#Sam drake x you

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Tender Loving Care - Sam Drake X GN Reader

Title: Tender Loving Care

Sam Drake X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Nathan (Mentioned), Sully (Mentioned), and Reader's friends (Mentioned)

Requested by: @a-very-bored-blogger

WC: 3,763

Warnings: Sickfic, bar mentioned, alcohol mentioned, italics, smoking, nicknames, brief mention of snakes, movie reference, banter, flirting, teasing, confession, mini angst, and fluff

Waking up with a sore throat and a snotty nose was not how you wanted to start your day. At all. Your eyes felt crusty from sleep, or your sickness and your whole body felt achy and cold. Well, no work today for you, that's for sure. You were not going to get up, get dressed, and everything, just to suffer through eight or nine hours of dealing with people. That sounded like torture, and you didn't want to risk getting anyone else sick. One part of you was pretty elated, you didn't really care much for your job. But, the other part of you was going to miss your best friend, Sam. The both of you had planned to go out to dinner together.

You and Sam met when he rode into your sleepy little town on his motorcycle. You were on your way to college, walking down the sidewalk when he pulled up to you. He asked for directions to the closest motel and you answered politely; whilst also trying not to get too caught up in how handsome he was.

Throughout his stay in your little town, you had bumped into him many times. On the fourth time, you were with friends at a bar. You had been chatting with them, laughing and having a good time as you usually did, before one of your friends nudged you in the side. You looked at them, seeing their bright, mischievous grin and the glint in their eyes; watching as they gestured with their eyes to the other side of the room. 

You turned your head, looking over, only to freeze. There, at the other side of the bar, was the mysterious stranger that rode into town only a few days prior. The stranger that you had learned was called Sam Drake; his eyes flickered over to you. You had bumped into them three times before - as previously said - and all three times, you felt this immense connection between the two of you. 

Before you knew it, you found yourself walking to the other side of the bar; with a smidge of help from your friends, your confidence grew; albeit with the help of some liquid courage. You stood with him, leaning against the bar as you sipped one of your drinks.

You finally got to know the mysterious Sam, finding out that he was a treasure hunter; which definitely intrigued you. He told you the many stories of his adventures, from Captain Avery's treasure to just traveling around different countries with his brother. 

When it was your turn to speak, you almost felt that your life was practically nothing in comparison to his. You didn't go off on amazing adventures or found long lost treasure. You worked a simple - yet boring - nine to five job. You had friends, went out to the arcade and the movies sometimes, but never anything as amazing as what Sam said he did. You hadn't even traveled outside of the country. But you spoke your part, and Sam didn't turn away. He didn't yawn, he didn't stray his eyes, and he didn't try to interrupt you. You had his full and complete attention. 

And, well... To make a long story short. The two of you quickly became best friends.

Sam stayed in the town for the next month, playing the excuse that he needed a small vacation from his treasure hunting. You greatly doubted that. But, for that month, you spent most of the time together. You showed him around, introduced him to your friends, and even went on mini adventures on that motorcycle of his together. You were both joined at the hip, and you - and Sam - wouldn't have it any other way. 

But he did have to go. You had learned that Sam never liked to stay in one place for too long. And before you knew it, he was heading off to Granada, Spain. You were incredibly crestfallen. You didn't want him to go so soon, but then he asked you something that you couldn't refuse. 

He asked you to come with him.

You couldn't say ‘no.’ How could you say ‘no?’ This was your chance to get out of the country, to get away from your sleepy little town, to get away and go on a real adventure. You asked your boss for the time off, packed your bags, and off you and Sam went - with the help of his friend Sully - whom you grew to adore as a father figure. 

Granada was beautiful. The architecture, the culture, the food, everything. You wished that you could stay there forever. Sam - quite literally - taught you the ropes, teaching you how to toss a grapple hook and swing across high cliffs. You traveled through forests, through old ruins, and even helped Sam find the lost jewels of Enrique Gómez. It was adrenaline-filled, and exciting. 

You didn't know when, or where in Granada, but you found yourself falling for the thief. You quite thought that he stole your heart. And you did not want it back. You loved how passionate he got when he spoke about an artifact or some treasure he had planned to find in the future. You loved the way his face lit up when he found something amazing to show you. You loved how the corners of his eyes would crinkle when he laughed. You loved his voice when he spoke about anything and everything; you could listen to him talk for hours. And you loved his eyes... They held so many emotions, and if you held his gaze long enough, you believed that you'd fall into those dark abysses of his. 

This realization however, made your life a bit more difficult.

~~~

Groaning slightly, you pouted, not even wanting to move an inch; it felt like your skin was on fire, yet you were freezing. However, you needed to use the bathroom, and your nose was beginning to run, so you had to get up. After you were finished, you headed downstairs to find some tissues so you didn't have to use toilet paper, grabbed your carton of ice cream from the freezer for your sore throat, and headed back to your room. Dealing with your nose, you sniffled before heading to your closet to find your fuzzy bathrobe. Slipping that on, you almost felt a little better before heading to your TV, sliding your ‘Superman ll’ VHS tape into the player. Sitting on your bed, your back against the headboard, you slowly ate your ice cream as you watched your movie; feeling groggy and aching. 

~~~

Sam waited by his motorcycle, leaning on the diner building’s wall, as he waited for you; taking a drag from his cigarette. He was becoming a bit restless, with his foot tapping against the pavement. Near the beginning of his friendship with you, he insisted that he would pick you up in the evenings when you both had planned to have dinner together, but you insisted back, wanting to use your own car; not wanting Sam to waste his motorcycle’s gas more than he had to. Sam had been a bit disappointed in the beginning. He thought picking you up would be a great opportunity to spend more time with you, but it didn’t take Sam long to agree with you.

But as he waited, and waited, Sam began to wonder and worry about you. What if something happened? What if you got caught in traffic? Sam scoffed to himself on that. Traffic? There was hardly any, if not zero, traffic in your little town; Sam came to realize that after staying there for the past month or so. So, where were you? 

Were you okay?

Though Sam was used to feeling worried and uneasy - especially for his brother, Nathan - he still wasn't used to the feeling. In addition to these feelings that grew whenever he saw you. This intense sense of desire to protect, hold, and cherish you. It scared the hell out of him. It scared him because he didn't know how to handle it. He was a flirt. He was someone who enjoyed the thrill of danger. He probably couldn't count how many one-night stands he had. But this… This… It felt so different. He wasn’t a ‘settle down’ kind of guy. But, Sam believed that he could be for you.

He sighed heavily, smoke expelled from his mouth as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and stared at it. You told him to quit, but it was difficult. He had cut back on how many cigarettes he smoked in a day - smoking only one or two a day. He wanted to quit; he really did - especially for you. But every once in a while, he’d lose himself and he’d start smoking again. Just a tiny bit of nicotine and he’d be good as new. Sam sighed again; staring at the cigarette for a moment before tossing it onto the ground, squishing it with the heel of his boot, and pushing himself off the wall. Sam stuffed his hands into his Jeans pockets as a couple left the diner; their laughter echoing throughout the air. Sam felt that he had waited long enough, hopping onto his bike. The trip to your house was a short one, and when Sam saw your car in the driveway, he let out a sigh of relief. 

Slipping off his bike, he walked up to the front door, ringing the doorbell. Shuffling his feet on the porch, he stuffed his hands back into his jean jacket pockets, hearing shuffling behind the door. As you opened the door, Sam's awaiting grin dropped when he saw your appearance. You stood at the open door, hand holding onto the door frame to support your weight. You were wrapped up in your fuzzy bathrobe, your hair a bit messy, and still in your pajamas. Your eyes were glassy, your eyelids were hooded, and your nose red. 

"Oh, sweetheart..." Sam muttered, as you sniffled, "Why didn't you tell me that you were sick? Why didn't you call me?"

"Hello, handsome," You gave him a small, tired smile, moving out of the way as he quickly entered, "I'm sorry, I should've called..." You muttered, closing the door behind yourself. "I just didn't want you to worry about me. I'm fine now, it's just a cold." You tried to reassure him, letting out a yawn.

Sam shook his head, raising his hand to press the inside of his wrist against your forehead, "Y/N, you're hot."

You let out a small laugh, having to turn and cover your mouth as you let out a nasty cough, "Thanks, you are too."

"No, sweetheart, you're really burning up." He spoke, "Come on, let's get you back into bed." You nodded slowly, following Sam up the stairs and back into your room. Sam pulled your blankets back as you climbed in; unable to stop smiling as Sam began to tuck you in perfectly. You hummed happily, snuggling deeper under your blankets before turning around to lay on your back, closing your eyes. "Do you need anything? Water, food?" Sam asked, watching as you shook your head. He let out a sigh as he ran his hand through your hair, pushing it from your sweaty forehead. 

"I'm good, thank you, Sammy." You spoke, clearing your throat slightly as you opened your eyes again, "You're too good for me." You mumbled, your eyes closing once more as you fell asleep.

Sam sighed once more as your breathing began to slow, your chest rising and falling peacefully. Standing from your bed, he headed out of your house, but not before grabbing your house keys from the hook by the door. 

~~~

You didn't know how long you had slept, or what time it was, but when you opened your eyes, you found the sun rising outside your bedroom window. Blinking rapidly you took in a deep breath, and sat up. As you push yourself to lean back against your headrest, you let out another cough, rubbing your sore throat with your hand. Looking around, you found Sam's jean jacket on the back of your desk chair, his shoes next to yours by your closet. You couldn't help but smile as you brushed your hair back, wondering where he was. But, your question was quickly answered as you heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and it wasn't long until your bedroom door opened. 

Sam entered, dressed in his jeans and maroon v-neck, holding a bowl. Noticing that you were awake, Sam's frown flipped right around. "Afternoon, gorgeous."

"Gorgeous?" You let out a small laugh, watching as he sat down the steaming bowl on your bedside table. It looked like soup. "I bet I look like a mess, but, thank you." You smiled brightly at him, sitting up. "So, where have you been?"

He continued to grin, running a hand through his hair, "Out n' about."

"Out? Where?" You pressed, furrowing your eyebrows together.

"Well, I went to the store, and got you a few things that you might need..." He replied, grinning as he continued, going around your bed to grab a brown paper bag from the end of your bed; placing it down near your feet, "And then I made you soup. Your tea is doing whatever tea does in the kitchen. I was going to go grab it after I gave you your soup. But now that you're awake..." He trailed off, digging through the bag to pull out the items he grabbed for you.

"Sam, did you really?" You asked with a smile, excitement, and surprise in your voice, and your stomach filled with warmth as he nodded. "Is that chocolate?" You asked as Sam pulled out a few packs of crackers, some chocolate bars, a box of tissues, and a few small bottles of water.

"Yeah. I didn't know how much you needed. Or what you wanted..." He muttered, placing them all on your nightstand; the last item being an ibuprofen bottle. "But, I also saw this when I was out, and thought you might like it." He spoke, going back into the paper bag, and pulling out a book. You blinked a few times before your eyes widened, looking up at Sam in shock. 

Reaching out, you took the book into your hands, a gasp leaving you, "Sam... This is ‘The Trials of Marine Beaumont’! The legendary French pirate that revolutionized European history in the seventeenth century! How did you get this? It’s been sold out everywhere." Sam shrugged lightly, giving a halfhearted smile as he took a seat at the edge of your bed. "Who knew that a small cold would bring out the nurse in you. You spoil me.”

"Don’t think that’s an excuse for you to get sick again." He smirked at you softly, “And I always spoil you.” His chocolate brown eyes gazed down at you. "How do you feel?" He then asked, shifting closer to your side.

"A little better... My throat is a bit sore, but otherwise, I feel great." You smiled softly, glancing over at your alarm clock, "It's almost two... Did you stay here all night last night?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "I didn't know if you'd need me for anything... So, I slept on the couch."

You sat the book down beside you on the bed, "Sammy... You should've just taken the guest bedroom. That couch is so small."

Sam just shrugged, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the handmade quilt, "Slept on worse," He joked, looking up at you, finding you already looking at him. Clearing his throat, he pressed his fist to his mouth briefly, "So, you hungry? Don't want your soup to get cold."

You hummed, nodding as your smile softened, "Yeah, it smells amazing."

~~~

"Snakes... Why is it always snakes..?" 

Your bedroom was dark, only the light from your TV illuminating the room. You were sitting on your bed, leaning against the headboard, Sam beside you; his arm wrapped around your shoulders. An empty bowl sat on your bedside table, along with your new book, your empty tea cup, and your alarm clock - which read; seven-thirty-three. 

Your cheek was pressed snuggly against Sam's shoulder, eyes glued to your TV as Indiana Jones found himself surrounded by snakes. Your nose felt dry, as did your throat; and you coughed. Sam rubbed soothing circles into your shoulder. Sam blindly reached for the half-empty water bottle beside him, before handing it to you. 

"Thank you..." You muttered, taking small sips from the bottle. "You know," You began, clearing your throat a bit, "He reminds me of you."

Sam looked down at you, his brows knitting in confusion. "Who?"

You shook your head, "Indiana Jones." You chuckled softly, setting the bottle of water on the nightstand, "He loves adventure, going from place to place, finding treasures..." You trailed off, grabbing a tissue from the tissue box and blowing your nose. "Though I will admit, you're funnier than him." You said, throwing away the tissue in your small, plastic trash can.

"You don't say," Sam smiled, his lips grazing the tip of your head, before looking back at the TV.

"I do say," You mumbled, nuzzling your cheek on the soft fabric of his sleeve. "I love that about you. No matter how I am feeling, or what situation, you always make me laugh."

Sam suddenly felt warm, his heart fluttering as he smiled. "Hey, I am a man of many talents." Sam breathed out, his thumb running across your shoulder gently.

"Yes, you are," You grinned, just as the infamous Indiana Jones pulled his way out of the snake pit. But at the sound of your little hum, Sam looked back down at you. Feeling his eyes on you, you looked up at him. "What?" You asked, biting off a piece of your chocolate bar.

Sam tilted his head to the side slightly, his dark eyes searching yours before he spoke, "What was that little hum all about?" He asked, his grin turning mischievous.

"What hum?" You giggled quietly, moving the chocolate bar from your mouth.

"You hummed, sweetheart." He raised an eyebrow, "What popped up in that beautiful mind of yours?"

You bit your bottom lip, re-wrapping the chocolate bar and setting it over on your bedside table. You watched Sam closely, as he looked back at you. He seemed curious, waiting for your answer patiently. "Nothing important..." You spoke softly, suddenly becoming nervous. Sam could tell that something was bothering you. "Um, Sam," You paused, licking your lips nervously. "Can I ask you something?" You started, not meeting his eyes.

"You can ask me anything," He told you, his hand on your shoulder gently playing with your hair. You nodded, staring down at your hands in your lap. The short silence between the two of you hung thick and heavy. Sam could hear your breathing slowly getting heavier and heavier. After a moment, he sighed, deciding to speak first; seeing as you never had a problem talking to him, even when it came to the serious stuff. "Y/N?" His voice sounded gentle, his tone kind as he spoke to you.

"When are you going to leave?" You asked, continuing to stare down at your lap, as Sam felt a wave of panic - and slight hurt - settle in his stomach.

"I can leave-"

"No!" You cried out,, your hand grabbing his, quickly lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. "I mean... Um... I- uh, Do you have any plans on leaving any time soon? Y’know, going off on another adventure?" What you really wanted to ask was if he had plans of leaving you soon. You knew that Sam wasn't the kind of guy to stay in one place for too long. He had told you, and it was very apparent in the many stories that he told you, that it was only a matter of time. 

He stared down at you, watching the nervous expression on your face shift to worry. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly as he opened them again, "Not right now. It might be a while. Maybe in a week or two. Not sure." Sam admitted before his expression suddenly turned serious. The intensity in his eyes caused your breath to catch in your throat, but with a somewhat defeated sigh, he dropped his eyes from you to the still-playing TV. As Indiana swooped down with his lady-love in his arms, Sam pursed his lips; his eyes narrowing in deep thought. "I'm not good at this," He muttered, and you could tell that he was speaking more to himself than anyone else.

Your brows furrowed, "At what?"

Sam hesitated for a few moments, before speaking. "Love," He explained, his brown eyes boring into yours, causing you to blink once, twice. "I've been in love before, Y/N, but... I've never felt anything like what I do towards you. It's hard for me to put words to my feelings, but... I guess what I'm trying to say is..." He trailed off, not knowing how to continue. "You make me want to be that 'settle down' type of guy, sweetheart." You swallowed thickly at his confession.

You suddenly forgot how terrible you felt - forgetting about the stuffy nose, the sore throat, and your aching muscles - you simply focused on him. His gentle touch as his hand covered yours, his words echoing through your head as you gazed into those same deep brown orbs. His words made your insides melt, and your cheeks flushed. You felt yourself falling deeper and deeper, and deeper. "Really?" You asked, you couldn't help yourself, letting out a small giggle; you felt your eyes tear up slightly.

"Yeah," Sam breathed, "Really." He repeated, reaching out to cup your warm cheek.

You sighed, "If I wasn't sick right now, I would kiss you," You stated honestly, feeling a rush of excitement course through your veins as you stared into his eyes.

Sam grinned, narrowing his eyes playfully, "I don't mind getting sick, if it means kissing you,"

You couldn't help but laugh, before turning away swiftly to let out a rough cough into the sleeve of your elbow. "First thing when I'm better, how about that?" You suggested, looking back up at him, unable to keep your wide smile off of your face.

Sam chuckled lightly, looping his arm back around your shoulders, the both of you settling back to watch the rest of the Indiana Jones movie, "I'll hold you to that."

---

Main Masterlist | Uncharted Masterlist

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Day 13- Oral { Female Receiving }

Fandom: Uncharted 4 / Uncharted: The Lost Legacy.

Character: Samuel ‘Sam’ Drake

Warnings: Oral { receiving }, light fingering.

Digging your nails into the sheets, you did your best to bite back a moan. You can feel the man’s smirk against your inner thigh, his thumb slowly rubbing your clit.

“Come on Princess. I know you, you don’t gotta hold back. I wanna hear you scream.”

Shivering, you let your eyes glance over at the man bucking your hips against his fingers. “You’re such an ass.”

Grinning, Sam pinned you hips against the bed as he worked his fingers in your warmth. “Don’t worry darlin, I’ll make you be screamin my name soon enough.”

You want to scoff though the only thing that spills from your lips is a moan as you feel his tongue slide across your slit. Another gasp left your lips as you bucked you hips, a playful chuckle coming from Sam as he placed your legs over his shoulders.

“You know beautiful, it’s gonna be hard tearing my gaze off you when you’re lookin so good.” Grinning, Sam then gave your slit a slow lick keeping your hips firmly in place.

“Sam.” You turned your head away, your hands now digging into his shoulders.

“It’s hot, seein you like this. Moanin for me, gettin reading to come.” Sam shifted his body against the bed as he buried himself between your legs, his tongue pushing inside of you.

Your hands tangling into his hair as your back arches off the bed. “Fuck,” you moan.

You can feel Sam grin as he does it again. With his tongue inside of you, his thumb returns to your clit, making your body convulse uncontrollably. Your heart pounding in your chest as you gripped his host tightly. Your hips grinding against the movement of his tongue.

Your moans echoing through out the room, your eyes squeezed tightly shut.Your orgasm is building again, and this time you don’t say anything. Last thing you want is for him to stop. With each lick and swipe of his tongue you inch closer to the finish line. The moans and swears cannot be helped as you begged Sam for more.

Darting his tongue in and out, Sam started to suck your clit helping you reach your orgasm. As the man sucked your clit he started to work his in and out of your pussy brushing your walls and soon your were coming.

Your walls clenching around his fingers, your juices soaking the man’s face as he with drew himself away from your soaked pussy.

Running his thumb across his lips, Sam could still taste you on the tip of his tongue. Crawling on top you you, small shudder ran through your body feeling the man’s erection against your thigh.

“The nights not over yet beautiful. I’m just gettin started.”

[snaileer]

You Don’t Know Me

“We’re so glad you’re showing an interest in our work here, Mr. Wayne!”

“Of course! It’s just all so new!” Bruce said through a hollow laugh, “It’s almost unbelievable!”

“Believing in ghosts is the first step to finally getting rid of them!”

Bruce fought to keep his face flat as the director enthusiastically continued his tour of their facility.

Their ghost hunting facility.

Where they had funded and government sanctioned labs purely for the persecution of an entire inter-dimensional species.

“-Truly, the Drs.Fenton were an inspiration to the entire field of ectobiology! We wouldn’t know half the things we know about ghosts if it wasn’t for their early research!”

Bruce forced a thin smile, “Oh? Will I get to meet them? Or can I at least see some of their work?”

The man faltered almost imperceptibly, “Ah well.. that might be a bit, Fentons can be a bit.. overzealous and-“

“I’m sure it would go a long way to understanding the need for such a large facility. If it’s worth it even, perhaps I could fund an expansion…” Bruce let his voice trail off.

The man’s eyes sharpened at the mention of his financials- of course, what more could you expect from a shark who’d joined an operation like this- and the man quickly smiled.

“But of course Mr. Wayne!” He turned around, leading them towards an elevator, “Our labs are just downstairs, easy access you know, and well.. with any new specimens it’s always best to start right away!”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. They already had subjects? Their reports, their research had indicated they weren’t there yet, but if they were, this could quickly turn into a rescue mis-

“-It’s an absolute honor that we even have one of the Fenton’s themselves working with us!” Bruce sharpened his senses, one of them was here? The people who had laid every base for a hateful crusade against another dimension, all for their own ambition?

“Our labs are right through here,” the director said as he pushed open a door, “Dr. Fenton is working with our prize specimen right now, I’m sure!”

Bruce quickly scanned and analyzed the entire room. Testing tubes, jars filled with green, centrifuges, a sample fridge, glassware, plenty of counter space, all taken up by various tools and materials. And standing in front it was the reason for it all, dressed in a white lab coat over garish latex.

He turned around as they entered, “You know me too well, Director,” the young man spoke, ignoring the green splattered over his gloves, “My work with him isn’t finished yet.”

“Mr.Wayne, meet our frontier scientist, Dr. Daniel Fenton.”

Bruce Wayne scanned the young man, no older than 26, with a height similar to his own and shoulders only barely less.

A scientist. An unknown. A threat.

Fenton smiled at him, “Tell me Mr.Wayne,” Daniel said, and his smile went sharp, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

[iwmflbb]

[trappednyourheart]

A family visit

Alfred has been granted (Force) by the bats a week off, and whatever way would he do in a week?, visit his Father of course!

Alfred didn't really have a word into this, he only just been given (forced) a week off, he reason with the family ( it always works) but to his surprised! None of it came through there heads! ( Somehow they got lucky from Alfred's reasonable scolding)

What about the manor? Who would care of it? Who would assist? What will happen if-

How many times he reason and tried to budge it in there minds, none of it work?

Alfred is in horror, so the only thing he can only do is accept, remind them what's not do and do, (every single details) or atleast the common things to do, which he thinks they can handle it- if not, if he sees the house in shambles or in the news, he can now have a reason to not always take a weeks off.

In Alfred's room, he was packing some pairs of clothes, a coat, a medical kit, pairs of shoes, a book, his dark shawl that is covered with a lots of constellation's from his papa's gifts, (he always take good care of it when he left on his own, he couldn't leave his shawl even in the time of his work,) and whatever he needs.

He decided to visit and have his week's off to his papa's, it's been quite a long time ( maybe 60 years or so-)

It's not like he was an absent son, he was just busy, he would occasionally send letters or his baked cookie's ( he's own recipe but still came from papa's original treats).

The Batfam does know Alfred had a dad who's still alive?( Which the kids would joke about how his dad is immortal) outside his life here in Gotham as the only staff in the Wayne manor.

While they were chilling in the living room, they could see Alfred heading towards the door, before he stop and took out a letter, and as he did a ring in the bell could be heard, Alfred open the door, and greeted..

The mailman? ( A very hardworking ghost mailman, just saying “Jolly ho!- how may I help send! Deliver, or even package international!” which Alfred replying “International please, for in this ### #### ## address, I need it quickly delivered through his doorsteps” then the Mailman just nodded, Alfred payed him and he just disappeared)

And Alfred sighs in relief and went to get his luggage, and bid the Batfam goodbye without even explaining what was happening (Bruce dropped his newspaper)

They might had ideas Alfred wasn't human or normal, but after that bombshell, they just can't stop the urge to find out ( like the usual thing the Batfam does, but only minimal like just knowing where he went and they wanted to have Alfred privacy)

Alfred was on his way to his papa's home very much missing the feeling of home in Britain now it's been quite a long time almost but he's getting second thoughts, what would his papa think?

( and yes, hes dad was wealthy, and through family too, He lived in a manor too,

which was a very old money manor, cause Danny? he's literally the ghost king)

Alfred decided he got this, so he took a step and took a deep breath In the front door of the home he loved and cared for in his childhood, knocking three times and the only thing he imagined is that his papa would give him a big warm hug like old times when Alfred would visit once a while before he truly left home.

The bats were in disguise, well partially disguise, the british neighbors nearby can see them looking at them like there were weird (stalking is not a healthy way...sometimes) And how can they even see them?! There literally in a camouflage!!

They saw how Alfred took a step, and knock three times...the door open and there they saw- a kid? Wait what? The black haired and blue teenager might be 16 who looks like could be adoption bait look surprised and happy and he give Alfred a hug, and Alfie just return the gesture, they were having a conversation, they couldn't here it because they were out of range and no hearing gadgets ( damn it Bruce)

Then Alfred and the teen went back to the house, and the door could only shut blocking there view of Alfred and the teen.

[pinklotushere]

If you're feeling heroes

Infinite Realms: Danny Phantom x DC x Marvel AU

Ok Background set-up:

Tim Drake, convinced that Bruce Wayne is still alive, leaves Gotham to search for him, following the path of what he believes are key "historical events." His journey takes him to the desert, where he and his friends discover mysterious runes.

But instead of death befalling his team, the runes turn out to be a veil between dimensions, and they are accidentally sucked into the Infinite Realms—a multiversal space where ghosts, spirits, and lost souls wander.

>>> The Infinite Realms:

The Infinite Realms are vast, uncharted, and connected to every universe, spanning an infinite number of realities.

It's a place of eternal unrest for souls who can not settle, their energy scattered across the realms.

Ghost King Danny phantom oversees this expanse, helping souls who are unable to find peace. His primary task is to evaluate and guide the dead, but things get complicated when some souls have unstable or underdeveloped cores, making them restless or dangerous.

Meanwhile, Vlad Masters (Plasmius) has been secretly aiding Ra’s al Ghul in the mortal world, providing ectoplasm (which functions as Lazarus water in this universe) to Ra’s, in exchange for the loyalty of Ra’s dead assassins. Vlad’s ultimate goal? To usurp Danny and take the throne of the Infinite Realms for himself.

On the other side of the multiverse, thanos snaps his fingers and 50% of the people turns to dust , Peter Parker and half of humanity has been sucked into the soul stone, they dont die though,It just causes a ripple in the fabric of the multiverse, their souls arrive in the Infinite Realms.

but Peter’s left deeply resentful, confused, and struggling with an unstable core

Someone, either Frostbite or Clockwork, takes notice of Peter’s arrival and brings him to Danny for evaluation. As usual, Danny’s focus is on making sure the new arrivals don’t cause trouble, which is complicated by his deep dislike of paperwork (he’s great at physics and biochem, but don’t ask him about statistics).

Danny is swamped with the paperwork for new arrivals when Peter walks in. His appearance is unexpected—he looks like someone who should have settled, but instead, his core is unsteady and kn the verge of chattering.

Peter’s unhelpful attitude only complicates things further. Danny is immediately concerned.

Peter, a genius by nature, peeks at Danny's paperwork and recognises the problem with Danny's administrative mess and offers a solution. Danny, impressed and possibly a bit desperate, hires Peter on the spot to help with the duties of the Ghost Zone.

As things progress, Peter grows more comfortable in the Ghost Zone, though he’s reluctant to fully settle.

Danny starts offering him more and more outrageous jobs in an attempt to keep Peter nearby and help with his unstable core.

What starts as offering him a simple assistant job escalates into more absurd roles—secretary, concubine, king regent, you name it.

Danny will do anything to keep Peter around because he feels Peter’s the key to fixing the realms—and his heart.

Peter, while impressed by Danny's devotion, is wary of the increasingly bizarre proposals. His love language, however, is acts of service, and he appreciates the lengths Danny is willing to go to help him.

Meanwhile, Tim Drake is trying to blend in with the League of Assassins' ghosts in order to track down clues about Bruce.

He quickly learns that Vlad is controlling the assassins, and, much to his disbelief, Plasmius wants to dethrone Danny.

Tim has access to Danny’s historical records, and after sneaking into the archives (probably under Clockwork’s watchful eye), he realizes that Danny is by far the best leader the Infinite Realms have seen in millennia.

Tim starts to believe in Danny’s leadership—and in his own chance to make a difference.

Tim's plan is an easy two steps:

1. Break the assassins free from Vlad’s control.

2. Go to Danny and explain Vlad’s plans, hoping Danny will be indebted and help him return home to Gotham. But, Tim, ever the tactician, also knows that if he takes down Vlad, he could demand Bruce’s return as part of the bargain.

Tim’s plan goes awry when he’s blasted with ectoplasm during an altercation, which leaves him vulnerable to the strange aura of the realms. His life force begins to drain, and he’s rushed to Frostbite’s domain for care. Panic sets in because his plan isn’t completed, and the pressure causes him to blurt out that he’s come to propose a deal to Danny. But he fumbles the words, not realizing what he’s implying.

The misunderstanding spirals out of control. Tim believes he’s asking Danny for an alliance, but Danny’s court interprets this as Tim proposing marriage. In a frantic attempt to clarify things, Danny blurts out that he’s already in a courtship—with Peter.

Tim, confused but intrigued, takes one look at Peter (the “pretty boy” in question) and casually says, “I don’t mind sharing.”

In the Infinite Realms, relationships of this nature are binding—and the realms themselves interpret Tim’s words as consent to begin the courtship process. Now, Danny is trapped in a situation where, if he doesn't follow through with the courtship (and marriage), his core could shatter, causing the Realms to collapse.

Danny, now trying to keep his new “court” intact, is caught in an increasingly complicated political and personal web. He has to decide his feelings for both Peter and Tim while also trying to maintain control of the Infinite Realms. The Ghost Zone’s stability is at stake, and there’s the looming threat of Vlad’s power grab.

As the stakes get higher, Tim, Peter, and Danny form an unlikely alliance. Tim continues to investigate Vlad’s manipulation of the assassins, and Peter starts to use his genius to help stabilize Danny’s leadership—and potentially help them figure out a way to stop Vlad. And danny? Danny falls hard

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Headcannons about them with an anxious SO? Love your stuff x

Thank you, friend! Now, in full canonical honesty, I don’t believe that either Nathan or Sam would be particularly good at dealing with their deeper anxiety, let alone someone else’s, let alone someone else’s who they loved dearly and would only be afraid to make it worse (that many crumbling bridges and a guy’s gotta if consider his only superpower is the ability to destroy everything he touches) for most of their young lives. 

However, I do believe that post-UC4 (perhaps a little earlier for Nathan), and a good dose of necessary therapy (paid for in pirate coins, of course)--- they’d be more than willing to finally take on the challenge. 

For themselves, and for the person they love more than anything.

Drakes with an Anxious S/O Headcanons

Nathan:

In his younger days, the prince of the awkward smile and half-hearted clap on the back. A pulley doll whose only catchphrases were “Man, that’s hard”, “Yeah. Yeesh.”, and “Soooo, I guess this would be a bad time for a joke, huh?”. Scurries to the bathroom as soon as they’re not in tears anymore, and stays there for as long as it takes to stop hearing the residual sobs.

However, his late 30s and 40s bring him a much healthier perspective (and therapy— Jesus, finally) and being the smarty pants he is, he passes on no opportunity to put his new skills and knowledge to use.

That playfulness and desire to find the lightness in even the hardest situations never leaves him at any age, though.

A panic attack? “‘Is something… wrong with you’? You realize you’re talking to the guy who accidentally destroys ancient temples for a living, as an archaeologist? And I still consider myself a not so bad guy. So in my eyes, you’re basically a lesser known Mesopotamian god.”

Got a bad grade? “A D in Psychometrics? I don’t know, sounds like they don’t know anything about math if they’re using a letter to grade you. Maybe they should go get their teaching certificates checked. Hey, how ‘bout I just draw you a PhD myself? You know I have an eye for art.” 

Dealing with shitty parents? Landlord? Roommates? Exes who won’t leave you the fuck alone? “What? That buffoon? Guy who can’t even spell their own name right? That asshole isn’t worth a thought of a thought of a thought in your head. Pretty sure they haven’t had a thought in their own head since 1996.”

As soon as the first wide-toothed smile is won, he’s leaning into his partner with a secretive smirk: “Ya wanna get the hell out of here?” 

Because distractions always helped him before. 

Will act especially gentlemanly, and theatrically play it up, while taking their partner for a frozen yogurt, antique shop, Target trip, public park, laser tag (yes, really) decompress. Bows when he opens the car door for them. Pays for everything. Calls them ‘your majesty’ for the entirety of the excursion.

All he wants is to get them to smile. And he’s not stopping until he sees it. 

When the night creeps in and his S/O starts to lose steam, Nathan’s own worry grows more obvious, though he tries his best to keep it to himself. 

Watches them with wide eyes. Gives them space, but still asks every few minutes if they need a cup of water. No? Tea? Arnold Palmer? Popsicle? Massage? Hot Pocket? Sexy pillow fight? However many it takes to make his partner laugh again. But he fully means every offer he gives.

Says nothing as he helps them undress and into their PJs. Touches are tender and intimate, gently rubs their shoulders and neck. Never too hard, never too direct. Plays the friendly ghost and lets their partner take the lead, but never, ever just sits around to watch.

Makes them a beverage of some sort, even if they say no. Hot lemonade with honey is his personal homecure. Says yellow is a happy color, so it must be good for you.

And right before they turn the lights out, Nate timidly offers— with a shy, trying chuckle— if they want him to read them a bedtime story. 

Somehow shocked every time they say yes. Mumbles something self-derogatory about himself (“Ya know, not the best actor, but—” “Personally I think I have the voice of a dying goose, but—”) before sitting on the nearest surface and cracking open a book.

If he’s still feeling a little awkward, will uneasily ask if they wanna hear what he’s been reading lately, and will do so if asked— but really wants to read the pirate storybooks his mother read to him and Sam when they were kids.

It always made him feel better when the world felt too big, too scary, too cruel. 

So he wants to share it with the person he loves. 

He wants to share everything with the person he loves.

And without even asking, goes to the medicine cabinet and brings them a tablet of whatever they need when the anxiety gets especially bad, and says “I know, it’s scary. But we’ve been through scary before, right?” with a kiss on the cheek as they swallow it down with a sip of lemonade.

Lingers, eyes down, and vaguely nods to nobody as he stands and walks to the door.

“Want me… uh, want me to keep reading to you?” But he offers before he can even get past the door frame. 

“Do you want me to want you to keep reading to me?” 

And the last thing he wants to see is his love, alone. The idea of them crying beneath the covers because they were too afraid to burden him with it, too afraid to be seen. Everything he felt he had to do when he was 6 and his mother “passed”, age 9, 10, 11, 12 after a black eye, the words that his brain told him wrong: spoken aloud by the playground bullies he feared he’d never be stronger than. 

But he knew they were wrong. The bullies were wrong. The ones in his brain. The ones in theirs.

“Yes.” He replies without missing a beat. 

And he makes sure to hold their hand in his free one until the second they fall asleep… and a few hours after, just to be safe.

The next morning they fucking better expect breakfast in bed— and he maybe, just maybe, might even be willing to spring for McDonald’s, if that’s what they want. As long as they promise to eat actual fruit after. And hell, maybe even a vegetable or two when he makes dinner that night. Did you know that eating right and exercise are actually primary solutions to poor mental health—? That’s what Dr. Dorian said— No, potatoes don’t count as a vegetable— no, especially not if it’s fried— NO, FRENCH FRIES DON’T COUNT, BABY—

Sam:

Sam takes a bit longer to warm up to discussing anxiety than Nathan does, mostly due to struggling so deeply with it on his own. It’s not like prisoners (or Shoreline guards) made the most comforting companions. 

The better he could keep secrets, the less he could reveal, the safer he’d be.

So it makes sense that it’s both his greatest strength and weakness when it comes to emotionally turbulent times. 

In his younger, more avoidant years, he’d be the first to leave the room, leave the building, hell, sometimes even leave the city after a particularly heavy cry or confrontation with his then-partner. Only to come back the next morning and act like nothing ever happened. 

But now, he doesn’t run. After prison, after Rafe, after Madagascar, all he wants is to be allowed to stay. To be wanted to stay by someone who loves him. 

Is happiest to just sit with you in the silence. His biggest skill is his ability to weather the storm. And whether you need to scream bloody murder, or need to sit and decompress and just fucking feel, but can’t do it alone, Sam’s there. Listening. 

Once you’re done talking, he takes one last, long drag of his cigarette, stubs it out onto the pavement, and asks simply: “So do you want solutions… or something else, sweet’art?” 

You can see in his eyes— darting less than solid, certain against your own— that he really means it, in every way that he was too afraid to when he was younger.

The wonderful and terrifying thing about having anxiety while Sam is there is that it’s a vulnerable experience for the both of you. He’s learning, discovering, trying right along with you. And he may not be able to lift you up so easily, but he’ll be able to sink into the dark places with you, and not be afraid to see what’s down there. 

And maybe seeing someone he loves so deeply, sees as so beautiful, so smart, so kind, so wonderful, so absolutely perfect to him feel the same ways he does about himself… maybe it makes him think that he’s not as terrible as his brain tells him, either. 

Helps you take action by letting himself (finally) not be the smart one: “When ya… get like this, what do you usually do first, sweet’art? Paint me a pit’chure.” Gives you complete control, and smiles softly when you wipe your tears and the logical, the archaeological mind awakens. Mimics unraveling an ancient map when you begin to explain, and you inadvertently hiccup out a laugh. 

At times, it’ll feel like he’s trying to run again, but when he stands up and walks across the room— he always returns. This time with your favorite of his jackets, the denim one that smells like him even though he just cleaned it, and drapes it protectively over your shoulders. Clasps his palm at the back of your neck and rubs out the knot he always finds there. Smiles toothy and wide when your words are broken up by sighs of relief. Only to be filled once again with silence, gazes meeting sweet and safe. 

“Remember Indonesia?” He offers with a smirk, despite your furrowed brow.

“I guess? What about—?” 

“I read the runes’ instructions and ran us in circles all around Bali, only to reread the transcript and realized I got three letters completely wrong. J—V—A. Java. It was goddamn Java the entire time.” 

“Your point being?” 

He smiles and shrugs. Trying. Maybe he’s wrong, a foreigner in some ancient, uncertain land, but he tries.

“Sometimes our brains are just wrong.” He tries for you. “That’s all.”

You sniffle, and he leans in to press a prickly kiss to your cheek. His jacket is still warm from the dryer, wafting with the residual sting of cigarette, Old Spice Captain, cheap mouthwash, even cheaper aftershave, and something else completely unnameable. 

And maybe some others would think the scent appalling, but it’s the strangeness, the specificity, and yes, the stank— everything that makes Sam him— that makes you love it. Love him. The depth. The difference. 

The pain, and what he chose to do with it. 

Another kiss, this time down your neck. This time, the sigh of relief is his own.

What he chose to change it into. 

“So… any chance sex therapy might be a thing?” He asks grinningly.

“Why don’t we find out, ‘sweet’art’?”

[igotanidea]

Goddess : multifandom imagine

MINORS DNI!

Suggestive content but nothing explicit. Just a touch starved and shy yet craving intimaty f!s/o

***

„You’re shaking.” he whispered watching her trembling figure next to him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about… “ she mumbled, her gaze focused on the floor, then on the wall, then back on the floor. Anywhere but on him.

“Don’t you now?” he grabbed her chin making her look straight into his eyes “Talk to me, baby. What’s going on?”

“I…..” she stuttered not able to form a full sentence.

“Yes?” that knowing smirk on his face was not helpful at all.

“I need you….. I…..I need your touch…..”

“Like this?” he cupped her cheek  gently and brushed a thumb over it. Poor girl immediately closed her eyes, becoming red, her blushing turning him on.

“No…. I mean, yes, but…..”

“Like this….?” he continued, his other hand traveling up her leg, skimming her thigh and resting on her hip, playing with the hem of her shirt. “Tell me…..” he whispered in her ear, making her breath heavy.

“Please……” she whimpered desperately. She wanted more. So much more.

“I need your words, honey. What exactly do you need?”

This was inhumane. He knew precisely how he was affecting her, making her hot, wet and needy. A mess in his arms even if he barely did anything. That bastard was aware of how touch starved and shy with physical intimacy she was and was using it only to his advantage.

“Please…..” she tried again, almost at the verge of tears “please, kiss me….”

“All right, sweetie.” he pulled her closer by the waist, placing that aching for his touch figure in his lap and captured her lips in his, kissing her gently, slowly, passionately, one hand in her hair, the other on the small of her back. Safe and secure in his embrace. So perfect against his chest. So perfect in his loving grip. Genuine smile formed on his face when her hands sneaked up his arms and shoulders and locked on his neck pulling him closer, like he was her air, her anchor, her everything. She was so needy and so afraid to admit it. A sign of troubled past and previous bad relationships. “Do you like it?” he moved to suck on her neck making her moan and arch her back to him.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop. Please……”

“Don’t worry babygirl. I still got a lot I want to teach you about pleasure.” He carefully changed position, so now she was underneath him. He had no intention of hurting her. Ever. Only showing his love for that blushing beauty who was his. “Just tell me if it’s too much and if you want to stop, all right?”

“Mhm…...” she muttered, her mind consumed by the view of his strong, toned body hovering over hers, moaning when he took off his shirt. All his attention was focused on her as he slowly started to peel her tank top, leaving her bare and exposed to him. “Please…..”

“I love you…..” he panted not able to control himself anymore “Let me please you…..” and with such words he began his mission to worship her and her body.

His goddess.

[nox140497]

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[fvckingthirsty]

I’m so late omg!! I went to bed, bc I wasn’t feelings well…. BUT!! I’m going to post gifs for the girlies/lads of what’s to come for this year!! May you all enjoy and if you want someone specific, let me know and give me characteristics to know the character and embody them right! LOVE YOU!!

Upcoming 2025 batch:

There will be romance, dark romance, enemies to lovers(?), and then some…. 🥹

I’ll be organizing everything throughout the time I have to make sure the links and things are set up for you guys to access!

Thank you for the love and the follows!! LOVE YOU ALL GREATLY!! 🤍🤍 (I hit the tag limit)

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Out Of The Darkness, And Into Your Arms - Sam Drake X Female Reader

Title: Out Of The Darkness, And Into Your Arms

Sam Drake X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's friend one, Reader's friend two, Nathan, Elena (Mentioned), Sully (Mentioned), Rafe (Mentioned), Alcazar (Mentioned), and Bar jerk

Loosely inspired by: 'I'm So Tired' by Lauv and Troye Sivan

WC: 6,390

Warnings: Uncharted 4 canon violence mentioned, Uncharted 4 canon events/storyline, Sam's death, italics used, cursing, crying, nightmares mentioned, bars, alcohol, drugs mentioned, guy at bar harrasses/annoys Reader briefly, blood briefly mentioned, brief mention of mental health/depression, nicknames, slightly suggestive, angst, and fluff

"Come on, Y/N, just try." Your friend placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping your pacing. 

You threw your hands up in the air, "I have been trying." You huffed, glancing at your friend as you tugged at your hair in frustration. "I have been trying - for fifteen years. But you don't understand how damn hard it is." You gently pushed past your friend and moved over to the couch, sitting down. 

As you covered your face with your hands, your friend let out their sign. "I know that it's hard. I truly do. I may not know the full extent of everything, but I'm so sorry for what happened."

"It's not your fault," You whispered, taking a deep breath, dragging your hands down your face, making your cheeks burn slightly; "It's mine."

"No, it’s not, Y/N." They quickly sat next to you, putting an arm around your shoulders, "You didn't know what was going to happen."

You shook your head, looking up at your friend, "I watched him fall." You felt tears sting at the corners of your eyes, "I tried to help Nate but we couldn't hold on..." You stared down at your shaking hands. You could still see the look on Sam’s face when he got shot - the blood - and you could still remember the feeling of his hand slipping from yours before he fell down the side of the building. You remember the shock, the horror; the complete and total shuttering dread that filled and chilled your bones. You couldn’t hear the bullets piercing through the air near you, Rafe, and Nate’s bodies on the rooftop. You couldn’t even feel the bullet as it grazed your arm… You couldn’t even hear Nate as he yelled out to you, nor did you feel his hand as it grabbed you. The dread… The feeling of the adrenaline, and your heart breaking into millions of pieces, were overwhelming as you followed Nate. You wished you stayed… Maybe Sam was alright. Maybe you could’ve saved him… But the blood - his blood - you couldn’t think about it anymore. You couldn’t think about Sam anymore, but it was hard not to think about him constantly. He was always on your mind. You stared at your hands, your mind imagining Sam’s blood on them before you clenched them, your nails digging uncomfortably into your palms; creating crescent-shaped divots. "I should've done something." You took a shaky, deep breath, "I should have stopped him from falling."

Your friend gave you a sympathetic smile, pulling you closer to their side. "But you couldn't, Y/N. You are only human. The only thing we could do was move forward."

"Yeah, I know… That’s what everyone tells me." You sighed deeply, leaning your head onto your friend's shoulder, "...It just hurts." You admitted after a moment, "Every day I think about him... How scared he must have been..." You trailed off, letting your words drift away into nothingness; your hand mindlessly drifted up to the scar on your upper arm, your fingers brushing over the sleeve of your shirt, the scar was slightly raised beneath it. 

They didn't say anything for a few moments until your friend spoke again, "I know, but that's why moving on is going to be good for you. Going out and about in the world, meeting new people... Get your mental health back on track."

"I've been trying, you know I've been trying. But it's been fifteen years and I still love him." You looked up to meet their gaze, tears slowly spilling from your eyes. “And I never got the chance to tell him.”

"I know." They nodded, their voice soft. "I know. That hasn't changed. But you can't live like this. Please, Friday, just go out with us... Just try and have some fun."

"I'll try..." You sniffled, wiping away the stray tears, "But if things start going south, then I'm coming straight home." 

They laughed softly, squeezing your shoulder, "Fair enough." They reached forward and pulled you into a hug, "So... Friday?"

You smiled sadly, hugging back, "Yeah, Friday."

Giving your friend one last smile, you said your 'goodnights' before shutting your door. The moment the door clicked shut, you sighed. Leaning forward, you shut your eyes as you pressed your forehead against the cool wooden surface of the door. Your chest began to tighten as the dam eventually broke, and your tears quickly fell down your cheeks.

Sobs racked through your body as your arms wrapped around yourself, holding tightly to your ribs. A small whimper escaped your lips as you sank down against your door, clutching your knees to your chest as you dug your chin into yourself, muffling your sobs. 

After what felt like hours, your cries eventually quieted. Exhaustion seeped into your limbs as you slipped against the door, finding purchase on the ground; burying your face in your arms as you just curled up on the cold floor. You tried to shut up your brain, trying to force yourself not to think about Sam, or the night you lost him... But you couldn't stop yourself from remembering every detail. 

Every time that you thought about Sam, it hurt more and more each time. The pain never dulled, never numbed... You remembered how his eyes sparkled whenever he talked about his adventures in Italy and Brazil. You loved how they sparkled that same sparkle - that same passion - when he showed off the treasures he had found during those adventures; the same went for when he told you about Sir Francis Drake. It made you miss him even more. You'd never hear his stories again. You'd never hear his voice again; that deep, thick Boston accent. You'd never get lost in his chocolate-brown eyes again, or try and count the small freckles on his cheeks before losing track. You'd never get to hold him again… Listen to his steady heartbeat... Or tell him that you loved him... 

Sam… You'd never get to tell him. You never got to say it back to him.

~~~

The blankets shifted as you shuffled closer to Sam, your arm falling over his chest as you cuddled into his side. Sam laid there with you, his hand caressing the soft, warm skin of your back. You, Sam, and Nate had traveled to Spain to find some old pirate treasure of a notorious female pirate of the eighteen hundreds. You and Sam were in your motel room, relaxing after a long day roaming through forests and hiking up mountains. It was nice to finally be able to relax, and have some downtime. You loved adventures - treasure hunting - but it was nice to take a break. No hot weather, no dirt under your fingernails, or running away from treasure-hunting competitors. Just you and Sam, enjoying a peaceful night together. 

Sam chuckled suddenly, causing your eyelids to flutter open. "What's so funny, Sammy?" You asked, glancing up at him.

He smiled, "I'm just thinking about that movie," He glanced at the TV, a soft glow emanating from it; showing the credits rolling. "I liked it."

You matched his smile, "Well, I am happy you liked it. It is one of my favorites." Your fingers played with the edge of the blanket that laid upon Sam's stomach, "I told you bringing a movie with us would be helpful."

Sam hesitated, his mouth opening and closing before opening again, "About this morning... I- uh, it probably wasn't the best time to tell you... Ya'know, when we were getting shot at." Sam tried to joke, but his words sounded awkward even to his own ears.

You hummed, biting your lip briefly, "Sam, I-"

"You don't have to say it back," Sam spoke, interrupting you, "I don't want you to say it when you're not ready."

You felt your face flush, Sam had told you he loved you that morning. Multiple bullets were being shot at you, and both you and Sam were barricaded behind a crumbling wall of an old castle. Sam was right, the situation you two were in wasn’t exactly ideal. But after Sam watched you single-handedly take down three of your competitor's goons; he had to tell you. The sight of you taking those goons down, it was amazing - he couldn’t take his eyes off you, couldn’t keep his focus off the way the sunlight hit you, making the light dance across your features. Your hair was messy, sweaty strands sticking to your forehead, you were breathing heavily, yet you still managed to pull your gun out from its holster and shoot another two goons dead. You did it so flawlessly, it was breathtaking. And by the time you were beside him again, racing to find Nate, Sam just blurted it out. You were shocked, yes, but before either of you could say anything, you had found Nate and the three of you were off to Spain; a piece of an artifact in hand.

"Thank you," You whispered quietly, pressing a kiss to Sam's cheek, smiling at him.

He smiled at you gently, wrapping his arms around you. "Of course," He mumbled, before placing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

~~~

Your eyes widened as you jolted upright, and your heart raced, before swiftly looking around your living room, breathing heavily as you realized you must have fallen asleep. The depression seeped in again, and you let out a small sniffle. You wondered if you'd ever feel better, but it had been fifteen years. Fifteen years of just... Drifting? Living? No, you weren't living, and you knew that Sam would've wanted you to live. You didn't know what you were doing. And you were scared that these feelings weren't ever going away. Looking up at your window, the sun was already low in the sky; it seemed you had slept for a good couple of hours - yet, you were still tired. 

~~~

The bar was loud, and the moment you entered it, you regretted ever leaving your house. Yes, you had gone out, but to stores or to the mall when you felt like it. You felt incredibly out of place, even though, years ago, you used to frequent bars with... Sam. You used to be the life of the party, but things changed; you changed.

You couldn't even remember the last time you went into a bar after what happened. After what happened, you and Nate - along with Elena and Sully - stuck together; for the most part. Soon, Elena and Nate got married, it was a beautiful wedding, and the both of them quit their adventuring. You lost contact with Victor not long after. You spoke to Nate on the phone often, and both he and Elena visited when they could; and vice versa. 

Your two friends practically dragged you by the arms further into the bar, snapping you out of your thoughts as you felt the tingling feeling of anxiety coursing through you. You were not ready for this at all. Your friends then found a booth near the small dancefloor, and before you knew it, you were stuck sitting in between your two friends.

"I might get a martini," Your friend, the one that comforted you in your home, spoke.

"You always get a martini. I'm going to try something new, maybe a bloody mary." Your second friend spoke, before turning to you, "What are you getting?"

You shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in your seat on the dark red, leather booth. "I don't know."

Your second friend gently nudged your shoulder, gaining your attention away from the wooden, circular table. They gave you an encouraging smile, "You got this. Just for tonight."

You tried to smile back at them before you watched the both of them head off to the bar on the other side of the large, dim-lighted room. You let out a sigh, before letting your gaze shift around the room, you were already growing tired of the music the bar was playing. You fiddled with your fingers in your lap, somewhat people-watching. It was a pretty crowded bar, with a good amount of people either at the bar, on the dancefloor, or at the booths eating. The bar was located more by your work, close to downtown. You had passed by it many times in your time living in the area, but you never went in. 

Your eyes snapped away from the people of the bar, your ears perked up to where you presumed a speaker was, hanging on the corner of the ceiling. The music, that had been playing throughout the short time that you were there, was ranging between pop, rock, and indie - had changed, changed into one song that you hadn't heard for a long time, and for a reason.

The song was a rock song, though it had some romantic elements mixed into it. It was made by a band from the eighties. A band you used to love - that Sam even liked. The song was your song. It was yours and Sam's song. 

You had first heard the song in your car. It was way before... Before what happened, but you and Sam had been driving away from somewhere, and the song just popped onto the radio. The song was something new, something neither you nor Sam had ever heard before. But as you sat there, listening to the lyrics, you couldn't help but think about Sam. The song spoke about two lovers, who had the power to speak without words. They could go through everything and anything. Their love could transcend all. There was more but the song resonated within your bones. 

Sam thought it was a bit cliche, but the more you insisted that it was your song for each other, the more Sam grew to love it. He never told you, but you knew. 

You bit your lip, your eyes dropping back down at the table, memories flooding your mind. Sam had given you a mixtape for your birthday, composed of your favorite songs. You remembered, a long time ago, listening to the song in the car; from your mixtape. You were singing along, somewhat obnoxiously, but you didn't care, you were having fun. You remembered when you pulled up to the red light, somewhere in the middle of nowhere - miles from home - when you turned to Sam. Your bright smile slowly faded upon seeing Sam's face. His expression was intense, but soft, as he looked directly into your eyes. The side of his face was illuminated by the streetlamp on the side of the road, highlighting his features beautifully. You could hardly take your eyes off him. 

It was like time stood still, and the world stopped spinning. The world only existed for that one moment, and for one single moment, nothing else mattered. No treasure hunting, no running from men with guns, no responsibilities. Nothing. It felt only natural when you both began to lean in, your heart beginning to race in your chest as Sam reached out with a hand, cupping your warm cheek. He closed the distance between you two as your eyes fluttered shut and you felt his lips press against yours. He tasted like cinnamon and smoke, and you loved it. You loved how his rough hands cupped your face, how the calluses of his thumbs felt as they brushed against the apples of your cheeks. You loved him... You loved him.

You blinked away the memories, a heavy feeling resting in your chest. That moment would forever stay with you. But, you were tired. You were tired of love songs, and you just wanted to go home. You wanted to go home and watch some comfort movie while eating takeout. You wanted to be alone. But, you knew that being out and about was probably good for you, as your friends had said many times before.

So, you slid yourself out of the booth, making your way to the bar; passing the dancefloor where you found your two friends dancing and having fun. Upon reaching the bar, you waved the bartender down, but before you could even reply with your drink, a deep voice answered for you.

"She'll have a vodka lime and soda." 

You briskly turned your head, coming face to face with a man in what seemed to be his late thirties. He was tall, had short, curly blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes that you could surprisingly make out within the dim light of the bar. He was attractive, yes, but with the way he was staring at you - ogling you - looking you up and down; there was just something about him that gave you an uneasy feeling in your gut. And you often trusted your gut; something that you learned to use when you used to treasure hunt. On top of that, he ordered a drink for you, choosing a drink for you, instead of politely asking to pay for your drink. 

You weren't at all in the mood for whatever bullshit he was going to pull, "I don't drink those." You replied simply, thankfully the bartender was still there, and you corrected the drink to one you preferred, before turning back to see that the man was still there, so you raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?" You weren't trying to be polite, and you were hoping the man would just see that you were not interested and just leave you alone. 

"Just admiring you," He finally spoke, his comment making you scoff, and roll your eyes. What? Were you some sort of museum piece? What did he want? He continued speaking, "The outfit you're wearing is gorgeous."

You stared at him with annoyance, not sure how to respond. Did he expect you to thank him? Because you wouldn't do that. Maybe you'd have to simplify your question. "What do you want?"

The man - that you still didn't have a name for, mind you - as if you wanted one - just gave you, what he probably believed was a charming smile. With a swish of a hand, he pushed the curly blonde hair from the side of his temple, "Can I not just admire someone as beautiful as you?" Honestly, this guy was reminding you of Prince Charming from 'Shrek'. And obviously not in a good way, you hated that guy.

"Go find someone else to admire - actually, no, how about you go home and not bother anyone else? Forever." The man, still with no name other than the idiot from 'Shrek,' just continued to smile, unbothered by your attitude. You briefly looked around the dancefloor, unable to spot your friends. 

"I quite like where I am right here." He continued, soon the bartender arrived with your drink, and you were quick to grab your drink; not wanting this guy to possibly drug you. "Unless you want to join me. My apartment is just down the street."

But at this point, this man was becoming insufferable. "Hell no," You took a quick sip of your drink. "Not interested. I have a boyfriend." You pursed your lips, the words had just slipped out, easily, subconsciously. You clenched your jaw, taking another sip; you wished the drink was stronger, but you didn't think they made anything strong enough to numb the pain you were feeling. And besides, that was unhealthy anyway. One drink for the night - maybe even two - was enough. You had a long day of work tomorrow and you didn't want to wake up with a massive headache. Though, you were beginning to get one the longer the man stood beside you. And the jerk was still staring at you. Weirdo. 

You could vaguely hear the man beside you talking, but you weren't paying attention. Your eyes wandered the bar, trying to spot your friends, checking the booth that you had been sitting at before your eyes landed on the dark corner of the bar; near the back door; a green neon sign locating the exit above it. Your eyes widening as you felt your hands shaking; you had to tighten your grip on your drink to stop yourself from possibly dropping it. There stood a figure. One that you could barely make out, but you knew that figure. You knew that stance. 

Feeling a hand on your arm, you snapped your gaze away from the corner, your eyes meeting the blue ones of the man, who was still beside you. Your expression completely soured, your eyes narrowing and your frown deepening. You stared daggers at him before grabbing his hand and taking it off of your arm. "Do not touch me." You practically growled, only for the man to smirk down at you.

"Awe, you're so cute when you're ang-" Before he could even finish his sentence, you left the bar. You were this close to punching him, and you would’ve loved to if you didn’t have the threat of the police being called on you if you did.

Spotting your friends next to a small group of people, you walked over, your friend turned to greet you; but upon seeing your expression, their smiles fell. "Gone south?" One asked, and you nodded, handing your other friend your drink.

"Gone south." You confirmed, before saying your 'goodbyes and thanks' before leaving the bar entirely. 

~~~

"Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while." That sentence seemed to echo through the TV screen, making you pause your chewing as you shuffled further back into the cushion of your couch. You watched as Westley and Buttercup lay in the green grass, in each other's arms; you placed your popcorn to the side.

"I'll never doubt again," Buttercup spoke, as Weastly just gazed down at her, with such admiration and true love.

You sighed as he spoke his line, "There will never be a need." Before he brought her in a long-awaited kiss.

You sighed once more, grabbing your large bowl of popcorn - mixed with M&Ms - resuming your eating. You loved 'The Princess Bride' but you hadn't watched it in a very long time. And, like most things in your life, it reminded you of Sam. You somewhat scolded yourself. It had been fifteen years, and you still felt the same as you did since the moment you watched Sam fall to his death. You wished that you could just un-miss him... But, you needed him. You needed him more than ever. 

Somedays were harder than others, and today was one of those days. The night before, you had gone to the bar with friends, and had to deal with that Prince Charming wannabe jerk - and then with that overwhelming thought that maybe Sam was there at the bar... No, you didn't see him. Your mind was just playing tricks on you. It was like that scene in another movie you liked, where the mother spoke that she saw her missing husband ten times a week, in a hundred different faces. You shook your head to clear it, letting a sigh escape your lips.

But that feeling, you couldn't shake it. You needed to tell someone about it. And there was only one person you could possibly talk about it with, that would totally understand.

Leaning over the side of the couch, you grabbed the TV remote; careful not to spill your popcorn and M&Ms. Pausing the movie, you grabbed your phone off the coffee table, replacing it with the bowl. Flipping open your flip phone - you never really got around to getting a new phone - you opened your contacts and called Nathan.

The phone rang a few times, before he answered, "Hello? Y/N?" He asked, and faintly you could hear the theme of 'Crash Bandicoot' before you assumed he paused it.

"Hey, Nathan," You felt yourself smile, "I'm sorry to call so late."

You heard him let out a sputtering chuckle, "Nah," He was probably shaking his head, "Not too late. I was just playing 'Crash Bandicoot.' What's up?" 

"Just checking up on you and E," You spoke, shifting on the couch, "Anything new going on?"

"Mmm, nope, not at the moment." Nate spoke with a short hum, "Still a salvager." He paused shortly, "What about you? What did you really call me about?"

You let out a somewhat awkward laugh, "Nothing! I just wanted to check up on you and Elena. It's been a while since I saw you both." You sighed, glancing over to the shelf beside your TV, spotting the picture frame featuring you, Nate, and Elena; you were all standing by the Colosseum in Rome - your birthday vacation. "I guess I just miss you guys."

"I miss you too, kid," Nate spoke, his voice soft, "I know Elena does too. She talks about you a lot. We've been planning to see if you are available to hang out sometime soon. Have dinner with us. Haven't seen you in like, what? A month?"

"Two, actually." You corrected with a small laugh, "And you know I am free whenever. I am my own boss, so..." You trailed off, and Nate laughed in return.

There was a short pause before he spoke again, "How are you?" He asked, and with that tone of his voice, you knew what he meant, but you played oblivious. 

"I'm doing great-"

"Y/N," He interrupted, and you huffed, "You know what I mean. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But, you know, talking about... Well, everything… It might help."

You glanced at the paused movie, "I know," You bit your lip, your eyes dropping on to your lap before you huffed again, but it turned out into more of a sigh, "Honestly, I am the same as I was since the beginning." You rolled your eyes at yourself, fiddling with the soft fabric of your throw blanket with your free hand, "I went out to the bar with some friends, and I thought-" You swallowed before continuing, "Can I just- Are you free tomorrow? Uh, before work? Can I just come see you? What I have to say might be easier face to face."

"Yeah," Nate answered, "Yeah, yeah, for sure."

"Thank you, Nate. I really hope I’m not bothering you or anything with this." You replied, your eyes closing momentarily, a slight frown on your face, before opening them as Nate spoke once more.

"No, it's totally fine, Y/N." His voice reassured you a bit, "I'll talk to you more tomorrow, okay?"

You felt yourself smile - an appreciative one - "Yeah, yeah… Thank you again, Nate. See you tomorrow."

Hanging up the phone, you tossed it to the side cushion, and grabbed the TV remote, unpausing your movie. 

~~~

Your fingers tapped against your car's steering wheel, not to any particular rhythm, nor to the song that was playing on the radio; just your nervous energy that wouldn't leave you alone. Stopping at a light, you blindly grab ahold of your water bottle, taking a quick sip before the light turns green. The drive to Nate's place of work was a good forty-five minutes from your house, so the drive wasn't terrible, and you considered yourself lucky that you didn't get stuck in traffic or something along those lines.

Pulling up into the driveway of the parking lot, you parked beside a red pickup truck, before letting out a sigh. Taking a few seconds, you flipped open the vanity mirror in your sun visor. Pausing, you glanced at the polaroid of Sam that you pinned to the inside of the sun visor. You and Sam had been in Egypt - looking for treasure as always - and you just decided to take a picture of him. The sun was setting, and you could just barely see one of the pyramids behind Sam's head. He looked so… Ethereal.

Fixing your hair somewhat, to at least look presentable, you hopped out of your car. The sun was already raising, and you had to take a minute just to admire the sunrise as you climbed up the stairs towards Nate's office. However, when you reached the top of the stairs, you froze. 

If your heart was beating, you couldn't feel it. All you could feel was the soft breeze that passed by you as you stared wide-eyed at the sight before you. You originally thought that you were seeing things again. But, as he turned to face you, a sort of apprehensive look on his face... You let out a breath - a sigh - that you didn't know you were even holding. 

His name was on the tip of your tongue, just at your lips, and yet, you couldn't force the words to pass through your mouth. Instead, you felt tears burn the backs of your eyes before they spilled over onto your cheeks as you quickly ran towards him. Sam staggered back as you crashed into him - wrapping your arms tightly around him; your hands gripping the denim martial of his jacket.

His arms wrapped tightly around you, squeezing you tighter as he buried his nose into the hair on the top of your head. You shut your eyes, your breathing coming out heavy as he kissed the top of your head softly, whispering your name; almost like a prayer.

You clung to him tighter, an overwhelming wave of relief and happiness flooding over you as you pulled away slightly; your fingers still clinging to the front of his jacket, the other resting on his chest. His heartbeat was the proof that he was real, that he wasn't just some grief-created hallucination; he was alive.

Meeting his chocolate-brown eyes, seeing that smile on his face... You finally found yourself able to speak, "You're alive," You reluctantly let go of him to wipe the tears from your eyes and cheeks, "But you fell…” You buried your face back into his chest, “It’s my fault, I should’ve- I should’ve held on tighter." Sam’s arms tightened around you, shaking his head.

“No, sweetheart, darling, none of this was ever your fault.” Sam let go of you to gesture to himself, “I’m fine, see?” He gave you a reassuring grin.

You nodded, brushing the tears from your cheeks, “I thought you were dead.” You gave him a smile, “But, I am so glad you’re home.”

Sam couldn't look away from you - after fifteen years, you continued to look as beautiful as ever; like a goddess. Sam missed you, so many nights in that prison, Sam had dreamed about you - some nights he even thought he heard your voice... And now that he was standing there, with you standing right in front of him, and all he wanted to do was pull you close to him again.

"So did I." A small grin stretched across his face as he took your hands in his, his thumbs gently rubbing against the tops of your palms as his gaze moved over your face. Honestly, he was still taking you in; it had been so long. 

"What happened?" You asked, your worried and confused eyes searching his as Sam let out a small chuckle, glancing at the sunrise before looking back over at you, he was about to speak, but you continued, "I mean, how did you get out? How did you get here? Nate called basically everyone, and everything led to you being dead, and now you're here, and you're alive. I grieved for you, and I even thought I saw you at the bar, but I think I was just going crazy, or maybe the stress of going out- nevermind that. Are you alright? I mean, you got shot and then you fell-"

"Hey, hey," Sam cut off your rambling, laughing lightly as he raised one of his hands to cup your cheek, "I'm okay, sweetheart, I promise." He smiled reassuringly at you, but seeing the worry that was so clearly written upon your face - the desperation for answers - Sam let out a sigh, nodding his head. "Let's sit down, alright?" Sam led you to the wooden bench, sitting down beside you, and Sam was quiet for a moment before he opened his mouth to explain. And explain he did. He told you about being caught, stitched up, and tossed right back into a cell. He told you about Alcazar and the treasure of Henry Avery. He was in some crazy trouble, and you knew Nate, you knew that Nate was going to help his big brother. You wondered how he was going to tell Elena. "That's the story," Sam let out a sigh, looking over at you with a grin.

You let out a breath, "Wow," You muttered, looking up at him in shock, well, many emotions. "Well, I am just going to say this, I am helping you with his whole Alcazar business. And don't think you can try and convince me not to go. I am going." You hadn't gone on an adventure in a very long time, but you would be crazy to not go with him and Nathan to find that treasure of Henry Avery's. Deep down, you were hoping it would be like the good old days.

Sam raised his hands up in defense, letting out a chuckle, "I'm not going to stop you, the more the merrier."

You felt your shoulders fall as you let out another sigh. Looking up at Sam, relief washed over you in waves once more. You couldn't even express to anyone, nor yourself, how incredibly happy you were that Sam was alive. You missed him, that was obvious, but you missed being next to him, talking to him, hearing his voice; his laugh and touch. And the way he looked at you... You couldn't believe that this was really happening. "I missed you," Came out before you could even have time to think about it. 

Sam's expression softened, his grin morphing into more of a smile - a real one - his hand reached out to grab one of yours; the callouses rough against the soft skin on the back of your hand. "I missed you too, Y/N," Sam admitted quietly, watching you, "You have no idea how damn much."

"I think I've missed you more," You muttered, shifting impossibly closer to him on the bench, your eyes roaming his face before they caught sight of the tattoo on the side of his neck. "I haven't stopped thinking about you, you know? I've had dreams, nightmares. Pictures hanging up on my walls... Even a couple of your shirts." That statement made him chuckle but you continued, your fingers still going along on their journey across Sam's skin; trailing from the apples of his cheeks to his jaw, and so on. "It hurts, sometimes. I miss our talks and our late-night drives. It hurt when I woke up from nightmares and realized that you weren't there..." Your words drew out, your tone wistful and yearning, almost pained.

"Hey," Sam spoke up, pulling your attention away from your exploration, "All that matters is that I am here now," His hand came up cupping your cheek once more, his thumb brushing along the skin of your cheek like he used to do all those years ago; a smile slowly slipped upon your lips, your hand coming up to press against his. You watched as his dark eyes flickered from around your face to your lips, before looking back up to your eyes. He didn't move, no matter how much he just wanted to swoop in to steal a kiss, he spoke, "Can I... Can I kiss you?" He asked, his voice deep, soft, but husky as if there were a slight nervousness hidden underneath it, in addition to longing. "It's been... A long time and I don't know if you-"

"Only you," You answered quickly, "There's only been you." Sam let out a shaky breath before he leaned forward. Your noses brushed together slightly as he brought his free arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him; his lips pressing against yours. The kiss was sweet - gentle yet passionate - as you melted into each other. You hummed, your fingers coming up to brush against the hair on the nape of his neck. Sam eventually pulled away first - reluctantly - resting his forehead against yours, catching his breath, before bringing his hand up and threading it through your hair.

Your hand cupped his warm cheek before you nuzzled your cheek against the other, digging your face into the crook of his neck. Sam chuckled, tightening his grip on your waist, "I love you," He whispered against the shell of your ear. Just for you, and only you to hear.

"I love you, too," You finally got to answer, your own heart beating faster than it ever had before. You didn't want to pull away - not just yet. You couldn't. Not when you finally had him back. You squeezed your eyes shut as you relaxed, leaning into the warmth of Sam's body beside you, relishing every second of being near him. After what seemed like forever, you sighed contently, tilting your head up to press a light kiss to the underside of his jaw before cuddling into his side; admiring the beautiful morning with him. "I hope you know that you're forever stuck with me." You added teasingly as you laid your head back on his shoulder.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Sam responded without hesitation, smiling as you let out a giggle. Shaking your head as you wrapped your arms around his torso, listening to the sound of his heart beating as you laid your head against his chest.

Finally, after so many years, after so much heartbreak and grieving... After so many sleepless nights, watching soap dramas and binging pints of ice cream and cold pizza... Finally, Sam was home. With you. You closed your eyes, feeling his hand brush up and down your arm soothingly as he buried his face in the top of your head; you still used the same shampoo.

Sam shut his own eyes, ignoring Rafe's voice in the back of his mind, allowing himself, for a moment, to pretend that everything was alright. He let out a sigh from his nose, relaxing at the sound of your breathing as he pressed his lips to your temple. Everything was going to be fine.

---

Main Masterlist | Uncharted Masterlist

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Day 9:“Carmel apples, leaves falling down. What could better than November?” “I don’t know maybe fucking June?”

Fandom:Uncharted

Character: Samuel 'Sam' Drake

Naughty or Nice:

If it was one thing that Sam said he hated it would be that he hated winter or anything that had to do with being cold but you? Oh no! You loved the winter! You seemed to thrive being cold.

Pulling his jacket tighter to his body, Sam cleared out his throat. You looked so happy, so cute, he couldn't deny how infectious you were. Sighing, he stepped closer to you grasping your hand then tugged you to be by his side.

Smiling, you rested your head on his should, despite how much he complained about hating Winter he was awfully warm “Carmel apples, leaves falling down. What could better than November?”

Scowling for a moment, Sam gave your hips a squeeze though despite the scowl he had on his face you can see the twinkle of happiness in his eyes.

“I don’t know maybe fucking June?” Sam rolled his eyes as he placed a kiss to the side of your head.

Scoffing, you reached up to give his cheek a playful pinch. "You're only saying that because you don't get to see me half naked on a beach."

Grumbling under his breath, Sam knew you were right but he wasn't about to admit it. "Whatever, lets just find some place warm so I'm not freezing my ass off."

Laughing, you shook your head as your gaze roamed to look at all the trees. The sight was honestly breath taking. "Sure, sure. You big baby."

[snaileer]

Call to My Bedside - Part 2

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/733019972168761344/call-to-my-bedside

Danyal wakes the next time with a weight to his limbs. From the moment he opens his eyes, he realizes he is not where he is supposed to be.

This is a medical bay, but it is not in the league, the constant twittering of League doctors monitoring his health is suspiciously gone. No shadows on guard outside the door.

The most glaring thing though, there was no Lazarus Water in his veins.

Perhaps Ra’s had decided he was no longer worth the expense, had decided-

No.

It was something else. That wasn’t an option he would consider.

Danyal tested the feeling of thin metal on his right wrist. Handcuffs, not shackles. It was odd.

But again, this wasn’t the league.

But he’d need to go back before Ra’s became angry. Danyal couldn’t fail.

He glances to the door as it opens, an old man-the one from before- and a younger, slender man standing just behind him.

Danyal stays still, his breathing even, forcing his heart to stay at a constant, stable rate. He watches them, analyzing.

The old man blinks, “It’s good to see you’re awake, young sir-,” He steps into the room, left foot a second slower, old weakness?- English accent, in Europe? the man behind him follows- stiff posture, rib injury, core focused strength, gymnast, combat trained and familiar- Richard Dick Grayson, Nightwing, he’s in America, Batman- “You gave us quite the shock earlier, myself especially.”

Nightwing watched Danyal warily, he saw him as a threat, and by the angle of his feet, a threat to the older man. He remembers now, he’d attacked him before, Nightwing was here to prevent it again.

They are heroes.

He was a part of the League of the Assassins.

He doesn’t fit here, could never.

Danyal considers the merits of speaking English, he wants to, deeply, and perhaps it would even benefit the situation; but his chest clogs with fear before he can even compose a sentence. It’s been too long anyways, the League dialect is easier.

“How long have I been here?” Danyal says, still not moving enough to even jostle the cuff at his wrist.

Nightwing sighs deeply, “We rescued you and Damian from a League of Assassins boat yesterday.” The words of the language are stilted, either by unfamiliarity or awkwardness, and who’s Damian? There’s a pause, “Do you know who I am?” Nightwing asks, caution in the words.

Danyal takes a deep breath, finally sitting up, despite the rattling of the chain on the cuff, “You are Nightwing, Dick Grayson, correct?”

Nightwing nods, his eyes briefly flitting to the elder man, “And you?”

Danyal’s eyes narrow, trying to find the trap, “I am Danyal Al Ghul, Heir of the Demon’s head, Blood of the Batman.”

Danyal watches the eyebrow of the old man tick up in his peripheral.

Nightwing pinches the bridge of his nose, “God I can’t believe Talia did it again,” He murmurs under his breath. In English. And Danyal would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to hear the language again, even just a little.

“Perhaps it would be best to bring Master Bruce back from his meeting,” the old man says pointedly. Danyal ignores as he changes and resets the IV attached to him, familiar with the autonomous care. With or without his consent.

“I’ve already notified him, he should be here soon.”

“Very good. In the meantime,” he turns to Danyal, “I am Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family butler. It seems I did not get the chance to introduce myself the last time you were awake.”

Danyal can’t help but blink at the almost joking tone Alfred says it with, knowing that Danyal had been the one to knock him out. It makes his lip twitch, and he silently huffs, surprising himself with the action.

The amusement vanishes as the door opens once more, footsteps barely audible in the second before.

The man standing there is large, tall and broad shouldered, strong- dangerous, calloused hands from training- his eyes stay glued to Danyal, blue and steady amidst the square jaw and sharp features, black hair tussled like he’d been rushing, just like Dad always-

Danyal feels his jaw wire shut, back straightening.

The thin chain of the handcuff jingles in the sudden silence.

This he remembers. This is Batman. The Dark Night of Gotham. The Detective.

The source of every expectation Ra’s Al Ghul has ever placed on Danyal.

He feels his face try to screw into a sneer, because he hates him and everything he’s done that has ever affected Danyal, but his face remains still. Controlled. Because there’s nothing he can do about it anyways.

Batman had introduced himself before.

As another name. A civilian. His training forces him to remember it.

Bruce Wayne.

It means next to nothing to him. But the man doesn’t stop looking.

It’s Nightwing that speaks next, “Danyal, this is Batman, Bruce Wayne, your father.” The smile is at odds with the weary tone of the words, “He was there when we saved you and Damian a few.. yesterday. God that feels like longer.”

Saved? The sentiment makes him want to scoff. He doesn’t, because Batman’s eyes already narrow with Nightwing’s words, and Danyal doesn’t need to make it worse.

A thousand more questions rush through his head. Each one bitten back with practiced force.

Instead he dips his head briefly, aiming for a show of respect, whatever that might mean here. However little he means it. Danyal can adjust regardless.

“Hn.”

Danyal lifts his head. That was the only response?

They uproot him entirely, chain him, throw him into unfamiliar waters where everything-everyone- is in new danger and all he does is grunt?

Danyal bites his tongue hard, letting his head lift, carefully non-defiant. He’s not quite sure his eyes get the message because he can feel the glare from them.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred pipes in, tone sharp.

Batman sighs, but the set of his shoulders changes, no longer so heavily lined with suspicion.

“What do you know about why Damian was-" There’s an even sharper cough from Alfred. Another sigh, “Fine. What has Talia already told you about me?”

Danyal glances between them, purposefully keeping his eyes from jumping down to the metal around his wrists.

No one else speaks.

“I know that you are Batman, the Dark Night of Gotham. You are also the detective, great enough to impress the Demon’s Head, Ra’s Al Ghul. The Demon’s daughter informed me you were dead.”

There’s a slight twitch on Batman’s face. “I survived Darkseid’s attack, although it led to me being lost in time and assumed dead for nearly a year,” Batman’s eyes flick across the room, almost considering, “Red Robin was responsible for my return just over a year ago.”

Red Robin. Timothy Drake. The one Ra’s favored. The second source of expectations placed on Danyal.

And he was lost in time? What did that consist of, what did it mean for Batman? Did it matter if it didn’t affect Danyal?

“I see.” He says. Silence lingers. They still expect him to speak. He hedges his bets, asking something he actually cares about, “Why am I here, Batman?”

The question seems to be expected and yet still strike with surprise.

“I… regrettably, did not know you were… present at the league. I do not believe in their methods and would not have left you there had I known.”

And that makes it all okay. Danyal wants to scream. But he narrows his eyes instead, only more suspicious, “And why were you there then?”

“We followed the shadows that had taken Damian. He told us who you were.”

Danyal pauses, leaning back slightly. They were willing to answer his questions, to actually talk with him. Of course they were, they were meant to be heroes.

But it had been so long since he’d actually talked with anyone other than Ra’s, and their conversations were a battleground of expectations and tests.

He fights with his conscious knowledge of this and the habits that have been beaten into him so thoroughly.

“Who is… Damian?” He asks, watching their reactions for the answer.

All three seem surprised by the question. But not angry. Of course not, he reminds himself.

“You’ve mentioned him several times like I am supposed to know who he is.” He had barely been told anything since his forceful return, and any knowledge he had from before stopped at Dick Grayson. And then Timothy Drake.

Danyal had purposefully ignored the hero world he had lived in-

He forces his eyes up to meet Batman’s, noting the hesitance in the set of his shoulders.

“Damian is… your brother. He was.. Talia’s son, before he came to me just a few years ago. He was raised in the league.”

Danyal blinks, anger disbelieving in his chest. Is that what she did?

“When.”

There’s no response, save a twitch of Batman’s eyebrow.

“When,” Danyal says again, his breathing controlled, “Did he come to you? How old was he? How long ago?”

They seem to pick up on the way Danyal’s tone has changed. Good for them.

“Nearly three years ago. He was ten.” Batman answers, voice rough. Tinged with curiosity and unfulfilled questions.

Danyal breathes deeply, his heart rate picking up against his wishes. Icy rage flares.

The beeping of the machine at his side matches the pounding in his chest, uneven, unbalanced, uncontrolled.

Keep it under control. Keep it. Under. Control.

Control is power. Control is strength. Control is the only thing that will ever be enough.

He breathes deeper. Holding his breath. Once. Twice.

The beeping is steadier with each tone.

“Danyal?” An old voice asks beside him. It’s Alfred. The butler.

Danyal shifts his jaw from its clench, “I am fine.” His eyes slide back into focus, still on Batman, “Damian is your son then.”

Batman nods solemnly, a heavier sigh through his chest, “Talia and I have had an… interesting relationship. But I loved her. Once. She has never failed to make me regret it.”

That was why she had visited him. Her words. What she had almost said. Talia had wished he was Damian, wished he was Bruce. Just not Danyal of course. The weapon she discarded for a better version. One she could love.

One who would be heir.

Batman continues, “Talia is Damian’s mother, told him he would be my heir, as I’m sure you were but-” Batman stops, looking at Danyal as confusion flicks across his face, “You weren’t.”

“I was never told I would be heir of the Batman, only of the Demon’s head.” This, at least, Danyal is familiar with, “That’s the only reason they needed me: to be their weapon made from the Demon Head’s enemy.” Danyal breathes, “A weapon does not have parents, and I have never been more than a weapon to them, crafted for the league’s purpose. For Ra’s.” 

Ra’s is the reason Danyal is alive at all. Is the only reason he has survived the league, but he is also the reason Danyal had to, no- has to survive.

Danyal drops his eyes, tired, so so tired, like he always is. Unerringly, his eyes find the shine of the metal around his wrist. Arm held carefully still to keep from jostling it, even as his other hand has found its way to his lap.

“You can’t really believe that,” Dick says, disbelief in his own voice, unsurety in the frame of an unfamiliar language.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe.”

And it doesn’t. It only matters what he can do. That’s he’s strong. He just has to be strong enough. Ra’s is the reason Danyal suffers, has always been, and Danyal will never let him escape that.

Silence lasts. Danyal quickly grows tired of it.

Luckily, Batman breaks it, “Why were you exposed to the Lazarus waters?” He asks, voice rigid and flat once more. 

Perhaps the casualness is getting to him because Danyal manages to lift one lip in a slight sneer, “The only reason anybody uses the Lazarus Pits.”

The Batman stays silent, clearly talking about the unorthodox method of exposure they had resorted to.

Danyal sighs this time, serious, “My heart is damaged. Electricity. The pits are a short term solution for it. Grandfather had said he found a long term one.” Danyal doubts it matters now. Whatever care his grandfather’d had was fragile, dependent on Danyal’s performance. 

The palm of his left hand tingles sharply.

Would this be enough to tip the scale against him? What would he lose for being here? Who would he-

Danyal looks into Batman’s eyes, “Am I to be a prisoner here?”

The man glances over him at the two on the other side, Danyal doesn’t follow it, nor the silent conversation he’s sure is happening.

Instead, Danyal focuses his ears, senses sharpened by training, by the pits, by his accident… and turns his attention to the person hiding in an alcove above them.

Low breathing, higher pitched, the scent of sword polish and hair gel. The person was small and armed.

“You’re not a prisoner… but if you leave.. you’ll be in danger,” Batman says, voice deep, “We can’t let that happen.”

So either be followed or don’t leave. What great options.

Danyal tries not to scowl, not to show any inflection at it, “And do I have to stay here? In your…. Cave?”

“It might be difficult to move- uh.. the medical things-” Nightwing starts, but Danyal cuts him off by swiftly removing the IV tucked in the crook of his elbow.

He presses his thumb against the small well of blood as he looks forward.

Alfred shouts, jolting towards him, “Master Danyal! That is hardly sterile-“

Danyal’s eyes snap to him the moment the title leaves his mouth, heart stilling for a second, commands in his eyes. Alfred falls still.

Danyal lets it fall away the next second, barely two beats missed. The beeping starts again.

“I see.” Alfred straightens, stepping forward slowly to turn off the IV and coil it, removing other monitors, “Another one for the dramatics then.”

Nightwing steps up, hands out placatingly, “There’s..mm really no need, Danyal, uh-” He glances back to Batman, “Of course you can leave the cave-,” the next words are in bright clear English, “I’m sure there’s already a room picked out for you.”

“Right you are Master Dick,” Alfred says, “Young sir, do you need any help moving?” He directs to Danyal.

He wants to rip his hand from the metal cuff. Snap the thin chain to pieces.

Instead he looks to Nightwing, then Batman, “The restraints?” He says, voice as empty of want as he can make it.

The click of the key in the lock echoes in his ear and it’s only through practiced calm that Danyal does not immediately jerk his arm away from it. Instead, he calmly retracts his hand, bracing slightly against the bed as he turns and plants his feet on the floor.

The others have already moved out of his way, watching intently, waiting for him to fall- to fail.

Danyal straightens his legs. He stands. He breathes. He controls his heart. He walks forward.

He does not fall. He doesn’t have the option to fall.

“I can go now.” He says, looking at them. His knuckles are white on the edge of the bed.

Nightwing looks at Batman once more. The man grunts, then turns from the room in a way that he can only imagine would perfectly flare a cape.

Danyal’s feet feel like they’re filling with cement. Nightwing stares at him expectantly. Danyal understands expectations- but these ones, it leaves him helpless and-

“Follow me then, dear boys,” Alfred says, stepping in front smoothly, already moving towards the door, “We can go upstairs, I’ll start on a meal and Master Dick can show you the rooms.”

Nightwing goes next, leaving Danyal to follow not quite behind him, the angle purposeful to keep him in sight.

Nightwing casts a wary glance to him every few minutes, continuing a light chatter with Alfred. Danyal stares forward, taking in the cave from his peripheral - computer, showers, training mats, an unfamiliar shadow watching him, armory, swords, knifes, suits, cars and vehicles lined up on platforms, a t-Rex, giant penny, a glass case- Danyal lets his eyes linger on the shadow, never faltering his steps.

His neck itches at the attention.

He looks forward. Nightwing is looking at him again, snapping forward the moment Danyal’s eyes narrow. Good.

The steps are slightly narrow, dark, but they come out to a warmly lit study. Dark wood, papers, books on shelves, a portrait on the wall, pictures on the desk, three black hair boys, another of only a single with stiff posture, a ballet dancer- they keep walking. The door-clock- closes behind them like the clamping of an artery.

Nightwing and Alfred’s conversation continues in smooth, low-toned English. Danyal blinks, slowly, slower than he needs to, for a breath of a second relishing in the almost familiarity of it all, the dissonance from the last three years alone enough to well emotion in his chest.

His eyes open. He continues after them.

“This is where I’ll leave you, I’ll be up with some food young sir,” Alfred says abruptly, turning towards a swinging door that reveals a glimpse of a stainless kitchen.

“So…” Nightwing says, swinging his arms a bit at his sides, “uh… I can show you the room you can sleep in, yes?”

Danyal’s shoulders tighten, rising from a subconscious millimeter slouch. He nods stiffly.

His heart remains under control. Always under control.

“So this is the Wayne Mansion, you can go for food any time, uh…” There’s an unsure pause as they start up the stairs, “You can meet the rest of us soon maybe, a correct introduction to Damian…depends on Bruce really… he can be … over …over.”

Nightwing looks at Danyal properly, “I’m usually better at this, most of the bat kids know the League dialect but… I haven’t exactly practiced it.”

Danyal stares at him. He doesn’t want to hear the sound of the League’s twisting words, he wants to leave. He wants to find his family, protect them, get them as far away from Ra’s al Ghul and the league as possible. He wants to go back to Ra’s convince him to let his family go if Danyal stays willingly. Wants a blade strong enough to run the man through and-

“I know you are probably stressed and this is all unfamiliar but … we want you to stay… you won’t be hurt here. This is different than the league, you’re safe.”

Danyal scoffs, not bothering to stop it, he hasn’t been safe since the day he tripped over a wire and died.

Nightwing doesn’t seem surprised by the response.

“This can be your room,” He says, opening a door in the hallway and gesturing a wide arm to Danyal. “The rest of us are just down the hall.”

Danyal steps in, looking around, counting exits, tactical advantages, possible listening devices- He turns around, giving Nightwing a stiff nod, “Thank you for the room.”

Nightwing still stands at his door, “Anything else I can help with for you?” He says.

Danyal considers staying silent, obedient, but he hates hearing the language at every turn, he never wants to hear it again, the words they forced in his mouth, ripping away what was in their place-

“Can you just speak English?” He says, realizing too late how weak it sounds, “You don’t have to use the league tongue, I can-English is.. fine.” Fine. Better. Familiar. A remnant of a family he’s almost certain he’s lost now.

Nightwing barely quirks a brow, eyes flicking over him.

“Can do,” He nods, “Well then… Welcome to Wayne Manor, Danyal.”

And he closes the door behind him.

'It’s just Danny, please.' He wants to whisper to the silence. But he’s grown too used to shadows and it catches in his throat.

He goes and sits on the bed. Staring out of the window. A window he can’t leave from. Where would he go? He doesn’t have anyone, they’re all in danger because of him. He can’t leave.

He’s trapped.

Always trapped.

Bound. Stuck to one place. One thing.

Emotions well in his chest, in the back of his throat, thick and dark and painful. He wants to cry. He can’t. Emotions constrict around his lungs.

And Danyal sits, staring at the wall, wishing he could cry. But the emotions just twist themselves until they’re tight enough, heavy enough to fall down, settle back like a layer of heavy chainmail over his insides.

Danyal turns on the bed, facing the wall.

It’s empty tan-beige. Neutral colors. No personality. Temporary.

This is familiar to him. This he can do.

Danyal stands again, he strips down his tunic, his shin-guards and pants- notes the lack of his typical weapons- methodically placing it on the dresser. Not his dresser, he already has one, painted blue with yellow stars back in-

Danyal gets in the shower, glad to find soap there, contemplating not using it, not wasting the energy. He watches condensation develop on the glass walls, water droplets collecting until they finally rush down the glass.

His finger lifts, already wanting to trace the letters he knows. Three lines, an H. One. i. Or e, he could write hello. Or ghost. Mom. Dad. Jazz, Sam, Tucker. Write it in English so he wouldn’t forget the way they were meant to be spelled, let the water wash it away.

His fingers ache where they’d been broken for it. For tracing letters in dirt or on mirrors, in the foggy glass at night. A break for every word.

Danyal can see his hand shake, inches from the glass. Pain and fear a leech on his bones.

He drops the hand. Turns to wash away the soap and get out, towels left on the counter.

He doesn’t even glance at the mirror as he goes out.

His tunic is where he’d left it, neatly set on the dresser top… but…

Danyal opens the drawers, changing into the boxers, the next one is dress pants and collared shirts, but in the third-

Rough denim scuffs against his fingertips.

They’re dark wash jeans, fancy and nothing like the ones his mom would buy on sale from the thrift store but…

He doesn’t let himself debate it further, he has to wear clothes and no one is here to tell him which. They put them here so they should expect him to wear it- it could be a test but he doesn’t care, let them do what they want if only to pretend the jeans are stiff from ectoplasm stains instead of fresh starch.

He chooses a white t-shirt, ignoring the collared shirts and polos that are probably meant to go over it.

He breathes, letting his shoulders drop, tilting his head back with his eyes closed, pretending for only a second that he’s getting dressed for school. Jazz is across the hall getting her books together, Sam and Tuck are on their way to walk together, his parents are already downstairs working.

'See?' He wants to say, 'I’m still the same person, nothings changed!'

The metal of the door knob clicks and Danyal’s head snaps towards the sound.

There’s nothing. Danyal doesn’t trust it, eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes the tall double doors.

“I know you’re there!” he calls out, fists ready, “Open the door and show yourself or I will!”

There’s a harsh tutt behind the door before it swings open, revealing a kid standing there. Short, black hair- hair gel-, dress slacks and shirt hiding multiple bladed weapons-

“Clearly I meant for you to know I was here, I am not incompetent,” The kid scoffs. So Nightwing wasn’t lying about them all knowing the league dialect…. Yet somehow, it sounds different coming from the kid, familiar in a way that makes Danyal's skin burn. He looks irritated, arms crossed in front of him even while his eyes wander over the room and Danyal with curiosity. And judgement.

Danyal rolls his eyes at it, “Did you need something from me, or did you just want to stand there looking like a hair gel commercial?”

The boy’s face goes red impressively fast, “How dare you-” he moves- and a knife is flying at his face, Danyal dodges, catching it in a second, shifting to throw it back but stops, half way extended. He looks at the hilt, there’s a League marking engraved on the bottom no larger than a droplet.

Danyal's eyes flick up to the boy still standing in front of him, glaring him down.

That’s all it takes before the boy jumps forward, another knife in his hand.

Danyal blocks it, twisting the arm as he drops his own acquired knife to his other hand and lunges forward.

The boy flips over his arm, and Danyal doesn’t let his surprise show as he reaches to grab the second knife he’d forced the kid to drop.

The boy tutts at him again, “So this was who Mother replaced me with? Street rabble?”

Danyal blinks, Mother? Then it clicks.

So this was Damian. The child the demon’s daughter wanted, beloved by all. Treasured. Preserved.

Danyal grits his teeth against the bitter taste in his mouth. He lunges forward, already expecting the larger dagger Damian uses to block him as he’s forced to retreat.

Danyal doesn’t stop, continuing to press him, “The Demon’s Daughter is no mother of mine,” he spits as he slams a kick against Damian’s elbow, blade dropping once more. Danyal cuts a shallow slash across Damian’s left cheek before dropping his own stolen knives.

He doesn’t stop though, continuing to push Damian back- Damian swerves to the side, grabbing his arm, flipping him, Danyal retaliates, grabbing the others shirt and taking him with him.

He catches his feet a second before the other, using it to pin him face to face with Danyal’s arm at his throat, “Maybe if you were good enough, you wouldn’t have had to be replaced at all and I never would have been forced to be here, this is your fault. I was free,” He grits out, teeth bared, “You got to live these last three years because I paid for it, and you’re angry because they don’t want you!?”

There’s something startling in Damian’s wide eyes, “What are you talking about?” He snaps, “I am Damian Al Ghul, Heir to the League, Ibn al X-“

Danyal slams him harder against the floor, cutting him off. Green simmers, almost boiling, under his skin. He grits his teeth harder against the sharp pain through his chest.

He leans closer to Damian, snarling, his grip bruising, “You don’t even know what you escaped, what Ra’s really wanted with you, do you? What being heir means. You’re nothing more than a -”

Damian jerks his head upwards, colliding with Danyal’s forehead and knocking him back with a grunt. Danyal’s grip loosens momentarily and Damian pulls free.

He slams a palm strike into Danyal’s front, pain lancing through his chest as he gasps, heart convulsing.

He moves through it by force, both rolling off each other with violent hands.

They stand opposite each other once more. Blood drips from the cut on Damian’s cheek. Danyal’s ragged breaths join Damian’s in the silence. He can hear footsteps on the stairs. His heart clenches in his chest painfully. There’s barely enough Lazarus water in his veins to keep it pumping for a week, less if he keeps this up.

The door flings open with a slam, both of them turning to look.

Batman stands there, battle calm in his eyes.

Damian turns fully at the sight of his father, but Danyal doesn’t shift from his stance.

“Father, I-“ Damian starts, but Batman just lifts a hand, silencing him.

“What. Happened.” Batman says, looking straight at Danyal, not even a question. A demand. Green tinted steel shoots up Danyal’s spine and he does nothing but glare back at the man.

Batman doesn’t break eye contact, “Damian.”

“I was determining if he was a threat. He is from the League, Father,” Damian says  shortly, standing tall despite the blood on his face.

Batman looks between them briefly, and oh what a picture they must make.

Two kids, both born in the same cage, one trying to claw his way out of the chains and the other trying to fight his way in.

Exhaustion washes over Danyal, and he drops his fists, letting them hang by his sides.

Batman hums, barely a sound, but a muscle twitches in Damian’s jaw.

“Father-“

“Go Damian. Now.”

Damian looks back at him, not-quite-hate in his eyes, before dropping to a crouch to grab the knife closest to his feet with one hand and turning to leave.

Faced with Batman’s sole attention, Danyal lifts his chin defiantly, daring him to take action, to punish him, to do something that he can predict, can defend, can justify the anger he feels when he sees him.

“I know it was different in the league, but here, this is not acceptable.”

Danyal half-scoffs. He finally steps out of his stance, “I could leave.”

“That’s not-” Batman pinches the bridge of his nose, voice like gravel, “I am trying to protect you, the manor is not the league. I understand what it must have been like to be raised like that, but you can’t hurt others, no matter what teachings you’ve had. I can guarantee you won’t be hurt here, I won’t let-”

Danny huffs a dry laugh, “You won’t let?” He steps forward, rage bubbling back up, “Hurt me? I’m not worried about me, Batman. You can’t stop him. Ra’s is going to get what he wants, and as long as that is me, everyone around me is in danger, I’m dangerous. I'm a weapon, a weapon of your enemy. You can’t fix that, can you?”

“We can protect ourselves-”

Danyal scoffs again, “Because you’ve done such a good job of that already? Don’t forget, all of this is because of you, they wanted you, and now they want me because of you, Batman. You.”

Something stricken shoots through the man’s face before it flattens. Batman nods and steps back, a hand on the doorhandle, “Don’t leave.” Is all he says, before the door clicks shut.

Danyal feels the walls closing in on him like a cell.

He looks to his left.

The bathroom door is open. He can see his reflection in the mirror, any condensation gone.

Danyal stares.

When he had been younger, back in- before. Danyal would stand in front of a mirror and pick out parts he thought looked like his parents. Like a Fenton. His shoulders were from Jack obviously. His eyes and hair too. His jawline was from Maddie, his hands from Jack, and the love of engineering and planning from Maddie. He had the same legs as his mom. Same voice as his dad, always loud. If he didn’t look too hard, he could almost convince himself he was really their kid, their son.

But he could never quite place his tanned skin, or the texture of his hair. The shape of his eyes and nose. Always just a little bit wrong.

What had pretending done but put them in danger?

Danyal turns on his heel, flicking the lights off and putting a glass soap bottle on the door handle.

He knew he’d wake up regardless… but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Danyal rubs his chest with the heel of his palm as he lays down on the far side of the bed, his back to the door, staring out at the city beyond the window glass.

How close would he come to freedom before he’d have to give it up again?

And he knew he would.

For his family, he would give the Demon’s Head anything.

Everything.

If that’s what it took.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pretend he would fall asleep.

———

Bruce runs over Danyal’s words again and again during the flight.

'This is because of you, Batman,'

He flicks a switch.

'You.'

The landing gear lowers.

'You can’t fix this.'

He can see the way the shadows of the forest twist around the clearing.

'Dangerous.'

Wheels touch grass. Batman lands at the coordinates, just on the side of the field in front of the woman waiting for him.

'Because of you.'

He breathes.

“My Beloved, how are you?” She greets him as he descends the ramp.

Bruce says nothing. He cannot even begin to fathom what he would say if he did.

Instead, he stares at her. A woman who had once meant so much to him, whom he had nearly thrown away everything for. And who had nearly done the same for him.

But she hadn’t. Wouldn’t. And it had hurt him, but he had recovered.

And then she hurt him again.

She had stolen and lied to him in his vulnerability.

And still, he had found himself loving her.

Had allowed her to continue hurting him. Again and again. Out of a vain hope that she would change. Because he thought that he could change her. That she would change for him.

It was foolish. It was senseless.

Yet he found it just as impossible to stop.

And so she had hurt him again.

“Talia.” Her name grated against his heart, “Why did you not tell me I had another son?”

“The boy is no more yours than he is mine, Beloved,” She says with a roll of her eyes, as if explaining a basic fact, “He belongs to my father. And to the league.”

Bruce is silent. He notices a slight bruise forming on her left cheek.

Talia’s face is tight, “Do you not care about the son I have given you? Has Damian not satisfied you?”

Bruce feels the leather of his gauntlets stretch over his clenched fists.

“I deserved to know,” He near growls, “Just as I did Damian, just as I did with Jason. You cannot continue to keep my children from me-“

“If it was not for that boy, you would not have met Damian at all,” Talia snaps.

Bruce blinks. Hard.

“His return brought Damian into your arms, you should be grateful.” She spits at him like an accusation, “Damian is ours, Bruce. From our love. That boy was made before we truly knew each other, before we understood each other as we do now. He was borne of nothing more than my father’s obsession. Damian is our son, not him.”

“His name is Danyal, Talia!” Bruce bellows, “He is a child, and he is a person! Just like you, and me, and Damian, and he deserves more than to be written off as one of Ra’s al Ghul’s projects! He deserves better than this!” Than us, he doesn’t say. Deserves better than him.

Talia straightens from already perfect posture, “I made a choice Bruce, for Damian. To protect Damian. I knew our son was never meant to bear my father’s hands, he was never meant to be what Danyal is.” Talia pauses, eyes sharp on him, and he can see when she chooses her next words. Already knows they are meant to cut him, to hurt him. He steels himself and listens anyways.

“Perhaps you should ask him where he’s been all these years I’ve supposedly kept him from you, Beloved.” She says coyly, stepping forward.

“What are you talking about.”

She takes another step, “The truth of the matter is that Danyal could have gone to you any time he wanted. He chose not to. Chose to stay away.”

He stays silent.

“Oh- Did the boy not tell you?“ Talia says, barely hiding the falseness, “Danyal was living in America before he returned to his rightful duty. Almost didn’t work, but…” Talia hummed, “His gifts were fortuitous in the end. A risk well calculated, my father’s doing I suspect.”

Talia almost seems blaisé as she talks about it, but he can see the way it irks her. Her father had tricked her. Somehow. Or had manipulated her into some choice she hadn’t known about.

Batman says nothing, analyzing, taking in clues.

“Beloved,” Talia sighs, “Surely you must know, the boy must return.”

“And surely you know: I can’t let that happen.”

Talia glowers at him.

“It’s him or Damian, Bruce, you must choose, just as I did.”

“No.” Bruce growls.

“You cannot have both,” She snaps at him.

Batman stands firm, staring her down, resolute.

“You invite his anger on them both,” She snarls, “You save no one.”

Batman ignores the words. He has made it his job to make sure that’s not true. He’ll die before it is.

“Fine.” She snaps again. But she lingers for a few seconds more. The lines of her face softening.

“I remember I once loved that same unbending drive.”

It feels odd to hear her confirm something he’s not sure ever really existed.

Then Talia turns away and walks into the forest. Shadows contort and reform around her at the edges of the clearing. Slowly emptying until there’s nothing left but the trees and the grass and him, standing alone at the center of it all.

He turns to leave.

He won’t choose between his children.

He climbs the ramp.

He will protect them.

He sits down in the pilots chair, flicking switches and gears.

All of them.

Engines roar to life below him.

He will not fail.

And yet… he cannot forget her words. Twisted they may be, and just as easily lies.. but, her irritation at her father’s plans… he had always been good at telling when it was real.

'Living in America… chose to stay away,'

Living in America?

Had he been secluded at one of their bases here? Had it even been close?

Had Danyal been just miles away, suffering, and Bruce hadn’t known?

But it felt wrong. What Talia had said sat like a jagged puzzle piece, poking and prodding at him, not quite fitting the theories he threw at it.

‘Returned.’

Did she only mean returned to the League’s home base? Closer to their original strongholds in Asia?

It didn’t make sense. She would have crafted the words differently, to drive her point home.

She’d said ‘supposedly kept him from you’ like she hadn’t. Like she hadn’t kept Danyal hidden, the way she had Damian. It didn’t add up.

She could have just been lying. Bruce didn’t think she was. It couldn’t be that simple. No, there was something specific about the way she’d phrased it all, like she was telling him a secret. Like it was something Ra’s had hidden. Like something Danyal was hiding.

Batman narrowed his eyes, staring out at the landscape in front of him as it rushed past.

Whatever it was, whatever she wasn’t telling him, Batman needed to figure it out before it came back to hurt him or his family. Danyal included.

Then there was the rest of it.

The ‘gifts’ that Talia had mentioned.

He knew Danyal had been forced to interact with the Lazarus waters, but he didn’t know to what extent. What it had done to him.

It’d had an effect on him, that much was clear by the acid green of his eyes when he stood off against them in the Batcave. And earlier when Bruce had first interrupted the fight with Damian.

He didn’t even think Danyal had noticed they were glowing then. Too defensive to think about it. Or perhaps he was used to it.

How many times had he been submerged? Had been so injured that Ra’s saw fit to put him in?

How many times had Bruce not been there to protect him from it?

Even if he was only acting out of defensiveness… was that not Bruce’s fault too?

That he still felt unsafe in the Manor. That he didn’t know if Bruce would act the same as Ra’s, as the League.

And Danyal was right, he was responsible for the pain the league caused him, for them hunting him. If he had never let himself be pulled into Talia’s web- or if she was to be believed… even before that.

When exactly? When had Batman become enough of a threat that Ra’s had decided to use him? Was it because he had refused to be his heir? Or before that? Before or after Dick? Jason?

He doesn’t even know how old Danyal is. How long Batman had let him suffer because of h-

“I do hope you aren’t planning to brood like this with your children around, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, cutting through his thoughts, “I don’t believe your pride would survive the repercussions.”

Bruce glances at the monitor Alfred has decided to call from.

“Hn.” Bruce grumbles.

Alfred is right, his children would tease him mercilessly for ‘brooding’ as they called it. If only Dick at least, who hasn’t missed a chance to do so since he’d been a freshly christened Robin.

How would Danyal fit into that? Would he grow to tease like the others? Or remain stoic like Damian?

“I’ll be approaching in 30 minutes, A.” He says. ‘Will Danyal be there?’ He doesn’t say.

Alfred says nothing in response. The engines fill the silence.

He grits his teeth, he just wants to know the situation, to stay updated, he wants to know if something’s happened or anything’s changed.

He sighs, forcefully loosening his jaw, “Who’s going out tonight?”

“Mm, I believe Miss Brown and Master Tim were discussing going together. Master Thomas is in bed, as is usual, though he did mention he’d be out early.. and I believe Madame Cassandra is staying in. She seems to have found a new project.”

Batman hums in confirmation. He wants to know what Cass had found interesting. More than that, he wants to know if Danyal was okay, Damian too.

“It seems it circles around our newest resident, though she hasn’t shown herself to him yet. Master Dick also seems to think the young sir is his duty as much as Master Damian had been.”

Batman feels his lips tug downwards as he grunts in response. Damian’s first year with them was… a regret. His own absence was devastating. He’d have to find some way to assure Dick that Danyal wasn’t his responsibility this time, that he could still be his own person. Perhaps he should encourage Dick to return to Blüdhaven. Affirm the family would be alright without him.

Batman sees Gotham’s cloud of smog come into view. The bay follows soon after, and the buildings next.

“I’m coming in now.”

“Very good sir.” Alfred answers, nodding in his peripheral before the call clicks off.

When the Batplane arrives to the cave, Alfred is nowhere to be seen. The other’s suits are missing as well, meaning they are already out for the night.

Batman doesn’t pause more than to look around, already heading to the Batcomputer with determined steps.

He enters his access codes, running through his security checks unconsciously, mind spinning on theories and clues.

He picks apart his and Talia’s interaction again and again, trying to pull everything he can from it and put it into his report file. Maybe if he can just read over it again, remember something else, maybe it will be enough to protect Danyal, maybe it will be enough to stop Ra’s, maybe it will be enough understand why Talia did this to h-

A gentle hand slides over his just as his finger goes to slam the enter button of the keyboard.

He looks over his shoulder, already recognizing the feeling of stitching against his suit.

Cass looks at him meaningfully. Her gentle hand shifts into a lean against his arm, the pressure a comfort. She stares up at the Batcomputer and reads through his writing piece by piece.

Bruce waits for her. He knows she struggles with so many words. Knows that she gained more from watching him type it than she will from reading an exact account but the details will be helpful anyways.

She nods to him, fingers tapping lightly against his arm as she thinks it over, scanning and rescanning the document.

Cass has been developing fidgets recently, small twitches of movement that don’t serve a purpose than to let her move.

Bruce wants to smile every time. He’s pretty sure they’re on purpose, but still.. it’s freedom for her.

She nudges him, reaching for a button across the keys. It flicks to a camera screen a second later.

The one in Danyal’s room.

Bruce feels a twinge of guilt at the disappointment Cass aims at him before they both refocus on the image.

The empty image.

Danyal is not in the room, and Bruce feels his eyebrows scrunch as he goes to pull up the other camera feeds to locate him, make sure he hasn’t been taken-

“Downstairs.” Cass says.

Batman gets a half turn around, checking the cave for a foreign presence, before Cass stops him again.

She points to the screen, drawing his attention to a bottom square.

Danyal stands in the hallway of the manor, staring at the portraits on the walls.

He feels a light tap on his shoulder in parting before Cass’s presence at his side disappears silently.

He stares up at the figure of his son standing in the hallway, mind still whirring about possibilities and clues and lies and secrets.

Danyal continues to stand in front of the portrait for another minute, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side.

He rips his eyes away from the portrait, turning down the hallway and ducking into the kitchen.

It’s empty when he gets there. Then again, the whole mansion had seemed empty. Aside from the ever constant, ever familiar feeling of eyes weighing down on him.

Danyal considers making himself food.

He considers jumping out of the window and seeing how far he could get.

He wonders if their cabinets have something he’d know and could do himself or if he’d be hopelessly lost.

He wonders how long it will take for the Demon’s Head to find him. Wonders what he’ll do when he does. Wonders if his-

He stops himself short.

“May I offer you some tea and snacks, young sir?”

Danyal turns slightly to face the old butler-Alfred- who’d entered behind him and nods.

Can he even say no?

Alfred gestures to a chair set up by the built in breakfast nook.

He sits. Even as the domesticity of it all throttles his heart in his chest. The way they must eat together every morning, appear together in every photo, smiling. A family portrait. Batman’s family. Batman got to keep his. But Danny’s is tra-

Danyal breathes purposefully, staring down at his hands, clenching them tighter.

Suddenly a hand reaches across his vision, pressing a button on an ancient looking miniature TV sitting just tucked into the kitchen corner.

It flickers to life on some random news channel, low mindless chatter softening the air.

Danyal feels his shoulders lower slightly, just barely, as the silences retreats. He glances up, expecting to find Alfred there staring at him, questioning him, why he’s acting like this, why he-

Alfred’s back is to him. The man busy at the stove with the tea kettle.

“I hope you like lemon ginger tea,” the man says, getting a small jar from a cupboard, “It’s been quite a bit since I’ve had the opportunity to make some.”

Danyal doesn’t quite trust it, still watching the man warily. He doesn’t understand why they would welcome him into their house, Batman or no, he was a threat to them. He was nothing but a threat.

“How about something to eat?”

Danyal watches the man move over to the fridge.

Something moves in his peripheral and his eyes jump to the side.

Narrowed eyes comb over the fancy china case against the wall. But he can’t see anything odd. The glass is clear, refracted reflection shining back him over the china. A dark phone sitting on the ledge. Dark wood pressed against the wall. He doesn’t know what he saw.

Alfred sets a small plate down in front of him with a light clatter, immediately turning back as the tea kettle begins to screech.

The movement makes a small carrot tumble off, rolling across the counter to Danyal.

He stares at it.

He breathes in, out, in out, in out in out too fast. Too fast-

A finger rolls to a stop in front of him and he can only stare at it as strong arms grip and pull him back, keeping him restrained.

Granite counters blend until they are stone floors.

He can’t look away from it. Confusion bleeds in with denial and regret and bloodthirsty stubbornness.

“Look at me, boy.”

Danny’s head is jerked back by his hair, forcing his eyes up to his instructor.

The man glares down at him.

“I have taught warriors better than you by a thousand, and you dare to try to escape under my hand?”

Danny tries to grin, barely managing a crude sneer, coppery blood in his teeth, “You should have kept a better eye on me, you fucking nutcase.”

His eyelid flicks closed automatically as cold gunmetal rests against it.

“Say that again.”

Danny swallows his regret, in for a penny in for a pound. He juts his chin up, forcing the man to follow the movement with his gun.

“What, were you dropped as a bab-” His open eye strains to see his instructor’s thumb press down the hammer of the gun. A warning.

He can feel his hands shake under the assassins hold. His throat burns.

“You scared of a chil-?” He barely has time to register the hand moving before the butt of the gun slams into his nose with a sickening crack.

Pain floods his face. He gets half a shout out before his chin is grabbed by unforgiving hands.

He stares into the man’s cold eyes.

Danny says nothing. Too focused on trying to breathe when his nose is filling with blood and his mouth is clamped nearly shut.

“Better.”

He resists the urge to spit in the man’s face as he steps back, straightening and waving a hand to the assassins. Even without their hands on him he can feel their presence looming behind him.

Danny drops his head, curling in on himself as much as he can, trying to ignore the feeling of blood as it slides down his face.

His eyes are left to stagnate on the finger thrown to the ground in front of him.

Pale skin stands stark against dark floors, contrasted by blood and dirt marring it. He can see the calluses and small scars.

He doesn’t understand.

He might.

He doesn’t want to.

“You are not the only one I can punish to get my point across, boy.”

He looks closer at the finger. At the nicks of careless knives and tools, of a hand that had cradled- no- please no-

“The oaf was very insistent it be him.”

Danny snaps his head up, fear striking through his chest, “No! Please-“ he catches himself, “Please don’t hurt them! They don’t- Hurt me, just me! They don’t deserve it, they didn’t do anything-!”

Sharp eyes stab into him. Fury behind them.

“Hurt me, Master Shrike, just me. Please.”

There’s a pause as the man continues to stare down at him before he lifts one lip in a sneer, “Do you think you command me, child?”

Danny freezes, “I don’t- I- No, Master. I don’t.”

“Then why,” Shrike near growls, “Do you beg me? Why do you plead like you have a right to ask for anything?”

“I don’t-” 'I don’t understand,' he starts to say but he’s cut off by Shrike’s boot hitting his face. He’s learned by now when not to dodge. He can’t give them another reason to hurt his family.

A second kick lands.

“You will be quiet!”

Danny waits for a beat, then slowly pulls himself up from the floor, not lifting his eyes.

He can still see his father’s finger on the floor.

“You do not command me. You are a tool! A weapon in the Demon’s hand! I choose to act, to punish or break you! You do not act, do not speak until you are to be used!”

Danyal stays silent.

He wants to scream, to fight back, they train him and they train him but he can’t fight back because if he does- his eyes flick to the bloodied finger.

He can let them. For his family, he can let them call him a weapon, can let them say he has no will. He can do this one thing.

He’s not giving up, he tells himself. But for his family’s safety, he can let them think he is. Just this once.

Danny stops, eyes shutting for just a second as he bends into a kneel, holding his hands up in front of him.

There’s a pause, cruel satisfaction radiating off the man in front of him.

Danyal licks his lips, steeling himself, “I am ready for my lesson,” Danny forces the words out, “Master Shrike.”

He doesn’t bother to look up and see the man’s sneer.

“Good.”

He sees the kick coming.

He still doesn’t move.

He stays still.

The world moves around him. Voices. Muttering. The sound of dishes, water being poured.

There’s a carrot.. orange and bright in front of him.

His heart is beating too fast. His eyes sting.

Calm down. Control it. Control it. Stop, stop-

A tea cup clatters in front of him.

“Sir Danyal, are you quite alright?” He hears someone ask. Alfred. It’s Alfred. Batman’s butler. He’s not-

He tries to speak, ‘I’m fine’ he tries to say. But his throat constricts. He simply nods, staring down at the carrot.

A freaking carrot.

It’s ridiculous.

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s. Fine.

Danyal takes a deep breath. He breathes out. Silently.

He does it again.

He holds it until his heart slows down, stops stuttering from beat to beat.

He breathes out.

He reaches for the tea, ignoring the eyes on him-always watching him- ignoring the way his hands shake.

He drinks the tea. Let’s it burn his throat and distract him.

He breathes.

Alfred does not turn to look at him. Staying busy at the sink with dishes that already look clean.

He is thankful.

He breathes.

Low murmurs fill impenetrable silence. Danyal drags his eyes over to the small TV.

His breath stops.

A banner of words crawls across the bottom of the screen.

‘DalvCo factories shutting down after mass destruction.’

He tries to tear his eyes away.

‘Four buildings exploded just after midnight on Saturday in downtown Chicago, Elmerton, and Red Lake. 12 workers dead. Police have not caught the perpetrators.’

And they won’t.

Danyal can recognize a message.

He knows what it means. Who is sending it.

He tries not to let it show how his mind begins spinning. Churning out plans and strategies- If an attempt had cost his father a finger, what would they do to them now, because of Danyal?- he had to fix this.

He looks down to his shaking hands. He stops them. And the tea in his cup stills.

He stops. Pauses. He eyes Alfred still at the sink without looking up.

He places it just on the edge of the counter. Then turns away and lets go.

The cup falls.

It shatters against the floor. Danyal jumps up from his seat at the same time Alfred turns around.

“What’s happened?” He says, already hustling over with a towel. “Are you hurt?”

Danyal steps away and around him, towards the door.

He almost bumps into the display case until the reflection of light off the phone catches his eye. A small ballet sticker sits on the back of the case.

His hand moves before he can think and slips it into his pocket. He looks at Alfred.

“It’s no trouble, Young Danyal,” Alfred says as he crouches over where Danyal had been sitting, “I’ll clean this up and get you more. You can help me prepare for breakfast-“

Danyal considers knocking him out, so he can’t stop him, or alert anyone, but a body is more suspicious. Instead he paints his face with fear and steps out of the room as quick as he can.

He turns down the hallway, trying to remember where he’d walked from the cave.

Mere hours ago.

He goes the opposite direction, following a halls as far to the outer edges of the mansion as he can, typing in Vlad’s number with nervous hands as he goes.

He makes a final turn before he opens a window, glances backwards, and jumps out.

He lands in a roll, already running. His finger presses call and he listens to the phone ringing as he runs.

Once. Twice. He swipes branches out of his way. Three times. Four. Five. Six.

‘We’re sorry the number-‘

Danyal hangs up and presses again.

He doesn’t stop running.

He just has to protect them. He has to warn Vlad. Warn whoever he can. Tell someone.

It rings again. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Six- ‘We’re sorr-‘

Danyal presses it again and runs faster.

If he can get caught by the League maybe Ra’s will overlook it. Maybe he can still protect them. He can fix this. Please just let him fix this.

‘We’re s-‘

He tries again.

And Danyal continues rushing through the woods, wishing his feet would carry him faster, further, higher-

The sound of his steps pounds in his ears. The phantom feeling of eyes on his back.

He slams his finger down on Vlad’s number again, letting the dial tone drown his heartbeat out.

Once. Twice. Three times, Frick! Vlad pick up! Four- the speakerphone clicks.

“Vlad!”

There’s barely a pause, “DANNY!?”

Danny nearly trips, his heart stuttering dangerously, hopefully.

“Dani?…” He says, then jolts to his senses and continues running, a glance thrown behind him, “Dani, how do you have Vlad’s phone, are you okay? Have you been to Amity?”

“Danny, where the hell are you!? I’ve been looking all over for-“

“Dani, you have to listen okay, there’s dangerous people after me- after us-“ Danyal jumps another log, scaling a small stone wall, “You can’t fight them, you have to run, they’ve got my family, Tuck, Sam-“

“Danny wait no listen to me-!”

“You can’t fight them! You can’t, okay!?” Danny scans his eyes back and forth frantically as he runs, mind spinning, calculating how he’s going to get out, away, controlling his heart rate as much as he can, “You have to promise me! Just find Vlad, get out of Amity. Warn him- I couldn’t - my parents- you have to-“

“Danny, listen to me!” Dani yells, stopping him in his tracks.

“Your parents are out, Danny,” She says, voice rushed, but his ears barely hear it. “They escaped, they called us weeks ago to start looking for you- Danny, they’re out.”

She goes quiet. Waiting for Danny.

His parents were-

Danny draws in a deep breath, standing stock still in the middle of the trees, stolen phone still pressed to his ear.

He couldn’t believe it.. they were-

Something clangs against a tree behind him and Danyal whips around ready to-

His head blossoms with pain.

Everything goes dark.

This is included in my one-shot collection(for now) on Ao3, under same name. The collection is Things that Could Exist by Snaileer.

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/760212137159294976/call-to-my-bedside-3?source=share

Tags:

@thecrystallabyrinth @isnt-that-grape @riverdancingwerewolves @mimblizzy @chaos-deimos-et-eris @miraculousandmore2 @mys-tia @jitteryjuttury @moonlight-opal @nerdypaintbrush @thedragonqueen1998 @luminanightfall @cowarddragon @cyrwrites @kamireadsmcu

[l4p1z---d]

Decided i wanted to try drawing fanart of Tiffany from Dressed to Kill by le_chat_noir

Its part of a series yall should check out

[inquisitor-of-hearts]

Not Even Close (Chapter 5)

Sam Drake/Reader

After a night out you and Sam take the long way home (metaphorically speaking).

Rating: Explicit (NSFW)

Word Count: 1,577

On Ao3

Link to Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

“I liked it there!” you say as you walk through the streets after your night out.

“I’m happy you did.” Sam comments. “See? I listen. My Baby wants to go dancing, I take her dancing.”

“Yeah, that was very attentive of you.” you praise him.

“If I had known there were so many guys though, I might have looked for another place. Everyone was staring at you.”

“You keep saying that” you laugh as you two walk away from the nightlife district. “I didn’t notice it. I’m quite sure the girls were all crazy about you but they couldn’t stare while I was close.”

“Oh, you’re just saying that.” Sam waves off.

“Absolutely not. I thought you were just saying that about me though.”

“Did you really not notice them gawking at you?”

“I only have eyes for you, darling.” you reassure him with a slight grin and take his hand. He snorts and shakes his head.

“You wanna head home?”

“I think so, I’m tired. I didn’t think you’d dance with me by the way.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“In my book?” You chuckle. “Good. Very good. As long as it’s only me you’re dancing with.”

“And here I thought I was the jealous one.” Sam remarks.

“Can we agree on us both being the jealous type?” you propose laughing, but the way he gently squeezes your hand catches you off-guard for a second.

“You’re cute” he says quickly, his gaze on you. You realize he means it. Which in turn makes you a little flustered.

“How much did you drink exactly?” you ask playfully, overcoming the intimate moment.

“You saw how much I drank. I had two beers, it has nothing to do with that. But any more than two and I would’ve needed a bathroom break, which means I’d have to leave you alone with the guys eyeing you.”

“Oh, you held back?”

“Only because I didn’t want to leave you alone at the bar”

You feel the heat arising in you. He was so sweet. You remembered all the feelings you had when you first met and got to know each other.

“You’d be lonely without me, right?” he asks quietly. You laugh and hit his arm playfully. As you walk along holding onto his hand, your fingers caress his hand a little.

“The loneliest woman in the world.” you answer at last.

Just as you are about to reach the main street to get a cab, he pulls you back with him, leaving you startled.

“Wha-- Oh, okay” you bring out when he starts walking towards one of the smaller streets again. “Did we forget something?”

Before you know it he pulls you towards a small alley and you are pinned against a brick wall, his body against yours.

“What-- what is this?” You swallow, noticing him looking into your eyes as if he had caught onto you. You become more intimidated as he keeps staring into your eyes in the dark, just a hint of light coming in from the corner of the narrow street. Before you can speak up again, you feel his hands along your hips, the side of his face against yours, lips to your ear, your neck.

“Sam… What are you doing” you ask softly, wondering what got into him. But his hand on your ass makes your mind go blank. With both hands on your behind he lifts you up a little, his hand on your thigh when you’re lifted up enough and you feel his crotch between your legs.

“I want you so bad, Baby” His voice is quiet, grows weak only for a moment as your hips cannot help but move against his.

“God, Baby” he sighs.

“You’re terrible” you whimper, grabbing onto his jacket, pulling him towards you. You stare at each other in the dark before your eyes close and you kiss him again, first gently, then with desire.

“Ah, don’t--” You breathe in sharply, breaking the kiss when you feel his hand slipping beneath the fabric of your pants without even so much as a warning, trying to undo the button. His hand lingers, the fingertips withdraw from the waistline and caress along it instead, just beneath your navel.

“Really want me to stop?” he rasps, searching your gaze again.

You shake your head helplessly while you can barely get a hold of a straight thought in your head.

“I don’t-- but--” you interrupt your own thoughts when your hips move against him and you feel him hard. You watch him undo the button and closure of your pants, then pull them down until your underwear is revealed. He watches your eyes that follow him with patience, then lets his fingers run over the cotton fabric, then lower until they reach the spot.

“Fuck” you moan, feeling the intensity as if he touched you for the first time.

“What got you so excited?” he asks quietly with a one-sided grin.

“You, damnit” you answer, realizing he must have damn well noticed you were getting wet from the excitement.

You pant and whimper, holding onto his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his clothes as his fingers find their way inside and start moving.

With half-closed eyes you look towards the corner of the street, but it only adds to your arousal. Before you can gain any clarity, he pulls away and twists you around.

“I think that’s wet enough”

“Baby, we can’t just-- I mean--” You look at him over your shoulder, but he pulls out a little plastic wrapper from his pocket.

“Do you always come prepared like that?” You ask with a frown.

“Ever since I know you I don’t leave the house without.” he whispers in a hoarse voice.

“I hope you mean that--” You frown a little. “I hope you mean for me?”

“Of course for you! Who else would I--” He looks at you confused, but then you see the realization on his face and he shakes his head, leaning in to you from behind, kissing your cheek and jaw soothingly.

“Of course for you, baby. You’re the only one.” he reassures you. “I just know wherever we go, I should come prepared for you.”

You close your eyes and enjoy the embrace for a moment, believing him. He acted all tough sometimes but deep down he was so sweet and innocent that he could not even think about how you could have taken it the wrong way because there was no possibility of that. He only ever wanted you, and he kept showing you that, each and every day.

“Let me pull them down a little” he whispers as he holds you from behind, his hands from around your waist now tugging on your jeans once more. “Just a little”

You can sense the smirk on his face just from the way he talks.

“Oh Sam” You sigh as you feel him against your panties. He had already undone his own pants and followed up with the precautions.

With his hands on your hips, caressing and loving, he settles at your entrance once your panties are pushed aside, his lips still kissing the side of your neck.

“Not too loud, okay?” he warns before he enters and stretches you gently.

A soft moan breaks from your lips but you manage to keep it at a low volume. As he starts moving you feel him deeper and so intensely that a few broken off sighs escape your lips.

“Your wet pussy is louder than your voice” he moans as he starts fucking you harder, the sounds of your coming together echoing quietly.

Your breathing becomes erratic, following countless broken sighs and moans. You hold onto the wall in front of you weakly, arching your back to feel more of him.

“Oh Baby, oh God--” he groans while his hips slam against yours restlessly, his fingers digging into your bare skin.

“Oh God” you join him moaning and reach your climax just as he thrusts into you still harder. He watches you come, then with relentless thrusts reaches his own climax. His breathing heavy, he leans his head against your shoulder weakly.

“My God, Baby. I love you.”

You freeze for a moment, then smile as you realize you feel the same.

“I love you too.”

When you reach home and unlock the door, you turn on the lights in the hallway and take off your shoes.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“What? That I love you?” He takes off his shoes, his voice calm. “I did.”

“It’s strange. I felt the same in that moment. And I still do. I always did.” You look at him with an almost dreamy gaze, but with a hint of fear and concern it. “You really feel that way?”

He steps further inside and comes to stand in front of you, looking down at you. His hands wrap around your waist as he speaks.

“I do. And I also always did. There is no way I couldn’t.”

“Show me again. Tell me again. I could hear it a thousand times.”

He smiles so gently when he nods. One of his hands runs up from your waist to cup your face and kiss you so lovingly, so attentively that you feel the sparks in your stomach again.

“I love you” he whispers against your lips. “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it.”

[incrediblyaccuratethoughts]

NEW CHAPTER!!

COME GET YOUR JUICE!!

I GOT FRESH SCHENAGINS!!

Jason: Hey Tim, is this your long-lost twin or something?

Damian: No but that’s mine??