes like this—maybe even an hour—before quiet footsteps slowly make their way toward your cell. you don’t bother looking up, only acknowledging who it is when someone kneels down by the door. black jeans, a dark blue shirt… it matches his hair.

he watches you from the side of his eye as he sets down a tray, sliding it under the door. when he moves to get up again, he hesitates, as if there's something he needs to say.

“please kill me,” you rasp, making him jump as he whips his head over to you, his eyes darting down to your fingers where they grasp onto his wrist. “just kill me. i can’t do it again.”

he gives you a look, eyes widening and lip curling. you can’t tell what it is. pity? disgust?

this is the first time you've really looked at him up close. a few scars litter his skin, his steel gray eyes startlingly harsh through his dark lashes. his nostrils flare as he pulls away from your touch, standing and backing away as he looks down on your miserable slumped form.

“i can’t,” he mutters. “but… i wouldn’t bite into your food too hard.”

you stare up at him, confusion muddling your features.

“and wait until dusk. that’s two hours from now.”

he turns on his heel and stalks away, glancing back at you once more over his back before quickly running back up the wooden staircase, leaving you alone as fast as he had appeared.

don’t bite into your food too hard.

the tray is by your feet, nothing but a pile of mush on it. you’re not sure what kind of food it’s supposed to be, but it most definitely wasn’t crunchy or solid. shakily, you reach out to the tray and pull it into your lap, hesitantly hovering your fingers over it.

what are you doing…

wriggling your fingers down into the semi-warm substance, they soon meet the cold center where a metal object is buried inside. your eyebrows pinch together when you pull it out, shaking the food away to reveal a… key. did he just…?

he gave you the key to the cell. he’s helping you escape.

two hours from now.

“thank you,” you whisper to the void, even if you know the boy is long gone.

would he be punished for this? a part of you worries for him, but the selfish want for self-preservation has those thoughts pushed to the back of your mind, replaced by the memory of warm arms around your shoulders. you had to get back. this wasn’t the end. you didn’t have to die here. a joyful weep wobbles from your lips, as you begin to count the seconds. how many are in two hours?

one mississippi… two mississippi…three…

eight hundred and thirty-three…

five thousand six hundred and twenty-seven…

seven thousand two hundred.

you had eaten the plate of food to the best of your abilities, despite its bland taste and rather disgusting texture. it was like southern grits, but if it were slimy and void of any good flavor. still, you stomached it, and it at least gave you the strength to stand up on your legs without falling. your breathing was labored from the effort, but you had to do this, and you had to do it now.

nimbly sliding your fingers through the door’s bars, you fix the key into the lock and twist, a satisfying click meeting your ears as the door gives way to your weight leaning on it. it squeaks in the silent hallway, and for a moment you stand completely still as it swings all the way open.

you were free.

run. run run run run run run!

you take off towards the wooden stairs, careful to keep on your tiptoes, sliding your feet across the stone to make less noise as you go. slowing down at the wooden stairs, you’re careful to make a minimal amount of creaks as you ascend them, holding your breath as you listen closely to the floor above. there’s no talking, no shuffling or movement. did they go somewhere else?

at the top of the stairs, there's a wooden door. quiet prayers for it to be unlocked leave your lips as you approach it, and you have to stop yourself from letting out a cry of relief when it is, opening up to a dimly lit, huge room.

you were in a log cabin, though a mansion seems more suitable as a title. tall windows span up to the ceiling on one wall, overlooking a familiar scene of a forest. plush couches and red carpets littered the large space, setting up what was an over-the-top lounge room.

tentatively, you walk out from the doorway, looking up to realize it was somewhat hidden behind a staircase. the place seemed empty, but you sure weren’t going to stick around to find out. the only thing you can hear is your uneven breaths as you make your way to two large red doors, hands shaking as you push the heavy wood open. the sound of crickets beginning to chirp and fresh air enveloping your face is overwhelming, making your shaky steps stutter in place as you stare out at the tall trees ahead.

looking around, the coast is still clear. was what ein told you a red herring? this seemed too easy. running out to the empty driveway, you step beyond the pavement toward a nearby cliffside, looking over the forest beyond. there was nothing else in sight for miles, except for…

a tall lookout tower in the distance.

your face blanches, and the small amount of nutrients you had in your stomach comes rushing back up your throat in an instant. they were that close to you the whole time.

sputtered coughs leave your lips as you lean forward, hands resting on your knees while black spots your vision. what if they were just letting you go now? have you never been in control this whole time? not since the moment you moved? since the moment you were born? is there any point in escaping this?

there’s no time to delay anymore though, not when you’re taking off again towards the driveway, cutting into the treeline where you’re sure the road led off to. your lungs burn as they try to keep up with your legs, your throat barely taking in enough oxygen for you to stay conscious. you feel like you’re out of your body, merely spectating a memory as you weave through trees. your face feels cold and numb, and you vaguely feel the pain of your bare feet getting scraped and stabbed by the forest floor. black is beginning to spot your vision and the next moment your toe catches on a root, sending you tumbling down a steep hill with a sudden cry.

rolling to a stop, you gasp for air, yet none comes as panic continues to riddle your lungs.

“...you mean a lot to me…”

it feels like warm hands are lifting you, urging you to keep going, and as you stumble forward you realize you’ve made it to the road. warm asphalt meets your feet as you continue to try and catch your breath. the sun had set by now, disorienting any sense of direction you may have had in the first place.

as soon as your vision clears, you’re blinded by headlights and the screeching of rubber against the road—

you're sent flying, your hands painfully scraping as you land on your back. it feels like you’re dying, lungs on the verge of collapsing. even if it was your captors, you don’t think you could run or even crawl away, the stars in the sky beginning to spin and melt above you and the noise of the world around you turning into warbled echoes.

“oh my… is that… missing… girl that… gene… with.” a woman appears above you. you can’t make out her features. “holy shit… logan! call… help! …hospital…!”

“help,” you gasp. in a last attempt at freedom, you grasp onto her shirt.

“shh… you’re… okay, hun… safe…”

a tall man looming over the both of you is the last thing you see. strong arms lift you from the jagged ground; the bitter, metallic scent of your blood is the last thing you sense before the terrifying freedom of darkness overtakes you.

☆

over a week. it’s almost been two.

garroth stares blankly at the empty fireplace, stuck in the same position he’d sat in hours ago. he chews at the inside of his cheek again, wincing when he draws blood this time.

there's no telling where you are now or what’s happened to you. and it's all his fault. if he’d just walked with you down the sidewalk. it was two houses down. only two. that careless decision took you from him and everyone else who cared about you.

when you come back… if you do… he wouldn’t blame you if you hated him. if you never wanted to talk to him again, or even look at him. he deserved your resentfulness. he wouldn’t even mind it if it just meant you were back safe.

“hello?” zianna’s voice carries from the kitchen, her tone indicating she’d picked up a phone call.

vylad shifts from where he sat on the other side of the couch, turning down the volume of the tv that had been playing mindless background noise to his and garroth’s thoughts. his head turns to better hear their mother’s voice, only to flinch when the shattering of porcelain on the floor and a sharp gasp from the woman breaks the silence.

“where is she?”

garroth swallows, eyes widening before shooting up from his spot, sprinting into the kitchen and nearly crashing into the counter. he's gripping onto the marble top as he stares down his mom—the woman leaning back into the corner with a face void of color. her sweet, green eyes are glossy with tears, hand reaching out to zane whose eye flicks between her and the shattered plate in concern. for once, he looks to his two brothers without malice or annoyance, instead holding zianna’s hand with care as he leans in to overhear the other end of the line.

“and she’s okay?” she whimpers, shaking her head as she looks around, attempting to move. “where? where?”

garroth sucks in air, only just realizing he’d been holding his breath before rushing to his mom, lifting her over the shards threatening to slice her bare feet. she dashes over to snatch her keys up from the hallway table, sliding her feet into some sandals by the door—before stopping in the doorway, and turning to face her sons once again.

“i’m headed there now.”

as soon as the phone is pulled away from her face, questions hastily tumble from their mouths.

“she?”

“did they find her?”

“where are you going?”

she covers her mouth, pulling in a deep breath in an attempt to pull herself together in front of the kids. they were only kids. she was only a kid.

“yes—she—” she clears her throat, wiping at her bare face. “they found her. she’s in a hospital an hour from here. i’m headed there now—”

“i’m going!” garroth interrupts, startling the woman and making her jump in place.

“yes… all of you can come. i’m not even—” she waves them forward, pausing by the mirror and beginning to fix her hair—before shaking her head, footsteps quick as she goes off to the garage door. “just get in the car, boys. i need to call garte…”

all three of the boys follow, the youngest boy pulling out his phone and sending off a text as they scramble for their seats in the suv. zianna’s hands tremble as she starts the key in the ignition.

vylad: they found her.

laurance: wait what?

katelyn: please don’t tell me you’re lying

lucinda: is she okay?

travis: where???

nicole: which hospital???????

dante: are you serious? did they find her just now?

aphmau: she’s at nahakra hospital

teony: can we see her?

laurance: i don’t care i’m going anyway

nana: i’m crying please tell me she’s okay

aphmau: i don’t know there’s no details yet

katelyn: i’m going too

aphmau sent a location.

“mom.” zane’s voice cuts across the near-silent car. “it’s night. you’re driving crazy.”

zianna clears her throat as she slows down, and when garroth glances over she quickly wipes her face again, shaking her head. “i’m sorry boys, i’m just—oh, that poor baby. please, please let her be okay.”

the drive there is a long one, both having stretched on for far too long and blurring together in garroth’s memory as they now sit in the small hospital’s lobby.

“we can’t go see her at all?” sylvanna presses. the poor receptionist who they'd been badgering for the past hour shifts in her seat.

“i’m sorry, ma'am. all i can tell you is that she is alive and stable. but i can’t give you details or let you through unless you’re family.”

“she is family.”

“...i’m sorry. please understand i can’t do anything more until a doctor gives the clear. you can take a seat and have some refreshments until then.”

katelyn sighs, shifting as she glances at the analog clock above her. nana and aphmau let their heads bobble against her shoulders as she moves, hands clutched onto each other, exchanging words of worry that didn’t leave their lips.

12:40 am.

“no, man. they’re not even letting us see her,” laurance mutters into the phone, sighing tensely. “yeah, just come tomorrow if you want… yeah, i’ll text. yeah. bye.”

“was that dante?” aphmau shifts her head, voice quiet.

“yeah. his mom won’t drive him this late and he was trying to get… gene to come back from out of town to get him here.” his lips sour at the name, but he seems too tired to dwell on his own reservations. “...i think teony and lucinda won’t be coming until tomorrow, too.”

“makes sense…” nana rubs her swollen eyes, her nose still red. “the only reason i could come is 'cause aphmau picked me up.”

travis is uncharacteristically quiet, eyes round and knees hugged to his chest as he stares at the adults in the room.

following travis' line of sight, garroth glances over at the receptionist's desk. even his dad was here… his arm wrapped around zianna’s hunched shoulders as they exchanged hushed whispers with travis’s dad and… two people he’d never met before. aphmau had said something about aaron’s parents earlier, seeming confused herself, but why would they be here? or travis’s dad, for that matter… and what could the group of them possibly have so much to talk about so secretly and with such intensity?

“...fuck this. i’m finding something out,” he mutters, earning a questioning look from laurance as he stands from his seat, slowly making his way to the stairway and slipping through the door, thankful for sylvanna’s distraction to the staff.

they mentioned that you're in a room on the third floor. his feet skip every other step as he huffs his way up the flights, stopping at the thin window and glancing inside with narrowed eyes. the coast is clear, so, after catching his breath, he pushes through the door, glancing around the hall. he can hear distant chatter around the corner, and recognizes the familiar cadence of your mom’s voice. a pang of guilt and shame runs through him, his eyes dropping to the tiled floor as he moves closer, listening to her despaired, hitched breaths.

“...yes ma’am. torn ligaments in her feet, a fractured wrist, pretty deep fissures on her whole body… it’s all healed. the stitches pushed out of her skin. i really have no way to explain this except for an ancient magic that hasn’t been used by anyone for a long time. this kind of practice would be…” the doctor clears his throat, pausing. “ah, but… aside from her external injuries, our biggest issue is what came back on her brain scan… and her blood results.”

“what is it?” a gruff voice urges.

“she had large amounts of midazolam in her system. it’s a sedative that can cause some serious issues with hallucinations and memory recollection if abused. judging by the scan, it seems like she had a pretty consistent flow of it, but there’s also not enough information to tell how much she's been affected by it, and how much damage it's done.”

garroth’s mouth curls, hand coming to cover his face as the blood drains from his face.

“and…” the doctor seems to be choosing his words carefully, voice gentle. “there's more. not only was she given large amounts of midazolam, but her brain shows signs that we would see in a person who went through something highly traumatizing. it’s likely she will suffer from dissociative amnesia among other ptsd symptoms. i can’t tell you how she will react when she wakes up, as it varies among each patient… but she will require a lot of psychiatric help. i don’t mean to make this worse, but this is the worst case i’ve ever seen.”

bile rises up garroth’s throat, and he’s forced to swallow as he slides down the sterile, white wall of the hospital hall. another choked weep leaves your mother’s lips, but not before the doctor speaks up again.

“but also…” he hesitates. “while her other injuries mysteriously have been healed, she has strange scarring on the upper half of her arms and legs, as well as a scar along her neck. they’re very precise. it's a quality that, in my personal opinion, one would expect from an experienced doctor… and when she arrived, the outfit she was wearing was a patient’s two-piece with the number three on it. we don’t have much other information as of yet.”

“oh god… this is all our… fault…” your mother incoherently babbles. “my baby… what have i done to you…”

“ma’am…?” the doctor sounds uncomfortable, confused. “i don’t…”

“please just leave us be for a moment.” your dad’s voice cracks.

a quick tap on garroth’s shoulder has the boy jumping out of his skin, whipping his head up to see the scolding face of a nurse peering down at him.

“young man… you know you aren’t supposed to be here,” she says, voice firm but eyes at the very least understanding as she keeps her voice at a whisper. “go back to the waiting room. you’ll get to see her eventually. okay?”

garroth swipes a hand over the back of his neck, the cold sweat making him shiver as he stands. his eyes are glassed over as he nods, stumbling back to the stairwell without another word.

tag list: @orinlin @pain-in-the-ashe @youmake1mistake @arienic @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @remiechu @valentique @kalegrinch @izzybella1807

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