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whambambatfam · 4 months ago

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Webs of a Wing

Chapter 1

I am not well versed in DC knowledge. I've read a bunch of the older comics but, honestly, these timelines are too confusing to say I have a firm grasp on what the fuck is happening at any given point.

Anyways, this is my story, I made a tumbler for it. I'll definitely upload again..

When the fly on the wall starts to spin webs of their own, can the bats catch on? Or will they be left to dangle in the web they've tangled?

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You're hardly school aged when you wake in a strange place, vague memories of someone patting your head as you fall asleep. Then it was all blurry and you went from cold hard ground, suddenly, to a warm bed worth more than you've ever seen.

Laying still, staring up at the ceiling, you lay dazed until you hear the door starting to creak open. Quickly shutting your eyes you wait for the suspect to peak inside.

When his voice sounds, back on the other side of the door, you perk up, "Who's this? They're kinda cute." A boy, most likely a few years older than you.

When that deep, fear inducing voice reaches for you, you jump out of bed after it. "Apparently, my child." He couldn't possibly be talking about you, right?

You make your way silently to the creaked door. Peeping through to watch them. "Huh? What?? Like seriously???" Hands resting on his hips, a boy of black hair and lean physique gapes.

A tall man with a build as intimidating as his voice, "Yes, I've run a DNA test and everything." His large arms cross over his broad chest.

Mirroring the older man's stance, the boy questions, "So, who's the mom?"

"I'm still working on that.."

"Have you.. asked them?"

There's a heaviness lingering in the hall around them. "We don't know if they'll talk yet, not till they wake up." He doesn't like not having answers, clearly.

"Can they?"

Swinging the door open, you bark out at your own defense, "I knew how'd to talk!"

His shoulder shot up, face blossoming in embarrassment, "Oh, sorry." Sighing, he tries to appear nonchalant. "Well, heyyy.. kid.. My name's Dick.” Placing a hand on your shoulder, he smiles, “Guess I'll be like, your, uh, big brother?"

Eyes widening, you step away from his grasp. Being in a strange place with strange people claiming to be your family was concerning. Even in your young mind, alarm bells rang loud and clear.

Like a light shining through your darkest times, his voice cut through the tension. “This may be all too much for,” A man, much older than either, rests his hand on your back, “the newly young master Wayne.” He ushers you gently back into the room. All gentle pats and kind smiles as he insists on you resting.

You never spoke about who or where you came from. It hurts to try, to think of the cold, the dark, the pain, the fear. Push out all the bad. Make it just go away. You just wanted it to go away. Wanted to take every memory of before and lock it up, never to be found. So, that's what you did, burying every painful memory. After some time, your young mind turned repression into suppression. Now, left with only bits and pieces, you couldn't remember even if you wanted to.

So, you’ll need to fill in the emptiness with this fresh start.

Life in the Wayne house started off joyfully. You found serenity in the solitude of the manor, disconnected from the rest of Gotham. When Alfred wasn't pushing tedious homeschooling work, you explored the massive house you'd be calling home. The quietude of empty ballrooms, winding halls and stodgy gardens was your respite. While it wasn't a place made for children, you felt at peace for the first time. The perfect home for a ghost with plenty of walls for flies and flowers alike.

Coming from unknown origins with no paperwork to speak of left you in a peculiar predicament. As a child was low grasp on the passage of time, you couldn't exactly say how old you were. Let alone when your birth date was. No one has ever bothered to tell you and if they have you certainly weren't going to remember. Infact, at Alfreds insists on a celebration, he comes to find you've never truly experienced a birthday of any kind. He had to correct this at once, give you a proper one with cake, singing and presents. It makes him wonder what sort of childhood you've been plucked from.

“Well, young master.” Alfred takes your hands as you climb the step stool next to him, “It's been a year now since you've joined us at the manor.”

Your hands slap onto the counter when you finally reach it. “Yeah, I like it.” Smiling wide up at the old butler, you babble on, “everything is so big and warm and it smells nice and I like when you cook and I wanna cook too and-” Alfred hushes your ramblings with a hand on your head.

“Yes, that's lovely, my child.” The other hand opens a draw nearby. “And that's what we'll be doing today.”

You tilt your head as the hand on it brushes over it and falls away, “Cooking?” Craning your neck, you try to peek at the cards he flips through.

“Well, baking, but yes.” He confirms, offering you a smile that's warm and sweet like his cookies, “Today was the day you joined the family, it's as good a day as any for a party.”

Your eyes light up, “A party for what?”

“Your birthday, my dear.” He chuckles softly at your look of awe,“Today will be your birthday, and every year I shall make you a cake.”

“Woah, every year?” You gasp as he hafs you the small stack of cards, each a handwritten cake recipe. While you can't read them yet, there are pictures of each cake pasted alongside the words. “That's a lot of cakes.. Can I help?”

“Whichever you like most we'll bake.” You're quick to pick one, waving the card around frantically, “I would be honored to have your help as well, young master.”

Alfred got to work with measurements, letting you pour everything into the bowls. He shows you how to mix, guiding you hand over hand when you struggle. You can't help spilling half of you what you're given, covering the counters. Sliding the pan batter into the oven, Alfred has you assist by wiping away your mess.

As he begins readying ingredients for frosting you ask, “Are those guys gonna join us?”

You're too busy scrubbing batter from your stool to see the way he deflates. “Unfortunately, your father and brother are tied up in something.” He sighs, taking the rag and finishing your job. With a sullen smile he hands you a measuring cup of sugar, “Perhaps next year.”

The night is spent merrily celebrating. When it cools Alfred frosts and decorates your cake. He places a number of candles, It's the first of many birthdays spent with just you and Alfred.

The next years were your first time in true schooling, a prestigious boarding school to boot. You couldn't remember seeing so many other children before. The eyes you received from strangers when given your new last name made your skin crawl. Deciding to forgo it in most encounters. Yet, for some reason to a great number of your fellow classmates, that fact seemed to matter greatly. If you met someone who insisted or withheld their friendship without, then you'd simply roll your eyes, never speaking to them.

You decided friends weren't important, instead making it your goal to not just succeed but to exceed. If this was your shot of a real family, you wanted to show them you were something capable. Worthy. You were hopeful, determined in getting close.

Only to be pushed aside at every opportunity.

“I got’ perfect score!” The words burst from you with such excitement you're bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Bruce doesn't even bother to look at the paper you're frantically waving at him. Simply mumbling as he places his mug in the sink, “Very nice.” Before turning to Dick, “Come on, son. It's time to go.” You thought maybe this was how a father was supposed to be. Cold, distant and hardly ever around for someone so small.

Alfred steps up from behind your slumped form. Plucking the paper from your dejected gaze. He hums softly before you hear a rap on the fridge beside you. “Wonderful job young master.” You smile for him as he pats your head. Happy to have at least someone’s acknowledgement.

From what your classmates say, a big brother will either pick on you or support you. Soon you came to find that living with Dick Grayson didn't guarantee you any of his time. Good or bad.

So, despite the terror that being center stage fills you with, you entered your school's spelling bee. The thought that maybe you could possibly impress them gave you just enough nerve.

“Hey, um, Dickie...” When you catch his sleeve, your teeth skin into your cheeks. He peeks over his shoulder at you, “Here, it's a competition.”

His nose wrinkles slightly before he smiles. “Spelling bee?” Not a real smile, you don't get those. It's a empty, meaningless thing that hardly lifts his lips.

“If you're not busy.” You clasp your fingers together, steeling your nerves.

“Uh, yeah. Maybe.” It’s thinly masked disgust if anything.

Time came to discuss bringing you into the public eye, an official declaration of your relationship with the Wayne's. Just the thought of it was unsettling, like placing a target on your back. The last place you want to be is the spot light.

“I don't wanna go. I won't go.” It was then in that moment, when the words left your lips, you could see it in his eyes.

A wave of relief Dick couldn't quite stifle, lip touching at the corner before turning to Bruce, “Maybe they're just scared of all those new people. With everyone looking at them, seeing them as your..” That uptick in his features falters slightly, “first child, technically.” Back then, you thought he cared. That this was actually for your protection. “It's a lot of pressure, maybe it would be better. For them, to stay safe.”

Bruce crosses his arms, examining his older child before looking back to the younger. “You have a point there, Dick.” You've twisted your fingers into Alfreds pant leg, half hidden behind him. “Fine. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to. It might even be for the better.” Neither of them wanted you there, thinly veiled behind words of care, never quit saying it.

Not once then did you realize. There was nothing you could do, nothing you could say, nothing you could show for. Nothing to make them see you, the real you. You couldn't provide them with anything, that made you useless.

“Very well, Master Bruce.” With a sigh, Alfred guides you away as the two leave. He was always the one in your corner. Before you even know this life would be a battle.

This give on the topic began your gradual slope into obscurity. In the hectic years of adolescence, you'd come to the conclusion that private schools are for snobs. You manage to convince the old butler, with baked goods, to allow a change of schools. Not wanting to slow your studies yet overwhelmed by your known family reputation. Public school seemed viable, no one had to know who you really were. There seemed to be no object, or real acknowledgment of this decision.

You used to believe, despite how they act, this was it, this would be your family and you could be happy. Surely, you thought, it's because you're new to them. It must be hard to connect, you found it quite difficult yourself.

So, you decided, you'll just need to put in more effort. Show them that there is something that you and they can do together. You took up everything you Alfred offered to teach you when he was around. You learned to cook, sew and clean the whole manor faster than the master butler himself.

Of course, he had other priorities, not just as your caretaker. Try as he might to keep you at the top of that list, he still has duties to attend. So, you would take your days, even weeks, alone with stride. A good time to build your skills on your own, finding new ways to utilize them. Hoping for something, anything, to bridge the gap with your new family.

“I'll be home late today, Al.” While you had gotten away from uptight private schooling, Alfred still set into a well funded school.

He gives a light chuckle of disbelief over the phone, “You have plans, young master?” Pinching the device between your shoulder and ear, you fumble through your first ever locker.

“It's just a club, I'll still need you to pick me up after.” With all your free time, you thought you'd use more of your growing skills.

“At your service my dear.”

You took time to catch on, years of peeling away from the background. Picking and pulling apart from the inside out, finding something that could peak their interest. Hoping to think twice, even once to turn their heads back to the lone manner.

That's how you found them, their secrets; and the life that pulled them as taunt in one direction as the other did. Digging for a way that you could connect from beyond the twice eye catching lives they live day and night. You were piled with reasoning when you found that special place in the library they all seemed to love. The idea of passing the security felt out of reach at the time.

Walking along the dark water line, looking out to the misty sky. You don't wish for misfortune, but you wait. When that light flickers on and that familiar symbol reflects on the dark Gotham clouds, your breath catches. Ducking alonge the rocky cliff wall by the large alcove, you listen to the rumble. You brace yourself as something in the shallow cave opens, the rumble growing.

Then you have your answer. The Batmobile comes billowing out of the cave, in its wake you hide. Long after its departure from the property, you emerge from your hiding spot. Slipping through the closing doors and wandering down into the bat cave.

Despite how they see through you most times, you're sure Alfred knows when you sneak in. So, appreciating this to be Alfred throwing his hand up and hiding his eyes for your sake.

It's awe inspiring to say the least, especially knowing you live above it every day. It felt like peeking through the lives of strangers and you couldn't look away. You don't know why he kept it from you but you didn't want to be shut out for knowing. Yet, you couldn't satiate your curiosity with just this visit.

You had told Alfred you had a meeting after a club and that you would be home late. For some strange reason he promised Dick would pick you up.

Water splashes up from a speeding tire as you walk along the misty Gotham streets, “Aw man, come on!” Of course Dick didn't show! Why would he? When has he ever?

Now, in this situation, Alfred would wish for you to call him for assistance.

“Over there! Look, look!” Across the intersection a pair gasps and squeals, fingers pointed up at the Boy Wonder. The last thing on his mind as he leapt through the night sky, was an unwanted sister.

If only Alfead could get everything he's ever wished for, but you're not a fairy.

Following gunshot and bangs you skirt around chaos, nearly avoiding an obvious outbreak of costumed thugs. You watch in ired fascination as they beat down each threat thoroughly. As the moon starts to sit lower again and the bad guys are carted away, you realize how long you've been gone.

You arrive at the gates in tune to be blown past by the Batmobile. Inside, Alfred gives you a look as if he knows every secret you've even kept. Thankfully he doesn't say a word, You're out of your damp clothes by the time the dynamic duo ascend to the manor.

For people of the shadows, they never could seem to see you creeping through them.

It's through this that you managed to learn about Barbra Gordon. The commissioner's daughter was someone you could only catch glimpses of from time to time. It was rare for you to catch her attention. Much too preoccupied with her work for the Bat, your father.

The batgirl's skill inspired your own delve into tech. Hacking, coding and even trying your hand at tinkering with new devices. Creations that you've jerry-rigged and hoped against hope that she would even glance at.

She's coming over today, you overheard dick say so. You've poked your head over the banister as you wait to spot the red head. Yet, once she's there, you freeze. Dick and Barbara push through the front doors together. Light rain chasing them inside from the sturing storm. Their foot falls followed by light laughter and easy chitchat. If only it was so easy for you.

You watch as your brother scurries off, promising to grab a towel. This is your shot. “Oh, um!” Words are coming from you before you even know what to say. Stumbling over yourself, you bumble over, haltung in front of her. “B-Barbra?”

“Huh, who?” At the ruckus you've made, she whips around. Head on a swivel 'till green eyes locking on you. “Oh! It's you.. uh..” looking you up and down she stumbles as well.

You have to give her your name, again.

“Right, right. Sorry.” Barbra looks off sheepishly, carting a hand through her hair. Hand flicking droplets from the ginger ringlets.

“It's okay..” that's alright, that's normal Even. You don't see each other all that often.. even though you remembered her name just fine. “I just want to ask you about some-” Unfortunately, yet unsurprisingly, she cuts you off before you can pull out what you want to share with her.

“I've actually got to-” Her mouth snaps shut before she thinks better of words, “Well, um, talk with Bruce.” She finishes with an awkward chuckle and mumbled “Y'know how it is. Always something with the Wayne's.”

No, “Yeah..” You didn't know.

You've never shared more than a last name with the Wayne's.

Patting your head she smiles, “Sorry again, hun. Maybe later?” turning away down the hall Dick had disappeared to. Even to the all seeing eye you were nothing but a mere fly on the wall.

Gothams streets were dark, dangerous, and the only place you could see them for more than a minute. You loved nights like this, when you could slip from the manor. Undetected by the inattentive gazes that should have kept a preteen like you home.

With this habit of bird watching, you found yourself looking more into your subpar self defense. Living in Gotham has given you a natural caution but all too often you've wound up in tight situations. All because you couldn't keep your eyes off them. Maybe if you show them you could do that, fight back, they might see you.

You put yourself out there over and over, “Uh, d-dad?” Alfred insisted you call him that, but it never felt right, “I've been doing, um, I have this..” taking a breath you force it out, “It's martial arts, could you come see me?”

Another paper half glance at before the typical, “I'll see what I can do.”

Apparently, there are some things even Batman can't do.

“H-hey.. I, uh, am doing..” You pull out the flier for your competition. inspecting it over before looking to see him. Half-heartedly glancing up from his comic, Dick gives you a once over before continuing to read, “Gymnastics.”

Finally his eyes hold yours when the word shoots from your mouth. For a second you think this is it. This is when you’ll finally have his attention. Finally make that long awaited connection with your big brother. “I'll see, why don't you ask Bruce?” Dick lays the paper on the living room table in front of him.

“I did... he said the same thing.”

The paper is still there when you come back later.

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ggirlthatgotaway · 1 month ago

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Like an Animal, Driven by an Inexplicable Desire He Had Never Felt Before

summary: Aemond Targaryen does not have friends and he does not wish for any. At the Cambridge University, he has everything he wishes for: free time, studies that interest him, money, and a perfect table to study on. Of course, when he sees you sat on his chair, one of the pillars of his perfect life crumbles, shattering on the ancient university’s stone floors.

trigger warning: obsession for both tables and girls, explicit and sexual language, degrading terms, choking, masturbation, slight stalking maybe.

word count: 7.2k

supposed reading time: 29 minutes

note: for feck’s sake, this took FOREVER. i’m sorry, but at least this one is kinkier than the others, so… ALSO, i have many ideas for next ffs, AND OMG THE NEW FONTAINES DC MUSIC VIDEO?!?!? thank you ireland, i love you deeply (never been)

-��

Aemond Targaryen was weird- or so he told himself as a reason why he was twenty and still did not have one friend.

His highschool years had been hell to say the least: he used to feel like everyone noticed him and how he was always alone, but at the same time nobody noticed that he was not such a bad person to be around- not after some time, anyway.

University, on the other hand, had him feeling like he was not as bad as highschool had made him out to be. He realised that he needed to be discovered to be understood, and if nobody had the time to do so, that wasn’t his trouble. He still had no friends, but he had stopped caring right at the start. He had his studies that kept his mind sharp and trained, free time he used to train the body and still more moments to stare at the ceiling of his dorm in comfortable silence.

He had his spot at the ancient library of Cambridge University, where the light was soft but still lasted enough to make him feel how much he accomplished during the day. Aemond appreciated immensely the space that he had carved out for himself, for it was silent and empty and held the perfect warmth in the reoccurring rainy and humid days without being suffocating.

The spot at his table- the seat in front of the last shelf that was filled with books on Theoretical Physics, his major, had its chair complete of all screws and it did not creak when moved, never warm for nobody sat on it- was the the one near the window, so the sound of rain fell on the glass provided a calm white noise that had him go on with his studies without much effort. He also adored how no table was beside or behind him, which meant that no other student could see him there, but from his chair he could easily rest his eyes on most of the other study tables, which meant that he could look and sometimes stare at people without being noticed.

The perfection of said spot was sacred to him, that was the reason why rage boiled into his whole body when he was someone occupying it when he came into the library.

It was a girl, a stash of literature books sat on the place usually reserved for his physics material. Her hand was in her hair and she was chewing on her pen cap- a thing he found extremely irritating- while her eyes scanned the page she was reading.

What was she doing there, sat on his chair?

He was aware that it did not have his name on it or anything of the kind, although he wished it did. Such a problem had never presented itself before: that was the reason why he stopped in the middle of the corridor and the hold on his school bag tightened at the point his knuckles were white.

He was staring at her, and he was aware that people might have started staring at him after the amount of seconds he spent there like a shot-up mule, but he couldn’t help it for a long time.

It infuriated him how prettily she sat there, as if nothing was wrong, as if he were invisible although he was standing right in front of her. With her colourful highlighters and her legs put into a position that no human could find comfortable to sit in.

When his body finally permitted his feet to move, he reached the table and tapped his index finger on the wood, making the girl raise her eyes. Ignoring the way her gaze made him feel as it travelled his body before settling on his face, he spoke, “You’re in my seat.”

“Excuse me?” you said, furrowing your brows and straightening up.

Despite he was aware you did not ask that for him to repeat his words, he did, this time even more angrily, “You. Are. In. My. Seat.”

A grimace spread on your lips as his rude words reached your ears for the second time, and you could bot help but reciprocate the tone he had used, “You haven’t used it for at least a whole hour- I got here first.”

Your answer only served to make his anger rise, but he did not bite his tonge and deprive you of another stiff reply, “I come here every day. It’s practically my seat.” The word ‘practically’ was said to avoid that phrase he expected you to say: ‘I don’t see your name anywhere’. That would have not only gotten him even closer to slamming his hands on the table, but they also would have left him with no intelligent reply.

Your point was valid, and he was aware of it. It irritated him greatly how calmly you answered, despite the grimace on your oretty lips. But he found your following actions irritated him even more so: you rolled your eyes and shifted your stuff to the other half of the table, before getting up from his chair and sitting on the one opposite of it. “I hope you’re happy.” you said as you walked behind him.

“Hm.” he answered curtly, walking up to his usual seat and sitting on his beloved chair. He did stare as he took his books out of his school bag, appreciating and loathing how you resumed your studies without any semblance of annoyance.

He tried to study for the whole two hours you sat in front of him, but a sweet and fresh scent seemed to linger in the air around him, making his trousers tighten and his teeth sink into the inside of his cheek.

He liked to think he would have quickly forgotten about you in the short span of three days if you hadn’t sat in front of him again the following day. He had gotten to the library an hour before his usual study time and settled his things down, pretending he was not expecting you to show up and study in front of him again.

The way your eyes did not meet his sent a wave of annoyance crushing into him, but it was nothing compared to the wave of heat that would have hit him if you made eye-contact with him for even a split second.

You seemed impervious to his cold eyes on your scalp and to his very unsuccessful intimidation tactics, and he found it surprisingly refreshing, although immensely irksome. Aemond fixed his glasses on the bridge of his bose and let out a sigh, careful not to make any noise. He would be damned if he wasn’t able to study another day because a mere pretty girl sat in front of him.

But the words escaped his mouth before his brain was even able to register them, “You seem awfully committed to my table.” Aemond felt ashamed for his words for the first time in his whole life: never had he ever lost control of his mouth in such a way. He could get over the betrayal of his body from yesterday, yet his mind had also failed him despite it being what he redeemed himself good for.

“It’s the best one.” you answered, making his thoughts reel. Had you also noticed how much perfection surrounded his table? Was that the reason why you had chosen to occupy his chair yesterday, and not any other of the four seats?

“I’m aware.” he muttered under his breath, before letting his eyes fall on the open book in front of you. “And I suppose you need the best lighting to read those flowerry passages you study?” The mock was clear on his tone, for he had no intention of hiding it.

“Do you have problems with my choice of studies?” you asked as your eyes lifted from your book to meet his cold blue ones, and he basked in the slight annoyance in your voice like a lizard under the sun.

“Not at all,” he said calmly, but a hint of a grin gave out how much he was enjoying getting a reaction out of you, “Just seems like a waste of time when there’s real work to be done.” He tutted and raised his eyebrows, shrugging his shoulders imperceptibly, “To each their own.”

He saw your eyebrows raise as you looked down on your material, and he felt victorious for your surprised expression at his bastard words. But your absence of a reply irked him in a way that rarely happened- maybe he wanted to hear more of your voice, maybe he merely wanted to get even more on your nerves…

So he spoke again after some seconds of silence in which he desperately tried to find something else to say, “Also, I’m trying to concentrate here. So, if you don’t mind…” he trailed off, gesturing to your belongings that occupied half of his table, half of his territory.

He saw the way your grip tightened around your blue biro, signalling that he had succeeded in bothering you again. You gave him a fake smile and flipped your notebook open, making clear you had no intention of moving your things, “I believe half of the table is perfectly enough for you.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Aemond gave the same smile back to you, and looked back down at his textbook, but instead of words his mind replayed the way you had walked up to him just minutes prior, and he found himself staring wide eyed at the paper.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your pen scratching against paper, drawing his attention to the way your hand moved gracefully, tapping your lower lip in concentration as you thought of what to write before putting it down on paper. He quickly turned his gaze back to his book, biting back a groan.

Since when were pretty girls so distracting to him? He pushed his thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand, but not before casting a sideways glance at you, a mixture of irritation and fascination swirling in his blue eyes.

After other three hours spent on studying- today he was able to concentrate slightly more than the day before, although the sound of your voice haunted his thoughts like a pleasing even if annoying melody- the sound of your chair against the stone floors made his head shoot up.

You gathered your things and pushed the books into the already overflowing bag you carried around. He was sure the covers of the books would bend horribly in such a position, but he made no comment on that. His eyes followed you even if his head didn’t move as you put the chair you were sat on back in place, which he appreciated, before you turned on your heels and made your way back out of the library.

He stared at your ass in an inappropriate way: the fabric of the blue jeans you were wearing gave him a perfect view, one he had no intention of missing. He wanted to say something to you, maybe a mocking “See you tomorrow.”, but no words came out of his lips.

He was not aware when his table became your table, despite the fact he thought of it extremely often. He had never studied as few as he had done in the three weeks you had sat in front of him in the library: he could smell the perfume you wore when you weren’t there, and he realised he was either going mental or you had walked there some moments before him; he noticed the nail polish on your nails and the way you changed it every weekend; he memorised the order in which you put your earrings, and the fact you wore three on your left ear and two on your right.

One day, you left the library earlier than usual. “Bye.” you told him with a small wave of your hand- you had started saying goodbye to him on the Tuesday of the second week.

Aemond let out a “Hm.” in response, hiding how he would stare at you until you were no longer in sight. Leaning back on his chair, he realised he knew an extremely limited amount of things about you- as in proper things, not your earrings, your nails, your books, or the bitten caps of blue pens. He knew your name and your studies, and that, he decided as he stared at the wooden door you had just disappeared behind, was far too few.

His chair creaked when he shot to his feet, and he rested his palms on the flat wooden surface to gather his thoughts. The library held a great amount of personal information in its yearbooks, and Gods be damned if he did not find you in one of them.

The waste of time that he could have spent studying or resting heavied upon him as he scanned the thick pages of the previous year’s yearbook, but then he took a deep breath, and his nostrils filled with your perfume as if you were there, pressing your sweater against his nose. That kept him going on with his research, and it also made him realise that, yes, he was going mental.

Apparently, you were so good at spelling you had won multiple awards for the school. The news made him click his tongue and shake his head, almost bothered, almost as if a picture of him wasn’t in that same yearbook for his chess award.

His eyes stilled on the picture, on the softness of your hair, evident even from there, on the soft curve of your lips and their rosy colour, and on your eyes, which have been making his trousers tight for weeks now. And you were staring right at the camera, and at the viewer.

Aemond Targaryen did not blink for a whole minute, maybe two. When he felt as if your face was imprinted onto his eyelids, he walked over to the photocopier, and before he knew it, he was staring again at your picture, only this time he was in his dorm, sitting on his bed, with his cock in hand.

It was a temptation he had weakly fought too long to resist, and despite the slight guilt he had felt before undoing the button of his jeans, he felt victorious at the accomplishment.

Said ‘accomplishment’, anyway, became a deep obsession, an overwhelming need that he needed to satisfy every single day after the study sessions you and Aemond had going on.

He felt fifteen in a way he hadn’t felt when he had been that actual age, and he secretly relished in it, both for the physical pleasure and for the adrenaline the immoral brought him.

He started to wonder, as he looked at you biting your pen and not really hiding anymore the fact that he was staring at you, what your reaction would be in the impossible situation that you would find out about the picture he kept safely put into his nightstand, second drawer to the left.

Would you slap him? Demand the picture brought to you? Sue him for stalking? Run away and avoid him ever after? The possibilities were endless, really, but also impossible to come true: the only ways you could ever find out were by rummaging through his stuff or by him telling you. Completely impossible indeed- nothing that would ever come true.

When he noticed you were staring at him, he realised he needed to get out of his thoughts. “What?” he asked, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter.

“I asked you for a pen.” you repeated, holding out your open palm and waiting for him to pout the requested object on it.

He gave the pen he was ‘using’ to you, bot mreting your eyes and pretending to be focused on his textbook, although the slight contact of your skin under his made him shiver pleasenty, “Don’t bite on it.”

That day he left the library before you, after he realised he was not going to study anyway, and it was better to spend his time doing something he knew he was going to enjoy.

Aemond opened the door of his dorm swiftly and carelessly left his bag on the floor, before sitting down on his bed with a sigh, his eyes locked on the second drawer. He did not reach to open it immediately: he had the sensation he was still being observed, still in your presence.

But since that piece of paper was imprinted on his eyelids, he really did not make a big difference whether he had it in hand or not.

He lied down, his hand massaging his length through the constraining fabric of his jeans. He closed his eyes when his fingers wandered close to the cold button, and imagined you standing before him, no useless fabric to cover your curves as you looked at him with thise eyes he had been idolising for weeks.

He imagined himself reaching out to tangle his hand through your hair, tugging you forward rather roughly before forcing you down with your knees on the softness of the carpet.

He undid the zip of his trousers and freed his cock, massaging it and imagining himself stroking it over your face as he held you close tt, so much the lenght often brushed against the skin of your cheek.

He groaned as he made you suck his tip, pulling it out as he pleased to trace the contours of your mouth before pushing it past your lips again. He imagined his hand taking a better hold of your hair and pushing your head further down his cock, making you take it whole as your eyes were still locked on his.

He craved that pretty, soft and definitely sweet mouth around him, warming him up as he fucked it roughly, making you choke on his cock.

He imagined seeing your ass reflecting on the mirror beside the bed, and your dripping cunt peeking out of it like a treasure he would take and use. He imagined making you take him down to his base as he reached down to grasp the soft flesh of your ass, molding it in his hand before delivering a sharp slap to it.

“Fuck.” he hissed, opening his eyes and quickly reaching for the left corner of the second rawer of his nightstand. He pulled out your picture and fucked his hand furiously over it, his mouth hanging open in pleasure.

He could feel himself about to reach the edge when someone knocked. The movements on his cock stilled instantly, trying to figure out if his mind had tricked his ears into hearing it, but when the noise came again he shot to his feet, your picture still on his hand as he haphazardly tucked his throbbing cock back into his jeans.

He wished he hadn’t opened the door when he found you standing outside of it, your hair tied back as it often was when you studied, and your bag still on your shoulder.

His expression was weird, you found, with his usually pale cheeks flushed and his normally perfectly put together silver hair slightly messy on his head. You wondered what had caused such distress on him, but you did not ask. You only offered his pen back to him after you realised he was not going to greet you. “I didn’t give it back: you ran away.” you explained, and extended your hand some more when Aemond didn’t take it right away.

He finally did, and the weird thought that he tried to make as little contact as possible when taking the pen from your hand settled in your mind. It was quickly swept off when he muttered a thank you and tried closing the door.

“Wait.” you said, your brows furrowed. His movements halted, and, although you didn’t notice, he dug the pencap into the palm of his hand so as not to scream, while trying desperately to hide the photo of you he still held in his hand, the one he used to open the door. It was crumpling under his grip and onto the metal of the doorknob, and the fact bothered him greatly. “You don’t invite me in?”

You saw him tense even further at your question, and his eyes darkened, and his voice came out hoarse when he finally spoke, “Why would you want to?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “‘Cause I have nothing to do.”

Aemond’s hand tightened on the doorknob, and, despite himself, he took a step back. “What makes you think I also have nothing to do?”

“I bet you never do.” you answered simply, entering his dorm and brushing your shoulder against his since he hadn’t opened the door all the way. “What were you do-“

But before you could finish your question, Aemond interrupted you with one of his own, “How did you find my dorm?”

“I have friends, on your contrary.” you answered dryly- which was his fault, really: he was the one who had started the bitchy comebacks that he called conversations between you two, and you made up your mind that he was going to be the one to cease with the childish behaviour, if he was ever going to. “One of them has the dorm in front of yours.”

“Mh.” was his answer, as it was for most things, you had discovered during your study hours. “Make yourself useful, then: I can’t find a book of mine. It’s called ‘Gravitation’.”

Why you were complying to something Aemond Targaryen had asked of you, you did not know, but you started looking for the tome anyway.

Thankful at your distraction, Aemond put back the photo on the second drawer, which he had left open, before pretending to care about that book he had already given as lost.

The space of his dorm was extremely neat, making you wonder how on Earth could he have lost something in such a place. You scanned half of the room, and then switched places, both of you not trusting the other’s searching skills.

There was no sign of that stupid book anywhere, so you decided to ask, “Have you checked your drawers?” as your hand was already on the handle of the second drawer of his nightstand.

“Yes!” he quickly said, but it was too late, because your eyes grew wide. You looked at him, taking in his stiff position and the tightness of his lip. What in the world was Armond Targaryen doing with a picture of you inside his nightstand?

Your eyes went back to the picture and you took it, feeling the crumpled material under your fingers and raising it, showing it to him. “I do look quite good in here.” you teased him, and a grin formed on your lips.

What was wrong with you, smiling at the actions of an obvious creep that kept your photo near his bed? You always had a thing for odd guys, and Aemond Targaryen was the closest incarnation of your type you had ever laid eyes on: always alone, intelligent out-of-the-ordinary, a complete cunt to whomever, and ethereally beautiful. But you would usually consider that picture slightly crossing the line- tonight was not the case.

You noticed his jaw clenching tightly, his eyes fixed on the photo. “That… Is not what it looks like.” His words made you scoff, and you noticed how your casual amusement surprised him greatly- it was surprising you, too. “Give it back.” he ordered then, walking quickly around the bed and next to you, still crouched down on the ground.

You squirmed away from his attempts at snatching the picture from you, and held it against your chest. “Why?” you asked with a mischievous grin that showed your white teeth, “Is it a treasure you must keep safe?”

“It’s none of your business.” he replied sharply, yanking his hand forward once again, this time taking the photo from you. He looked at it, then at you, his eyes hard, but you could see the embarrassment he desperately tried to hide behind his meticulously crafted facade.

“What do you do with it?”

“…What?”

“What do you do with my picture?” you asked again, looking at him through your eyelashes and with a grin on your lips you could bot contain- everything was just so exciting, for you had never thought you would have the chance to tease Aemond Targaryen in such a way.

“I will tell you again that it’s hardly any of your business.” he retorted, trying to tear his gaze away from yours. He put the picture into his left pocket with too much care.

“Well, but it is.” you said with a shrug, your eyes persistent on his face, “It’s me in that picture, no?” The fact that you were right seemed to bother him greatly, and his fists clenched at his sides.

“Indeed.” Aemond gritted out of his teeth as he finally looked at you, too. You saw it behind his eyes, the struggle he was feeling in trying to come up with something marginally more acceptable than what he actually did with that picture. “I find it helps me focus.”

You scoffed out a laugh at his pathetic response, and the thought that he fucked his hand while looking at your picture started forming into your mind. You leaned forward by resting your hands on the soft carpet beneath you, so you were closer, so close your breath hit his face.

“What is it you do with my picture, Aemond Targaryen?”

He swallowed thickly, and the notion that you were affecting him so greatly made your grin spread even wider. “I told you: it’s nothing important- I…” he turned his head to the side, unable to form a coherent sentence with you in such a proximity. “I just…”

You looked down, only to be met with the prominent bulge in his jeans, and then looked back up. “Mh…” you muttered, raising a hand and turning his face back towards you. “Don’t be scared,” you reassured him with the most mischievous tone you had ever spoken, “You can tell me.”

“Stop it already.” he breathed out, distancing himself from you and sitting down on the carpet, his back pressed against the wooden tiles on the side of the bed. His hand reached his face, massaging his forehead to both cover his eyes and relieve some of the pressure you had him feel.

You narrowed your eyes despite being aware that he could not see you: you were not going to give up until those words came out of his lips. So, you sat on his lap and took his hand off his face, feeling him stiffen even more. “You don’t think I was asking nicely enough?” you asked him, tilting your head.

He breathed heavily at your closeness, and his eyes closed instinctively, almost as if having you this close and looking at you at the same time was too much to handle. “What if you don’t like the answer?” Aemond whispered, opening his eyes but settling them down, on your shirt.

When he realised you were not going to reply, he bit the inside of his cheek. “I use it for inspiration…” he told you, definitely aware that the short answer was not going to be enough for you. So, when you asked him what kind of inspiration he was referring to, he continued, “I masturbate to it.”

That made a filthy, wide, and pretty grin spread on your lips. You reached behind him, pulled the picture out of his pocket and unfolded it. “I think I look pretty here, don’t you?”

You saw blood rush to his face when you pulled the picture back out, and his voice was hoarse and strained when he spoke, “Yes… You look very nice.” but that did not stop his lips from curving upwards slightly into a small smirk.

“And… What do you imagine doing to me?” you asked, leaving your mouth slightly opened as you stared down at him. You were aware that the question was risky, that guys like Aemond weren’t the kind to ask you to take your clothes off, and not even the kind to give such an order. No, Aemond Targaryen was the kind to rip them off and discard them on the floor without a care.

He raised a brow at your directness, and his smirk deepened. His eyes went down to meet your lips, hungry and dark. Beneath you, you felt his pulse quicken and his cock getting even harder. "I imagine grabbing you by that beautiful hair of yours, pulling your head back so I can see the desire in your eyes, and then..." he paused, his voice thick with lust, "ramming my cock down your throat until you choke on it."

“That’s the sweetest thing you could say to a woman.” you answered, your breath hitting his face as you grinned at him. Your hand went up to his hair pulling it back twice before gripping it.

You saw his eyes widening slightly at your tug, but he did not pull away, but leaned into the touch instead. “I suppose I’ll have to express myself in such a way more often.” he said, his voice hoarse. His hands then finally gathered the courage to grip your hips- which they did as tightly you did his hair- and they pulled you closer, so you were chest against chest.

His body was warm, even through his white shirt and the jumper worn over it. Your hand on hisbhair automatically loosened its grip, giving him the freedom to brush his nose against your cheek. “Do it again, then.” you breathed out, hating how he had gotten control of the situation in a matter of seconds.

“Oh,” he said with his usual tone, the apathetic one from which transpired only challenge, yet the strength with which his grip tightened on your hips betrayed and exposed him completely, whether he was aware of it or not. “You want to hear about how I want to take you from behind?” he stopped briefly, breathing deeply before continuing, “Want to hear how I’ll fuck that little cunt while the only audible sounds will be your screams of pleasure and that of my hips slapping against your ass… Occasionally my hand will contribute.”

You cleared your throat after his words, and got off his lap, your hand falling away from his soft silver hair in the process of your standing up. Aemond looked up at you, his mouth slightly parted as he took you in like a goddess. “Are we waiting for anyone or do we start?” you asked, making his pupils dilate even further, and his mouth close in sudden seriousness.

He swiftly got up from the carpet, and his hand found the base of your throat in an almost natural gesture. “You want me to fuck you, pretty girl?” he asked, massaging the tender skin without putting any pressure into the motion. But, when you nodded in response, he used his grip to bring your mouth onto his, so he could give it a bruising kiss.

Aemond’s hand moved to cradle the back of your head and angled it so he could slip his tongue inside more easily. When you finally kissed him back, he groaned in pleasure, and his arm sneaked around your waist, holding you flush against his chest as your tongue tangled with his.

The taste of your lips made him so greedy he leaned in even though your bodies were already as close as possible. His free hand travelled down your body until it found your ass, and gave it a rough squeeze that made him groan against your lip. Pulling away, you kissed his cheek, going lower with each one until you reached his jaw.

Aemond’s head fell back, his mouth parted and his lips reddened, his eyes closed. You felt his hand stiffening and tightening around your body, and under your lips, his heartbeat was thummering wildly. “Strip.” he ordered, his voice coming out like a strained plea.

Biting your lower lip, you realised he had loosened his grip on you the only necessary amount for you to obey. You took off your jumper, discarding it carelessly on the wooden floor, before moving your hands down your body with his eyes following their every movement until you undid the button of your jeans.

Ravenous eyes, he had, as he took in the flesh you exposed little by little, and when you unzipped your jeans he decided to take matters into his own hands by roughly tugging them down so they pooled at your ankles. He raised you so as to make you step out of them and threw you onto your back on his bed.

His knee landed on the space on the mattress between your legs while he kept himself up with his arms. His lips reclaimed yours, and his hand found your hip, squeezing it before moving his fingers to trace your stomach, and then down, over the black lace of your underwear. “You’re as wet as I’m hard.” he hissed ruggedly at your lips with a hint of triumph in his voice, the back of his fingers tracing your covered but drenched slit. “Filthy little slut.”

A moan came out of your lips when you parted them, and the little contact that had caused such a reaction in you made you think that, maybe, you really did crave his touch as much as he did yours.

He left the bed then, straightening up and bringing his hands to the button of his jeans right away, “Knees.” he said, already knowing you were going to comply. Once in the position he wanted you in, he ran a hand through your hair, brushing it out of your face, as the other one pulled his pants down.

He freed his cock and bit his lip, before guiding your head towards him. You kissed his tip, looking up at him as you did so and watched him letting out a slow breath. “Take it, pretty girl… Suck it…” he said, seemingly giving you control of your movements.

But mere seconds later he was already using the grip on your hair to guide your mouth up and down his shaft, at the rhythm he desired. Groaning as you took more of him into your mouth, his grip tightened, making your eyes water for the pleasurable pain, and he grinned. “That’s it,” he encouraged, “Take my cock like a good little whore…”

“Do you have an idea of how many times I’ve imagined this?” he continued in a sultry but strained voice. He pulled out of your mouth briefly, letting you take a breath while he slapped his length on your lips. “Every night I lay here in my bed, stroking myself to the thought of your lips wrapped around my cock, your pretty eyes looking up at me with nothing but submission."

He tapped his dick against your lips, silently telling you to open your mouth. When you did, he pushed back inside, moving slower this time. “And now you’re really here… On your knees for me.” He tightened his hold on your hair, pulling you back so he could look down at you. "Open your eyes. I want you to see who's fucking your face."

When you did and he took in your watery eyes caused by the way he was treating your mouth, his grin turned predatory. He pushed you back down, making you take him in til the base, and holding you there for some seconds, while you forced yourself not to choke on him.

He savoured the sensation well enough before pulling out. He moved his hand from your hair to your arm and pulled you up, before his hand moved back up to cradle you face. He kissed you again, with his mouth agape and his breath shaking.

When he moved his lips, he touched your cheek and angled your head to expose your throat before touching that. ”You’re so beautiful…” he breathed out against your flushed skin, forming goosebumps on it. He spun you around, his hand caressing your bare skin as he pressed his chest on your back.

Found the back of your bra he opened it with ease, sliding down your skin and letting it fall onto the floor. As his lips kept their place on your neck, both of Aemond’s hands found your breasts, kneading them with need but gentleness, brushing his thumbs against your nipples and making your breath hitch.

“Bend over.”

His command was executed by him when one of his warm hands found your back and pushed it down, while the other held your hip. He caressed the curve of your ass, chastely at first- as chaste as that kind of action could be- before kneading the flesh with a sharp intake of breath.

Your hands landed on the softness of the mattress, and he helped you get on all fours onto the bed by accompanying your legs with his hands. One of his index fingers hooked in the side of your knickers, and then travelled to the string that passed between your legs, pulling it aside to expose your dripping cunt to the warm air of the small room.

His fingers teased your entrance, lubricating your slit, before pushing inside, making a sweet moan come out of your lips. Aemond established right away that such a distance was far too much, so his free hand sneaked up to wrap around your throat and pulled you back until you were pressed against his chest.

Massaging your pulse point in tandem with his fingers inside of you, you let your head fall back onto his shoulder. “I didn’t think you knew how to fuck.” you said with a grin, although subtled by the pleasure his tapered fingers were provoking you by caressing the walls of your cunt.

Despite himself, Aemond scoffed out a small laugh, “It’s because I study Theoretical Physics, isn’t it?” When you nodded in response, he quickened the pace of his fingers, making your walls contract around them. “Interesting.”

Slipping his digits out of you and making you gasp in protest, Aemond bent you back down until your face collided with the mattress and your ass was completely exposed to him.

He quickly rid himself of his clothes, while his eyes did not leave once your beautiful form. Once you were both completely naked, except for those little black lace knickers he had all the intention to keep on, he took hold of his cock and brought it to rest on your ass, before giving your cheek a sharp slap, making you jolt forward.

Aemond scoffed once again, “For this few?”

“Shut it- I wasn’t expecting it.” you retorted, turning to look at him, but he pushed your face back around once you took in his smug expression, silently telling you to stay still where he had put you.

He slapped your cheeks with his length and probet at your entrance, teasing you mercilessly and making you want to push him on the bed and do it yourself. But not much time passed before he was not able to keep up his act any longer.

With a ragged breath, he pushed into you in one motion, burying himself to the hilt and making you moan and roll your eyes back in pure pleasure. He held you still with his grip on your hips for some time, taking in the feeling of being inside of you with his teeth sunk into his lower lip.

"Mmm," he hummed in pleasure, watching as your body quivered beneath his touch. He bent over, leaning his forehead onto the centre of your back, between your shoulder blades.”

He reveled in the feeling of your cunt gripping him tightly, welcoming him in. His strokes were deep and measured when he started to move, his breath coming in hot bursts against your neck. "That's right," he growled, breathing heavily, "take my cock like the little slut you are."

“Fuck…” you muttered, your hand reaching between your thighs to touch yourself. But he stopped you, blocking both your hands behind your back, almost hurting you.

“None of that, pretty girl.” Aemond said, swallowing thickly. He used his free hand to pull your hips back towards him, forcing his cock deeper inside you with each thrust. “You’ll cum with my cock tonight… Only that way.”

He spun you around, making your hair spread onto the softness of the white duvet. Gripping your thighs and digging his fingertips into the soft flesh, he parted them, entering you again, filling you up again, making you moan loudly again.

Your hands, now freed from his grip, found his hair and tugged at the short silver strands that curled slightly, pulling him towards you until your breath fanned over his face. “Is it how you had imagined?” you asked with a grin, trying to hide the fact you desperately wanted to know, “Fucking me… Is it how you had imagined?”

“Better.” he hissed, grabbing your face and pressing his nose against yours, “Real… But just as tight.” He then crushed your lips together in a bruising kiss, pounding at you like an animal, driven by an inexplicable desire he had never felt before.

You moaned into his mouth when he quickened his pace even more, making your body quiver under his. The way his fingers were leaving litteral fingerprints on the skin of your thighs was making your head spin in pleasure.

Scratching his back and marking him with angry red signs just as he was doing on you, you urged him deeper, rougher, and he obliged without a word. His hand left your face to hook the back of your knee, and the sudden shift in position made you scream against your mouth, making you feel like he was splitting you in two.

“Fuck, Aemond!” you hissed, feeling your walls quivering around his cock as he pounded at you almost as if you were a piece of meat he could use as he pleased.

From the look of his face, from his eyes that seemed injected with blood and pure, unbelievably strong lust and recklessness, you understood how he, too, was on the edge. You suddenly realised that he did not have a condom on, that the passion had been so strong you both hadn’t even thought about it. But you realised you could not care. You realised you wanted to cum inside you, to fill you up.

With the thought in your mind, you came around his cock, your vision going black and your ears whistling as Aemond emptied himself inside you completely. With his strength drained, the grip on you loosened, and he leaned himself on you.

Your legs remained wrapped around his waist as you regained your breath, and hopefully some strength, although you didn’t mind the feeling of him on top of you, still inside.

“Shit…” he murmured against your neck, as your hand still gripped his hair tightly. “I’m completely obsessed with you.”

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jaewritesfic · 7 months ago

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Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows AU Part 8

Part 7

Shockingly, it turns out Danny knows how to cook. He's good at it, even, and when Tucker expresses his disbelief at the practiced way Danny moves in the kitchen Danny snorts.

“You know what the Fenton kitchen was like. When I got out of there and had access to food and kitchens that weren't biohazards, I learned eventually. I have a very distinct appreciation for good food nowadays, and I like being able to make it myself.”

He puts music on through a little Bluetooth speaker on the counter, invites them to participate, and they cook.

It's fun. They dance, they drink, they sample ingredients as they put their pizzas together. There's a minor flour war that sets off rounds of giggling and shrieking - more importantly it makes Danny cackle in a way she used to love and hasn't gotten to hear since they were teens.

It's exactly the same, and she missed it. Pure impish delight and mischief.

For as many things that are the same, there are ones that have changed.

Danny has a grace to him now that he didn't used to, and he moves near silently. He sways easily and elegantly to the music without thinking about it as they talk and make mischief with each other.

The oven and the adjusted thermostat make it much more comfortable in the apartment after a while, but Danny doesn't shed the pullover sweater he wears at any point. He didn't even roll the sleeves up to cook.

Come to think of it, when they entered high school he started doing that too. He wore long sleeves even in the summer - Sam tries not to think about abusive households or self harm. She hopes it's not that, but…

She puts the thoughts aside as well as she can.

Tucker had mentioned it before to her, but with all the grinning and laughing tonight Sam can see that he was right and Danny's teeth are sharper than she remembers. All four canine teeth are almost startlingly pointy.

She doesn't mention it. What she does mention is the apartment.

“This is a really nice place, Danny. You got a secret sugar daddy you haven't told us about?”

Tucker gapes at her and smacks her arm. Danny bluescreens for a moment before he snorts an ugly laugh and descends into near hysterics.

“Oh my God! Ancients, no! No, no sugar daddy. Just a well paying engineering gig lately, and some money I saved up before I left Amity. Holy shit, Sam.”

She shrugs, some tension she didn't know she was carrying leaving her shoulders. “Had to ask. Would have had a shovel talk to deliver.”

Danny starts laughing again, and Tucker groans and puts his head in his hands.

“I cannot believe you actually just asked him that,” Tucker moans.

“I can,” Danny responds with a chipper grin, Tucker's answering snort overlaid by the ding of the oven timer.

Danny knocks back the rest of his drink and waves in the vague direction of the living room area.

“I'll take this out and cut it. Go sit and we can eat it around the coffee table in case we want to watch a movie or something?”

The sitting area is spacious and comfortable, couches black leather. There's a heavy, fluffy white throw over the back of one that looks soft as all get out, but she and Tuck quickly decide to settle on the floor.

The coffee table is low enough that it's more convenient for reaching food and drinks set on it.

Tucker whistles appreciatively at the TV, so it must be a cutting edge new model. Fucking nerd.

Danny trots over not long after with two serving boards balanced precariously on one arm, his refilled sangria in one hand, the pitcher of sangria in the other and another beer held against his side by an awkward elbow.

Tucker and Sam both shoot to their feet to try and mitigate a disaster, but miraculously it all makes it to the table unharmed.

“It's almost like you guys don't trust me,” Danny pouts, his grin ruining it. “Careful, it's hot.”

“You are a perpetual accident waiting to happen,” Sam tells him scathingly, and he snorts with a peculiar look on his face.

“You don't know the half of it.”

As they all reach for slices of pizza, Danny takes them by surprise by taking a piece of Sam's, not Tucker's.

Tucker gapes at him. “Dude. Tell me you haven't betrayed me like that.”

Danny snorts, shoulders shaking with quiet chuckles. “Nah, I still eat meat. It's just sometimes I have spells where it kind of bothers me and I feel a little sick about it? I'm in one of those lately, but usually I'm still a huge burger and steak guy. Don't worry.”

“Huh. That's weird.”

Danny shrugs, taking a bite of his pizza despite his own warnings and cringing when it burns his mouth.

“Been like that since high school, actually. Used to be worse then,” he mumbles through his attempts to cool a mouthful of molten cheese.

Sam doesn't remember him ever having issues with it in middle school. She wonders what happened to change his outlook, but puts it aside. They're here to hang out and catch up. Have a good time. Not interrogate Danny.

They end up spending hours watching trashy TV and heckling the screen, making small talk and letting each other in on bits of their lives all the while. Everyone's well on their way to tipsy by the time they're done eating, though Danny a little more than Sam and Tuck.

He's loose-limbed and happy, sprawled across both of them in the haphazard pile they've ended up in. He seems incredibly content, and it does Sam's heart good to see him so relaxed.

She and Tucker are sitting with their backs against the couch, Danny's legs slung across Tucker's lap and head in Sam's. It's probably why he notices her shiver a little - it's still a little chilly in the apartment.

Lazily, he points up at the back of the couch. “You can pull that down and cover us if you want. It's really warm.”

Sam offers him a quiet thanks and reaches up to do just that, though she's startled to find that though the top is fluffy, the underside of what she'd thought was a throw is velvety and smooth. Like hide.

It's a real fur - hopefully ethically sourced. Decorated too, there are ornaments threaded into the corners and dangling that she can't pin the origin of. They're very pretty, shells and claws and beads.

As she pulls it down, she flips the edge up to peek at the underside and is startled to find the skin a distinct, familiar ectoplasmic green.

“Um. Danny. What kind of fur is this…?”

“Yeti,” Danny replies offhandedly, sipping his drink before freezing like the question and his own answer just caught up to him. “Uh.”

Masterpost

#dp x dc #everlasting trio #sam manson #tucker foley #danny phantom #danny after going through the apartment with a fine tooth comb to hide anything ghostly #*sits on the couch and leans back against a giant fucking yeti fur*#“good job me” :)

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stormz369 · 7 months ago

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☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 1

Jason Todd x Chubby! Reader (fem)

A/N: I don't know what I'm doing here, I'm not even much of a DC fan, but Jason Todd has quickly become my latest hyper fixation character (Harley Quinn too, do I just have a thing for Joker victims???) so ... thank you for giving me a place to put this energy I guess! 😂 I'm not super confident on the characterizations, but I'm going with it because I like it. If it's wildly ooc ... that tracks, given that the only DC comic I've read is Batman: Wayne Family Adventures. Read it, or don't, I just needed to get the thoughts out of my head. The art doesn't belong to me, but the writing does. Please do not post elsewhere!

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, starting out fluffy, will probably get NSFW later so minors DNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

word count: 1.7k

Chapter Selection

In a city known for its masked fighters, you learn pretty quickly that everyone and everything is a potential threat. Every approaching stranger on the street, every loud sound behind you, every dark alleyway. Being bigger than me certainly isn't a prerequisite to being a danger, but it does have a way of setting off my mental alarms. I've found that big men are used to getting their way, and they get all sorts of bent out of shape if you deny them their wishes. Especially when they think they're doing you a favor.

It died down a bit after high school; I learned to exist in public with ‘fuck off’ stamped across my face. Headphones on, reading a book, intentionally seated at the table furthest from the other cafe patrons. All the typical signs of someone who wants to be left alone; nothing about me said ‘please come talk to me'. So I was understandably on edge when I noticed someone standing by the chair across from me. I look up just a bit, gesturing to the chair with a nod. Silent consent to take it back to his table and leave me to my book.

No such luck. The man simply smiled and mimed taking headphones off. Putting a bored look on my face, I moved one off my ear. “... Hm?”

“Hi! I'm sorry to bother you, but my brother thinks you're really beautiful and is refusing to come tell you himself.”

I could feel my expression turning to stone. “... What is this, middle school?”

His cheerful grin faltered ever so slightly; “hey, I know it's a bit silly, but he's awkward around cute girls, so what's a brother to do, ya know?”

I stared him down; “... You're not fooling anyone. Move on.”

“... Sorry, ‘fooling anyone’?”

“It’s not funny, it’s not even hurtful the 20th time, it's just annoying. Go. Away.” It was a lie; it was always painful to be on the receiving end of these pranks. But that was what these guys wanted, so I wasn't going to tell him that. My headphones back in place, the guy slunk away.

Ten minutes later, another person was standing by the chair. I pretended not to see him, continuing to read my book, until he plopped down in the seat. I looked up slowly and he smiled, another oddly warm smile, leaning forward on his elbows.

An incredibly put-out sigh later, I slid the headphones off one ear again. “What?”

“Hi, I'm Tim! I'm not sure what exactly my brother said to you, but I wanted to let you know - we're not trying to prank you or something. Our brother is just way too awkward with girls. It's painful to watch, really, so we figured we'd give him a hand.” He spoke much too fast for me to get a word in. I blinked a bit, raising an eyebrow.

“... You frat boys are really committing to the bit these days, huh?”

“Huh? No, really, I promise!”

My headphones were nearly back into place when a child showed up. His impatient expression matched how I felt about the whole situation. “As usual, Drake, your plans are far too convoluted to be effective. Watch and learn.”

He turned to me, nothing about his demeanor changing; “hello. Todd said we shouldn't bother you because you ‘clearly want to be alone’, but I am convinced the only way to stop their nonsense is if he comes over. May he have a moment of your time?”

Frowning a little, I stared at the kid. He stared right back, neither of us blinking for a solid minute as we sussed each other out. His expression barely changed, but the boredom in his eyes turned into determination. “... Well, you're definitely not a frat boy. So I'll make you a deal; you may report back that he has permission to come say hi. If he doesn't choose to, that's the end of this little charade. And if either of them” I gestured to the one sitting at my table; “comes back over here, I start stabbing. Got it?”

The boy nodded once, and I thought I saw a ghost of a smirk. “You have my word.” He dragged the other man out of the chair by his shirt, pulling him stumbling toward their table. That was when I saw him. The only person at their table who hadn't come over yet. Even hunched over the table he was enormous, probably close to six feet tall; exactly the kind of man I typically avoided. The kid spoke sharply, pointing in my direction, and his head shot up to look in my direction. Even from across the spacious patio, I could see his face turning red. The obnoxious, cocky smirk I was expecting to see was entirely missing; instead he seemed almost confused.

Headphones back on but turned off so I could hear if he approached, I returned to my book. But I only got through a few pages before the first one shouted; “and offer to get her another coffee or something!”

I looked over to see the tall one frozen halfway between our tables, a look on his face like he was considering jumping over the patio fence to get away. His demeanor reminded me of a lost puppy, and I couldn't help the chuckle that rose up out of my throat. I bookmarked my page, set the book aside, and slid my headphones down around my neck. I really thought he was about to bolt until I lifted one hand, curling my fingers to gesture for him to continue toward me.

He stopped short by a good several feet, eyeing the distance between himself and the chair, and took one extra step back. It seemed as if he was hyper aware of just how much he loomed over me; the way he stood was like he was trying to will himself to be smaller, and he kept his hands at his sides. “Um … hi. … Sorry, this is … this is really weird …”

I nodded, watching him. “It is a bit. … Todd, was it?”

“Jay… Jason.”

“Not Todd?”

“Jason Todd. Damian calls me Todd, he thinks using people's last names keeps them at an arm's length…” Jason Todd. The name felt familiar, but I couldn't place why. He continued to ramble about how important tone was in determining whether this Damian kid was referring to you with affection or disdain, and I watched him. He was admittedly very cute; he had a sort of a bad boy aesthetic -leather jacket, dark clothes, a white streak in his hair, some unusual scars on his face and arms-, which juxtaposed interestingly with the gentleness in his voice, bright eyes, and awkward mannerisms. That was actually the thing that made the most sense about this situation; bikers are often secret teddy bears.

“... Jason?”

He looked up at me, one hand sheepishly making its way into his hair. “Yeah, sorry, you want me to go. I'll get them to stop harassing you, so sorry-”

“Actually, I was going to say you don't have to stand the whole time.” I gestured to the chair across from me.

He hesitated, watching me. “... Y- you don't want me to go?”

I smiled softly and shook my head. “Sit?”

He quickly obeyed, a hesitant smile on his face, which was almost immediately hidden by his hand when his brothers whooped from their table. “... God, I'm so sorry … th- they mean well, really, they're not trying to be weird …”

I laughed softly, “it's fine, that's what siblings do, right?”

“... I guess so … I've been sort of … away for a while, but I guess this is pretty standard sibling behavior. … Right?”

“I mean, a little more insistent than mine, but not too far outside the realm of what I’d consider normal.” I shrugged, finishing my chai latte.

He smiled slightly, considering that. “... Hm … um … c- can I get you another?” He gestured to my cup.

“... Sure, I've got time.”

The pleased grin on his face as he looked away to flag down a server surprised me. Then again, everything about him was surprising. Still, no one had ever looked at me quite like that before…

The server sauntered over, clearly curious about my new companion. Jason smiled brightly; “Hi, can we get another for the lady? And I'll have a medium black coffee, sweet, please.”

Huh. He called me a ‘lady’. Not a girl, or a chick, a lady. That was … also surprising. We chatted for a little while, sipping our coffees, and tried to ignore his staring brothers. He was incredibly awkward, in a sweet, endearing way. I got the impression that he wasn't fully comfortable, but chalked it up to how weirdly this all started. After a while, the first one returned, a small grimace on his face.

I raised an eyebrow; “I'm pretty sure I told the little one that the next one of you to come over was getting stabbed.”

“I know, I know! I'm so sorry, but Jay, we gotta go. Bruce texted…”

That was when it clicked; why I knew the name Jason Todd. He was a Wayne … his death had dominated the news cycle for a week. His miraculous, frankly poorly explained, return was the story for at least two.

He looked, torn, between me and his brother. “Oh … um …”

The man I finally recognized as Dick Grayson leaned forward and fake-whispered, “the words you're looking for are ‘can I have your phone number'?”

Jason swatted him away, blushing bright red; “Seriously, Dick? … well, can I-”

His ears were turning red as I held my hand out for his phone. I added my contact info and, feeling unusually bold, I added ☕💖 after my name while Jason dropped a couple of bills on the table; I smiled a bit, realizing he was leaving enough to cover my first drink for me too. I passed his phone back, enjoying the look of wonder on his face when he checked the screen. The way he whispered my name, like a prayer meant only for god's ears, had my stomach doing backflips.

“thanks … I'll call you?”

“Sounds good. I'm a night owl, so not too early, yeah?”

He nodded eagerly. “Not too early, promise.”

Next ->

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rottingghosty · 10 days ago

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Haunted Grief | DC X DP

ive read one too many damian & danny are twins fics and where he dies and its giving me ideas and i’m a simple person who must indulge in the pea brain. errors as usual

this is very badly written. i’m going to be busy a lot this month (i live in a town where an event is BIG and a lot of people come) so i’ll try to post as much as i can but i cannot promise.

damian is surprisingly hard to write btw.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Damian knew that his twin brother would frown at him if he was still alive, he is well aware Daniyal would disapprove of his methods and the treatment he gives Drake. He can feel Daniyal’s hand settle on his shoulder, his head near his ear as he spoke.

“You must be kinder akh, he is an ally.” Daniyal mumbled as his blue eyes narrowed in annoyance and Damian couldn’t help but feel his lip quirk in response. Daniyal still looked the way age as when he had died. The age that Damian had been shipped off to his father.

Instantly his humor disappeared. His brother would’ve thrived in this manor. He would’ve been able to be a son, he wouldn’t have the expectations placed on him that required Daniyal to disassociate to complete the assignment. He wouldn’t have been punished for defying the wills of his Grandfather who wished to snip the bud of weakness in Daniyal so those would not take advantage of it.

Yet despite everything, his akh will never understand what it would mean to be in a family that loved like it was as easy as breathing. Damian is sure that his twin would’ve thrived. He’d bloom under the freely given affection of Richard, the effortless way Drake seemed to understand and crack cases open and such, under Cain’s silent but beautiful moves that Daniyal would desperately try to match. To be seen in such a deadly but enticing manner as he struck fear into those who harmed others.

Thomas and Daniyal would be daytime heroes, would bond over school perhaps or even the antics of the family.

There’s so many ways his twin would have been able to breathe, to flourish is wings and fly freely if they hadn’t been snipped and his corpse at the bottom of the Lazarus Pit from an attack that lost him against the wishes of his Mother and Grandfather. Many believed that the Al Ghuls simply gotten rid of him, killed off the weak link in a staged attack.

Before he was a Wayne, he was an Al Ghul who held his dying brother in his arms after taking an attack meant for him. It had happened quickly, his memories purposefully blurred to protect his own mind from the tragedy that dealt a suffering blow to the Al Ghul family. Nobody spoke of Daniyal. In the League, he did not exist.

Nobody knew his desperate attempts to bring back his akh, watching as the pit bubbled and claim his sibling’s body as its own. Watched for hours hoping for Daniyal to reappear from the waters, the come up for air and complain about how it was disgusting and how he needed a bath and for Todd to read a story to him in compensation for protecting Damian from an assailant when Todd was supposed to be Damian’s protector.

“You’re too cruel, he may not be blood but he is still family. Just like Jason.”

“Tt. Drake should be better then.” He says as he looks away from the injured form of Drake sitting on the medical bed in the Batcave, his teeth aching from how hard he clenched his jaw when they’d hurried to get to him before he passed out somewhere where anyone could find him.

“He is good enough, his brain is interesting. I’ve never seen someone as smart as Father before. He is our brother, just like Dick.”

Damian huffs in disgruntlement at his brother’s words. Daniyal always did enjoy seeing the way people’s brains worked, the way he soaked up information akin to a sponge. His hands always preferred to build and dismantled than to take the life of others.

“Why must I be lectured by your ghost?”

Daniyal’s ghost gives a smile. Damian knows if he tells others that they’d say it was a hallucination. He knows it is. Yet he can’t fathom the fact of it, he prefers to keep it quiet in his own mind. He would rather keep this image of his brother close lest he forgets what Daniyal had looked like, what he sounded like. How he was like.

He’ll let his own brother haunt his mind and thoughts forever if it meant he had a part of him in his life.

“Because you are still punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. Akhi, forgive yourself one day. That is all I ask.”

Damian clicks his tongue and turns away to head up to the manor, leaving behind the figure of Drake and his brother’s ghostly image that stares with saddened eyes.

Forgive himself? Never. Because Damian is selfish in the cruel way he punishes himself.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc comics #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc universe #dc x dp au #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp prompt #dcu #damian wayne #jason todd #lazarus pit #au where danny is ACTUALLY dead and is haunting the narrative

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finemealprompt · 1 year ago

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DP x DC Prompt #30

Dick had seen how excited Damian was for his upcoming birthday party. Damian put on a front that he didn't really care that much, this it was childish to celebrate one's birthday party on such a grand scale. But Damian had also insisted on being involved in the process. Which decorations were allowed, what music to play, the food, the entertainment, all of it.

Damian pretended to not care about it, but it was clear as day to Dick that he did.

The day arrived, and at first no one showed up on time. They didn't even have the usual, "Oh sorry for being 1 hour early, but wanted to make sure I got here on time!" guests that they often did. Damian was clearly disappointed, but patient. Especially when Dick forced everyone to distract Damian and start some of the birthday celebration.

But then an hour passed. Then another. And soon it was pretty clear that no one Damian had invited from his school were going to appear. Damian pretended it didn't bother him, brushed it off as, "Hey, no big deal."

Yet, Dick saw the tears in his eyes.

So, while Bruce did his best to distract his son, rage in the way he held himself, Dick excused himself. Sneaking away from prying ears, Dick called the first number he could think of.

"Hey Boy Wonder, what can-"

"Danny, I need you to come by the Manor. No one showed up to Damian's party, and he's upset. There's plenty of food."

The line was silent.

"How many people can I bring?"

#finemeal prompt #dp x dc #damian wayne #dick grayson #danny fenton #batfam #dick grayson is great older brother #and he will be calling other friends of him to come #and damian's gonna have the best birthday party ever #he deserves it

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raiffeldrakon123 · 1 month ago

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DP X DC | Short Story 1

The following story is based on a prompt I've made. The idea is the same, but the execution is different.

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— Alright Steph, we are all here now, how about you start explaining now? -Barbara said softly, her gaze kind. The rest of the Batfamily watched Steph with a mix of curiosity and subtle concern from their seats around the room.

Stephanie lowered her head, her gaze fixed on the floor as her mind raced. She had always known this day would come —it was almost a miracle she’d managed to keep the secret for as long as she had. But now that the moment was here, she had no idea how to begin explaining it all to them. She stayed silent for a few more seconds, letting out a slow breath before raising her head and running a hand through her hair. Her eyes met the faces of the people around her —not her family by blood, but at this point, they might as well have been.

— Alright, but just for the record, I swear I didn’t mean to keep this a secret from you guys, -She said, her voice tinged with guilt. She lifted a hand to scratch the back of her neck, glancing away.- For this long, anyway.

— So, you did mean to keep this a secret from us, -Damian said, narrowing his eyes at her, his frown deepening

Stephanie flinched at Damian’s words but pushed through.

— Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys about this sooner, -She said, her voice steady despite the tension in her shoulders.- But in my defense, it wasn’t any of your business. It was mine, and I had it under control. -She swept her gaze across the room, meeting each of their eyes in turn —Though her gaze lingered on Tim, Bruce, Barbara, and Dick a bit more than the others.- And be honest — if I’d told you all about it at the very start of my vigilante career, can any of you really say you wouldn’t have meddled?

Bruce, Barbara, Dick, and Tim exchanged uncomfortable glances, their silence louder than any admission. Alfred shook his head in exasperation while Selena shook her head with fondness, and Steph couldn’t help but let a small smile tug at her lips. If she had told them and they’d decided to meddle, she knew he would have quietly taken her side —even if both had wanted to meddle themselves; They were one of the rare voices of reason in the house, both were consumed by paranoia and actually knew when to step in and when to let things be.

— Anyway... how about we get back to your explanation? -Barbara said, gently steering the conversation back on track. She unlocked her phone and opened the gallery, turning the screen toward Stephanie.- When did this happen?

The image on the screen was one Barbara had found during her routine security check, making sure nothing dangerous had slipped into their devices. It showed a grinning Danny holding a baby girl —Ellie— who was beaming as she reached for the phone. The caption read: "Look how much fun I’m having, Mommy!"

— It... it happened back when I first started going out to stop my father, -Stephanie said, thinking back about those times.- I met Danny right after I found out the guy I was sort of dating at school was only with me because I was one of the few girls he hadn’t screwed yet.

The room fell into silence like a guillotine blade. The shift in atmosphere was immediate —muscles tensed, jaws clenched, and eyes darkened with barely restrained fury. Even Alfred, the eternal wellspring of calm of the family, had a cold, dangerous glint in his gaze that reminded everyone that he used to work for the secret services back in England.

— And who, -Dick started, his voice dripping with a sweetness so artificial it was venomous.- would this ‘guy’ be? -His smile was so painfully fake it might as well have been carved into his face.- I think I speak for everyone when I say we just want to... talk.

Around the room, heads nodded in grim unison. Damian, Duke, Bruce, Lucius, Alfred, Barbara, Cassandra, Kate, Harper, Selina, and Jason —each one radiating their own brand of barely contained rage in her steed.

— I’m not telling you his name, -Steph said, rolling her eyes, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.- As much as I don’t like him, I don’t want him mysteriously ending up in the hospital over something that happened years ago. Besides, -she added with a smirk,- I kicked him so hard in the nuts he probably still wakes up screaming, so you guys don’t need to get even for me.

— You went too easy on him, Brown, -Damian growled, voice low and brimming with malice.- Scum like that needs to suffer more. Pain is the only language they understand.

— Have to agree with the demon spawn, -Kate muttered, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.- He clearly needs a better lesson in how to treat women like human beings.

— Preach, -Cassandra, Selena, and Harper said in perfect, almost chilling synchronicity.

Their protectiveness genuinely touched Stephanie, but she had a story to finish.

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mixingandmelting · 5 months ago

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No, Between the Two Of Us - None of Us Are the Sane One

Summary: Childhood to lover trope feat. Dick Grayson where you were best friends with him since the start of his Robin days which was also when he first having a crush on you

Words: 2.7 k

A/N: First time posting in the DC fandom, so please be gentle with me! Also there will be a version for Jason and Tim. ; )

Being besties with Batman and the first Robin is an experience to say the least. Many fantasize how it might go, romanticizing the prospect and excitement the friendship may bring. For you? Zero out of ten, would not recommend. The public masses claimed them to be heroes, but only you and villains know how unhinged they were. You did not appreciate playing the middleman when the two gave each other the cold shoulder or being the center of their amusement. Especially with Robin. You swore on your nonexistent Aunt Patty’s grave that boy was chaotic evil, the agent of all chaos. You grew paranoid for months having been pranked by him every time he swung by so you wouldn’t do “something stupid”. Or so he said only to get you to scream at the top of your lungs whenever you were hanging around on your apartment’s roof, creeping silently towards you and whispering the most random fact he found. He would then cackle with glee and proceed to rub on the wound by reminding you how the first meeting between you three which led to the constant check-ups (a whole, another story you rather not remember involving a much younger you and Robin, Santa Claus, and pajamas printed all over with I <3 Batman and Robin). You tried to get back at him multiple times. You never once won.

However, there were times when he wasn’t pranking you. Moments like those, he’d simply sit and brood next to you, waiting for you to ask what’s wrong before starting his rant about Batman. With little to no knowledge said man, himself, would visit you and ask about him a few minutes after he leaves. Yes, you did question why they thought it would be a good idea for a kid younger than themselves to mediate between their fights only to give up when you found yourself going in circles as to why you still chose to be friends with them. Way too complicated and big of a headache for your small head. It didn’t seem like Robin cared either, as he would tell you everything on his mind, not a single thing held back. Hands being held or a head leaning on a shoulder was a must when he talks. When that tradition started you genuinely had no idea but you never thought about it. More like you can’t when you saw the expression he wore.

What started when both of you were merely children continued on to high school, where you discovered his identity. The way you found out was disappointingly anticlimactic. After the many years you hung out with him, of course you would recognize him right away. The same gremlin laughter, the corny jokes he shared with his fellow peers. Oh, and the fact his hairstyle stayed the same as both Robin and Dick Grayson.

Dick, on the other hand, obviously hadn’t thought through that. At all. Okay, sure, you were on the more observant side but still, you shouldn’t have been able to piece all that together within a semester. He wasn’t even at school often because of all the missions to the point the school had been frequently calling Bruce and Alfred about his many absences. There were plenty of guys who sounded, talked, and looked like him, including his height. He was careful. Shouldn’t have been a “dead give away”, whatever that meant. So when he came over to comfort you after a mission, hearing how you got stood up at the school’s dance, he wasn’t prepared for you calling him by his name. Worse, he couldn’t even play dumb or pretend to not know what you were saying. Not when you gave him the same eyes you always did that held comfort and support he always seeked, as if understanding everything he was going through.

With the cat out of the bag, he soon had you meet Batman as Bruce Wayne. He enjoyed the mini meltdown and sense of horror you were having, realizing just who exactly you’ve been chummy with all those years. Maybe he shouldn’t have gloated how you should've treated them better when you gave a mean, actually painful jab to his ribs. Still was worth it. So was the impromptu meeting with his team, Teen Titans, when you started working part-time at the pizza place they always stopped by to eat when celebrating a mission gone well. You didn’t know how silly and adorable you were acting, not as bad when meeting Bruce, but definitely shy and frazzled from being star struck. Well, for a bit that was. An hour later, you were sitting and laughing with them about a mission that involved Condiment King. The way you smiled and brightened the room had him thinking for a moment that he had a shot. After all, you practically met everyone he considered family. It had to be a sign for him to seal the deal.

It stopped and ended as a thought. When you all started talking about love, he didn’t know as much as how he didn’t know which hurt him more; you saying you weren’t going to be in a relationship ever or you, not friendzoned, but bro-zoned him. You don’t notice the way Wally stiffens or the worried glances Donna shot at him. Starfire voiced opposition to your decision to stay single. Raven, not knowing anything, gave you her support. He most definitely did not appreciate Gar feigning disappointment only to get snapped at for going over the line by Vic.

He didn’t know how to act around you afterwards when he escorted you home. He knew he was making you worried, more so when he kept telling you he was fine when you asked if you had done anything to make him uncomfortable. He wanted things to stay the same. Retain the precious relationship that led to his love for you. There was no intention to make that night his last night with you. Yet, how was he supposed to act when he found out he never had a chance from the start? As crazy as it sounded, he once even thought about you being a Grayson. Of course not in high school; when the two of you got much older. It filled him with guilt when he heard from Bruce how you were asking about his well-being. It felt like a knife was being twisted in his heart when letters you wrote were slipped between his homework whenever he had gone to school to get them, belatedly realizing he never gave you his number. All he could reply back was the same, lousy excuse of being busy with missions.

You, on the other hand, waited, hoped, prayed that Dick would visit you again. You knew somehow it was your fault and you wanted to apologize, make things right. Every night you stood on the rooftop, doing homework or simply reading. The nights you don’t, you left his favorite candy with a note. Batman was the only one who visited you then, though his visits were becoming rare from the increase of crimes occurring all over the world. It was through him you learned about Dick’s decision to leave the state and go to some college in New York by the end of the school year. You ended up rejecting the invitation to go with him to the graduation ceremony, knowing there was no point in seeing Dick again.

So really, Dick should’ve seen it coming when he learned from Alfred that you were leaving on the day of. As if to one up him, you weren’t leaving New Jersey. You were leaving the states. It didn’t help that he had been forced to hand over Robin’s mantle to Jason not too long after the rejection. He had to face another heartbreak, as he mourned over the Robin who first met you, the body wonder who was your best friend, was no more. He naively thought he had time. To debut and cement his role as Nightwing, leader of Teen Titans while getting himself back together, all to come back to you. It was apparent enough to know he didn’t. Finding out on the day of, his hands fumbled with the keys to his motorcycle, rushing to get to the airport on time. Despite breaking every traffic law in Gotham (which he ended up owing Babs on not getting taken to jail or paying a big ass fine), he arrived too late. He couldn’t call out to you, his eyes taking in the glimpse of your hair through cracks of the closing gates to TSA.

Years passed and he tried to get over you. First with Starfire, then with Babs. Zatanna, Helena, Bea, Lori, Clancy, mixing one-night stands in between. But none of them ended up working for him. None of them were you. They didn't have the same humor you had. They didn’t give him the same warm hugs you gave him without him ever having to ask because you simply knew. Hell, the whole reason for things to end with each of them was because they called him out for it. His whole team did. Even his whole family including Bruce, Steph, Duke, Tim, and Damian. He’s not going to talk about what happened with Alfred, Jason, and Cass. He still gets nightmares for what they put him through.

As he continued failing on nurturing a permanent relationship, you found yourself frequently buying magazines or skimming on the webs on the latest news and gossip covering vigilantes and heroes during your study abroad. You had brought with you newspaper clippings you kept on the Robin you still missed and cherished. You could count the number of times Robin changed, recognizing none of them were Dick. Yet you never found the heart to ask Bruce what had happened, if he was okay. Nor would you have been able to when you left without ever getting some sort of contact information to stay in touch with him.

Now, he’s in his early thirties and you’re in your late twenties. So much has happened during your lives but you still think of each other. All the what-ifs playing in the back of each other's minds, regret and hope constantly raging back and forth. But not once have either you met even when you came back a few days ago.

Currently, you’re sitting on the ledge of the same roof of where everything began. Gotham glows beautifully without the stars, its artificial lights so bright it makes the city shine as much as it does in the day. Kicking your legs, you hum mindlessly enjoying the scene. That is until someone calls out your name.

Your grip slips and you scream, nearly falling to your demise. Or about to until a warm arm quickly wraps itself around your torso and pulls you over to safety. Gently the person places you on the concrete floor, a few seconds passing afterwards as your mind registers you’re still alive. Guess they weren’t expecting you to get angry, two hands quickly in the air and sputtering apologies when you stand back up and rage why no sane person would ever scare the living daylights out of a person sitting on a roof along with profanities that could shame Deathstroke and bring pride to Red Hood. You’re panting in the end and reach towards the can of soda you had placed when you were sitting. And when you take a sip, it then hits to who you had raged on.

He looks away, a hand covering his face from holding back the laughter that threatens to spill out when your face matches a tomato. You’re barely whispering when you apologize for the profanities, of course you aren’t going to apologize for everything else you both know you’re very much right on that part, horrified and embarrassed that you had done that to a very famous vigilante. Out goes his self-control when you go absolutely silent and start to fidget from the lack of response. He bursts at the face you make from mortification.

“You haven’t changed one bit.”

You freeze at those words.

“Do…I know you?”

Immediately he stops. The air turns tense, you looking at him with wariness as he slowly turns himself completely towards you. Gently, he calls out your name. When you continue to look confused, he does it again, taking a step closer and pulling off his mask.

He can see so much denial in your shaking eyes. The desire of you wanting him to say the person standing in front of you isn’t him. He’s quick to grab both wrists and root you on spot, keen and trained eyes already noticing your feet turning to make a run for it. His grip on you is firm but soft, enduring all the words you thoughtlessly, recklessly say while tugging to get him to let go.

Eventually you stop, acknowledging there isn’t going to be a chance again in the future for you to speak to him or him to you. In fact, you both most likely would evade each other for the rest of life if not for now. When he’s sure that you won’t escape, slowly, he lets go and takes a step back.

“..Why?”

There’s a tremor in your voice, the area of concrete in front of your feet becoming bi-colored. You don’t scream. You don’t raise your voice. Dick can feel himself break, his throat and chest constricting, dawning on him how not once you fault him for ruining the friendship between the two of you while listening about, for the longest time, all you desired was to apologize. When you weren’t even in the wrong. Too soon your words start to mesh and trip over each other. He takes the opportunity to open his mouth.

“I love you.”

Your head snaps up, eyes meeting a smile fill with bitterness and self-loath. Your heart initially refuses to accept everything he tells you, how long ago he started to have a crush on you to how it ended up turning into love. You can never relate how his love for you ruined him where all his relationships with others never lasted for long when it’s him. The gremlin child that held confidence to defy everything on Earth, the gremlin child you developed feelings for. Silence hangs in the air once he’s done. All of a sudden you’re livid. Offended. Dick doesn’t notice, going from rubbing the back of his neck to shifting his weight from one foot to the other, wanting to give you the space to soak everything in. When he finally can’t wait anymore, he rushes to think of something, even resorting to begging for your forgiveness. Not looking down at your hands that slowly reaches for his collar.

“Please, all I really want to say is that I'm sorry. I know I was a dick to you so I don’t even deserve to have chance to ask you to be f-”

It takes Dick a hot minute to realize what’s happening before melting in. His hands make their way towards yours, pulling them up and placing them on his cheeks. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss without crossing a nonexistent line that you probably aren’t ready for. It ends up being the right call when you end up breaking it, lack of oxygen in your lungs from having no experience.

“Next time, just ask instead of assuming things.” You growl, pinching the flesh on both sides of his face.

He doesn’t reply or lets you say another word, his soft and warm lips placed right back on yours where they belong. Where they should’ve been since back then. Too bad the second kiss doesn’t last longer than the first, all of sudden hearing wolf-whistles around the two of you. Everyone from the Bat family and the Titans reveal themselves on the roof, some clapping, most teasing on how long it took for you two to get together. You quickly duck your face into his chest while Dick chuckles and pulls you into a tight embrace.

Later on, a ring adorns his and your left hand. Never once getting taken off, no matter the reason.

#dick grayson #nightwing #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #reposting because tags aren't working???#so if you saw this you did not

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loves0phelia · 11 months ago

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Saturday Meetings

Summery: When Eddie learns Y/N has a similar music taste as him everything change.

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Bullying, fighting, grammar mistakes.

Eddie Munson was always seen as a freak ever since he entered highschool. The basketball team, cheerleaders, party kids and even the smart kids thought he was a satanist for listening to metal music and wearing ripped jeans accompanied with chains. The permanent ink that decorated his skin did not help his case either.

High school was a nuisance for Eddie. The only thing that motivated him was the Hell Fire club. A club where kids from juniors to seniors played dungeons and dragons.

For the members, this game meant the world, it was packed with excitement and fun. Yet, for others, it served as a tool for bullying.

During lunch you sat multiple tables away from him. You were dressed in the usual green, white and yellow cheerleading uniform the school provided, your hair pulled back into a neatly curled ponytail, you blended in with the rest of the team. But deep down, you were different. You had a passion for the same things as Eddie Munson. It was a part of you no one else could ever know.

Your Metalica, Black Sabbath and AC/DC cassette were tucked away underneath Madonna and tears for tears inside your backpack. You thought how Eddie was freely listening to the music you loved so dearly while you couldn't.

Your head turned over your shoulder and you watched as he talked. His arms were flying around as he expressed himself. His big and extraverted gestures made you giggle. Nobody at your table was this extravagant. Seeing someone like him felt refreshing. You always wondered what it was like having spontaneous conversation was like. At your table it was like a routine. Sport, girls/boys, parties, repeat.

“What are you looking at?" Jason's voice broke your concentration, prompting you to snap your head back to face him. He was sitting directly across from you at the cafeteria table.

"Oh, it's nothing," you attempted to brush him off, but the concern in everyone’s faces at your table made it impossible to avoid.

“You sure? Looks like you were looking at Munson” The judgment in his voice was clear. It was like mentioning his name burned his tongue.

"I, um, I was just... he looks weird, doesn't he?" you stammered, trying to save the situation. His brow furrowed as he glanced between you and him. The concern dissolved from his face as he chuckled and nodded in agreement with your previous statement. With a sigh of relief, your tense shoulders relaxed, and your racing heart gradually slowed its pace.

Your anxious gaze met Chrissy's, Jason's girlfriend, and she responded with a gentle smile. In that moment, her glance was reassuring, silently letting you know that everything was okay.

…

That night, you layed in bed, the sound of "Thunderstruck" blasting through your Walkman, was drowning out the world around you as you stared up at the ceiling, thoughts filled your mind, wondering how different life could be if you were surrounded by people who truly understood you, rather than pretending to fit in where you clearly didn't belong.

“Y/n!” Your heart dropped when you barely heard your name over the music. You threw The headphones off and you saw your mom in the doorway.

“What is it mom?” You asked and sat up.

"I've been calling that dinner's ready for the past 10 minutes. Are you still listening to that crazy music?" she sighed, rolling her eyes as the sound echoed from the headphones now abandoned beside you.

“Come downstairs, now” she scolded and you followed her down to the kitchen where once again you talked about school, boys and sports instead of something that really interested you.

…

The next morning, the thought of staying home was tempting. Everything seemed to conspire against you, discouraging any motivation to face another day of repeating the same exact routine as the day before.

But you knew your parents would not want you to stay home.

As the school bus pulled up in front of your house, you found yourself once again lost in your music, the volume cranked up high enough to fill your ears but low enough to keep the people around you from hearing it..

When it arrived at its destination people rushed to get out of the yellow vehicle. You, on the other hand, walked slowly deadring the moment you will have to enter class.

As you turned the corner in the main hallway, you collided with someone so hard that the Walkman's headphones slipped off your head and began to fall to the ground. The cord connecting the headphones to the cassette player on your waist tugged, causing it to tumble to the floor as well making the Metallica cassette spill out onto the ground.

“Oh I'm sorry sweetheart” your heart pounds against your chest when you finally recognized the boy you bumped into.

“Let me get that for you- Metalica?” He examined the cassette as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

“You really listen to that?” his smirk is inevitable.

“No. It's- uh, for my brother” You snatched the cassette from his hand.

“You don't even have a brother” He laughed when he caught your lie.

“How would you know that?”

"We've been in the same classes for two years, Y/N." The sound of your name rolling off his tongue sends a shiver down your spine.

In this moment you noticed how Andy and two other boys from the basketball team looked at you and Eddie as they passed.

In a hurry you grabbed his hand and tugged him away into the nearest janitor closet.

"You know, you could've asked me out first before dragging me in here, but I guess I'll give you points for spontaneity," he says with a smirk, his confidence made you roll your eyes and slap his forearm.

“You cannot tell anyone that you saw this alright?” You shoved the cassette into his face. ”Jason would ruin my life and probably find a way to kick me out of the team because he thinks it's… it’s satanic” Eddie sighed harshly.

“Fine. But-”

“No buts!”

“BUT you have to help me with O'donnell's test for next month” you considered it for a moment. If anyone saw you with him they would probably do worse then kick you off the team. But you didn't have a choice.

“Fine but you come to my place on Saturday nights, and you have to come through my window.”

“Exciting, romantic, I like it”

“This is not romantic!” and just at this very moment you noticed how tight the closet was. How close your bodies were. “I- Am going to get out and you have to wait 5 minutes before you do, understood?”

“Understood, maam” he nodded and quickly you came out of the closet. Fresh air immediately brushed on you.

The rest of the week went smoothly, you sneaked glances at him every now and then but nothing was abnormal. During the integrality of Saturday you were impatient for the moment eddie would come knocking on your window. And when he did you were listening to one of your many vinyls, as you opened the window and welcomed him in.

“Holy shit” he whispered as he took in your room. In his head it would have been filled with pinks and purples, neat and well organized. But there were vinyls of his favorite bands on the wall next to posters and a concert ticket framed in a black picture frame. You had books scattered on your desk that he had also read, and 5 pairs of different colors converse on the floor.

“You are full of surprises” He had said and you just ignored the compliment and went

straight to studying.

On the following Saturday night, Eddie returned without fail, and you both studied again. As the hours passed, midnight approached and you were both tired and yawning.

“I should go,” He said as he started gathering his notebooks and his backpack.

"Same time next Saturday?" you inquired as Eddie made his way halfway out of your window.

He nodded, a sweet smile lighting up his face, making your stomach erupt with butterflies. Every Saturday preceding the test, unfolded the same way. Sometimes you found yourselves watching movies, almost cuddling, his arm draped around your shoulder, and occasionally you allowed your head to rest on him.

Friday, the day before your last study session before the math test, was a game day. You knew Eddie and his club had a reunion the same day but you still invited him to come watch your cheerleading routine along with his friends.

Surprise flickered across your face as you spotted him in the stands just before the end of the game. His unexpected presence threatened to throw you off balance, but you swiftly regained your focus.

After the game, as the team was heading back to the locker room, Jason spotted Eddie lagging behind waiting for you.

"Waiting for the girls to come out, perv?” Jason sneered, his minions laughing along with him.

Eddie tried to brush off the insults, but Jason's words cut deep. Just as Jason was about to deliver another cutting remark, you came out of the changing room holding your sport bag.

you looked between them for a second in silence. Eddie looked at you and a lightbulb lightened up on Jason’s head.

“Oh I see what's going on here. Munson’s got a crush on y/n!” His loud tone made everyone grow quiet. Students nearby started surrounding them, their eyes darting between Jason and Eddie. Eddie's cheeks burned with humiliation as he struggled to find the courage to respond

“Sorry to break it to you but a cheerleader would never go for a freak like you” With a smirk on his face, Jason draped his arm around you in a cocky way. It was in no way near as comforting as Eddie's embrace.

“Fuck off, Carver” you pushed him off your body. His smirk faltered for a moment as he received the unexpected rejection, but he quickly regained his composure, scoffing at Y/N's boldness.

"Really, y/n? You're into Munson now? I didn't think you would go that slow but you've always been a slut” he shrugged and some people around you snickered and some other gasped

Jason's menacing presence loomed over you. You stood frozen after the words came out of his mouth. Eddie stepped forward, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive as he positioned himself between you and him.

Eddie hesitated before striking a punch right into his jaw. Jason’s head flew to the right and he stumbled backwards. Everyone gasped loudly.

With a fierce growl, Jason lunged forward, aiming a wild swing at Eddie's nose. But he was quicker. With fast reflexes, Eddie ducked under his punch and returned one to Jason’s gut, earning a grunt of pain.

The fight was on. Fists flew as Eddie and Jason traded blows. The students who were gathered around cheers added to the chaotic atmosphere.

“Stop!” You screamed but they were blinded by rage and humiliation.

Despite Jason’s size and strength, Eddie held his ground. With each blow, he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The echoes of grunts, cheers and strikes alarmed various teachers and when they saw the scene, they were both separated. The boys were panting and Jason was quick to put the blame on Eddie.

He looked at you desperately before walking into the crowd of students to storm out of the school ignoring the calls of a teacher demanding him to stay and explain himself.

You dropped your sport bag with your uniform inside and ran after him.

“Eddie, wait” Once outside you saw him about to enter his van. Your calls stopped him and he turned to face you. You didn't fail to notice the large bruise on his cheekbone already forming.

“Eds- im so sorry” he shook his head dismissing your apology.

"It wasn't your fault, Y/N," He reassured you softly, and in a swift movement, you wrapped your arms around his chest. At first, surprise made him motionless, but after a few moments, he returned the embrace, his arms enveloping you in a tight hug.

“Y/n” A much softer voice called out behind you. You and Eddie both looked toward it and Chrissy was standing there holding your bag.

“This is yours. Right?” She extended her arm.

“You can keep it Chrissy… my uniform is in it, now that Jason knows, nobody will want me on the team”

“I want you on the team, and I'm the captain” she pushed the bag inside your arms. “If someone has a problem with your relationship with Eddie, they will be kicked off the team.”

“Were not in a-” Eddie started with a shy tone.

“Thanks Chrissy” you hugged her tightly before saying your goodbyes.

“Bye Eddie. See you monday y/n, love you”

“Are we in a relationship?” His question is genuine and full of curiosity.

“I- uhm, do you want to be?”

“Hell yeah I want to. The whole studying shit was just an excuse to spend time with you!” A goofy smile was plastered on his face.

“What?!”

“Do you actually think I, Eddie Munson, would study willingly?” He giggled.

"I can't believe you," you said between giggles, resting your head on his chest as laughter bubbled up between you both.

With a hesitant yet determined step forward, Eddie closed the distance between you, his hand reached out to gently cup your cheek. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the warmth of Eddie's touch, a shiver of anticipation traveled your body. Eddie leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

And then, with a tender brush of his lips against yours, Eddie closed the gap, sealing your lips with a soft kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the pent-up longing and desire that had been building between you.

And when you finally pulled away, your lips tingled with the lingering sensation of his kiss, the fight long forgotten. You knew that this was just the beginning of yours and his journey together—a journey filled with passion, love, and endless possibilities.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader

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yns-world · 10 months ago

Text

Queen of Hearts

Title: Queen of Hearts

Pairing: Homelander x Supe!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: mentions of physical and mental anguish

A/N: dc/the boys au sort of. fem reader.

dare i say fatima is coming out of retirement??? we don't know....but we enjoy whatever fics we can LMAO

i just finished the first season of the boys and i absolutely love my man homelander 😩 my dms are fully open for any and all homelander requests--hcs, drabbles, stories, etc!!! lmk if y'all wanna see more of this supe!reader :) (please keep your requests spoiler free thank you)

as always, enjoy!

Queen of Hearts. America’s Heart. The healer for The Seven. One touch from her can soothe any pain and mend the fragments of the mind and body.

From a very young age, Y/N was dubbed to have “angel hands”, with the ability to mend her family’s aches with just a single touch. By the time she was in high school, she was mending to her friends and their stress-induced ailments. With one brush of their hair, she was able to relieve them of all the mental or emotional discomfort.

When the recruitments for the next member of The Seven were open, Y/N applied because she had thought that she could provide aid in the face of all the misery and destruction that is left behind in a superhero’s wake.

She got in, of course. But she also got more than she could chew.

Y/N’s original hero name was going to be “Angelica”, to pay homage to what her father would call her gift of “angel hands”. Vought had other plans.

“From now on, you are the reigning Queen of Hearts!” A contract broker exclaimed. Confusion painted Y/N’s face.

“I thought I was going to be Angelica?”

“Angelica is just another name, and you are not ‘just another person’. You are going to save millions, you are going to have an entire kingdom of dutiful followers that will worship you-- a benevolent monarch that bestows mercy on all those in her way. You will tend to those who suffer the greatest of pains: a heart shattered by grief.” Y/N didn’t know if she was speaking with a lawyer or a salesman from the sound of his spontaneous speech. From that day forward, her fate was sealed.

From the very first press conference of her debut, Y/N was merely a little girl of the past, and the Queen of Hearts had begun her infamous reign.

Signing posters with her face on it, performing interviews on talk shows, the Queen of Hearts was just getting warmed up for the real rally.

When it came to the devastating wars and protests that went on in the nation, the Queen was sent to inspect the scene. Of course, the Queen always outperformed. Visiting house to house, sitting down with not just the victims, but the neighbors of the victims. Getting to know each and every citizen that could even have heard about what travesty had gone down. And during these visits, the Queen would have a healing hand on the people while her voice poured honey into their ears.

It worked. Each and every time. Just like how Vought wanted.

What people don’t realize, what people refuse to discuss, is how her powers work.

Her powers neither heal nor destroy, they simply conduct the transfer of pain into her body. She feels everything they have felt, she swallows all the things that their body has been fighting off. And she carries these burdens with her.

Her career with The Seven was lucrative in the first few years. What the nation needed most was not just a hero, but a mother. The Queen of Hearts provided that.

Vought had trained her how to take on the burdens of thousands of people at once, but lacked in training her how to dispose of the weight she now carried.

When she was younger, Y/N would go into periods where she would shut herself off from the world. For weeks at a time, she would be paralyzed from the anguish, she could feel the poison slithering up and down her body like a parasite, and she would silently pray for death.

But the Queen can’t just take time off from her role. With nowhere else to turn, she drowns out her sorrows in the only alternative-- fight grief with the cause of grief.

“According to Insider information, it appears that the Queen of Hearts is allegedly dating notorious criminal and psychopath, Joker. When asked for a comment, the Queen replies with: ‘He’s a person, too.’”

Feeling too many feelings all the time, hearing so many shouts of terror and agony in her head, the only antidote she seeks for is the exact opposite-- a man that couldn’t care less for the public. A man that bestows this agony onto others.

If Y/N could never escape from this hellhole of a life, then maybe the Queen could have a taste of what it’s like to live a different life.

On his wild, maniacal hunts for money and killing, the Queen would be riding shotgun while the Joker took the wheel of his gold-decked lamborghini.

Vought was pissed when the news broke out, but there wasn’t much they could do but assign the Queen smaller missions out in the middle of nowhere to try and “separate” her from the Joker until the news died down. But the Queen was tired of listening and bowing her head. And she also learned of how much they needed her rather than her needing them.

Everytime the Joker would start a fiasco with dozens of victims, who would be the first at the scene? None other than his loving girlfriend, of course.

The public reaction might’ve been worse for wear in the beginning, but now that the Queen is doing damage control for her maniacal boyfriend, the public sees no problem with this relationship.

If anything, it has opened the minds of thousands, and created a path for heroes and villains of all kinds to band together. And of course, where there’s money to be made, the companies come swooping right behind them.

But there came a time when the Joker took it too far, when not even the mother of the nation could undo his wrongs.

On his insatiable conquest for hell on Earth, the Joker attacked a nuclear power plant in an attempt to dismantle a system that was already built on the blood of its people.

The Queen of Hearts was at the scene before first responders or the press, and what she saw alone left her writhing.

The shrieks of innocent civilians, pounds of flesh and skin melting off the bone, shaky hands reaching out from the ground for a savior.

The people needed a savior.

The people needed a god.

She could not be what they needed her to be.

She fought that instinct to flee for so long, she pushed back and stayed for years. She gave up skin into the game, she thought that she had killed off that child inside of her. But it was in this moment-- where everywhere she looked was another soul begging to be put out of their misery, where there were thousands of souls waiting to be added onto the tremendous weight she already carries-- was when all of that weight finally cracked.

Queen of Hearts looked up at the night sky, expecting to see stars but only to be met with clouds passing overhead.

Well, one star did strike through the suffocating fumes-- Homelander.

She met his face, her eyes were filled with despair and her face twisted in despair, and he gave her a reaffirming nod. He would take it from here.

Homelander watched as the Queen’s mask fell from her face and Y/N bolt into the night-- just before anyone noticed.

In the following weeks since the nuclear plant incident, Y/N holed up at the tower. Both the heroes and corporate knew it was better this way.

“Let sleeping dogs lie.” Stillwell said.

When she finally emerged from her self-induced banishment, the Queen was reborn.

Stillwell hosted a PR conference the size of which whenever she would debut another hero. And that she was.

“I introduce to the world a new era of superhero. Please welcome, Sultana!” Out from the curtains came the new and improved Y/N. Replacing her red and black garments from her Queen of Hearts days was a lavish gold and evergreen suit.

New suit, new hair, new smile.

This time, Y/N knew better.

This time, Sultana would stick to the script.

The script included her being with Homelander, and she was fine with that. During team-ups, during walks across the red carpet, during meetings with Congress, Sultana would be right by Homelander’s side with a smile and a pleasant wave. Just like Vought intended.

Just as Homelander wanted it to be.

Afterall, they weren’t superheroes, that’s foolish to think they are.

They just played a pretty part, and gave a bright smile.

DON'T BE A GHOST READER! let me know your thoughts and how you feel about this fic!!! i love talking to each and every one of y'all <333

lmk if y'all wanna see more of this supe!reader type of stuff...or if y'all wanna see this specific character :D

if you enjoyed this post, then please consider reblogging :) every little bit helps and i greatly appreciate it <3

i'm open to homelander requests as of right now, so feel free to drop your ideas!!!

as always, please check my pinned post for request rules and the fandoms i write for :)

#yns world #the boys #the boys x y/n #the boys x you #the boys x reader #the boys tv #the boys season 4 #homelander #homelander x y/n #homelander x you #homelander x reader #the boys fanfic #homelander fanfiction

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tinydefector · 25 days ago

Text

Who's portal is this? 2

DC X DP X SPIDER-MAN

[Decided I was working on and editing this instead of dealing with my emotions over finding out what happened to my mum and over the fact I legally still can't talk to any of my friends over it]

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: swearing, mention of wounds, mention of death.

Masterlist

______________

The tension in the warehouse was thick enough to cut with a knife. Constantine still looked like he was trying to process his entire life’s choices, Peter was glaring at anyone who moved too close to Danny, and Batman stood silently, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the summoning circle.

"Alright," Danny finally said, breaking the silence. His voice still carried that layered, eternal echo, but his tone was casual. "Can I come out without you guys freaking out? Because, like, I could’ve escaped this thing five minutes ago. But I’ve been too baffled by this whole ‘Pariah Dark booty call’ situation to bother. And I'm pretty sure he's bleeding out” Danny states while pointing at Peter

Batman’s gravelly voice cut through the bickering. “If you could’ve escaped, why didn’t you?”

Danny gave him an incredulous look. “Uh, I just said why. I was baffled, Stunned this feels like the Electric boogaloo part two ” He gestured vaguely to the summoning circle. "Also, this thing you guys slapped together? It’s not exactly Ghost King-proof. I mean, it’s good, don’t get me wrong—it would’ve probably stung like hell to break through it earlier, but it wouldn’t have actually held me. It’s like trying to hold a bear with spiderwebs. Annoying, sure, but not impossible. No offence Spiders"

Peter makes a noise of offence followed by Constantine groan, muttering something under his breath about how he hated kids.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Look, I’ll make it easy for you. I promise not to destroy anything, melt anyone’s face off, or turn Gotham into a ghost dimension. Just let me out, and we can all chill. Deal?”

Batman stared at him, his expression unreadable as always. After a long, tense pause, he gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.

Danny grinned. "Cool. Thanks, creepy Gothman." With a casual step, Danny walked out of the summoning circle like it wasn’t even there. The sigils flared for a brief moment, sparking angrily, but Danny seemed unbothered. His aura dimmed as he left the circle, and in a flash of green light, his older, regal form disappeared.

In his place stood a very unimpressive 16-year-old kid in a black T-shirt, jacket and jeans, his hair now messy and black, his eyes bright blue with a green shimmer to them. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he looked around the room with the kind of awkward energy only a teenager could pull off.

"Ta-da!" Danny said, grinning. The silence that followed was deafening. Constantine’s cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth. Batman’s stance shifted slightly, just enough for anyone who knew him to see that he was recalculating everything he thought he knew about the situation.

Peter, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered. "Yeah," he said nonchalantly, “Fun, right?" His jaw clenched as he tries to move, his shoulder aches like no tomorrow and at this point all he wanted to do was sleep off his injuries from before this mess.

Constantine blinked, pointing at Danny like he was trying to make sense of a bad joke. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re the Ghost King? You’re a bloody child?!"

Danny frowned, crossing his arms. "Okay, rude. I’m sixteen, thank you very much. And technically, I’m only half-ghost."

Batman’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife. "Explain."

Danny shrugged, his casual demeanor making it clear that this wasn’t the first time he’d had to explain his situation. "Alright, fine. So, hi, my name’s Danny." He raised a hand in an awkward little wave, like he was introducing himself in a high school classroom. "When I was 14, my parents—who are kinda nuts, built this weird ghost portal thingy in our basement. I decided it’d be a great idea to mess around with it, and, well…" He gestured to himself. " tada! Half-ghost."

"Anyway, long story short, I spent the past two year fighting ghosts, saving my town, blah blah blah. Then, a while back, I accidentally dethroned Pariah Dark. don’t ask, it’s a whole thing and now I’m the Ghost King. Which, honestly, is way more responsibility than I signed up for."

Constantine rubbed his temples, looking like he was on the verge of a breakdown. "So, let me get this straight. You’re a 16-year-old half-ghost who somehow became the ruler of the Infinite Realms because you… what? Got lucky?"

Danny grinned. "Pretty much!"

Constantine groaned, looking at Batman. “You’re hearing this, right? It’s not just me?”

Batman’s expression didn’t change. "I’m hearing it."

Danny clapped his hands together, clearly trying to move things along. "Alright, now that we’re all on the same page, can we focus on the important stuff? Like the whole ‘us being stuck in your horror city thing? Because I’d really like to get out of here before Mr. Soul Whore over there starts trying to sell pieces of himself again."

Constantine bristled.

The bright, sterile light of the Batcave flickered faintly across its rocky walls, illuminating the room in a pale glow as Alfred worked with calm precision on Peter’s injuries. The young man sat on the edge of a medical table, his spider suit pulled down around his waist. His face was a mess—black eye swollen shut, cheeks scraped and bruised with pieces of concrete and glass shards in bedded, and lips still lined with dried blood. His body wasn’t much better.

His torn suit had shown a litany of injuries before it had been pulled down: fractured ribs that had already started showing the deep purple, green and yellow bruising up hid torso, the nasty red handprint of a chokehold bruising his throat, burn marks left by an explosion, and countless cuts and lacerations. The most pressing concern, however, was the bullet wound in his dislocated shoulder.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he hissed, pulling his arm away instinctively before Alfred gave him a stern look.“Hold still, please,” Alfred said firmly. “I can’t help you if you’re squirming.” as Alfred pulled the bullet free with a pair of forceps, the sound of metal hitting the small surgical tray echoing through the cave.

He exhaled sharply as the butler pressed a clean cloth to the wound to staunch the bleeding. “It’s better out than in, young man,” Alfred said softly, his voice calm but tinged with concern. “Though I must say, you’ve been through quite the ordeal.”

Danny leaned against the edge, his expression softening slightly as he took in Peter’s battered state.

“You look like crap,” Danny said bluntly.

“Thanks,” Peter deadpanned. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

Danny grinned faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You gonna be okay?”

Peter shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. “I’ve had worse.”

Danny gives a small nod before ghosting away over to where Constantine stood impatiently waiting for Danny.

Alfred’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression betraying his worry. His hands moved with expert care as he cleaned the wound. “This is far more than just another day, young man. You’re concussed, your ribs are clearly fractured or broken, and you’re covered in burns, bruises, and lacerations. Frankly, it’s a miracle you’re still conscious.”

The butler begins readying a needle and thread so that he can stitch The bullet hole closed. “Forgive me this will hurt, I don't currently have local anaesthetic on hand. Do hold still, young man,” Alfred apologies as he begins the stitching process.

Peter winced but didn’t argue. “It's fine, it wouldn't help anyway, and you don't have to stitch it, it will seal itself in two days, I have an enhanced healing factor” Peter explains but it doesn't stop Alfred.

“And give your injuries the chance to get infected, not a chance” He knew Alfred was right, despite having enhancements it didn't stop Peter from getting sick, and he knew if he got an infection it would be hell having to cut it out again. It makes him shiver remembering the last time he had to cut out infected flesh.

His Spider-sense was still buzzing faintly at the edges of his mind, a constant reminder of just how close he’d been to death tonight.

“I’m almost finished.”

“Feels better not having the bullet grinding against my shoulder every time I swung,” Peter muttered through gritted teeth. His voice was thick with exhaustion, and his words slurred slightly from the concussion. “But, uh, yeah… still hurts like hell.”

Alfred gave a small, dry chuckle as he worked. “I imagine it does. Though I must say, I’ve seen soldiers in better condition than you after a battlefield skirmish.” His tone betrayed a trace of worry, his sharp eyes scanning the young man for further injuries.

Peter didn’t respond, too focused on managing the pain and the throbbing in his head. He winced again as Alfred moved to examine his ribs. The bruising spread across his chest in ugly shades of purple and yellow, and every breath came with a faint wheeze.

“This is unacceptable,” Alfred muttered under his breath, though his words were clearly directed at someone else. His sharp gaze flickered briefly to where Bruce stood a few feet away, stoic and silent as always. “This boy is barely standing, and yet you brought him here in this state? I thought better of you. This young man is barely standing, and yet you saw fit to fight him as if he were one of your rogues.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his arms crossed as he watched from the shadows. He knew better than to argue with Alfred when the butler was angry, and right now, Alfred was rather angry.

Peter tensed slightly, his good hand clutching the edge of the table as his gaze flickered toward Batman. He still hadn’t forgiven him for the fight and, frankly, he wasn’t sure he ever would. Batman had outmaneuvered him, taken him down like he was nothing more than a common thug, and Peter’s pride still stung almost as much as his injuries.

he knew that if he hadn't been through dealing with all the villains that had ended up in his world, then being thrown about by the portal he had jumped into, swung halfway across a city with a bullet in his shoulder he had dislocated, and then getting slammed into a wall by Batman before spun up in his own web. He winced when the older man took a cautious step closer. He knew if he was in a better state he would have whooped the goth furries ass.

Peter, despite his condition, couldn’t resist shooting Bruce a glare. He tensed visibly when Batman stepped closer, his entire body going rigid like a cornered animal. “Don’t,” Peter snapped, his voice sharp despite the hoarseness in his throat. “Stay the hell away from me, we’re not friends.”

Batman stopped in his tracks, his expression unreadable beneath the cowl. “I didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “You were a threat.”

“A threat?” Peter scoffed, glaring at him with his one good eye. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, man! I was trying to protect Danny. He's been the only thing I've had since I got thrown into this hell hole, so forgive me for not asking questions when you trapped him”

Batman didn’t respond, his silence only fueling Peter’s frustration. Alfred, however, gave a pointed look at his employer before turning back to Peter, his voice softening once again.

Peter’s shoulders slumped slightly, though he was still visibly tense. He muttered something under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor as Alfred resumed his work, carefully stitching the bullet wound closed.

---

Danny and Constantine’s argument had been steadily escalating, their voices growing louder with every passing second. The two of them were standing by one of the Batcave’s many monitors, their gestures wild and exaggerated as they bickered.

“Would you shut up for five seconds?!” Danny snapped, his glowing green eyes narrowing as he threw his hands in the air. He was back in his human form, looking every bit like the irritated teenager he was, but his aura still flickered faintly with ectoplasmic energy. “Look, Cults do crap, that's kinda their gimmick, there's not much I can do about it, I'm still learning how to keep my Core from spinning out of control! There's only so much I can do, you should be grateful you got me and not Pariah!”

Constantine scowled, jabbing a finger in Danny’s direction. “mate! You’re the one prancing around as the bloody Ghost King, drawing attention from every creep and cultist this side of the multiverse. You think I wanted to deal with you? Hell no!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault for being a baby ghost. you’re apparently the guy everyone in the Infinite Realms calls ‘Soul Whore’ why don't you go sell another piece of yourself ” Danny shot back, crossing his arms.

“You little—” Constantine cut himself off, taking a deep drag from his cigarette as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. “Listen here, kid. I don’t care what kind of fancy crown you’ve got floating over your head or how many ghostly kingdoms you rule. You’re still just a snot-nosed brat playing dress-up—”

Danny’s aura flared, and he took a menacing step forward. “You wanna say that again, John? Because I don’t think I heard you the first time.”

“Boys,” Alfred called out sharply from the medical table without even looking up from Peter’s wounds. His tone was clipped, the kind of calm authority that immediately demanded obedience. “If you’re quite done arguing like a pair of schoolchildren, I’d suggest you find a way to help this young man and yourself get home.”

Danny and Constantine both froze, exchanging sheepish glances before muttering simultaneous, reluctant, “Sorry.”

Peter snarls again when Batman takes another step into the small medical area Alfred had set up to treat Peter, the young man bares a tiny set of fangs at him.

Bruce paused, his unreadable gaze meeting Peter’s. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone react to him with hostility, but there was something different about the way Peter looked at him. It wasn’t just anger, it was defiance.

“Calm down, mate,” came Constantine’s voice from the background. The magician was leaning against the Batcomputer, a cigarette dangling from his lips despite the faint protests from the Batcave’s air filtration system. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s got to count for something.”

“Shut up,” Peter snapped, not even looking at Constantine. “I don’t want to hear it from you, either.”

Constantine raised an eyebrow, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Touchy, aren’t we? Must be the concussion talking.”

“Can you guys take your argument somewhere else?” Peter grumbled, his voice dripping with irritation. “I don’t need a commentary track while I’m getting patched up.”

Alfred turned his attention back to Peter, his face softening slightly as he began picking the glass fragments from Peter's face. “You should be in a hospital,” Alfred said quietly, his tone more gentle now. “You’re in no condition to be running around rooftops, let alone fighting.”

Peter gave a weak chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince as his ribs protested. “Yeah, well, hospitals aren’t exactly Spider-Man-friendly. Besides…” He shot another glare at Batman. “I wouldn’t be here at all if someone had left us alone.”

“This young man was clearly in a life-threatening battle. Concussion, fractured ribs, glass embedded in his skin, burns, a bullet in a dislocated shoulder and God knows what else. And yet here he sits, instead of in a hospital bed where he belongs.” Alfred sighed heavily, his gaze flicking to Bruce. “I trust you’ll handle this properly, sir. Because if you don’t, I’ll be having words with you later.”

Bruce gave a small nod, his attention still on Peter.

“I don’t do hospitals,” Peter repeats, his voice hoarse as he glances at Alfred. “They’d ask too many questions. I’ll heal. I just… need time.”

Peter groaned, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the table. This was shaping up to be one of the worst nights of his life.

Alfred sighed, clearly unhappy but unwilling to press further. Instead, he focused on carefully removing a shard of glass lodged in Peter’s arm. Peter hissed again, his body flinching reflexively.

“You’re lucky,” Alfred said with a softer edge. “The bullet in your shoulder didn’t hit anything vital. Though how you managed to swing around with it still lodged in there is beyond me.”

Peter gave a weak, humorless smile. “Yeah, well… adrenaline’s a hell of a drug.” he tenses again as Batman walks past the table trying to take a Proper look at Peter's injuries.

Alfred glanced between them, his brow furrowing. “I assure you, he only wishes to help.”

Peter’s laugh was bitter, almost feral. “Yeah, sure. I've already been shot at by a SWAT team, and been beat to shit. So go nuts, it's not going to keep my Spider-Sense from blaring like a tornado siren. Your a threat to me Even if your trying to help, ”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

It wasn’t just the fight that had Peter on edge, it was the way Batman moved, the way he loomed over him like a shadow, the way his presence filled the room with an authority that made Peter’s stomach churn. It reminded him too much of Osborn. The cold, calculating gaze. The unrelenting drive. The willingness to go too far to get what he wanted.

It made Peter’s skin crawl.

Alfred, sensing the tension, shot Bruce a pointed glare before speaking again. “ I understand your hesitation, but I assure you, he is not your enemy.”

Peter scoffed. “Yeah? Tell him to stop staring at me like I’m some kind of science experiment, and maybe I’ll believe it.”

Before Alfred could respond, a loud crash echoed from the far side of the cave, followed by raised voices.

“I’m telling you,” Danny’s voice rang out, “you don’t need to keep babysitting me! I’m not gonna blow up Gotham or whatever you think I’m gonna do!”

“Oh, forgive me if I don’t take your word for it, Your Majesty,” Constantine shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re a bloody half-ghost kid with the power to wipe out entire dimensions. Forgive me if I’m a little cautious!”

“I’m not gonna wipe out dimensions!”

“Once is enough, mate.”

The argument continued, growing louder and more heated as Danny and Constantine bickered like a parent and child who had been stuck in the same car for too long.

Peter turned his head slightly, watching the chaos unfold with a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. “What’s their deal?” he asked, wincing as Alfred cleaned another wound on his arm.

Alfred sighed, clearly unimpressed with Danny and Constantine’s antics. “ Mr. Fenton and Mr. Constantine appear to have different approaches to… resolving conflict.”

“Yeah,” Peter muttered. “I can see that.”

Bruce, who had remained silent up until now, finally spoke. “ Constantine is trying to prevent a larger catastrophe.”

“By yelling at him?” Peter quipped.

“Look, I get it, okay? I’m scary or whatever. But I’m not Pariah Dark, and I’m not gonna start some ghost apocalypse, plus I'd rather not hurt my Human friends. What I actually want right now is a burger!”

Constantine raised an eyebrow. “Mate, you’re a walking bloody nuke.”

"Ignore them, it is for the best, I'd like you to take these, you're not allergic to Oxycodone?" Alfred asked gently, handing Peter a cup of water and what looked like a handful of painkillers. Peter doesn't answer, just throws them into his mouth along with taking a massive mouthful of water to wash them down.

"If it’s alright with you, I’d like to know how you ended up in this dreadful state." Alfred paused, glancing up at Peter's battered face. "You don’t have to say anything if you’re not comfortable, but it might help you calm down and rest."

Peter hesitated, his shoulders tensing slightly as Alfred reached for another piece of glass embedded in his arm. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the edge of the table tightly. "It’s… complicated," he said softly, his voice hoarse and raw. The handprint on his throat made every word feel like gravel scraping against his vocal cords.

Alfred gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I’ve found that most things are, Mr. Parker. But I’ve also found that talking about them can make things a little less so."

Peter looked at Alfred for a moment, his guarded expression softening slightly. There was something about the older man’s calm demeanor, his steady hands, and his genuine concern that made Peter feel… safe, even here, in the middle of a cave owned by a man who had beaten him in a fight.

Peter exhaled slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on the table. "Alright," he said quietly. "I guess it’s better than sitting here in awkward silence."

Alfred gave a small nod, continuing to work. "Take your time, lad."

Peter swallowed hard, his throat aching. "I was trying to fix something I messed up. My life it was a mess. Everyone I cared about, everyone who knew I was Spider-Man, they were in danger because of me. Because of something I did."

Alfred’s hands stilled for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking up to Peter. "Go on," he encouraged gently.

Peter took a shaky breath. "There was this… spell. A way to make everyone forget who I was—forget that I was Spider-Man. It was supposed to fix everything. But something went wrong, and it broke the multiverse open. Villains from other worlds. Worlds that weren’t mine, started showing up. People who knew Spider-Man, but not my Spider-Man. I fought them, tried to send them back, but…" He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly. "It didn’t matter. They kept coming."

Alfred’s expression softened, but he said nothing, letting Peter continue at his own pace.

Peter’s fists clenched. "The worst part was… I thought I could save them. I thought I could fix them, make them better, so they wouldn’t go back to their worlds and die fighting Spider-Man. And maybe I did. Maybe it worked for some of them. But…" He swallowed hard. "It cost me everything. My aunt—she—"

His voice broke, and he looked down at his lap, his hands trembling. "She died. Because of me. Because I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, smart enough to stop it."

Alfred’s hand rested gently on Peter’s uninjured shoulder, "I’m terribly sorry for your loss," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine sympathy.

Peter nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to continue. "After that, I didn’t have a choice. I had to go through with the spell. I made everyone forget me. My best friend. The love of my life. Everyone. It was the only way to fix it."

Alfred’s hand lingered on Peter’s shoulder for a moment before he returned to tending to his wounds. "And that’s when you ended up here?" he asked gently.

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I thought it was a portal to take me somewhere safe, one of the wizards I was working with tried to get me away before they forgot. One minute I was in New York city, trying to figure out where I'd go, and the next thing I knew, I’m falling through some portal and landing in Gotham. And then Danny caught me" He shot a look towards Danny.

Alfred finished cleaning and stitching the last of Peter’s wounds before stepping back, wiping his hands on a clean cloth. "There. That should hold for now. But you’ll need rest, young man. Proper rest, not whatever adrenaline-fueled nonsense I imagine you’re used to." Alfred hands Peter a set of clothes. “Forgive me the closest to your size of clothes is Red Robin, he will most likely be here later” Alfred explains to Peter.

Peter gives a small nod before slowly moving, pulling the cover across so he could get dressed in something more comfortable. He still tenses and watches Batman like a hawk after he had dressed, not wanting the older man too close to him while he was in the state he was.

Batman reminded Peter of two people: Norman Osborn’s manic intensity lived in Batman’s ability to dissect everything with cold precision, in the way he always seemed to be two steps ahead. That same suffocating control, that same aura of dominance it put Peter on edge, made his heart race and his fingers itch to fight or flee.

But then there was Tony. The way Bruce carried himself, the unrelenting drive to fix every problem, the subtle weight of grief behind his every word and action, it was so much like Tony Stark that Peter’s heart clenched every time he looked at him. It stung, deep and raw, like an old wound being torn open.

And that combination, Osborn’s menace and Tony’s absence, was too much for Peter to handle.

Batman took a slow step toward him, his cape brushing the floor like a shadow reaching out. Peter stiffened instantly, his body going rigid, his breaths coming faster. His good hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Peter," Bruce said, his voice low and steady. "I need to ask you a few questions. I need to know—"

"Don’t," Peter hissed sharply, his voice raw and filled with tension. He flinched back, his eyes wide and wild. His Spider-Sense wasn’t buzzing, but his instincts were screaming at him to move, to escape, to run.

Batman stopped, his expression unreadable behind the cowl, but Peter could feel the weight of his gaze. It bore down on him like a physical force, and Peter couldn’t stop the way his body shook under it.

Peter’s voice rose slightly, his tone cracking. "Don’t come any closer."

Bruce frowned, his jaw tightening.

"I said don’t!" Peter snapped, his voice trembling. His entire body was trembling now, his chest heaving with shallow, uneven breaths. He looked like a cornered animal, his eyes darting between Batman and the exit, like he was calculating how quickly he could escape if he needed to.

Bruce raised his hands slightly, a gesture of calm, but the movement only made Peter shrink back further. His mind flashed with images of Green Goblin’s twisted grin, of Tony’s lifeless eyes, of his own failures piling up like bricks on his back.

The tension reached its breaking point when Peter let out a sharp hiss of pain, clutching his ribs as his body twisted instinctively away from Bruce. The sudden sound drew Danny’s attention like a shot.

In a blur of green and black, Danny darted to Peter’s side, standing between him and Batman like a shield. His eyes glowed faintly, his aura flaring just enough to be intimidating without being outright threatening. He was back in his human form, but the protective energy radiating off him was unmistakable.

"Hey, back off," Danny said, his voice sharp and firm but not angry. He placed a steady hand on Peter’s shoulder, grounding him. "Give him some space, okay?"

Peter flinched again, his good hand gripping Danny’s wrist as if to anchor himself. His breaths were still shallow, his eyes flicking between Bruce and Danny. "I’m fine," he muttered, but his voice was shaky and unconvincing. "I’m fine, just—just stay over there."

Alfred, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of concern and anger, finally stepped in, his tone clipped. "perhaps it would be best to give the young man some time to recover before bombarding him with questions. He’s clearly been through enough."

Bruce hesitated, his gaze lingering on Peter for a moment longer before he gave a curt nod and stepped back. He turned toward the Batcomputer, his cape sweeping behind him as he moved. Constantine muttered something under his breath about "bloody drama" and returned to fiddling with a spell book, but Danny ignored him, his focus entirely on Peter.

"You good?" Danny asked quietly, his glowing eyes dimming slightly as his aura softened.

Peter exhaled shakily, leaning back against the table. "Yeah," he said, though his voice was still weak. "I just… he reminds me of someone. Two people, actually. And it’s—" He broke off, shaking his head. "It’s stupid. Forget it."

Danny tilted his head, his expression calm but curious. "Not stupid," he said simply. "But you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to."

Peter gave a small, grateful nod, his grip on Danny’s wrist loosening. "Thanks."

Danny smiled faintly, stepping back but staying close enough to be reassuring. "No problem. Just let me know if you need me to, like, phase you out of here or something."

Peter huffed a weak laugh. "I’ll keep that in mind."

The Batcave was a strange mix of eerie quiet and low mechanical hums as computers whirred and analyzed data in the background. the two teenagers currently sitting on one of the metal tables.

Danny and Peter were engrossed in their food, wolfing it down like they hadn’t seen a meal in weeks. Neither of them seemed to care about the pressure in the room or the watchful eyes of Batman, who stood at the far end of the cave, his expression unreadable as always. Constantine was somewhere off to the side, muttering curses under his breath and chain-smoking like it was his last day on Earth.

For Danny, this was just another weird day in a long line of weird days. For Peter, however, it felt like his entire world had collapsed in on itself.

He sat there, shoveling fries into his mouth with the speed of someone too exhausted to bother with manners, his usually sharp mind dulled by the overwhelming weight of everything that had happened. His Spider-Sense had been buzzing like a never-ending alarm the moment he’d arrived in Gotham. It hadn’t let up. not for a second, and it was starting to fray his nerves.

Peter was cranky, tired, and emotionally wrecked.

It wasn’t just Gotham. It was everything.

The other Peters. Aunt May’s death. Strange’s spell. The portal that had dumped him here. It all felt like one gut punch after another, and now, on top of everything, he’d been bested, humiliated, really by Gotham’s caped crusader.

Batman.

Peter glared at the man from across the room, his jaw tightening as he bit into his burger. It wasn’t just that Batman had captured him—it was *how* easily it had happened. Less than 24 hours in this city, and the so-called “Dark Knight” had already gotten the better of him.

Peter was *Spider-Man.* He’d gone toe-to-toe with aliens, super soldiers, and literal gods. Sure, Captain America had gotten the drop on him once, but that was different. That was Cap. This was a guy in a bat costume.

And yet, here he was.

The weight of it all made his chest ache, a cold, hollow feeling settling deep inside him. It reminded him of when he’d been dusted in Tony’s arms, helpless and scared and completely out of control. He hated it.

Danny, sitting next to him, didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he was too busy enjoying the food to care. He shoved the last bite of his burger into his mouth, licking his fingers clean before leaning back on his hands.

"Man," Danny said, finally breaking the silence, " the food’s not bad."

Peter turned back to Danny, his frustration still evident. "How are you so calm about all this? Aren’t you even a little freaked out?"

Danny shrugged again. "Eh, not really. I mean, have been in strange situations” Danny had moved on from his burger and was now lazily sipping a soda, his feet kicked up on the table as if they were just two kids hanging out in a diner.

But Peter? Peter was done. He was exhausted—no, more than that. He was emotionally wrecked. Everything had gone wrong. Aunt May was gone. The other Peters had disappeared back into their own worlds. Doctor Strange’s spell hadn’t fixed anything, and now Peter was stranded in this grim, alien city that radiated danger. His Spider-Sense hadn’t stopped buzzing since he got here, and it was driving him to the brink of insanity.

It felt like every nerve in his body was on fire, like there was a constant whisper in the back of his mind telling him something bad was coming. When Batman stepped closer, Peter glared at him, his lips curling back in a warning hiss like a feral animal. He didn’t care how ridiculous it made him look. He just wanted the man to stay away.

“Don’t,” Peter snapped, his voice low and dangerous. His body was coiled tight, ready to spring. “Just don’t.”

Danny raised an eyebrow “Alright. Sheesh. Someone needs a nap.”

Peter didn’t respond. His hands clenched into fists, his breathing shallow and uneven. He hated this. He hated feeling cornered, trapped, and helpless. He hated that he couldn’t even turn to Karen for comfort.

His suit’s AI had been offline since he’d arrived in Gotham, and every time he reached up to tap his earpiece, hoping to hear her calm, familiar voice, he was met with silence. It was a small thing, but it made the ache in his chest worse. Karen had always been there for him. Always.

And now she wasn’t.

Peter stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He needed to get away. He needed space, somewhere to breathe, somewhere to escape the weight pressing down on him.

His eyes darted upward to the high, cavernous ceiling of the Batcave. Without a word, he shot a web and launched himself up, his movements quick and fluid.

Peter didn’t care what they thought. He swung up to one of the higher ledges, far above the main area of the cave, and began weaving his webs. His hands moved automatically, the repetitive action calming his racing thoughts as he constructed a makeshift hammock.

It wasn’t much, but it was something familiar. Something safe.

When he was done, he collapsed into the hammock, the tension in his body finally easing as he stared up at the jagged ceiling above. For the first time in hours, his Spider-Sense dimmed to a faint buzz.

Peter curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around himself as he closed his eyes. He didn’t cry. He was too tired for that but the ache in his chest didn’t go away.

He missed Karen. He missed May. He missed home.

#dc prompt #dc #dcu #batman #dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #spiderman x dc #spider man #spider man in gotham #danny fenton #danny phantom #danny Phantom in gotham #spiderman #spiderman meets batman

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