#first diana fic though

[arklay]

seeing stars.

pairing: diana x albert wesker words: 7.0k warnings: migraine, nausea and vertigo, brief mentions of food and alcohol, internalised ableism [read on ao3] — [part one]

A long exhale sounded from the en suite bathroom. It wasn’t one of relief. No, it was strained, wavering as it left parted lips – the evidence of a day riddled with nothing but stress.

Wesker slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the mirror from how he had hung his head, his hands resting on either side of the basin. The figure behind his reflection caught his eye instantly – dark hair a stark contrast to the white doorframe its lovely owner was leaning against. She was simply watching him with this faint, barely-there frown strewn about her features.

Despite being rather annoyed at Diana for sneaking up on him, or more so at himself for not noticing she had done so, he was glad she had kicked off her heels under the dining table. The last thing he needed right now was the shrill clicking of those awful things on the tile floor.

His head already felt like it had been put in a vise and someone was turning the handle; he didn’t need more noise to aggravate it.

“Where are your glasses?” Diana asked, and Wesker could only wonder if he’d imagined the worry clinging to the edge of her voice.

Could she tell he was in pain? That his sunglasses weren’t just some fashion statement people liked to tease him for? Had she put two and two together so easily when most were too dense to?

Wesker’s eyes darted up to lock on to hers in the mirror, though for only a split second, before he looked down again with a small huff. “I don’t know.”

He’d truly had a shocking day. It had been one thing after another, and at some point he had taken his glasses off to rub his eyes then forgot to put them back on. It wasn’t like him to misplace his belongings, and certainly not his shades, of all things, but the stressors piling up ensured the whereabouts of where he’d set them down slipped his mind faster than he thought possible.

It had all started with that pig, Brian Irons. The initial cause of his foul mood. That poor excuse of a man had proven himself to be a thorn in Wesker’s side time and time again; the police chief thought he could undermine those ensuring his unsavoury past was kept under wraps, but Wesker wasn’t going to stand for such insolent behaviour. He made sure to discuss the issue with William during his visit to the NEST around lunchtime, calling for a shorter leash.

However, the day only seemed to continue to go downhill once he’d returned to the station.

The problem wasn’t simply the piles of reports taking up space on his desk; the image of Diana wouldn’t leave his mind. He shouldn’t have stopped by her lab with coffee and spoken to her at all. He needed his focus to be solely on his work. The way she could capture his attention was quite bothersome, really. And that prompted a rather foolish decision on his part – a phone call with plans for dinner.

It didn’t end there. The newest S.T.A.R.S. recruits were a headache in and of themselves, yet getting a call from Sherry’s school the moment he left work had been the icing on the cake. She hadn’t been picked up hours beforehand, and being the next emergency contact, Wesker was informed of such incompetence.

William’s obsession with the G-Virus was getting out of hand. He’d always been more preoccupied with his work than the people around him, but forgetting to pick Sherry up from school was something else. Something Wesker didn’t quite like.

Not to mention it completely ruined his plans for the night.

With a suppressed clearing of her throat, Diana pulled him back to the present. She pushed herself off of the doorframe and made her way closer towards him. “Would you like me to look for them?”

Wesker shook his head and immediately regretted it; the sudden movement made him wince as a short wave of splitting pain made itself known right behind his left eye, causing him to grip the edge of the counter until his knuckles went white. The pain wasn’t unbearable yet, and he was glad his typical nausea seemed to be at bay, but he had no clue how long that would last. Not long, if he had to guess, given his luck with the rest of the day’s events.

Taking a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth, he steadied himself. With each count, he found it easier to tolerate the ache, though it didn’t subside in the slightest. It would have to do though; he needed to get through his nighttime routine.

He reached over and slowly pulled his toothbrush out of its holder, making sure to not move more than what was necessary.

“No.”

Wesker glanced up at the mirror again with one of his brows quirked in genuine confusion, and he watched as Diana’s reflection inched closer. Then her hands were covering his. Why he found himself frozen at her touch was beyond him, but her soft fingers pressing against his skin was a welcome sensation.

She only pried the toothbrush and paste out of his grasp, far more gently than she needed to, then she placed them back to where they belonged.

“You are obviously unwell. You don’t need to brush your teeth when you feel like this,” she said, voice soft and oddly soothing, as opposed to the hammering against his skull.

Diana took Wesker’s hands in her own again, and her thumbs brushed along the raised veins on the backs of them in slow circles. It wasn’t just comforting to him, it was familiar, intimate, and the point at which he’d begun to embrace her touch rather than shun his craving for it was lost on him.

Her eyes finally landed on his own and she directed a small nod towards the door, making him aware of what she was about to do next. Then she took a step back. Then another. And she carefully pulled him along with her, guiding him towards his bedroom without so much as a word from him. Wesker couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, and with how tired he was, he could only let her take the lead. She seemed to have her mind set on making sure he would rest, and that made his chest feel much too tight.

It was almost as if she cared.

The trip to the foot of his bed felt much longer than usual. Diana’s cautious approach made sure of that. He was not intoxicated; she didn’t need to hold his hands and ensure he put one foot in front of the other. And yet she did. He felt like an absolute fool, but he still let her pull him along, regardless.

Once there, Diana sat him down on the edge before she quickly knelt down in front of him, tucking her legs beneath herself as she did so. Her attention went straight towards his boots and deft hands worked to untie their laces.

Wesker couldn’t quite wrap his head around her behaviour. He wasn't sure what to think. On any other day, he would’ve thought her kneeling between his legs quite amusing, especially with how she kept roughly pushing her stubborn tresses that kept falling in front of her face back behind her ears. But his head hurt far too much, and there was just this horrible warmth searing through his chest and up his neck, settling across his cheeks and threatening to join the burning at his temple.

The question in her eyes whenever she’d glance up at him certainly wasn’t helping either. It was almost wary, as though looking for permission to continue. Or perhaps assurance.

Her fingers wrapped around his ankle, carefully grasping it as she pulled off his boot. That made him feel far too odd, but she only repeated the action with its counterpart. He was thankful for the way she placed them next to one another by his bed though, all nice and neat, instead of simply tossing them to the side like anyone else would.

Diana pushed herself up off of the floor using her palms and moved to stand between his legs. Soft hands reached forward to cradle his face, the cool pads of her thumbs brushing along the high points of his cheeks. But she was only looking into his eyes, searching for… something.

He wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, to be completely honest. However, the repetitive movement along his cheekbones was calming, almost strangely so, and he hated that his eyes threatened to flutter shut and his hands itched to reach out and hold onto her sides – perhaps even pull her closer, if he dared.

How could she draw such a reaction from him? Especially given the circumstances.

The last thing Wesker needed was for her to look at him like he was some injured animal; he didn’t want her pity. It was enough that he let her drag him out of the bathroom when he was in the middle of carrying out his routines, as though he was caught in some sort of trance. But to look at him in such a way, to help him undress… It was ridiculous. He didn’t need to be fussed over.

Wesker reached up and closed his hands around her wrists. His grip was tight, though not enough to hurt her – merely cautionary, much like the glare he sent her way. Astute as she was, he had no doubt she would get the message.

Diana’s fingers fell away from his cheeks, curling in on themselves, but she didn’t move to break the distance between them. She only continued to hold his gaze, eyes still scanning his own in search of some answers, even as he loosened his hold on her wrists.

It had been wishful thinking, anyhow; he should’ve known she’d remain defiant.

Wesker pulled her hands further away from his face while he slowly rose to his feet. Then he let go, making them drop to her sides in a rather lifeless fashion. He didn’t miss the question in her eyes, or the way a crease formed between her brows, but he simply focused on manoeuvring around her towards his dresser – unsuccessfully at that, as his side brushed against hers with how he staggered.

Movement made the pain behind his eye considerably worse. The familiar sensation of tiny knives stabbing, leaving puncture wounds in their wake to obscure his vision, made it incredibly hard to keep his eyes open any longer. Wesker took a deep breath to try and steady himself, keeping as still as could be so as to not cause himself more pain. If only for a moment of relief.

One of his hands settled on the surface of the dresser while the other moved to open a drawer. He hoped Diana didn’t see how he fumbled with the pull handle. He wasn’t even sure why that bothered him. But he moved to correct his error far too quickly, causing him to lose balance slightly.

The sight of plain black, white and grey t-shirts folded up and sorted by tone brought some level of structure back to the chaos that had been Wesker’s day, and it pleased him more than it probably should have. The shirts were simply for when he was too cold to sleep shirtless – he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing them casually, otherwise – and he removed one from its designated place for himself, and one for Diana.

The next drawer he opened contained his pyjama pants, all monochromatic and devoid of patterns, akin to his shirts. Just the way he liked. There were a couple of blue pairs though. Not like that mattered; he chose black, as usual.

A tired sigh left him then.

“Diana.” The sound of her footsteps crossing the distance between them seemed to reach him later than when they’d occurred, because she was already standing at his side. Wesker simply handed her the t-shirt he’d chosen for her, then he spoke again without looking her way, “Would you like pants?”

Diana chuckled at that, and the corner of his lips twitched. He treasured that sound. Well and truly treasured it.

“I doubt anything will fit me,” she whispered, the smile in her voice telling him she was trying to subdue her laugh.

“You have long legs.”

She let out a low, sweet hum at his dry response and positioned herself behind him, lifting her chin to rest it on his shoulder as she watched his hands comb through the pairs of pants in the drawer below. It was clear to Diana that he wouldn’t find anything that would fit her, considering she was barely two thirds the width of him, but she let him figure that out for himself. Instead, her hands ran down his sides and towards his hips. She stood on tiptoe to press a lingering kiss to his cheek while one of her hands travelled between them.

“Doesn’t change that you have more hips than I do,” Diana said between another kiss, tone playful, while her hand squeezed a handful of his firm backside.

Wesker reached behind himself and swatted her hand away, but he couldn’t stop the slight chuckle that bubbled up in his throat before it escaped him – one that mirrored her own. Her arms changing position, wrapping around his waist with her chin settling against his shoulder once more, was not what he expected in response, however. The feeling that brought up inside of him was not something he wished to confront tonight.

He needed to place more distance between them.

“Drawstrings.” Wesker held up a pair of pants that could be tightened at the waist, negating her claims that there couldn’t possibly be anything of his that may stay up for her.

Diana held back another sigh as she loosened her arms and plucked the pants from his grasp. Their short moment of joking around certainly didn’t last long, but she wasn’t sure why she even expected it to. It wasn’t the time or place, but she simply didn’t know how to deal with the situation at hand; it was always difficult for her to navigate when someone wasn’t feeling well.

On the other hand, Wesker was none the wiser to Diana’s inner turmoil. He only withdrew from her slack embrace and returned to where he’d been sitting at the end of the bed earlier, entirely focused on ridding himself of the rest of his work clothes. Without her interference.

Nothing seemed to be in his favour today though, because the moment his hips met the bed the entire room began to spin. It wasn’t like he had sat down too fast – or maybe he had finally lost his bearings – but the way the room was warping around him with stars dancing across his vision caused him to squeeze his eyes shut. His teeth ground together of their own accord and he cursed himself for it as that only amplified the pain at his temple.

All Wesker could do was turn his attention towards the buttons of his shirt, trying to ground himself as best he could by focusing on the feeling of one beneath his fingertips. The way the edges pressed against his skin as he pushed the button through its assigned opening felt so much sharper than usual. And it didn’t help that he fumbled on the first go.

“Let me help you.”

The almost desperate plea from the voice across the room couldn’t have come from Diana. Surely. Not even the distinct accent and low, gravelly quality of it could convince him; she had never done such a thing, never sounded like that, even when he’d reduced her to ruins in bed.

The Diana he knew wasn’t so willing to offer assistance.

Wesker scoffed, perhaps a bit too harsh judging by the frown he received, and only roughly unfastened the next button on his shirt. “I do not need your help.”

Oh, how he wished that were true.

The bile burning the back of his throat begged to differ. And it was getting increasingly difficult to just keep his eyes open, like his lids were being weighed down by some invisible force.

The soft sound of a zipper made Wesker glance over to where Diana stood, only to watch as her skirt pooled around her feet. His hands paused what they were doing as his eyes lazily wandered over her, mesmerised by the way she was carefully rolling her tights down her long legs. It wasn’t until she moved on to her shirt and made quick work of the overpriced garment that he shook himself free of her spell. To say she was stunning was frustratingly accurate.

She stripped down to nothing but her panties before pulling his massive t-shirt over her tiny frame, adjusting her hair the minute it was over her head. That shouldn’t have made him smile to himself. The thought that she was cute shouldn’t have even crossed his mind in the first place.

It wasn’t that long ago when he’d considered her vain for constantly worrying about her appearance, and the first time she had worn one of his shirts he had thought she looked absolutely ridiculous – comical, even. It was only endearing now. He chose not to look too close into that change, convincing himself that the pain he was in was simply making him delirious.

Fuck, he just wanted to go to sleep. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than to close this day and reset in the morning.

Despite struggling with each one, Wesker managed to finish undoing the buttons of his shirt and he weakly shrugged it off of his shoulders. It went no further than that, however, even with another attempt. The motion only made his stomach lurch, like waves roiling at sea.

A defeated sigh left him at that, but he was too tired to fight it. He must have made for a pathetic sight, one he wished there was no one present to witness.

That would’ve been grand, if he was so fortunate. Diana was standing in front of him again after dropping the pants in her grasp and crossing the distance in only a few quick strides. Before he could protest once more, she reached forward and laid her hands flat against his shoulders; cold fingers dipped beneath material, causing a shiver to run through his entire body, before she gently pushed the sleeves down his arms. It was unnecessary, but Diana held his forearm as she pulled the sleeve off by grasping the cuff, making sure to not turn his shirt inside-out.

He’d kiss her for that if his head didn’t feel like it was going to explode at any minute.

As soon as she freed him of his undershirt with the same meticulous care, Diana returned to what she had started earlier, before Wesker had stopped her. This time around he wasn’t nearly as tense when she took his face in her hands. In fact, it was the most at ease he had felt all day.

The chill of her palms provided some relief to the burning beneath his skin and the stabbing behind his eye. Even if it was only for a moment – until his cheeks warmed her hands and ripped that pleasant sensation away from him.

The only difference from when they’d found themselves in this position earlier was that Diana now leaned down to place a brief kiss on his lips. Wesker expected some level of warmth in her gaze once she pulled away, but he was only met with the look someone would have when scolding a child who had just hurt themselves on the playground.

If she was insinuating that he was being childish, they’d have a whole other problem on their hands.

Diana readjusted her hold to cradle his face in a more secure manner, fingers pressing firm against his skin. “I know you don’t want my help, but I will not see you make yourself sick because you are too stubborn to let someone look after you.”

Wesker glared up at her. Well, he hoped it was a glare, because whatever left him was all that he could muster in his state. From the way one of Diana’s brows raised, he sure did something, even if he had no idea if it was what he had intended.

They simply looked into one another’s eyes, holding the steady gaze for far too long – a familiar occurrence that usually took place when she challenged him. He supposed it was the other way around this time. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her help, it was that he didn’t want anyone’s. He thought himself above that, and he had managed being in this position countless times before. Even if on some of those days he had gone to sleep without being able to change his clothes.

Perhaps he needed some help.

“Fine.” Wesker relented with a long blink, and allowed himself to settle against her touch and relax some more.

That earned him a faint smile from Diana before she leaned in again. His eyes fluttered shut out of habit, but her lips didn’t connect with his own. Instead, they landed on his forehead, and his moment of ease faded away instantly, his hands balling into fists at his sides the longer she lingered there.

The pit in his stomach seemed to lessen when she withdrew and dropped to her knees again. But his head felt absurdly heavy without her hands holding it up. There was too much running through his mind, it was getting overwhelming. And it wasn’t just the hammering at the side of his skull. He wanted her but he tensed up at her touch, he needed her but he hated her assistance, he… He shouldn’t have invited her over tonight.

What had he been thinking?

Slender fingers curling into the waistband of his pants pulled Wesker from his thoughts, and he looked down at Diana, who had glanced up at the same time with that question in her eyes once more, asking if it was alright to continue. He simply nodded and she focused her attention back to what she was doing; he even lifted his hips to allow her to pull his pants off. Whenever she had dealt with the button and zipper eluded him.

He despised that – the feeling that he was no longer in control, losing his vigilance as the pain distracted him too much. It wasn’t just that though, the woman before him also played a part in causing his dazed state.

It was strange. Wesker couldn’t recall ever having a lover treat him like this. She wasn’t telling him that he was going to be okay, that she was there for him, or any of that superficial nonsense. She was just assisting him, doing whatever needed to be done so that he would be comfortable enough to hopefully get some sleep. It brought about another dreadful sensation to the mix already pestering him.

He lifted a hand and placed it over Diana’s when she reached for the t-shirt he had haphazardly dropped on the bed when the vertigo had hit him. She only looked down at his large hand enveloping hers for a moment, seeming to be the one stunned now. Then her eyes finally darted up to his face, and the steely determination in them from before melted away into that look that unsettled him far more.

“I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?” she asked, a slight trace of a chuckle clinging to the edge of it, as though she was almost embarrassed by her behaviour.

Wesker let out what was probably supposed to be a laugh in response, but little more than an exhale came out. “No.”

He paused as his next words died on his tongue. Or more accurately, they didn’t seem to want to leave his throat and even get that far. Diana was none the wiser and just rose to her feet, hand slipping free of his own and taking the t-shirt with it. Wesker chewed on the inside of his cheek for but a fraction of a second before he swallowed his pride.

A sharp inhale, then he lifted his head to look up at her. “Thank you.”

The genuine smile that crossed Diana’s face made him feel far too warm, like the sun was bearing down on his skin and reaching the deepest parts of him; it wasn’t quite a grin, teeth staying hidden, but the corners of her eyes crinkled and the indents on her cheeks deepened somewhat. She didn’t give him much of a chance to admire it though, too preoccupied with making sure she didn’t move him around too much as she carefully pulled the shirt over his head and helped each of his arms into the sleeves.

“I take it you have photophobia,” she said matter-of-factly. It was almost too clinical-sounding for Wesker’s liking, odd as that may seem. The term alone just left a bad taste in his mouth.

It was sort of his own fault, which he didn’t like owning up to. He’d always had trouble with his sensitivity to bright lights, but he was only meant to wear the tinted glasses Umbrella prescribed him when in the lab or outside. It had been the relief he felt without a migraine clawing at his senses that made him forget he was wearing them at all, and in turn, that developed into a habit of leaving them on for nearly all waking hours. His eyes adjusted to the conditions and it only worsened his sensitivity when he was without his sunglasses.

What he wouldn’t give to have his youthful eyes back.

When Wesker didn’t respond to her, Diana gently cupped his cheek. He tried to meet her gaze, but her eyes were focused just below, where her thumb was brushing across the dark circle marring his skin. Another thing he wished he could reverse time to prevent.

As useful as her help was, Wesker couldn’t understand why she was doing this, why she was being so… kind. So tender. She wasn’t a nurturer, or the type to worry about others. Maybe she did actually care for him, more than she let on. That didn’t feel right though – it just left him profoundly uncomfortable. His mind had to be playing tricks on him with how exhausted he was. That was the only reasonable explanation.

Diana’s thumb paused its repetitive motion and she simply held her hand in place. It was just for another second or two, but her touch lingered well after she departed, leaving a pleasant tingle across his skin.

The last obstacle in the way of Wesker being able to just collapse into bed and hope that his migraine was gone by the morning was the pair of pyjama pants Diana was bunching up so she could help him change into them easily. His tired limbs seemed to move on their own, slipping into each pant leg with little input from him, but the moment he lifted his hips as she tugged the fabric over them, another surge of intense pain hit him, causing him to keel over.

It felt as though his head was being split in two, torn apart from the inside out. He could have sworn the eye taking the brunt of the pressure was going to pop out of its socket at any minute. The only thing he could do was rest his head in his hands and endure it, pressing his thumbs down on the innermost part of his brows in hopes to alleviate some of the pain.

Diana shuffled closer and reached forward to place her hands on his thighs. They only ran up and down the sides of them in a gentle, reassuring motion while her mind scrambled to recall the locations of where she’d seen every thing that could possibly aid him in his house.

Her brain was being just as helpful as his was, because she drew a blank, too taken aback by the sight in front of her. The intimidating Albert Wesker slumped over in pain – that was something she thought she’d never see. He always seemed so… invincible. Nothing could tear down his powerful image and break through his composed demeanour this easily, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes.

“Albert?” Diana’s voice was so soft he almost didn’t hear it, but his name always sounded so much nicer spilling from her lips compared to anyone else’s. “Do you need a bucket? Or…” She paused for a second then let out a frustrated huff. “Where do you keep your painkillers?”

“They don’t work,” Wesker grumbled.

Of course they don’t, she thought. That would’ve been too easy.

Or he was being overdramatic. So, she pressed on. “Not even a little bit?”

The crease between his brows only deepened, and he squeezed his eyes shut. So, that was a definitive no.

Diana pursed her lips as she tried to think of what else she could do for him. She wasn’t familiar with actually dealing with a migraine, even if she knew all of the treatments on paper; she was fortunate enough to never get them, and she couldn’t remember the last time someone around her had. She could list off every over-the-counter painkiller and triptan that was used to specifically target a migraine, but that would do her no good. She didn’t know what worked for him.

There had to be something though. Diana moved to stand and go take a look at what was in the medicine cabinet in his bathroom, but Wesker fumbled to take her hand in his own.

That made her freeze on the spot.

She had no doubt he was cursing himself for doing such a thing, for how it almost seemed to be a reflex more than a conscious decision. Or perhaps he just needed something solid to hold on to. Whichever it was, Diana didn’t care, so long as it helped. Even if the way he was gripping her hand hurt like hell; she’d been through far worse, so the possibility of a broken bone was something she would simply bear.

“Here,” she whispered while carefully pulling Wesker up to stand a moment after she did so herself. He stumbled on his feet when upright, but Diana was there – the pillar to hold him up and save him from toppling over.

The arm not reaching for his – right hand clasping his own – was wrapped around his back. It served to keep him stable as she slowly guided him over to what she had long since been acquainted with as his preferred side of the bed. This whole ordeal would’ve been much easier if he wasn’t leaning his entire body weight against her, but at least the trip wasn’t too lengthy.

Their hands only parted when Diana let go to lean forward and pull back the covers for him. Wesker really hoped she didn’t see how his fingers extended on instinct, as if to chase her touch. It was utterly pathetic. The urge to hold her was getting increasingly annoying, and he wished his body would just try to not embarrass him for once.

He couldn’t exactly exert much control over his innate reactions in his condition, but if Diana noticed, she didn’t say anything. That was one positive, he supposed.

And the fact that he managed to sit on the bed on his own without dragging her down with him. That probably would’ve earned him a bony shoulder digging into his chest, and that would just make matters worse.

Diana didn’t have to, but she went so far as to help him lie down as well. In a way that wouldn’t make his head feel as though someone had taken a hammer to it, that is. All slow movements and firm but gentle touches, manipulating his limbs for him as they felt too heavy for him to move on his own. And when she was done, one of her hands reached up to smooth back his hair.

That brought about that dreadful flutter in the pit of Wesker’s stomach. Or maybe that was the nausea. He couldn’t tell at this point.

Weary eyes tried their hardest to stay trained on the figure lingering in front of them. But they were unsuccessful. Wesker couldn’t keep them open any longer, not when everything was spinning around like this. He couldn’t even make out what the expression strewn about Diana’s features was.

It didn’t even matter, because her comforting touch left him before the sound of her feet padding across the floor reached his ears – quickly, like she was in some rush. Unnecessary, Wesker thought. He wasn’t exactly going anywhere, lying there in agony.

He didn’t think it would get this bad. It had been so long since he’d had a migraine like this. The nausea, visual disturbances, and all of that nonsense was typical for him, but the vertigo would come and go. Every time it showed itself he was caught off guard; there was no getting used to the feeling of his body swaying back and forth when he was lying perfectly still.

That wasn’t even the worst of his problems.

His mind decided it wanted to be louder than the rhythmic pulse behind his eye, yelling at him to the point where his thoughts felt like they were what was causing his pain by bouncing around and colliding with his skull.

Weak. Pitiful. Unacceptable. Over and over again.

How could he let someone see him like this?

Not just someone, but her, of all people. The woman who would roll her eyes when one of the researchers called off work, the one who boasted about never getting sick, the one who carried herself like nothing could strike her down. Just like he did. And yet here he was, reduced to rubble by a bit of pain.

That’s what was confusing Wesker. Why was Diana being so considerate of his plight? He had no doubt she’d rather be at the lab, or really anywhere else, doing something worthwhile instead of this. She should just leave, honestly. There was no reason for her to stick around; it wasn’t like she felt anything more for him beyond fellowship. Sherry was wrong in her assumption; Diana wasn’t his partner.

She may have been his, but he certainly wasn’t hers. No, she just enjoyed toying with him.

Now was not the time to fall into thinking about that rubbish again. He should’ve never asked her if she wished to stay the night. Or invited her over for dinner in the first place, for that matter.

“Alright.”

That pulled Wesker out of his head. It may have only been low, simply a hurried mumble under one’s breath, but that entrancing voice was unmistakable to him. His little pity party hadn’t lasted long – privacy breached once more as Diana returned from whatever she had been doing. He really did despise that she was witnessing him in this state; this wasn’t how he wished for her to find out he suffered from migraines.

With her hands full, Diana crossed his room with the stride of someone on a mission – full of purpose. First, she placed a glass of water down on his nightstand, then she used her now free hand to pull the bucket she’d found in the laundry out from under her other arm, where it was sitting awkwardly and digging into her side. 

Once she set it down beside the bed, she crouched in front of Wesker and placed the ice pack she’d wrapped in a tea towel in one of his hands, which he lifted to his forehead immediately. Diana had no idea if that would help him or not, actually. She preferred heat for pain relief; being sensitive to the cold always made her recovery with injuries from ballet growing up a horrid experience. Maybe she should have looked to see if he had a heat pack instead. That would help alleviate the tension in his neck and shoulders.

No. She had what she needed, she wasn’t going to run around and make an even bigger fuss. It would probably make him feel worse, anyhow.

The only thing left to do was close the curtains and block out any light that threatened to seep into his room, whether that be from the street lamps illuminating the suburb or the bright moon itself. The significance of his blackout curtains now made much more sense to her.

When she stood to round the bed, Diana had no idea why she took the hand by his hip in her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her thumb even brushed across the back of it for a second. There was just this odd need to show him that she was there, that she wasn’t going anywhere.

Even as she pulled the curtains shut, the thought didn’t leave her mind.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Taking care to not make the mattress dip too much, Diana climbed into bed next to Wesker. The last thing she wished was for her getting comfortable to cause him any undue pain because it jostled him about. It was only then, when the covers brushed across her bare legs, that she realised she was only wearing his shirt – the pyjama pants he’d chosen for her long forgotten somewhere to the darkness.

Wesker decided to be rather ungrateful for her cautious approach, as he moved on his own. Diana couldn’t help how her eyes wandered over him, taking in every detail she could as he began to slowly roll over; his brows were knit together, deepening the lines between them, his lips were pulled down in a frown, and his eyes were screwed shut. It was rather obvious to her that he was trying to not bring up all of his dinner, and that sent her heart plummeting down into her stomach. What he was going through really sunk in then.

She wished she could just take the pain away, make it all disappear and guarantee it would never return.

It was an awful feeling, watching the man who had only ever given her these tiny glimpses of vulnerability do what looked to be such a practised motion, as though he had a tried-and-true method for dealing with his nausea for so long.

She felt helpless. But why did she even care? Countless lovers had come and gone, not ever leaving an imprint on her heart, but he seemed to tug at every string.

A loud thump, immediately followed by a rather feeble sound, pulled Diana from her thoughts. It wasn’t quite a groan, but not nearly a whimper either, and she never thought she’d hear such a sound come from Wesker.

While turning, the ice pack had fallen free of his weak grasp and landed on the floor, causing the disturbance. Diana opened her mouth to speak, to ask him if he wanted her to pick it up for him, but she didn’t get a chance; he curled up against her side all of a sudden, resting his head on her chest. That was something she wasn’t prepared for. He had never done that before, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he heard the way her heart sped up at the act.

Diana kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, not daring to look down at him while her arm hesitated to wrap around his back. What was she even supposed to do? This was all new territory for her, for them, and… it was overwhelming. She didn’t know what to think; there was just this massive weight that had been dropped onto her chest. And it wasn’t Wesker, or the way he slung his arm over her waist.

It was that somehow, despite everything, he had managed to worm his way past all of her defences and make her actually care for him.

But friends do care for one another, yes? That is a fact. And it’s not like their dates meant anything; she had gone on many with casual partners in the past, and they were merely a formality. The longing she felt for him was nothing beyond physical.

The arm around her tightened its hold on her side, pulling her closer, and Diana looked down just in time to see a grimace twist Wesker’s features before he turned his head to rest his brow against her breastbone. Whatever he grumbled as he did so, Diana couldn’t quite make out what it was.

She chewed on her lip while bringing a hand up to the back of his head, gently cradling it and holding him close. She found herself hesitating again, unsure of the implications of her touch – how it could be perceived. But the urge grew too strong soon enough. Whatever was going on between them was just that, and she wasn’t going to complicate matters by overanalysing it.

Her fingers ran through his hair, pressing firm against his scalp in somewhat of a massage. Diana absolutely hated the feeling of pomade residue on her fingers, but seeing the way his shoulders relaxed eased her disgust, if only slightly. She’d just have to deal with the waxy feeling on her skin, she supposed. It was a selfish thought but she wished he’d at least managed to rinse out his hair. She knew he hated it as well, though; his routines were always so important to him.

Wesker let out a long exhale and Diana paused the motion, unsure if what she was doing was actually making matters worse. He didn’t say anything, but the way he held her closer while his legs tangled with her own made her stomach flip, as though she was the one who was going to be sick.

The arm around his back held him firm as she leaned in to press a kiss to the top of his head. She never wanted him to go through this again, and she would find a way to ensure that.

For now though, she made a note to have a look for his glasses first thing tomorrow, before he woke.

[reiderwriter]

For some reason my comments don't come through on your posts, but I want to first say I absolutely love your writing and I'm so happy your requests are open!! 🥰😭 So I've had this idea of a fluff mixed with spencer angst where reader is maybe interning at Diana's facility (not a dr yet, studying) and becomes close with Diana by reading, chatting, etc and Spencer over hears it from time to time and the dialogue between spencer and reader gets too close for Spencers comfort, but Diana wants her around more. Thank you again for your hard work okay bye!

A/N: I've never written a fic with Diana in it before, so this was a bit of a challenge for me, bit I enjoyed writing it a lot! Hopefully, this is somewhat like what you wanted!! ❤️

Warnings: Spencer is a bit dense (real) and puts his foot in his mouth (metaphorically, of course).

Diana Reid's son was exactly the way she described him, down to the tiny curls at the base of his neck and the glimmer of intelligence in his eye. 

After four weeks interning at the care facility while working on your medical degree, you'd spent a considerable amount of time with your favorite patient, and her stories about her son were legendary. 

At first, you weren't sure whether to believe the woman when she said her son was a genius with an IQ of 187, three PhDs, and a job in the FBI. She wouldn't be the first schizophrenic patient to muddle up her facts, but she certainly was the sweetest. 

So when you recalled your conversation with the head nurse later that day, she laughed and confirmed every story about Doctor Spencer Reid. Your mouth hung open in shock because surely nobody that incredible could just be out walking the streets. 

Another month of conversations about the man, and you were half in love with him. He wrote his mother letters every day - hand wrote them, even - and she's shown you a few. He'd talked about his friends, his team, his jobs, and how he was saving lives. And when one of the latest ones dropped in the news that he'd be free for a visit soon, you found yourself overflowing with anticipation. 

Of course, you felt like you already knew the man. You knew what his first words were, what his favorite toy was growing up, and even about the exploits of his first date, as pitiful as it was. What you didn't know was if Diana was passing along similar information about you. 

The day Spencer Reid finally showed up, he took your breath away. You were mostly in awe of Diana's ability to describe her son perfectly, though you'd grown fond of her perfectly professional English Lecturer tone of speaking over the last few weeks. She was practically lyrical when talking her son into existence. 

“His hair curls beautifully. He's my little adonis. He keeps it too long though, I'm always telling him he needs to cut it because it hides too much of his face,” she'd told you one day before picking her book up and ignoring you for the next half hour. 

“My Spencer is delightfully tall. He's a little bit spindly like a spider. He's not the most grateful, that's for sure, we used to call him crash because he was always bumping into things. Poetic, right?” 

You knew from the second he walked through the door that this man was him. 

Tall, slightly hunched, clutching his satchel strap in his hand, terrifyingly handsome and making your hand jump into your throat. Definitely him, and definitely a problem. You'd have to check the code of conduct about falling hopelessly for a patient's beautiful son. 

If you had any doubts, this was Spencer in front of you though, when he bumped into a chair just as he was about to reach his mother, it was confirmed. 

“Diana, I believe your Crash is here,” you smiled and giggled, watching her turn quickly to greet her son. 

You, too, gave him a warm smile, but he seemed a little hesitant to return it, instead greeting his mother softly and sitting with her while you retreated slightly to give them some privacy. 

You hovered in the space, as Diana had been talking about introducing the two of you all week, and you didn't want to distress her if she couldn't find you close by. 

But though Spencer was closely attentive and soft with his mother, he took brief pauses to stare almost frustratedly at you. You weren't sure what it was, but something about you was setting Spencer on edge, and that in itself was unsettling you as well. 

“Oh, Spencer, you must meet our Y/N. Y/N, come here, this is my son, Spencer.”

Slightly more apprehensive now, you held out your hand to shake his, “I've heard so much about you  it's nice to finally be seeing you in person, Doctor Reid.” 

He didn't shake your hand, though, but awkwardly waved it off quickly, leaving you to awkwardly replace it by your side. 

“Nice to meet you. Are you a new attendant? I asked all updates about my mother's companions to be confirmed and passed on to me, patient and carers included.” 

His tone was business-like and clipped, and you could see a gentle annoyance settling on his features. 

“I'm sorry, Doctor Reid, I thought Diana would have told you in a letter, or the administration would've passed it on. I'm a medical student on an internship.” You felt like you'd been chastised by an irate parent though he'd at no point raised his voice or indicated in his words any sense of anger at all. His eyes burned across your skin, though, and you felt a flame heat your skin under the weight of his stare. 

“You're mother has told me a lot about you though, she reads me your letters sometimes, between our discussions of Marjorie Kempe.” 

“My letters? Mom, we've talked about this. Those are private.” You looked at the quiet disappointment on Diana's face and felt protective over the woman all of a sudden.

“Please, I'm sorry for overstepping, but your mother is just very proud of you. She talks about you a lot actually, and your job-” 

“With all due respect, Y/N, the last time my mother talked to a new friend about me, he traveled to Virginia and shot one of my friends, so this really is a conversation I'd rather not be having.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as he turned back to his mother and started talking to her gently again about personal security, effectively dismissing you from the conversation. 

You'd had stupid hopes for Spencer Reid, and that's all they would ever be. 

Reid talked on, and you left him alone with his mother, though she seemed distracted by your departure. 

“Spencer, that wasn't nice. Look at that poor girl. She's close to tears.”

“What? Mom, are you even listening to me?” 

“No, and I likely won't until you go and apologize to Y/N. She's a pretty girl, Spencer, and she was very excited to meet you.” 

“Pretty…. Mom, please.” 

“What, do you disagree? You think I don't know you well enough to know when a girl would suit you well? Or do you think I'm blind to the fact that you were stealing glances at her before she introduced herself.” 

Spencer went quiet at having been caught, and he hated to accept that maybe his mother was right. 

It was true as well that the care facility had informed him of medical interns coming and going in the next few months, and really, she wasn't to blame for his mother being fond of him. 

He was glad, though, that neither of them had noticed the ten minutes he'd spent just outside the large sitting area watching them talk. He'd been obviously taken aback to see someone new so close to his mom and his mom similarly comfortable. He felt even worse for the fact that for a solid minute and a half, he'd stared at the girl with no other thought in his head than the sound of his heart skipping a questioning beat. 

He'd pulled himself out of it eventually, but only when another nurse had come along to ask him if he'd actually be visiting his mother today or just dropping in to check on her. 

And then he'd bumped into that infernal chair when he was so fixated on getting to them, and she'd opened her mouth and called him crash, and his heart had sank. 

He reminded himself it was neither of their faults and inwardly cursed himself for being so unfriendly with someone who'd taken such good care of his mother recently. 

He promised himself that he'd talk with his mom and then go and find the woman, and apologising for being such a brute. 

“Spencer, are you listening to me, or are you busy daydreaming about my nurse?” 

“Mom!” 

“You're plain as day, kiddo, you'll never get anything past me. Now please, leave me be, I'm reading. Come back later if you must, but for now, take this to Y/N for me, please. She left it with me to read this morning, but I'm not in the mood for Medieval Romance right now.” 

It was a blatant lie, but a dismissal nonetheless, and Spencer quietly took his chance to search for you in the halls. 

The head nurse humorously pointed him in the right direction without him asking, much to his annoyance, but he persisted and lightly tapped on your shoulder to greet you. 

“Oh, Doctor Reid, hello again.” You smiled a little smaller this time, still polite, but he watched the way it didn't reach your eyes and felt like a jackass all over again. 

“My mom told me to come return this book to you.” He held out the book, and you quietly took it, folding it into your arms and hugging it tightly against your chest as you both stood there silently after the exchange. 

“I'm sorry, as well. I wasn't exactly very friendly back there, because-” 

“It's okay, Doctor Reid, you really don't have to explain. I overstepped, it's my fault and it won't happen again.”

“Are you kidding? My mom hasn't looked that relaxed in years. Please keep overstepping.” 

Your smile widened slightly at the compliment, and Spencer's tongue kicked into hyper drive immediately at the sight, even as his brain powered off. 

“You're pretty,” he blurted out, stopping only as his brain caught up with his tongue before firing off again. “My mom said you're pretty. I agree as well, though, you have a nice smile, and it's better when you don't force it. Not that I'm telling you how to smile, though. I don't know why I'm telling you this, but my mom made me come over here and talk to you, even though I'm pretty sure that's her book and not one you loaned her.” 

He took a moment to catch his breath as you blinked at him in confusion, heart beating rapidly even as you heard the blood rushing through your ears. 

“If you're free now, would you want to grab a coffee? Unless you have a boyfriend. Or husband. Or girlfriend or wife, I guess, I don't mean to presume. But if you're free, as in time, and free as in, like, relationship wise, I'd like to buy you a coffee to thank you for listening to my mom.” 

He finally stopped, and you stared wondrously at the reddened skin of his cheeks as he held his breath, waiting for your reply. 

“You want to take me out for coffee to thank me?” 

“Yes.” 

“And on a separate note, I'm pretty, and you want to know if I'm in a relationship?” 

“I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me, I'll just see myself out. It was a stupid idea anyway-” 

“No, wait, Spencer! Let me… let me grab my coat. My lunch break is in half an hour, and I'm sure it'll be okay to take it early.” You held his arm for a second, stepping slightly too close for comfort before realising yourself and taking a tiny step back.

He stood and blinked in your direction, as though wondering seriously for a moment what your lunch break had to do with him. 

“Are you going to stand there staring at me, or are we going to go out?” 

“You're serious?” 

“I guess…. I guess I am.”

“And you're… you're single.” 

Your mouth went dry as his skin finally completed its transformation from vampiric to tomato red. You desperately hoped your own embarrassment wasn't equally as readable on your face. 

“Quite single. Medical students don't have that much time to date.”

“Neither do FBI agents.” 

“Perhaps a subject we could talk more about later?” 

“Definitely.” 

[alyakthedorklord]

Omg literally it would be SO cool if you wrote the rest of the playboy bruce trying to kiss the justice league without them realizing it (I know you said figure it out but the way you wrote it was so good and funn I would love it if you gave maybe a couple of scenarios)

Lmao honestly executive dysfunction is kicking my ASS rn and it was intended as a prompt. I will try tho, definitely taking inspiration from the others who responded to the post because I love them.

If you haven’t, go check out the notes on the OG Post above! @britcision, @ivywing, and @help-i-need-a-cool-username all had amazing additions and @foursixtwonineoh-pieces-of-lego wrote a fic:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48325771

As did @scrapcheck, still in progress

And Devilhorn!

Anyways LONG post under the cut

Hal Jordan

Hal is first to prove a POINT, as @britcision decided. Also because the bastard made it waaaay too easy. Remember- Hal was Joking. He genuinely thinks Batman isn’t going to try, because he’s way too straight-laced boring.

So when he’s at a bar in Coast City, and he sees this absolutely ravishing man lounging casually against the wall, bar lighting making him practically glow (he CALCULATED that) subtle makeup making his bright blue eyes pop as he looks Hal up and down… Well. Hal makes the first move.

Hal: “All on your own, handsome?”

Bruce, with “Mastermind” by Taylor Swift playing in his head, smiling sweetly at Hal: “Care to change that?”

They start talking. Hal doesn’t recognize Bruce Wayne at ALL (canonically he does not know who Bruce Wayne is, a point brought up by @help-i-need-a-cool-username) so all he knows is Bruce is a single father who works at a company he inherited from his parents, which is just (brucie voice) “so much less interesting than a test pilot!”

Bruce, grimacing internally but wrapped around Hal’s arm with the awed and interested eyes in full effect: “you have such a nice voice, tell me more about planes…”

He KNOWS what a fuselage is, thank you, Jordan. Whatever. He gets to gush about his kids, when its his turn to talk, good enough tradeoff. He can survive Hal Jordan’s bad pick up lines and pretend he’s into them. At a certain point Bruce breaks and kisses him just to shut him up. One down.

Diana Prince

I looked it up- kissing in Ancient Greece wasn’t always considered romantic, but also a greeting between two similarly-ranked people. Therefore, I think Diana would be pretty chill with kissing and honestly an easy target at a gala if Bruce plays respectful/clumsy/earnest himbo starstruck with the tall pretty woman, just a peck would make him the happiest man alive. But I wanna go a little more in depth.

Now, I’ve seen Flash and Martian Manhunter save Bruce and/or his kids and Bruce lays one on them, but honestly I think it would work well with Diana too, because she loves kids. Dick and/or Jason (whichever you want to imagine, I want them to team up screw canon) are WAY to excited for this, they’ve got a little script and everything.

WonderWoman, a kid in each arm, delivering them back to their tearful guardian: “Here we are, Mr. Wayne. Whole and healthy.”

Dick, playing into his role eagerly: “Oh my gosh, Bruce! Bruce we got saved by a princess! It’s like a fairytale! Except, you know, the princess is the hero this time, which is so freaking cool!”

Bruce, tears of gratitude rolling down his face (and he knows how to still look perfect while crying, its a skill): “I’m just glad the two of you are safe, Chum.”

Jason, big baby blues in full effect, absolutely asked Wonder Woman to be his mom earlier (to set groundwork, no other reason): “You know, usually the princess and the hero gets a kiss at the end of a fairytale, Bruce. But this princess is both. So how will she get a reward?”

Still choked up with relieved tears and now laughter, Bruce looks up at Diana and smiles: “Well, if the Princess wants a reward… then I would be a fool to refuse.”

Bruce kisses her on the lips, Dick and Jason both kiss her cheeks, Diana leaves charmed and amused by the sweet family. Such a good father, humoring his children and thier little fascination with her, so very respectful…

Two down.

J’ohn Jones

Okay, martians are telepathic. So this goes one of two ways, at some sort of charity or something-

Option 1, Batman is a realist: the charity event is a masquerade, and he wanders over to where MM is while thinking “it would be so funny, give me this.” As loudly as he can. And Martian Manhunter, who appreciates the audacity, gives him a kiss. (I don’t like this one because it technically breaks the rules of the bet, bc MM knows it’s Batman, but eh)

Option 2, Batman is a different breed: he manages to up the ante with his Himbo Persona. Creating a “slippery void” mental facade that blocks of his real thoughts and makes him read as really just that stupid. This would require functioning with two trains of thought at once, and making sure that the Martian can only read the surface level, “oh, this one is pretty” “I really wouldn’t mind kissing him” and other such decoy thoughts, instead of “target is approaching, signs of interest present despite this not being his natural form-“

Bruce also researches and copies Martian courting styles and copies them “by chance,” catching MM’s attention. (He offers him Oreos)

Martian Manhunter: “this man… he is so empty headed and yet clearly kind and willing. I would not take him for a life partner, but for some simple fun as he seems to desire…”

(Edit: Maybe, if B is confident enough, he lets through his loneliness. Missing his parents, wanting affection, an ache so strong it’s like a physical wound. J’onn feels the same ache for his lost family, and decides to try this human’s strategy to fill that void. Either way…)

Batman 3, League 0

Barry Allen

I’m strangely blank when it comes to the Flash let me just spitball and let it snowball

As I said above, people have had him save Bruce, had Bruce seduce him at his workplace while taking a tour, I even saw @help-i-need-a-cool-username have Dick set up a petition for Bruce to kiss the Flash. (An idea that I personally think would also go really well with Superman lmao.)

Anyways, I think it would be funny for Bruce to take it slow with Barry. For the irony of it all. Because Batman is doing this to prove a POINT. So he’s in central city, spots Barry coming his way, and “accidentally” slips right into his arms. Ooh, or covered in coffee, like a wealth disparity drama base script, and Barry’s like “omg i am so sorry let me pay you back.” And bruce is all “this shirt costs (stupid amount of money)”

Barry: (fear)

Bruce, rolling with it rn: “yes, it is horrendous, isn’t it? Hows this- I’m in central city for a day. You can pay me back by showing me around?”

He then proceeds to string barry along on an honest to god DATE for shits and giggles. They go clothes shopping, they go to restaurants, Bruce pays for a big meal bc this is after a fight or something and Barry got hurt, his speedster comrade needs to EAT, damnit.

After all this, he gives a cheeky smile and lightly smooches Barry. “Thanks for the fun day, Mr. Allen.”

Barry, bright red and goo brained: “hah- mmhmm. Yeah…”

Batman 4, League 0

Oliver Queen

This one… Oliver is on guard. He’s twitchy and suspicious, turning down men flirting with him, people are starting to notice. But Bruce? Bruce just walks up at a party while “tipsy” and lays one on him. Straight up. He wants to show just how EASY it is. Because Oliver doesn't even register it. He just laughs and goes: “Hey Brucie! Miss me?”

Batman 5, League 0

Dinah Lance

Of course, immediately after above, he turns and pouts at canary.

Bruce: “Dinah darling, you are a saint, I don’t know how you put up with the mess he’s got on his face. He was so much nicer to kiss when we were in (fancy private school name drop) together and didn’t have all this nonsense.”

Dinah, laughing at Ollie’s offended noises: “Oh, I don’t mind it. He’s a good kisser.”

Bruce: “Of course he is, I taught him. Care to compare?”

Dinah: “Don’t mind if I do.”

Batman 6, league 0

Clark Kent

For Clark, Bruce is originally talking to Lois before he turns his eyes on a quiet Clark and croons: “So, Miss Lane, does this lovely specimen have his own questions, or is he arm candy? And if he’s the latter, can I either tempt him off you, or secure an invitation?”

Lois, an excellent friend who will absolutely set Clark up with the hottest bachelor in Gotham: “Well, Mister Wayne, I’ve got all I need. Clark, take a page from my book and honeytrap a good quote out of him, hm?”

With an obnoxious wink, she pats a spluttering Clark on the shoulder, and leaves him with a very smug Batman.

(Bonus Superbat- Clark and Bruce’s conversation is going REALLY WELL and to the point where both of them seem on board with more than a heavy makeout when Bruce puts a hand on Clarks chest.

Bruce: “Stop.”

Clark, freezing immediately: “I’m sorry, did I go too far-?”

Bruce: “No, no. I think I might be though. See, I have all of you now, and I’ve won the bet.”

Clark: “What are you- oh. Oh- HUH?”

Cue sudden and shocked revelation, Clark’s mind going a hundred miles an hour, and then skidding to a stop on- he only did this for the bet. He’s not really interested. He stopped because I went too far-

Bruce: “You only consented to a kiss without knowing my identity. Right now, I’d like to do more, if you’d let me.”

Clark has the dial-up tone ringing in his ears, he has no idea whats going on anymore, the hot billionaire and his reclusive teammate aren’t quite slotting into place, because he wants both but rhey’re so different but they’re the same but-

“Yes.”

Lois doesn’t get Clark back that night and she is delighted.)

Anyways, final results:

Batman: 7

League: 0

Reveal:

Batman talking shit about their secret identities again, Green Lantern is scoffing about it again, says something along the lines of: “You still think you’re sooooo great, huh? Hows the bet going, spooky?” Fully expecting Batman to get huffy with him.

Instead, Batman smirks.

He leans in

And purrs: “So you didn’t notice?”

The League freezes. The implications are dangling over their head. Did he… did he really?

Green Lantern, absolutely terrified: “No. no, there’s no way…”

Batman: “Oh, there absolutely was a way. I’d say you were a good kisser, but honestly? I think it might have been the euphoria of getting you to shut up.”

He turns on the rest of the league, still smirking. “I have kissed every single person who consented at least once in the time since the bet was made. Two of you with tongue. And no one has called me out on it. Now that you know it’s happened, you should be able to figure me out, so whoever can tell me my real name first, wont get thier story used as an example in the brand new “how to avoid honeypots” seminar.”

(If bonus superbat, B shoots Superman a Look and goes “except for you, superman, because I told you my name.” Which just ends up distracting everyone else until they get THAT story)

Diana wins bc she matched up the boys to the robins. Everyone else gets their stories told in excruciating detail. Batman rates them by kissing ability and how obvious he was on his approach. Oliver gets docked points for “texture.” Dinah gets docked points because “i griped about the exact same thing in and out of costume, how did you not notice-“

(Different reveal below)

@chaos-n-kindness @she-went-that-way @geekonaleash @redh00dsbf @howabouticallyou

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Diana helps mediate. Stinky Dad and the Alien Guy observe.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny’s space-watching time is very important to him. He’s pretty sure it’s on his schedule, even.

Every few days—and even more days in a week, now that people are relatively certain that he’s not going to start hitting the medical staff—Danny gets wheeled over to the big window to stare out at the moon.

The moon hasn’t changed all that much since his first few visits, since. You know. It’s in space. Still, the stars shift in their positions, and sometimes they face Earth, and sometimes they do not, and a couple times Danny sees people flying out there, which is super neat.

Sometimes Danny sees maintenance workers out doing repairs on their buildings, too. They wave back at him when they’re not busy or carrying something, which makes Danny’s core bubble and spark with joy.

So, Danny is watching the stars twinkle in the sky with all the meditative calm his Obsession requires when something plops onto his head. It doesn’t hurt, but it does put pressure onto his neck. Ow.

Danny hisses automatically, but he already knows who it is—the quick-fast-kid-who-hasn’t-introduced-himself practically vibrates against Danny’s skin, all excited by omg/omg/misch/iefomg.

Typical. Danny wants to feign a bite, but his neck kind of hurts. He settles for grumbling. “What?”

“Dude,” the teenager says, or, uh, Danny approximates he says something kind of like dude, anyway— “Want to come see a feoht?”

Uh. “A what?” Danny asks, ignoring how the guy’s chin keeps digging into his scalp. It might be the most non-medical physical contact Danny’s had since he broke down with Diana. Maybe.

The teen backs up, and models some very quick punches into the air, making his own sound effects to match. It’s all very impressive, or whatever. Danny’s not going to applaud, though; his arms are tired.

“…Sure.” It’s not like Danny has anything better to do.

“Berstan!” the kid chirps, and—

Danny clamps down on his wheelchair wheels because holycraptheyaremoVINGFAST. His wheels aren’t on the ground—the teen is carrying him, chair and all—!

He’s going to be in so much trouble for running. Danny’s wheels touch the ground, and he drops straight to the floor. His hands shake all the way up to his elbows as he grips his wheels. He is going to be in so much trouble when the nurses look for him and he’s not there.

Oh no. Oh no.

“Here we are!” the quickfast teenager announces, grinning. They’re in a room with a big, rubberized floor. It’s basketball orange. The rest of the room is virtually indistinguishable from the cloth folding walls Casper High uses to divide the gym into smaller gyms—giant cloth panels line every surface that isn’t the floor. Walls. Ceiling.

Well. It’s certainly…sound dampening. There’s vents, though. So. At least they can breathe.

The other teenagers Danny recognizes yell out to them, cheerful as ever. One waves—the kid behind him waves back, and then they’re all clustered together, pleased and breathing heavy and slightly sweaty.

“Feel alright?” one teen asks—Danny recognizes him after a second; he usually has a leather jacket on over his brightly colored shirt. He isn’t sure what the huge S is for, but hey, it’s a cool emblem or whatever. Danny used to have his initial on his…

…Danny doesn’t want to think about that, actually. He doesn’t want to think about anything about home at all.

Oh. Someone asked him a question, and now they’re all looking at him for answers. Danny nods jerkily—something sloshes inside his skull, though, which. Ew. He scrunches his face up when everyone else starts to look worried about his expression, though; it’s no big deal! It’s just! Gross!

The boy who is very fast pats his hand before sliding to the other side of the room. There are buttons there, which he presses; the room shifts, just a little, to make a piece of the floor turn away in favor of a rack of weapons. The teenager who’s always masked, but is now in an exercise shirt, whistles approvingly, and two of the teens—whoah—start flying off to grab at the equipment available.

…There’s some cool stuff there. Danny. Danny might…

He doesn’t want to fight, per se, but. Um. Weaponry is intrinsically cool. There’s no doubt about it. Half the reason he liked to play Doomed was collecting the newest and coolest weapon to blast at all his enemies with! And Tuc—

—and—

—Tucker—

Something clicks right up in front of Danny’s face.

He flinches.

“You good?” the teenager asks, big blue eyes on him as Danny struggles to breathe. “Do you want hweorfan?”

Danny gasps around three uneasy breaths before his ears catch up. Or. Well, his ears work, but his brain doesn’t know what the teen is saying?? Danny shakes his head anyway—he doesn’t want more to happen. He wants less.

The teenager frowns. Danny immediately worries that he did something wrong. “Okay, but tell me if you change your mod.”

As soon as Danny figures out what that is? Sure. He’ll tell him.

In the meantime, the kids split up into groups; one set of two goes to one side of the gym and the other goes in the air, floating on the other si— wait, they can float??

…Danny stares, and two ostensibly human-looking teenagers take to the air, loudly teasing the two left on the ground, and, yeah. They’re flying. Danny watches as the one on the ground starts counting, ready to start their match, only to interrupt his own countdown for a sneak-attack at the start and a PIFF of a smoke bomb going off. Danny can’t see the buzzing kid disappear from sight as the air begins to thicken, but there’s a distinct taste of JOY/games/VICIOUS that flutters through him that tells Danny that, wherever he is in that smoke cloud, he’s living his best life.

 And. Well.

The fighting is—there isn’t a better word for it, it’s just so damn cool. There’s kicking and punching and throwing and tossing and—sure, Danny can take a few hits and deal out some surprise punches when he has to, but these kids know what they’re doing, which is so cool, because once Danny lost the benefit of gravity mid-fight basically everything Mom had trained in him had been thrown out the window. The physics were just never right.

(And— Mom—)

Like, all the punches are happening at speeds that Danny can only kind of follow. His neck starts hurting from trying to follow them—but he can’t stop watching, and the kids are really having a blast. They’re laughing. They’re teasing. They show off, even, stopping to pose and flex and be admired by their sole observer, which Danny obliges with some gentle claps. The others are quick to jump on any distraction, though, and are more than willing to have Danny be the center of attention while they sneak up on showstoppers, stick or lasso in hand.

On one hand, Danny should probably be more alarmed by the sight of kids acting as literal child soldiers training to be combat ready. He…he’s pretty sure he’s meant to be one of them as soon as he’s recovered enough to get trained.

And…it is scary. It is kind of a scary thought that Danny might have to go back to…go back to fighting and getting hit and hitting and everything that fighting means.

On the other hand, there’s no one here. All the kids here are Danny’s age, and they’re not fighting because someone is making them; they’re having fun, and their job is to help people.

…Danny puts his legs higher up on his wheelchair, until he can wrap his arms around his knees. They’re supposed to beat up threats, but they don’t think that Danny’s a threat. They’re letting him sleep in a bed and get medical care and making sure he gets medication and everything. They let him hang out with their children and he has toys and fidgets to pass the time, and maybe he’ll have to pay them back later, but… isn’t helping out because he got helped only fair?

And they let non-humans live on Earth! That one teen’s stinky dad said that they could help Danny stay on Earth, he thinks. Or, uh, it’s what he thinks the green guy translated that as? So as long as he doesn’t leave, they could even protect him from the— all the bad stuff on Earth! So really, all Danny has to do is work on getting better. He’s safe here. Diana is here, the stinky dad is here, and there’s a whole team of super-people with super powers ready to help people.

Danny’s safe. He’s calm. He’s fine. He’s…worried that Diana doesn’t know where he is, but she’s smart and there’s probably cameras.

He watches the teens play around with various weaponry like they’re his model rocket. There’re thrown projectiles and giant hammers and dodgeballs and sticks, staves, and lassos; someone pulls out a shield, of all things, glittering gold and gleaming with something that itches at the back of Danny’s eyeball, and there’s a gun that sh—

Danny only breaks out of the memory of RUNNINGRUNNINGRUNNING when he realizes that someone is holding him. He’s choking. He doesn’t know who’s holding him, but they’re not hurting him right now and he can see a crowd of other colorful figures around him, which means he’s not with the Guys in White.

He’s hyperventilating. He can’t help it. He can’t stop it! His lungs hurt and there’s no end to the stress pressing out of his chest. Someone is holding him; where’s his chair? Did he lose it?? That’s really expensive medical equipment—they’re going to be so mad at him—!

Someone lifts him out of the stranger’s arms. It’s one of the older quick-buzzing humans. Not the teenager, and not the oldest one, he thinks. Danny can’t tell. He can’t breathe, and it’s hard to focus.

He’s shushing Danny like he’s a kid. Danny would be insulted, except he can’t breathe, and he really wants someone to help him, and his eyes are all weird and he can’t see and he doesn’t know where he is and his core hurts and his chair is gone—

Oh. The guy puts Danny’s hand on his chest and models breathing in with one big, visible breath.

Danny breathes in.

The guy models breathing out. It’s a long, slow breath.

…Danny struggles through the follow-through, but he manages. Well. He chokes hard enough to cough, twice, but…close enough.

The colorful forms milling about slowly disperse, until it’s largely just Danny, and the fast guy radiating very measured levels of calm, and his friend in black and blue, who is eating a sandwich. They breathe in, and they breathe out. That one guy eats his sandwich.

Danny looks around. He’s…the room he’s in is really big. Tables. Benches. Little stands of foo… Oh. He’s in a cafeteria. Cool.

…He squints through the new haze of green in his eyes. He’s probably strained something, but there are more important things at stake here: can he get some real food here?

“Where is here?” Danny asks. Rasps. He’s mostly horizontal, so manipulating his head around to glance at his surroundings is kind of a strain on his neck. Is that a hot dog cart?

“Wistheall,” the two say simultaneously—the guy in black and blue and a bird on his chest swallows his sandwich. “…Want a snakka?”

You know what? Danny’s going to assume that this means a snack. Sure! Why not. Nodding his head so quickly hurts, but he’s also not walking anywhere, so it’s not like it’s a full-body pain. The buzzing-quick guy sort of just…carries him around and asks Danny what he wants, and the bird guy gets it for him.

The little vibrations the guy is giving off are tinged a little with wor/ryworry/worry, but the guy’s mostly…at peace? Forcibly shoved it all down? Danny and the guy are practically chest to chest at this point, so it’s probably just that Danny’s close enough to feel even really quiet things.

His suit is super smooth, by the way. It’s not, like, skintight—there’s a little armor underneath, Danny can feel—but the fabric itself is like super slick. It’s cool. Texturally.

Also, he gives Danny a tube of something that are clearly off-brand Prongles, so Danny’s mostly just enjoying that instead of wondering what’s up with this guy and his friend.

“Are you okay?” the guy finally asks, his chatter mostly winding down into a question Danny can recognize. Danny swallows his bite of chips with a swig from his water bottle, and nods. He’s…unsettled, but he’s fine. He doesn’t know where he is, but he didn’t know where the teenagers had left him either, so this is about what he expected.

Even under his red hood-and-mask, the guy’s eyes are kind. Kinda worried. Not mean. “Something bad happened?”

…Danny looks back at his chips. Something bad happened, but it didn’t happen recently. “No,” Danny muttered around the crumbs in his mouth. He swallowed dryly. “Not…not now.”

The vibrations slow, and dim, melancholy lacing through the air. The sensation makes Danny itch. “Before?”

Danny nods. He thinks about his body melting from the outside in, his face dripping off in chunks of wet matter, his throat torn open still screaming.

“It was a—“ Danny tries, but he doesn’t actually know their word for gun or blaster. He just forces his fingers to make a familiar symbol, holding his own middle and end fingers back, leaving a shaking, uncomfortable thumb and pointer.

The quiet pew pew sound effects probably aren’t necessary, but the more detail, the better, or something like that.

Danny remembers how hot it got. Just…all the heat and light, and he could smell smoke right up until he couldn’t. And his face…everything hurt—everything still hurts, even—but the scary point had been when suddenly his face hadn’t hurt, and there was nothing left to feel.

…The guy holding him pulls Danny’s fingers away from his face. Oh. Danny was pulling at his still-green, still-healing wound. He. Uh. He doesn’t remember starting to do that anymore.

“Sorry,” Danny whispers. He swallows something wet from his sinuses to his stomach, and has to fight back the memory of a blood-and-ecto-and-flesh slurry taking its place in his esophagus as he tried to crawl away to die. Again.

The man sends out pulses of sorrysorrysorry through his skin. “Me too,” he murmurs back.

Then Danny gets hitched up—Danny squawks—and gets thrown into a better position over one shoulder, so Danny has better height to see from and a better perch in the guy’s arms. Danny drops half his prongles on the floor in the process. “Want to go find your chair?” the guy asks, body vibrating just a touch outside of Danny’s conscious awareness. Still, even without seeing the guy’s face, his whole body radiates sympathy/curiOSITy/Hungry.

…Didn’t they just eat?

Either way, Danny’s not torn between staring sadly at the ground where his prongles lay cold and bared to the cruelty of the world or getting up to go find his chair. “Yes,” he agrees, and uses the flat of his forearms to haul himself up higher onto the guy’s shoulders. Kindly, the guy in red doesn’t even budge. “Thank you.”

“Na geswincan,” the guy reports back easily, which Danny is pretty sure is a less-formal you’re welcome. Too bad there’s a whole language’s worth of context Danny’s missing out on here. His friend even snags Danny an extra can of prongles, and is kind enough to rips open the seal for him.

Nothing beats recovering from a crying jag like chips. Danny takes them earnestly.

The quick-fast guy hooks his arm onto his friend’s, and the world starts to stretch and blend into the in-between planes of reality, slices of world layered atop each other. The guy smashes through each one and pulls them both along for the ride.

It’s not quite like dunking his head in the portal, but it’s not not like sticking his head in a homemade portal either. Danny shakily pulls out a chip and starts chewing. He’ll just take the ride as it comes.

*

“Superboy.”

Kon winces.

“Robin.” Wonder Woman’s eyes turn to the more remorseful end of the bunch. “Wonder Girl. Impulse.”

“Wedidn’tmeanto!” Bart wails into a pillow, which. Fair. Cassie is sweating from possibly every pore she’s ever had (and maybe even a few she doesn’t??), and Tim is doing that stoic-faced thing that means he’s flipping the hell out too much to even tell his face to make expressions about it.

Kon just looks…miserable. Just absolutely miserable.

“…Triggered by firearms, maybe…?” Tim mutters under his breath, which means that he’s theorizing about their guest’s symptoms rather than coming up with solutions-oriented paths out of this confrontation and Cassie wants to shake him because this is NOT the time, Timothy Jackson Drake, except he’s kind of made of mortal human flesh and if she actually shakes him too hard he might die.

“I hope you understand how deeply irresponsible it was to take our patient out of his rooms without any form of supervision from either myself, his medical team, or an adult up to speed with our patient’s medical and psychological needs.” Wonder Woman’s voice is sharp—and her eyes are on Timmy Wonder Boy, who’s barely paying attention, making it clear that the majority of her ire is currently on him. “All four of you are being taken off of mission rosters for the next month in favor of remedial training. I hope that you are all satisfied with the decisions you made.”

“Fiiiine,” Cassie groans. Kon slumps in place. Tim nods without really looking.

Bart, still wailing at lightning speed into his pillow, continues doing…that.

[rosemariiaa]

~Lasts Firsts~

pairing: Paige x Azzi

a/n: yes i did lose my mind writing this but i had to! this is also my apology for the last fic.. 🤗 this is pretty long so take your time babe, also some tags @thaatdigitaldiary @patscorner @bueckerscore @juspeaks

themes: fluff, teasing

Enjoy!!!

It was barely 8:00 AM when Paige rolled over, her arm draping across the empty space next to her. She blinked into the early morning light, trying to shake off the sleep. She could already hear Azzi in the bathroom, humming softly, the sound so familiar it brought a small smile to her lips.

Last media day together.

The thought lingered like a weight on her chest, bittersweet and heavy. She dragged herself out of bed, feeling that familiar ache in her muscles from practice the day before, and made her way to the bathroom.

Azzi was standing in front of the mirror, twisting one of her curls between her fingers. Paige leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sight of her girlfriend’s morning routine—how peaceful she looked, even though they both knew today was going to be pretty emotional.

“Ready for the chaos?” Paige mumbled, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Azzi turned her head, giving Paige that small smile she always had when she knew Paige was nervous about something. “You asking me or yourself?”

Paige snorted, stepping closer until she was leaning against the counter beside Azzi. “Both, I guess.”

They didn’t say much after that, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Paige stared at her reflection for a moment, the weight of everything finally sinking in. Last media day, last season. After this? The WNBA.

“You think we’ll survive?” Paige asked quietly, her tone light but not really joking. Azzi met her eyes in the mirror, and for a second, Paige saw all the emotions they hadn’t really said out loud. There was excitement, sure, but underneath it was that uncertainty, the looming unknown of what came next.

“Paige,” Azzi said, her voice softer than usual. “You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna be fine. You’ve been ready for this.”

Paige didn’t respond at first, just dropped her gaze to the sink. She’d been thinking about this a lot more than she’d let on. The WNBA wasn’t just another level—it was the next chapter of her life. And as much as she knew she wanted it, there was a part of her that was terrified.

“What if I’m not, though?” Paige’s voice came out quieter than she meant. “What if I mess this up? I mean… WNBA? That’s a whole new ballgame.”

Azzi turned around fully now, leaning her hip against the counter. She reached out, gently grabbing Paige’s wrist, thumb brushing over her skin in that way that always calmed her down.

“You’ve been playing against pros for years, P. You’re gonna go in there and do exactly what you do best. And… don’t forget you’ll be up against Diana, you’re probably gonna block her shots and then she’ll talk all kinds of shit you know how she gets,” Azzi teased, trying to pull Paige out of her thoughts.

Paige couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension in her chest easing just a little. “I can’t wait for Diana to “hate” me.” Azzi smirked. “Just don’t embarrass her too much.”

“Oh, I will. But not before embarrassing your Aces,” Paige shot back, her grin widening as Azzi’s eyes narrowed in mock warning.

“Excuse me?” Azzi gasped dramatically. “You better not mess with my team. If you even think about beating them, I’ll fly out there and beat you up.”

Paige laughed, leaning into Azzi, her forehead resting against hers. “You’re cute when you threaten me.”

“Not a threat, babe,” Azzi replied, her smile softening as she tilted her head just slightly, brushing her nose against Paige’s. “I’m dead serious. Leave the Aces alone.”

Paige wrapped her arms loosely around Azzi’s waist, finally letting herself breathe. For a second, she could forget about the future. It was just the two of them again, standing in their shared apartment, holding on to each other before the world outside came rushing in.

———-

By the time they arrived in the gym, the chaos was already in full swing, with half the girls making tiktok’s and going crazy per usual. The cameras, the bright lights, the reporters—it was all routine by now, but this time, everything felt heightened. It was their last one. The final first.

Paige watched as Azzi stepped in front of the camera, her expression automatically settling into her “game face,” the serious one she always had before interviews. Paige stood to the side, arms crossed, watching with amusement.

“You look like you’re about to kill somebody,” she muttered under her breath as she moved to stand beside Azzi for their photos. Azzi shot her a look. “I’m just focused.”

“Focused on terrifying everyone,” Paige teased, nudging her with her shoulder.

Azzi tried not to smile, but it broke through anyway, and Paige could feel the tension between them melt a little as they fell into the easy rhythm of their chemistry. They took their usual photos, Paige throwing her arm around Azzi’s shoulders, and their traditional piggyback pose, the same way they’ve done a thousand times before. But this time, the air between them felt different—heavier, full of all the memories they shared.

After the cameras stopped flashing, they hung back for a bit, watching the rest of the team get their moments in front of the lens.

“This feels… weird, right?” Paige said, her voice a little quieter now.

Azzi just nodded. “Yeah. But… it’s also kinda nice, knowing we did this together.”

Paige looked at her, her chest tightening with that familiar feeling of bittersweetness. “You’re gonna make me cry.” Azzi gave her a teasing smirk. “That’s my plan.”

———-

The media day madness finally wrapped up, and before Azzi could even think about unwinding, Paige had dragged her back home with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“What are you planning, Bueckers?” Azzi asked, standing in the doorway of their apartment, her arms crossed. “You’ll see. Just get dressed,” Paige said with a grin, shooing her toward the bedroom.

Azzi rolled her eyes but went along with it, emerging a few minutes later in the white tube top with Paige’s pink cover-up and those low-waisted jeans that Paige always went quiet about. She gave a little twirl, watching Paige’s eyes darken slightly.

“Stole my clothes again, huh?” Paige asked, leaning against the wall, trying to look unfazed.

Azzi smirked. “You love it.”

Paige just shook her head. “Get in the car, weirdo.”

They spent the car ride to the restaurant in comfortable silence, the only sound being Paige’s playlist—songs she’d carefully picked over the years, ones that always made her think of Azzi. At some point, Mitski came on, and Azzi hummed softly to the tune, stealing glances at Paige, who was drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

“So, P,” Azzi started casually, “how nervous are you to play against Diana?”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m not nervous are ut playing against Diana. I’m nervous about her kicking my ass after I block her.” Azzi laughed, the sound light and warm. “She probably will. I’ll be sitting courtside, watching her destroy you.”

“Thanks for the support babe,” Paige muttered, but she was smiling. Azzi always knew how to pull her out of her head when she got too wrapped up in her own thoughts.

“And just remember,” Azzi said, her tone a little more serious but still playful, “if you mess with the Aces, I will find you madison.”

Paige threw her a sideways glance. “Oh, I know. You won’t have to find me—I’ll be waiting for you.”

Azzi grinned. “You better be.”

———-

When they got to the restaurant, Paige made sure they sat in a booth—one where she could sit across from Azzi and just look at her. It wasn’t the most subtle thing in the world, but Paige didn’t care. Azzi caught on, of course, giving her a raised eyebrow.

“What? I just like looking at you,” Paige said with a shrug, grinning like she hadn’t just been caught.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “You’re ridiculous.”

They were mid-conversation when the waiter came over, a girl with a bright smile who seemed way too interested in Azzi. Paige noticed immediately, her smile dropping slightly as the woman complimented Azzi’s hair, her outfit, even her smile. Azzi, as usual, was completely oblivious.

“Thanks,” Azzi said, flashing the girl a casual smile, but Paige could see what was going on, and it annoyed her just enough to act on it.

Without a second thought, Paige reached across the table, placing her hand firmly over Azzi’s. The waiter glanced down, her smile faltering as she realized the situation, quickly taking their order and backing off with a stiff nod.

Azzi blinked, glancing down at their hands before looking back up at Paige with an amused expression. “Was that jealousy?” Paige scoffed. “No, that was me stopping her from embarrassing herself.”

Azzi grinned, squeezing Paige’s hand. “Uh-huh. Sure, Paige.”

After dinner, the laughter between them hadn’t stopped. Even as they waved goodbye to their server, still teasing each other about that moment of jealousy, the warmth between them stayed, making the whole night feel like a dream.

Azzi didn’t even bother pulling out her card when the check arrived. The second she started reaching for her wallet, Paige shot her a look, the kind of look that said, don’t even think about it. Azzi had seen that look so many times before and just grinned, leaning back in her seat as Paige effortlessly snatched the check, sliding her own card inside before Azzi even got a chance to protest.

“Every time?” Azzi asked, her tone half-amused, half-resigned.

Paige just shrugged, a cocky smile on her lips. “I like spoiling you. What can I say?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the truth was she loved it too. It was a Paige thing—doing little things like this without asking, always showing she cared in her own way.

After they walked out of the restaurant, Paige naturally slipped her arm around Azzi’s waist like she always did. It wasn’t even a conscious move anymore; it was just how Paige was. Her hand rested comfortably against Azzi’s side, pulling her a little closer as they walked down the quiet street. Azzi leaned into her touch, feeling the warmth from Paige’s body and the comfort that always came with being this close.

Paige’s grip was gentle but firm, protective in a way that Azzi had always loved. It was something Paige did, even when she didn’t realize it—holding her close, like she was making sure Azzi knew she was always there, no matter what. It made Azzi smile, thinking about how many times Paige had held her like this over the years, whether after a tough game, during quiet moments between them, or just walking down the street like this.

They kept walking, laughing softly, the cool night air brushing against their faces, but neither of them seemed to notice. Everything felt easy between them, and Paige, in her usual way, kept the conversation light. Azzi could tell Paige was doing it on purpose, making her laugh to keep them from thinking too much about all the changes on the horizon.

They were about halfway to the car when Azzi suddenly slowed her pace, and Paige’s arm tightened slightly around her waist, glancing over with a curious look.

“You okay?” Paige asked, her voice casual but her gaze full of affection.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She stopped, turning toward Paige and stepping in closer. Paige’s arm never left her waist, holding her in place like she always did, her body warm against Azzi’s side. Azzi stared at Paige for a long moment, just taking her in—the messy hair, the soft smile, the way she was always so present, so hers.

“I love you,” Azzi said suddenly, her voice soft but full of all the emotion she had been holding in. It wasn’t planned—it just came out, like it had been sitting on her chest, waiting for the right moment.

Paige blinked, a smile tugging at her lips as her eyes softened. Her hand on Azzi’s waist tightened slightly, pulling her just a bit closer. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice gentle, almost like she couldn’t believe how lucky she was to hear those words.

They both stood there for a second, letting the words hang between them. Then, without thinking, Azzi reached up and cupped Paige’s face, pulling her in for a kiss. Paige didn’t hesitate, meeting her halfway, her lips soft and warm as they kissed in the middle of the street, the world around them fading away.

Paige’s arm stayed wrapped securely around Azzi’s waist as their kiss deepened, and it felt like everything else just melted away. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was slow and full of love, the kind of kiss that felt like a promise.

Azzi could feel Paige’s heartbeat against her own, steady and strong, and she knew, in that moment, that no matter what happened, no matter how far apart they might be in the future, they’d always have this. They’d always have each other.

When they finally pulled back, Paige’s forehead rested against Azzi’s, their breaths mixing in the cool night air. Paige smiled, her hand gently caressing Azzi’s side. “You’re stuck with me, you know that?” she whispered, her voice teasing but full of love.

Azzi grinned, her thumb tracing along Paige’s cheek. “Forever.”

———-

yeaa…that was a lot and so darn cute 🥹

[holysupesbatman]

SuperBat Fic Recs

Woaaaah boy. I was in the Superbat tag and saw someone asking for recs and I got about 5 fics in before I realized that wouldn't fit in a reply and decided I should just make a whole post. I feel like I've read half of the Bruce/Clark tag on ao3 at this point and yet I still find more every time I look.

As a note, this post is heavily editorialized. These are all fics I've personally read and are here because I liked them and they come from my ao3 bookmarks. If you want better details about the fic, follow the links and check them out 🤷‍♀️ I'm a picky reader so the fact that it's on the list says a lot, though our tastes may vary.

Onto the recs! I'll organize them by ratings and then by length for simplicity and at the end I'll recommend some of my favorite SuperBat authors for further reading!

🦇

Rated: G

Uno Reverse by WixenBurr (~7k rated G) is really cute and fluffy

Summary: The batkids are trying to set Batman and Superman up. Unfortunately Bruce Wayne wants to date some rando news reporter named Clark Kent.

Rated: T

Know You Better by rotasha (~6k rated T)

super fluffy and cute. I adore this fic. Summary: Clark asks Bruce on a date, not knowing he’s a famous billionaire. Bruce says yes, because this is the first time this has ever happened to him.

I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am by Mardiaz173 (~13k rated T)

This one is SO much fun – Nobody believes Clark after he meets the supposed "flirty, stupid, entitled drunk" playboy billionaire Brucie Wayne when he says he's actually "clever, mischievous, and sober with an indecipherable ulterior motive."

Saudade by liodain (~20k rated T)

OK THIS ONE MAKES MY HEART MELT IT'S SO FLUFFY AND SWEET I CAN'T. Like put this on your re-read when you're sad and need to feel like love and goodness exist list. Bruce breaks down in Kansas in 2006 years before BvS and meets young Clark.

fallin' for him was like fallin' from grace by Resacon1990 (~23k rated T)

It's just 20k of Clark simping for Bruce. That's it. That's the fic. He's a golden retriever and he's in love, Your Honor. Bruce is not unaffected, but the pining is glorious.

summary: Or, five times Clark finds himself falling for Bruce, and the one time he does something about it

Mr. Romantic by Pandamomochan (~24k rated T)

ft Established Relationship SuperBat. Summary: Clark gets tasked to write a Valentine's Day article. The end result has every single women throwing themselves at him. Clark has always been patient with the drove of Brucie fans. Will Bruce be as mature with Clark's sudden popularity?

How to Date a Superhero by @solomonara (~25k rated T)

Technically a series of fics. Pure fluff. 1. Someone spots the Batman kissing Mild Mannered Reporter Clark Kent. Hijinks ensue. 2. Superman kissed Bruce Wayne in full view of several dozen phones. Now the whole world, including Lex Luthor, knows Superman has a boyfriend. But that's okay. Batman has a plan. 3. Deleted scenes from the How to Date a Superhero series, ruthlessly cut in most cases to prevent the Robins from taking over.

In every sense of the word by froggy-o (bobafiend) (~29k rated T) From the author's summary: Alternatively titled "Why Wonder Woman is on the verge of losing her fucking mind."

I swear this fic is just Diana's eyebrow twitching as she watches Bruce and Clark start dating and she's let in on both their civilian identities meanwhile Superman and Batman are on the watchtower arguing and disagreeing about basically everything on the daily. In the name of Justice, of course. The identity porn is on a whole other level and it was done so well.

Get Over It by rotasha (~32k rated T)

heh this one has plenty of identity hijinks. Sooooo funny. Summary: Bruce needs to get over his inconvenient feelings for Superman and he meets an attractive reporter who he thinks can help him do just that. Little does he know...

the cost of being a good dad by Mawiiish (~96k rated T)

hehehe... the batkids set up a dating profile for Bruce and catfish Clark. It's more of a blind date for Bruce (not that he had any idea he was going on a date at all), but who has Clark been texting for the past several weeks??? Oh yeah. The kids. What follows is as follows. Still with capes!

Rated: M

Guardian Dog by BombusBombus (~22k rated M)

Summary: There's something wrong with Clark Kent. He has to be a villain, right? A threat? He doesn't behave like a normal person, no matter how handsome or clever he may seem.

grasp his heart (once and for all) by liodain (~32k rated M) soulmate AU fic. Pretty emotional LOTS of identity issues going on there like so much. Kinda high on the drama and angst there honestly but it was a cute read. Summary: Bruce Wayne doesn't believe in fate.

tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter (~33k rated M)

love me a fake dating AU. Summary: It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

Strangers When We Meet by Trista_zevkia (~63k rated M)

ANOTHER soulmate AU! This time feat. Kryptonian Biology hehehe. Summary: Clark Kent thought he was straight, until Batman kick started something. The question is what did Batman start? Is Brucie Wayne able to explain it to him?

ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat (~77k rated M)

OK NO LISTEN this is one of my all-time favorite fics EVER. It's so meta and so funny. Clark is us. We are Clark. Clark is writing RPF for the Bruce/Batman ship and he's very convinced it's real EVEN THOUGH he has a huge crush on the Batman... let the hijinks BEGIN.

Rated: E

Embracing Destiny by Mithen (~8k rated E)

This one is just really really cute. Summary: As a member of the Legion of Super-Heroes in the 31st century, a teenaged Clark learns a stunning secret about his own future: he and someone called "Batman" will be legendary lovers.

perfect strangers by susiecarter (~15k rated E)

like. bruh. susie did it again. This tag says it all: communication failure. I love this one though. Summary: Batman and Superman are fucking. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are a great cover for fighting crime, and also might be dating. Bruce and Clark have no idea what they're doing; but they definitely aren't going to be able to talk themselves into stopping.

Relinquishing Control by foxyk (~25k rated E)

afsfwsdfhishdfksj no words. Read the authors summary and then just go read the fic:

Superman worries that if he lets go he'll injure his partner. Batman knows better. Batman worries that if he lets someone else in, he'll hurt them. Superman knows better.

Picture Perfect by TheSaltiestDog @the-saltiest-dog (~26k rated E)

this one is cute and then horny on main but also just so fluffy. Clark sees Bruce in a new light through candid shots, then proceeds to take lots of candid shots as they begin a relationship. Cue schmoop, fluff, smut, and – you guessed it! –Miscommunication!

A Night Off and sequel A Day Off by Mawiiish (~37k combined; first part is E, second is T)

One of my all-time favorites. My bookmark says 10/10 would read again soooooooo... 👀🤷‍♀️😅🥵

Bruce is enjoying one of his few nights off when a very persistent young man offers to buy him a drink. At first he's apprehensive; he's just here for a good time and this Clark seems to be looking for more than that. Then again, what harm can one drink do?

Clark wakes up to an empty bed and despite Bruce being honest from the start, he's still disappointed.

The Downsides to a Secret Identity by liodain (~42k rated E)

I'm currently reading this one – the summary from the author says it all, it's so good but sooo drama:

Bruce Wayne has taken a shine to Clark Kent, but Clark is more interested in the Bat of Gotham. The Bat, however, has it in for the Superman in a big way. Clark should probably have considered that before falling quite so hard. They're working together to track down some missing Kryptonian weaponry, after all...

50 Shades of Wayne by susiecarter (~161k rated E)

No but listen, this is actually so full of plot and emotional depth and not as much smut as you might think. It's a full-scale retelling of Batman v Superman but without them knowing each other's secret identities. I read it in one go... the reveal? Maybe the best I've ever read. Soooo many emotions. It's one of the few times I've read BDSM in a fic and it actually felt in character. I wasn't sure I would read it when I started, but it was a compelling read and extremely well done. Honestly, I'd read it again.

SuperBat Author Shoutouts:

susiecarter @susiecarter

liodain @liodain

Resacon1990 @sassyresacon1990

shipyrds @burins

Mawiiish @superbattrash

rotasha

Mithen

[vangelini]

If you’re interested Can you write a fic Where reader has met Spencer’s mom and she absolutely loves reader and r mentions in front of the team when they have a case in Vegas and says “if we have time can we go see mom?” So the team thinks that they’re dating. They both get all flustered and deny repeatedly. Eventually the get together and kiss maybe where the team saw? So they’d go like “aweee” making them both embarrassed again.

Secret’s Out | Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: A visit with Diana Reid makes you realize how badly you want your relationship to be public. Luckily, Thanks to the team’s snooping, you don’t have to worry much longer.

Tags: fluff, established relationship, BAU! Reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1.7k

A/N: i accidentally lied about how long this was gonna take 🤷‍♀️ IM SORRY, I GOT SICK (it’s not covid though yaaaaay) enjoy 💕💕

|

There were so many things you loved about dating Spencer— his ranting as his long fingertips combed through your hair, the cheeky tight-lipped smile he looked up at you with when he wanted to hold you, the thoughtful coffee dates and foreign film movie nights. You could probably go on indefinitely. One thing you DIDN’T love was keeping it all a secret.

Spencer wasn’t a fan either, but you both knew that this wasn’t something you wanted floating around the office, or, God forbid, an unsub’s criminal plan somehow involving your relationship. So, it is what it is. You were left with two real places you could be a couple: each others apartments, and around Spencer’s mom.

You ADORED her, and she returned the same sentiment tenfold.

The first time you met, you had been, admittedly, and reasonably so, scared shitless. You had heard little tidbits of information about her through the proverbial grapevine. Penelope told you about how she was in some sort of facility in Vegas, and you overheard some ballsy intern talking about how it was actually an ‘asylum’ because she was ‘crazy’. This pissed you off a little, but Spencer reassured you that it was not a big deal. But, no matter what he told you, or how many times he calmed your doubts, standing in that common room in front of Diana Reid was terrifying.

What if she didn’t like you? What if she thought you weren’t good enough for him? What if you didn’t get along and you would sit in awkward silence as she scowls at you and-

“Spencer, is this the girl you’ve been writing me about?” She smiled wide at her son. He nodded sweetly, something glimmering in his eyes. Your heart pounded a little, but that melted away when she wrapped her arms around you, speaking into your ear. “I already like you, sweetheart,” you could hear the smile in her voice, and you couldn’t help but join her.

The three of you spent hours together— finishing a puzzle she started, talking about your favorite books and stories, stories of the favorite boy you two shared. You were all disappointed, when you had to leave.

“Please visit again soon, sweetheart,” she hugged you, turning to Spencer, whispering something in his ear that was purposely just loud enough for you to overhear. “This one’s a keeper, Spence,” she kissed him on the cheek, waving you goodbye.

“Spence?” You grabbed hold of his hand that searched for yours by his side, and he started rubbing your knuckles with his thumb, a habit you loved about him.

He hummed a little in response, pulling you closer.

“I think I love her,” you smiled.

—

That brought you here, sitting next to Spencer, reasonably spaced out, to avoid suspicion, on the jet toward a new case— a new case in Las Vegas. He read through the file for a third time in the past minute and a half, deft fingers moving along the print. You watched in awe of your boyfriend, the focused look on his face making your heart flutter.

“Spence…” you gently interrupted, nudging him gently on the knee. He broke his eyes from the pages, looking down at you. He smiled. You knew he loved you, but it was times like this— when his eyes would immediately dilate, a small smile effortlessly pulling up on his lips, that made you really believe it.

“What’s up?”

“Since we’re in Vegas,” you started, putting a hand on his knee. He grabbed it. “If we have time, could we visit your mom?” The room must have gotten too quiet, right before you said that, because everyone seemed to hear your innocent suggestion.

“You two making plans, over here?” Morgan jested, flashing a signature smile that you had been Pavlov-ed into associating with teasing. You looked at him curiously, not yet understanding his point. “You two going to visit Reid’s mama? What, are you finally gonna ask for his hand in marriage, Pretty Girl?” He chuckled, proud of his joke. You both blushed harshly, scooting away from each other subconsciously.

“Morgan, don’t say stupid stuff,” you laughed nervously, occupying yourself with the file in your hands, trying not to look at your boyfriend’s same flustered expression. “It makes you sound… I don’t know, stupid,” you scoffed at you inability to come up with anything other than that.

“Sooo,” Emily started, smiling wide at the scene in front of her, tickled a little by Reid’s unconscious, nervous leg bouncing. “You’re NOT going on a solo couples excursion?”

Spencer brushed his hair behind his ear, clearing his throat. “Actually, it’s not at all odd for someone to be well acquainted with their friends’ parents,” he pursed his lips, wetting them with his tongue nervously. “When I was a child, I had more in common with the parents of kids in my class, than I did my friends themselves. Studies show-“

You kicked his leg a little, trying to signal that he was digging himself in a hole. He pursed his lips and went quiet.

“I love making the kiddos uncomfortable as much as the next guy, but let’s reconvene on this case,” Rossi interrupted, flashing you an apologetic smile. You sighed and returned the gesture, as the team went back to the former subject. Reid slid back next to you, looking down at you with big, brown eyes. Behind the prying eyes of the team, he hooked his pinky finger with yours, smiling, as he started scanning over the crime scene photos, again.

—

It was a quick case, thankfully. Forty eight hours after you arrived in Vegas, the hostages were returned home, and the unsub was arrested. The team let out a collective sigh of relief and went out to lunch to celebrate. Well, the team MINUS you and Spencer.

“It makes me so happy that my mom loves you so much,” Spencer pulled you closer, walking toward the exit of the facility, his had tangled in yours.

“Gosh, me too,” you laughed, still giddy from getting to visit your boyfriend’s mom, something that always made your day better. He waved a small goodbye to the staff, opening the door for you. “Rossi said he would come pick us up, right?” You squeezed his hand, his free one moving to cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch, sighing and closing your eyes, the warm summer sun beaming onto your faces. He hummed a small ‘yeah’, swaying with you in the light.

“Y’know…” Spencer started talking. You opened your eyes, looking up at his face, strands of hair shielding his eyes a little. “We don’t HAVE to keep our relationship a secret,” he pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, one hand moving to hold your waist. His eyes searched yours for a reaction. You cocked your head to the side. This notion was a little out-of-nowhere for him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he looked up in thought, eyes squinting from the sun. “When we were in there, we didn’t have to keep anything a secret. We didn’t have to walk on eggshells to keep anything in the dark. We were just,” he stopped, looking down at you. “Y’know, us,” he smiled, both hands holding your waist. He was right, and you knew that. More than anything, you wanted to be able to grab his hand without making sure the coast was clear. He wanted to sit so close to you, you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to be able to smile and laugh and be with him without trying to keep it under wraps. He wanted you more than anything.

“Alright,” you put your hands around the nape of his neck, and he sighed. He loved that.

“You mean it?” He smiled, a little surprised you agreed so quickly.

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. “I mean, once the team knows, we’ll have to have a talk with Hotch about work-home balance,” Spencer laughed at that, knowing you were right. “Penelope, Emily, and Morgan will want all the details,” he rubbed small circles into your skin, his smile not fading from his face.

“And Rossi is gonna make us have the talk,” he chimed in, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“So that’s it? We’re gonna tell everyone we’re dating?” Your smile was wide, hands combing through the hair at the base of his head. Spencer just nodded, pulling you close to him in a kiss. He smiled into your lips, wrapping his hands all the way around you, then bringing them up to your face. He pulled away, smiling, opening his mouth to say something.

“I-“

“Awwweee!” Your heads spun around to the road, team members’ heads sticking out the window of the van, Rossi in the driver’s seat.

“Reid, you sly dog!” Morgan whistled, smiling wide. Spencer blushed, dropping his hands from your face and laughing nervously. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. You looked between them, then bursted into laughter.

“I guess that’s one way to let them know,” you looked up at your boyfriend. He ran his fingers through his hair.

“I guess so,” he shrugged with a smile, grabbing your hand and walking toward the vehicle.

The secrecy, thankfully, came to and end.

But the rest of it all was just starting.

[spencereidluver]

Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

these are written as a story with each letter being a new chapter. I recommend reading in chronological order for story purposes, but these could also work as one shots.

unless explicitly stated, all my fics ignore anything related to jeid, and in my universe, maeve simply does not exist. i do like the idea that spencer and ethan may have had a romance in college

the following events are removed from canon: anything related to a jeid romance, maeve (i just can't have reader and spencer break up for her character to have her moment)

the following events are what i believe to have happened before this timeline began: spencer and ethan had a small (non-sexual) romance in college which is the real reason why they hadn't spoken in years, spencer is a virgin, lila archer events did occur, however i do not believe he had real feelings for her, he was just doing his job (i do think he enjoyed the kiss though, because who wouldn't)

I’ve put them in a timeline and they are further categorized by emojis

Have recommendations? Visit my Spencer Reid A-Z Recommendations to submit your ideas!

key:

🧸- fluff

🔥- smut

❤️‍🩹- angst

🕰️- coming soon

2008

january

03: you join the BAU (age 24)

july

07: a is for About Time 🧸

23: b is for Boy Genius? 🧸

august

09: c is for Case by Case 🧸

25: d is for Diana🧸

september

12: e is for Even Guys Like Me? 🧸❤️‍🩹

15: f is for First Date 🧸

october

03: g is for Girlfriend 🧸

12: Spencer’s 27th Birthday

31: h is for Hold my Hand 🧸

november

07: i is for I knew it! 🧸

12: Henry LaMontagne is born

17: j is for Just So You Know… 🧸

december

05: k is for Kissing Isn’t Enough 🔥

14: l is for Lover Boy 🧸

22: m is for Merry Christmas 🧸

2009

january

01: n is for New Years 🕰️

26: o is for🕰️

february

02: p is for Pretty Boy 🕰️

11: jj returns from maternity leave

18: q is for Quiet 🕰️

march

09: r is for Reid? 🕰️

26: s is for Sitter 🕰️

april

10: t is for Two Time 🕰️

19: u is for

may

07: v is for

26: w is for

june

5: x is for

29: y is for

july

16: z is for

[brucewaynehater101]

I have a really soft and cute au for Lesbian Janet that could work in any universe but I think works best in the Young Justice TV Show Universe.

See, everyone gets really confused when Tim talks about his Mom, sometimes referring to her as Mama. Tim thinks that using two different titles like that should make it Obvious that he has Two Moms but well. The Bats may be Super Geniuses but they are still Idiots. Tim is also an absolute Mama's Boy with Both his Moms. He loves them both So Much.

Oh, where is Jack you ask? He doesn't actually exist. He's the fake name and personality that Tim's Mama came up with and used Magic to disguise as so they could get Legally Married For Tax Benifits. Also to get his Mama a legal identity. Why would she need one of those? Well... as was mentioned, Tim's Mama has Magic with a Captial M. This by extension means Tim is Magic With A Capital M as well. Totally has nothing to do with Janet and his Mama sculpting him from clay and breathing life into him. Woes of pregnancy who? Not Janet that's for sure.

Also Tim does Not tell anyone that he has Magic and he doesn't show it off. The only reason the Bats found out about it is because Tim came to a meeting with Bruce and Diana went "you. Your Magic is Familure but I don't know from where." And Tim was sweating while saying, "Magic? What magic??" And after getting questioned by Diana and Bruce he Caves and tells them a half truth, "fine. I was made from Clay, like you. My Mom didn't want to go through the struggles of Childbirth but still wanted a child. Instead of adopting like any sane and rational person, she made a deal with a God or Godess. I don't know all the details but she owed them something in exchange for Me. I do know the debt has been paid already though."

The debt was simply a tea spoon of blood for the ritual and A Kiss. Janet over paid the second part by a lot.

As for how Janet met and wooed A Goddess? Well, she was on a dig in Greece when her boat she was using to get to another island was caught in a storm and washed up on a different island. The Goddess was expecting violence or anger at being stranded, perhaps even Sorrow. But no, Janet took one look at the Temple in the distance and was pushing past her saying she needed to get to the Temple because it's clearly in *amazing* condition and could bring So Many insights into Ancient Greek culture and building practice. For the first time in decades, as this Random Woman ran her hand along a pillar and started rambling about the design and what the type of collums were called, Circe felt herself blushing.

CIRCE?!?!?

FUCK YEAH.

Anyways, this is absolutely adorable. Fuck. I would love an entire fic of Janet. Here's a general plot line:

Janet hasn't ever really been interested in romance. She's tried dating a few guys in high school for appearance sake, but she usually broke the relationship off when they became too affectionate.

This is when others started referring to her as "cold." She wasn't, but few people got close enough to her to listen to her rambles about ancient civilizations, archeology, and sociality impacts of culture. She enjoyed other stuff, but nothing quite lit her up like those topics did.

In college, she did find and make a few friends with similar interests. This is where she figured out she was into women and not men. The relationships lasted longer, but she was single by the time she graduated with her bachelor's.

Her master's ends up as some sort of work study where she travels the world. She's more invested in her studies and work than relationships at this point. She enjoys learning about people's lives and cultures but doesn't seek out more than friendship.

I'm not sure if Janet has already or is working on her doctorate by the time she ends up lost on an island (or really how archeology even pays bills).

When she arrives on the island, there's a beautiful woman there as well. Janet notices this, but doesn't give a flying fuck in comparison to the architecture.

And Circe? Finds herself amused and confused by this woman who, although is into women, doesn't care about Circe's looks. Janet just keeps asking questions about Circe's life, the temple, the plants, the culture, etc. It becomes endearing watching her work late into the night with her research.

Janet is so enthralled in all that is going on that she doesn't notice Circe's continuous flirting. It's so fucking frustrating for Circe, but makes her unbearably fond as well. Janet starts to consider this drop dead gorgeous woman a close friend of hers as they "work" late into the chatting about ancient Greece, their past experiences, and their lives. Janet, who has some experience with romance but not much, even flirts back. After all, women call each other beautiful all the time and hold hands and shit. Surely Janet can platonically cuddle with her friend while Circe compares Janet's eyes to the night sky.

It's only when Janet is ready to leave that she realizes that she's willing to give up everything she's worked for, all of her findings and education, to have more time with Circe. Janet is in love with her best friend.

Also, Circe is able to get a fake ID as "Jack" due to magic and Janet's connections

[secretidentie]

movies that should be superbat fics

Inspired by the first full superbat fic I've ever read The Proposal by @blackbatofel

How to loose a guy in 10 day: Clark needs to write a story to break into the main stream so people will pay attention to his more important work and after hearing Cat grant talk about her love life he decides to write about all the ways you can drive a man away in ten days. Bruce Wayne is trying to adopt Dick and sign a deal for WE and both those things require him to prove he can commit to something and be a family man so he bets he can make someone fall in love with him in 10 days

The other woman: Bruce Wayne is dating lex Luther for PR reasons. Clark is dating lex for investigation reasons. When Clark finds out online that lex has a boyfriend he's furious about the infidelity and immediately tells Bruce. Bruce, thinking Clark is a heartbroken mistress, suggests working together to get revenge. Clark, wanting to comfort Bruce through his breakup, agrees to said revenge. Shenanigans insues.

The hangover: batman, superman and green lantern are assigned to a mission in Vegas. They complete it easily and to celebrate lantern convince them to get drinks together even though the other two don't get along. When Bruce and Clark(who isn't supposed to be able to get drunk) wake up the next morning they don't know where they are, somethings wrong with Clark's powers, Hal's ring is in the bathroom sink, he's no where to be found and apparently the two of them got married last night. They have to figure out what happened and where Hal is before the next JL debrief otherwise they'll have to admit to Diana and the whole team that they fucked up a simple mission by getting shit faced on the job and Bruce would rather die than let that happen.

The holiday: when Bruce realizes he's either dumped, adopted or detested everyone in Gotham he's yearning for a change of scenery. He gets into contact with an old friend, lois lane, who's recently devorced but is still living with her ex husband. After finding out that she shares his desire for something different they decided to swap homes for a few weeks where they can both work remotely to experience life across the pond.

Titanic: a young Bruce engaged to Talia goes on a yacht cruise with the league of assassin's on the unsinkable ship designed by lex Luther by combining metals like lead with alien tech. Uncoincidentally Clark sneeks on the ship to investing in for kryptonite and criminal activities but ends up finding love as well.( Does this mean Clark has to die? Probably, but it's worth it for the plot. And Clark's sacrifice and worldview could be what inspired Bruce to quit the league and become batman)

You before me: After Bruce is horribly injured on the field he has to prematurely hand over the mantel of batman. Since his kids have done a good job at filling in for him, Bruce feels like he's lost his purpose. Alfred decides to hire Clark kent, an aspiring journalist from Smallville, as Bruce's caregiver so he can show Bruce a better outlook on life and hopefully convince him to reconsider ending his life(y'all know I had to even out the death score)

Bring it on: Bruce Wayne, owner of the daily planet, prides himself on the fact that his paper was the most awarded publication for the past 3 years. While gearing up for the 4th his new hire, lois lane reveals to him that his recently retired chef editor has been stealing stories from a smaller independent paper. That paper has been gaining traction this year and is being nominated for the same awards as them, including a pulitzer. After the owner of the rival paper, Clark, doesn't accept his apology or financial help, Bruce strives for justice and wants to make it right. During this he starts admiring Clark's work and starts falling from him. Clark,reluctant to let his guard down and be too trusting again, says he doesn't want pity from a billionaire pushing Bruce to do everything he can to turn his staff into award winners.... or atleast decent writers.(I clearly have no idea how journalism awards work)

[just-some-random-blogger]

you know that photo of princess diana asleep at some “royal engagement” and it turned out she was pregnant at the time ? anyways I can’t help but imagine what would happen if aemond wife were to fall asleep at some engagement, meeting, etc

One Eye Open When I'm Sleeping

ONE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYEEEEEEE

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Aemond has been noticing a shift in your sleep pattern. He had his suspicions but didn't make note of it to you up until he unceremoniously announced it to everyone.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, wife!reader, misogynistic rats, mentions/depictions of pregnancy symptoms, ready to stab at any given moment & protective!aemond, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: i resuscitated myself into my aemond craze. tbh idk what happened with this fic i hope you enjoy tho nonnie. ALSO I LOOKED UP THE PICS OF DIANA AND SHE IS SUCH A PRINCESS SUCH A BABY GIRL IF SHE GOT SHIT FOR THAT I SWEAR I WILL PUT A HIT ON EVERYONE WHO SLANDERED MY QUEEN Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @risefallrise @sloanexx

Aemond drew circles on your back as he looked down at your sleeping form. Normally, you'd both be up and about at this time, awake far before the sun reached this height in the sky.

His reason was sleep did not come easy and came fast with him. Or at least that was before his darling wife came into the picture.

You on the other hand, his darling wife, were an early riser by choice. Not only do you enjoy watching the sun rise with a chirp and a smile at the start of the mornings, but you had also been accustomed to do so because of your mother.

This was why your continued slumber, flush, snoozing form snug against him, was something he had mentally been noting. He had no complaints. Why would he when his beloved bride was so comfortably nuzzled in his chest? Which also, in turn, allowed him to sleep longer. He noted it anyway still, at the forefront of his mind.

He noted your appetite changes also. And to this he was less permissive, especially in moments where you felt sick.

In this moment, he had the staff lined up by the side of the table as Aemond chewed his first meal of the day slowly, watching you intently as you did the same.

You licked your lips and offered a guilty look to the servants.

Aemond knew you would wait for the world to be in ruin than ever complain about anything.

"Wonderful meal," you smiled, turning to Aemond with a pleading look to let them be.

With a single nod he did, eyeing the head cook that eyed him back on her way out.

Aemond had various possible explanations for your eating patterns, for the queasiness, the lack of appetite, the intolerance for some food, and the immense cravings for others. One in particular, the most obvious and plausible of them all, you were with child.

He grabs your cup of wine before you could drink from it and offers a smile. You roll your eyes at him, thinking he was merely trying to tease you.

Aemond made it a point to divert the attention from you to the staff though. If you feel the need to vomit because of the meal, then they shall be reprimanded, and if you feel like you could eat the whole day, then they shall be rewarded.

Today it seems Aemond would need to speak with them and your intolerance to spinach.

And speak he did. You scowled deeply at him after for doing so and nagged his ear off for being so 'cruel' to the staff for the past week, simply because you were feeling under the weather. You told him the maesters gave you medicine for your ailment and that it was a problem with you and not the food.

Little did you know there was actually no real 'reprimanding' going on, at least not in the way you pictured it.

They were in on it.

The servants, the maesters. Aemond had been investigating with them the subtle changes you've been having. It was the head cook, Susana, who also happened to be a mother of five, that informed Aemond she was nearly certain you were with child.

All that was left was the maesters to verify it. Aemond's decision not to tell you until he heard the word from your measter stemmed from knowing how you'd be if in case he was wrong with his hunch. He knew he wasn't, but he wouldn't risk getting your hope up nonetheless.

But damn, he hadn't planned for you to learn of it like this. Though, had he not said it, he'd just killed the man in cold blood instead.

It happened so quickly.

"Say that again," Aemond blurted, face twitching, hands stretched out at the side of his body.

The lord ,who made the mistake of singling you out in the middle of the meeting, the meeting you were not even a part of, all because you were an easy target, scoffs and gives Aemond an incredulous look.

You had woken up from the nap you hadn't realized you took in the middle of it all because of Aemond's loud voice.

The lord pointed as he fumed, "your insolent, pretentious wife has done nothing but mock my house since the moment you've arrived!"

Aemond lets out a chuckle. Make no mistake, he was severely unamused.

He was about ready to lunge at him from your side of the table, but then you had managed to perk up and grab his hand. You look at up at him from where he stood next to your seat, hand quivering in your touch out of anger.

It was a wonder Aemond managed to speak in such a manner that did not give himself away, "I assure you, my lord, if my wife wished to mock you, she'd have done it before you bored her to death with your prolonged distractions in a manner so kindly, you'd not even realized she spat at your face."

The lord scoffs in utter disbelief, "you fucking c-"

"I, on the other hand, would gladly openly mock you and your pathetic excuse for a treaty," Aemond mutters, shaking your hands off him. "You think me a fool for your conditions? Any moron with one eye could see how you're trying to play me-"

"Aemond," you whisper.

But it was too late, Aemond lunged to him, slid across the table, and tackled him to the ground, pulling out a blade he kept always in his back pocket. His eyes were blown as he overpowered the man with a raging intent to seriously harm him. He mutters under his breath, "beg for your life."

"Aemond!" you cry out, running to him as the rest of the people in the room do the same.

Aemond watches at the man's face struggles against him. The prince chuckles dryly, "shall I execute you in front of your men?"

The man growls, "get him fuck off me!"

A few men begin to close in on him.

"If any of you touch me, I will slit his throat from ear to ear," Aemond raises his voice.

You begin to panic, "Aemond, please, enough of this."

"No," he barks back, eye not leaving his target, "he ought to beg me not to skin him for not only insulting me," he presses his dagger closer to the cretin's skin, "wasting my time in showing amity by even bringing my wife along this damned trip, but also for demeaning the one person that has kept me patient this whole bloody time!" Aemond rages. He begins to see red, "that person carrying my child, you dumb fuck," he grit his teeth, fury ablaze all over again.

Your eyes widen at your husbands words. You gasp when the man yelps when Aemond nicks his jaw.

He scoffs, "you call her insolent and pretentious, for what? Expressing indications of child bearing?!"

The man in Aemond's clutch begins to lose the color of his face.

Aemond looks down at him.

"I- I did not realize-"

"Of course you didn't realize, you dimwitted ninnyhammer," Aemond hisses, "you treat your own very evidently expecting wife with worse disdain."

"Aemond, please," you mutter rather weakly.

He snorts at the sound of it. He weighs his options.

He stills when you call out to him again.

Fine. He shoves the man back and gets off him, eyeing him darkly as he made his way to you. Once he did, he puts keeps his blade and takes your face in his hands. Part of him begins to be eaten away at the sight of your teary eyes.

But then he's infuriated all over again.

"Your grace, I-"

"Do not speak to me unless you want to lose your tongue," Aemond deadpans as he turns over his shoulder. He grabs your hand and walks out, "you needn't worry about a deliberation for your treaty. May the Seven help you with your endeavors against the crown."

[cer-rata]

Fic WIP: “No One Majored In Chemistry"

“...So yes, I’m going to figure out which one of you it was.” Billy growled into his phone as he dodged and weaved through the crowd of other excited freshmen.

Bruce sighed on the other end. “Are you really saying it’s impossible that you could have gotten into a good school without one of us meddling?”

“Gee, I dunno, acceptance and a full-ride scholarship to an ivy league school I didn’t apply to, with no active requirements to keep it up? Because of my AV experience? Room and board included? UPenn has a 6.5% acceptance rate, and again, I didn’t even apply, Bruce!”

A pause. “...It was Diana. Drop out, and she might actually cry.” Then he hung up, because of course he did. Billy groaned.

Fine. It was fine. Maybe superhero nepotism had gotten him into college, maybe that meant some other, more worthy kid didn’t get a shot. He had to balance that guilt with gratitude: Because someone clearly believed in him, and that meant a lot. Ugh, he couldn’t even yell at Diana about it, you can’t just yell at Diana! Why couldn’t it have been Ollie? Half of his job was giving people someone to yell at!

He was so frustrated that he pushed the door to his dorm open way harder than he intended, and it slammed against the wall, startling the boy who had apparently gotten there first. He spun on his heels away from the window where he’d been setting up some figurines and pointed a pair of accusatory finger-guns at Billy. He looked like a Scandinavian dude, with all of the trappings: Tall, broad shoulders, long shiny blond hair, blue eyes as sharp as Tim’s but somehow much less eerie to look at, probably because he wasn’t being possessed by the ghost of a Victorian street urchin.

“Oh! Oh, hey.” He pushed some hair out of his face and flashed Billy a bright smile.

“I recommend this one, Batson.” 

Billy paused. He didn’t recognize that voice, who was--Oh no. Oh no, Achilles never said anything unless he was asked a direct question, and even then--OH NO.

The guy cleared his throat. “Um…You’re Billy, right?”

Crap, I missed a dialogue cue! “Uh, yeah, yeah, sorry, weird…weird morning.” Billy quickly propped his suitcase against his bed and walked over to offer the guy a handshake, which was smoothly accepted. Billy wasn’t a little guy, 5”7 was perfectly average, but this guy--wait, what was his name?

“Yeah, totally, it’s been a weird morning. It’s nice to meet you, though! I’m Garth.”

Ah, okay. “Garth” had at least five inches on him, and that, combined with the length of the fingers and width of the palm that consumed his hand served to make average old Billy feel kind of small.

“Me…me too. Um. I mean, it’s nice to also meet you, not that I’m Garth. I don’t know you well enough to decide if I want to steal your identity yet.”

Garth let out a surprised giggle and raised an eyebrow. “...Well, I hope to prove that my credit score is worthy of being ravished.”

His smile made Billy’s eyes sting a little bit, but on a level he wondered if that was a product of every one of the degenerates in his mind (and maybe Solomon) trying to get a look at once.

“Aha, I guess we’ll see!”

Garth shook his head a little and smirked. Then his eyes flicked over to Billy’s bed. “Wait, is that your only bag?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I…don’t like having a ton of clothes.” It was kind of true.

Garth nodded. “Hmm. Fair enough. I’m a little bit of a…well…” He gestured to the pile of clothes on his bed. “...I like shirts.”

"Nothing wrong with that, you seem to be good at…wearing shirts.” What?

“What?”

“I dunno man, I haven’t had any coffee, the prompt was: 'Friendly compliment that is also not weird.'”

Garth laughed again and patted him on the shoulder, and it was at that moment that Billy realized that they’d just been standing in handshake range the entire time. He backed up in the direction of his bed a bit, and Garth took that as a cue to go back to unpacking while he talked. 

“I’m from Gotham, my standard for weird is a little warped.”

Billy sat on the edge of his bed and quietly lamented that his feet didn’t reach all the way to the floor. “Gotham is a wild place, yeah. Probably cursed.” Literally cursed, actually.

“Yeah, yeah there’s…yeah. But imma be real, I think Fawcett is much scarier.”

How does he know I’m from Fawcett?

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, that place is a Buzzfeed unsolved video waiting to happen, I mean there’s a reason the Big Red Goober hangs out there so often, right? Magic is spooky, man.”

Billy bit his cheek. “Ah, well, you may have a point, there have been a couple weird things over the years.”

Garth let the silence ride for a beat as he put some sweaters in his closet. “Hey so, big fan of your podcast, by the way.”

Billy chuckled nervously. “How…how do you know about that?”

“How many Billy Batsons can there be?”

“Honestly? A WEIRD number.”

Garth snorted and stretched slightly to get to the top shelf. Achilles noted that his shoulder-to-chest ratio was good for archery (and other things), and Billy tried his best to ignore him. “Either way, I figured you’d be a little more braggy about getting to interview superheroes, that’s kind of good for like, street cred and shit. But I guess being a bit of a shy little guy makes sense, all things considered.”

Billy was about to defend himself against the “little guy” accusations, but Garth turned around and made eye contact again, which derailed him long enough that he lost the window, and Garth continued on. 

“So, what’re you majoring in?”

“Mixed media, with a minor in journalism.” For some reason, Billy felt a little self-conscious whenever he told someone, like it was somehow unrealistic, when in reality it had been made abundantly clear to him that the concept of ‘unrealistic’ did not apply to a life like his.

Garth seemed to think it was cool, even. “Oh that’s great! Makes sense, you seem like the type to be good at all of that stuff.”

Billy fought to keep a blush down. “Ah, gee. Um, wh-what about you?”

“Pre-med and Screenwriting. Dual major.” 

Billy blinked a couple times. “Wow that--”

“Yeah, yeah I know. I kinda…I kinda applied to both departments and didn’t expect to get into either, so when I got into both I kind of panicked and accepted. So. You know. It’s…I’ll be fine, I’m used to juggling plates.” He brushed some hair out of his face and tucked it behind an ear, and for the first time in the fifteen minutes that Billy had known him, Garth looked a little nervous. Only for a moment though, then it was all smiles again. “Hey, that reminds me actually…”

Billy’s eyes widened as he watched the blond cross their room to sit right next to him on his bed. “Uh, wh--”

“How are we going to do this?”

“Do…what?”

“Oh, I do like it when they’re forward.” Zeus, please!

Garth leaned back on his hands.“I have two stressful majors, my mom has been in AA since before I was born, so no drinking, and I like people. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“Well, theater, medicine, Gotham, parental stress: You’re one rejection letter from turning into a Phantom of the Opera themed, organ-harvesting villain of the week?” Why did I say that!?

He could hear the smug satisfaction in Hermes' voice. “Just a little inspiration, for free. You’re welcome.” AHHHHHHH--

Garth laughed really hard at that one, and any cool vibe he was trying to foster was shattered by the way his cheeks went pink and he snorted. Billy could suddenly see the dork behind the symmetrical features and shiny hair.

“Fuck you! This just means you’re gonna be my first victim, Batson. That kidney?” Billy giggled and leaned away as Garth jabbed a finger right over where his kidney actually was. “Is mine.”

“This is good,” Achilles said, “Generally this is where I’d suggest pulling your shirt up, and enticing him with your wares, but that may be unwise as you’ve neglected your mortal body’s physical integrity, you disappointing, noodly-armed twink--”

“Hey!”

Garth raised an eyebrow and Billy realized with horror that he’d let that one escape.

“Uh--”

“Sorry, just…remembered…a thing--where were you going with that before you claimed my kidney?”

“Oh! Yeah right. So I’m gonna like…be busy, you know? ‘Everybody stares at me, boys, girls, I can't help it, baby--’”

“You did NOT just quote Rent--”

“It’s a good musical! What I’m asking is if you want to like, set up a schedule, or is there a codeword, or do I put a sock on the door, or…you know.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Billy wanted to die. For some reason. 

“Oh, uh. I mean yeah I guess you can just text me? But it’s not gonna be--”

“Yeah don’t worry, I’m a considerate guy, I won’t screw you.”

“Wow, Batson, look at that, you’ve already taken yourself off of the table.”

“That’s not what he meant! Wait, shoot--”

“Who are you arguing with?” Garth asked casually.

Billy slowly turned to look back at him. “...Eheh, whaaaat? Sorry, just, my internal monologue sometimes--”

“It was Zeus, right? I know about the Ganymede thing, I figure I’m within his taste range.”

“He’s not wrong.”

A chill shot through Billy and he frowned. “...How do you--”

“Dami' wanted me to be prepared in the event of, and I quote, ‘Billy fucking up badly enough that you end up with a demon trying to crawl up your ass.’ End quote.”

Billy stared at him. 

“...When you say ‘Dami'--’”

“The stabbiest Christmas elf, yeah.”

Billy groaned. 

[cecilysass]

Honest Man (3/3)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 3

When it’s obvious Bill is down for the count, Mulder follows Scully back out into her living room. She doesn’t pause to look or speak to him. She marches straight into the kitchen and begins to wordlessly fill up a glass of water at the sink.

“Scully,” he begins, unsure of what he’s about to say.

“Sounds like you’ve had an exciting evening,” she interjects crisply.

“Yeah. Exciting.” He steps sideways to attempt to gauge her expression, but she’s facing the sink.

“You gave Bill marital advice?”

“Yeah, I–” Mulder shrugs. “I did. He asked. I guess he and Tara had a fight. I, uh, wasn’t sure what to say, but he insisted. I did the best I could.”

She watches the water glass fill with laser focus. “Then I guess I’ll know how to explain it to Mom if they end up divorcing,” she replies without affect.

“Yeah,” Mulder says glumly.

“Thank you for driving him here tonight,” she says formally.

“Uh, of course.”

“Apparently it ruined some plans.”

“Scully,” he says plaintively. “It wasn’t … a date.”

She turns from the sink to regard him frostily, and he feels like he’s lying to her, although he isn’t. “It wasn’t,” he repeats.

She looks like she wants to say something, but thinks better, pinching her lips together. She sets the water glass on the counter.

“Bill thought I was on a date, but I wasn’t,” he adds.

She turns around, showing her back to him again, to close the cabinet. Then she rests her palms on the countertop, appearing to closely study the design of her own kitchen shelving.

Her small, silk-covered shoulders rise and then fall.

“You know, I bet I can guess this story,” she says in a strange, distant voice. “You met up with Diana Fowley after work because she had some important information about the X-files that she said she had to share right away. On a Friday night. Over drinks.”

He sighs. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Of course, you didn’t mention this work-related meeting to me this afternoon at work.”

“No, you’re right. I didn’t.”

She doesn’t move, her back still to him. He suspects she intended to place the glass of water on the bedside table next to Bill, but she doesn’t touch it again. She just leans against the countertop, as though collecting herself.

Mulder knows she’ll be angry at what he says next.

“Diana asked me to do some unofficial fieldwork for the X-files. She thinks if I do, if she can put it together into a convincing report—”

“She can request you back on the X-files,” Scully finishes, her head bobbing up and down in a knowing nod. “As her partner. Right?”

“Right,” Mulder says, a lump in his throat. “Exactly.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

Scully turns around now, and with a jolt he sees there are tears streaming down her face, though her expression is neutral.

“We both know what’s going to happen,” she says flatly.

Mulder is dumbfounded. “Do we?”

“Of course,” she says sharply. “You’ll do it. You’ll be her partner. It’s what you want, isn’t it? You told me what your priorities were on our first case. The X-files come before anything and anyone else. I know perfectly well that includes me.”

Mulder is appalled to hear his own words cited back to him like that. It’s not an especially pretty picture she presents, of a man so single-minded, so disloyal that he would so predictably toss aside his partner of six years, his best friend.

“I’m sure she made all kinds of implicit promises to help assuage any discomfort you might have.” Scully’s words grow venomous, full of more overt anger than she normally reveals. “She offered to give you a little more than just the X-files, too, didn’t she? She made it very hard to refuse? Made you feel like you wouldn’t be lonely?” She places her hands over her face in apparent regret. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “That’s … unnecessarily petty of me. I’m not thinking straight.”

Mulder shifts weight from one foot to another, watching uncomfortably as she hides her face. He isn’t sure he should tell her that her guess about Diana was so on target.

“Scully, she expressed concern for your career,” he points out gently instead. “She argued that you would be able to get a better placement in the Bureau. Which is true, and something I wish you would think about.”

Scully lets her hands drop from her face and looks at him incredulously. “Is that what she said?”

“Yes,” Mulder says, “and while it’s true that—”

“Mulder,” she interrupts with a bitter laugh, “you’re fortunate that violent criminals are usually men, because you can be truly terrible at profiling women.”

He’s taken aback. “Am I terrible at profiling Diana? Or am I terrible at profiling you?”

She looks up at the ceiling, considering for a moment, then drops her gaze down to meet his eyes again defiantly. “Both.”

He feels something crucial is being lost in this conversation. He’s getting this wrong, for sure. “It’s not like I told Diana yes.”

She smiles humorlessly. “You didn’t tell her no either, did you?”

“Well … I didn’t say those words, no.”

“So, what, you did an interpretive dance?”

Brushing past him out of the kitchen, she speeds into the living room, Bill’s glass of water apparently forgotten. Mulder follows behind her.

“Listen,” she continues in a different, more placating tone, “I’m not angry. Not really. You’ve always been upfront about who you are.” She turns to look at him with a sad smile. “I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

She means this to be conciliatory, but it’s like she spit in his face. That familiar feeling burns in his chest, his old friend from boyhood: shame.

“No,”’ he says urgently, “you should expect something else. You can’t just think that I— I’m not just…. you don’t get it at all.”

“What don’t I get?”

“Look,” he says earnestly, “back when we first started to work together, I didn’t understand that you and I were going to…”

Scully groans, collapsing into a chair in her living room, her head flopping into her hands. “Oh god, I really don’t want a speech like this.”

“What? I just want to explain.”

“I don’t see what there is to explain.” He watches her trembling fingers swiping a fresh round of tears away, and he scrambles to sit on the couch across from her.

“Scully—”

“Look,” she says, smoothing her hair back, visibly calming herself down. “It’ll be okay. Really. I don’t need a partner breakup talk.” Her voice wavers a little. “I’ll probably go back to Quantico. I’m sure after a while you could even consult with me on cases. I might need a little time to adjust first.”

“I haven’t—”

“And I don’t want to talk to her, Mulder. Only you,” adds Scully fiercely as an afterthought. “I don’t trust her. You shouldn’t either.”

“Jesus, I’m not going to do it, Scully,” he manages to get out. “I wouldn’t … I couldn’t do that.”

She looks uncertain for the first time in the conversation. “You’re … really not?” she says.

He shakes his head emphatically.

She regards him quizzically. “So you plan on turning her offer down entirely?”

“Of course.”

“Soon?”

“Yeah, soon,” he shrugs. “I mean, what can I say?” He attempts a charming smile. “I’m finding all those background checks more interesting than I thought.”

She doesn’t return the smile. She seems to find a little thread on the arm of the chair that she plucks at, her tongue darting out to swipe over her bottom lip.

“What?” he says, his stomach knotting. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” she says, continuing to pinch the thread on the chair. “I … guess I just don't completely believe you.”

Again Mulder is stunned. “You don’t believe me?”

“No. Not entirely.” Her eyes won’t meet his, like she feels guilty for the sin of mistrust.

“Why… not?”

She swallows, then raises her eyes to his. “I suppose I worry … that you’re telling me what I want to hear. So you don’t have to deal with the inconvenience of me being upset.” She straightens her posture. “And if that’s the case, Mulder, I wish you would just show me the respect of telling me the truth. So I won’t be unpleasantly taken by surprise later.”

“The inconvenience of you…” He stops, holding back his anger. “Since when do we not believe each other, Scully?”

Her nostrils flare, but her tone is icy calm. “Since you started going on secret dates with ex-girlfriends trying to recruit you to be their new partner behind my back, I suppose.”

“It was not a date,” Mulder repeats in a hiss.

“What exactly do you think a date is, Mulder?”

He sucks his teeth in irritation, jerking his limbs around restlessly on the couch. “Well, for one, I think a date is primarily about someone trying to initiate a relationship, not about work.”

“And you’re saying this wasn’t about both?”

There’s a moment of silence.

Mulder feels the beginning of a headache throbbing in his temples, and his eyes flash longingly towards the door. Maybe he should just leave. Maybe that’s for the best. He could try explaining this all again in the daytime, when Bill isn’t here, when they’re both in better moods.

Then his eyes fall back on Scully.

She looks small and defeated in the chair, looking at the floor, tears still visible on her cheeks. He wonders if it’s possible she might cry more if he were to leave now. He thinks about her belief that he’d go back to the basement office without her. How sure she seems to be that he would do it.

Something deep inside him aches like an old, unhealed wound. He knows he won’t be leaving. He knows it in the same certain way he knew he was going to take Bill home from the bar tonight. It doesn’t even feel like a real choice.

He squirms around on the couch again, trying futilely to get comfortable, and it makes something in his pocket poke him in the thigh.

“Oh,” he says softly, remembering. He digs his hand into his pocket to fish out an object. “I, uh, brought you something, Scully.”

She looks up at him warily. “What? An autopsy report?”

“No, no,” Mulder says. He extricates it from his pocket. It’s slightly dented, but otherwise unblemished. He leans over to hand her the coaster he’d picked up from the table at the bar.

“What’s this?” She examines it with a frown.

“It’s just a coaster.”

“Did you steal this, Mulder?”

“Yeah,” he admits sheepishly. “I stole it from the Honest Man Pub.”

“That’s almost painfully ironic."

Mulder shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Truth uncompromisingly told will always have its ragged edges,” Scully reads from the coaster. “Herman Melville.”

“It reminded me of you,” says Mulder, feeling a little self-conscious. “Melville. Truth. You know. All your favorites.”

“You stole this for me on your date?”

“Scully,” Mulder says, “it wasn’t a…” He stops himself, closing his eyes. “Yeah. I stole the coaster on my date.”

Scully is holding the coaster in her fingers, turning it over and over, and she looks up at him.

“So you and Bill were at the Honest Man Pub tonight,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says.

“I like that place,” she muses softly. “Good food. I like the chicken club sandwich.”

He nods. “I do, too. I didn’t eat tonight though.”

She stares in mystification at the coaster, her brow creasing. “What … what was Bill and Tara’s fight about?”

“Oh.” Mulder scratches the back of his neck. “Tara wants to go back to work, and I guess Bill doesn’t want her to.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Scully replies.

Mulder just nods numbly.

“What did you tell him?”

“Uhhh … nothing too remarkable. Be completely honest, admit when you were a dick, listen to her.”

“Did Bill listen?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mulder says. “I hope so.”

“Why do you hope so?” Scully asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Bill’s been nothing but awful to you,” Scully says, her eyes fixed on him. “It sounds like he’s been awful to Tara, too. Why would you try to help him at all?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder says truthfully. He considers. “He wanted to be better. And… it seems like despite how he acted, he actually does love her. I just hoped he could get it together.”

Really and truly, Mulder hadn’t intended for this statement to have any double meaning. But in the chair across from him, Scully goes unusually silent and still.

He has thirty seconds of horror replaying the words back, thinking about how she must have heard them. About the implications. About what he might have revealed inadvertently.

There is a short but unbearable stretch of silence.

“So why didn’t you eat?” she asks at last.

“What?” he says, swallowing.

“You said you didn’t eat at the pub,” she points out. “You didn’t eat dinner?”

“Oh,” he says. “No. Because the night ended early. The Bill thing. And Diana sort of decided she needed to, uh, raise the stakes.”

“Raise the stakes,” repeats Scully.

“Yeah …” He rubs his hands together in agitation. “I don’t think I was as enthusiastic about her offer to be partners again as she thought I’d be,” he says. “She tried to raise the stakes. Manipulate the situation. I wasn’t that wild about it.”

“How did she try to manipulate the situation?” Scully asks.

“It was like you said before,” he says reluctantly. “She made some offers. Like she thought she had to do more to … you know. To compete.”

“Compete.” Scully repeats. “Compete with what?”

Mulder doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I’ve known her a long time, and I think her heart is more or less in the right place,” he says. “But I think she felt like she needed to compete with … you know, Scully. The reason I wasn’t going to say yes.”

Scully’s face is blank, and Mulder realizes in shame that he is going to have to spell it out. “I have a partner. I don’t want a new partner. She tried to compete with that.”

Scully’s clutching the coaster tightly in one hand, wide-eyed.

“Anyway, I don’t like feeling manipulated like that,” Mulder says, shrugging self-consciously. The more he thinks about it, the more clearly he sees it. “Diana knows things about me from our past together, and she … tries to use those things as a lever with me. She knows that relationships are a big deal to me, that intimacy in a relationship is a big deal to me.”

“Is that true?”

“Yeah,” he says, feeling his face warm. “Does that surprise you?���

“No,” she says, almost a whisper.

“I mean, you’re right about what you said. In some ways.” He looks closely at his hands. “I went there with a goal, thinking she might give us some avenue to work on the X-files. But there’s no way I’d… there’s no way I would choose to go back to the X-files … like that. Without you, I mean.”

She is only continuing to stare, her face unchanging. He wonders what she is thinking.

“I guess I can’t prove to you that I’m telling you the truth,” he says, suddenly feeling deflated. “The only evidence I have is a lack of evidence. That Diana asked me to come home with her, and I … didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Mulder huffs in frustration. “That’s what I’m saying, Scully. What I’m trying to tell you. I don’t want that.”

Scully’s eyes fall again on the coaster, her brows knitting together. She examines it thoughtfully. “Instead you went home with Bill.”

“Right,” he says. He tries to smile. “Obviously I’d never miss a chance to go home with a Scully.”

To his great relief she offers a tiny, enigmatic smile in response. “You two did seem to hit it off surprisingly well tonight.”

“Yeah, he’s my favorite redhead now,” Mulder says. “You’re second, though, don’t worry.”

Through her smile the beginnings of fresh tears begin to pool in the bottom of her eyes.

“Aw, I’m just kidding,” he pleads. “You’re still my favorite.”

“Really that is evidence you were telling the truth, isn’t it?” she reasons, wiping her eyes. “You brought Bill home safely, even though he’s been an asshole to you for years. You tried to help him.”

“He wasn’t so bad tonight.”

“I didn’t believe you,” she says. “I thought you’d do anything to get the X-files back.” Her voice lowers tremulously. “I’m sorry, Mulder.”

“No, come on,” he says, frowning. “I see why you came to that conclusion. It wasn’t unfounded. But I…” He scrunches closed his eyes, then opens them. “It actually isn’t … just the work for me any more. I have some other priorities.”

“Do you?” she whispers.

“Yeah.”

She’s staring hard at him now, her eyes darting back and forth across his face.

He stands from her couch, hoping he projects more confidence than he feels, and walks directly over to her in her chair. She tracks his movements warily.

He extends his hand. “C’mon, Scully,” he says roughly.

Her eyebrows lift higher, but she places her hand in his, and he lifts her to her feet, drawing her as close to him as he dares.

“Let me show you my priorities,” he says.

It would be much smoother if he just kissed her, but he doesn’t. He hesitates. It’s his habit to check in with her, after all. He always wants to know what she thinks, and that’s one reason he knows he loves her.

Her eyes are round. Her face has lost some color. But her body, her center of gravity, is tipping ever-so-slightly towards him.

Solemnly he nods, and his hands slide around her waist. Her body feels tiny, warm and fragile, slippery with silk.

He bends down to let his lips cover hers. One light kiss, slightly hesitant. Then another firmer, more hungry. He feels her shiver a little in his arms, and he wants to feel it again. 

Tilting his head reverently, he begins to kiss her from every angle, his hands moving up and down, up and down her back. His palms graze the soft slope of her rear end once as he caresses her, and then stop to grasp her there intentionally. He's beginning to feel dizzy, lost in the barrage of sensory details. It’s the kind of kissing that hides nothing, he realizes dimly. Not his swift, overwhelming arousal. Not the fierce intensity of his emotions. That should probably worry him a little, but it doesn’t.

Her own arms have wound around his neck, and it almost feels like she’s trying to climb him, her own mouth pushing in farther towards him, her body meshing into his. He can hear the frantic, uneven quality of her breath. And it occurs to him: she’s not hiding very much, either.

“Bedroom,” she whispers into his ear.

“What about Bill?” Mulder whispers back urgently.

“He won’t know,” Scully says. She pulls back to look at him, her cheeks flushed deep pink. “Does it bother you?”

“Noooo,” Mulder says, shaking his head. “Not enough to stop, anyway.”

They start to move towards Scully’s bedroom, still entangled, Mulder walking forward and Scully taking backwards steps.

He’s distracted by kissing her again and again, and neither of them notice Bill’s shoes on the floor, still lying where they had remained after they both had worked so hard together to remove them.

Scully stumbles backwards first, which pulls Mulder off balance, too. They both crash loudly into an end table on their way down to the floor.

“Fuck,” Mulder exclaims as they land in a pile. He sits up, feeling a bruise rising on his knee already.

Scully pushes herself up and puts her hand over her mouth, laughing. “Are you all right, Mulder?”

“Yeah, you?”

She nods, still laughing, pushing an errant strand of hair from her face. “Wait. Shh.” She abruptly quiets and leans over, placing her finger over his lips, tilting her head to listen seriously for a beat. Then she relaxes and smiles again. “If that didn’t wake Bill up, he’s really out.”

Mulder doesn’t feel as amused. He’d wanted this to be more perfect. “Not an auspicious start,” he says, trying to sound light, but feeling some knots of anxiety.

Scully’s expression softens. She scoots towards him on the floor, taking a firm hold of his forearms.

“It’s okay,” she says soothingly, her forehead pressing to his. “Small hiccups.”

“I know,” he says, feeling silly. “But—”

“Truth, uncompromisingly told, will always have its ragged edges.”

She smiles playfully, her thumbs running back and forth lightly over his arms. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in her pajamas, saucily quoting bar coaster wisdom back to him, Scully is the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. His hands find her face, cradling her cheeks.

“Right, Mulder?” 

“That’s right,” he whispers back at her, barely vocalizing.

“And that’s what this is, right, Mulder?” she says, her voice cracking slightly on his name. “The truth?”

In response he leans in and kisses her in a way that he hopes tells her everything, that leaves no secret hidden.

Then he whispers softly in her ear. “That’s right.” Another kiss, this one infused with pure hope. “That’s absolutely right.”

***

[thebisexualdogdad]

fic where y/n is kinda like green arrow and he’s hooking up with donna

Donna Troy x Male!reader

● you're the resident archer of the titans

● you had known Donna since you were a teenager and it was purely platonic until 6 months ago

● Oliver always teased that you and Donna would end up together one day

● and you were certainly not going to let him know he was right

● the first time you hooked up you guys were alone in the titans tower

● and a couple of beers later you were waking up naked in her bed

● "so we…"

● "yep"

● "cool"

● "that's all you're gonna say?"

● "what do you want me to say? Thanks for the sex? I enjoyed eating you out and I'd like to do it again sometime?"

● "Diana's right you really are just like Oliver"

● "that might be the meanest thing you've ever said to me"

● Dawn is the first one to figure out you're sleeping together when one morning she goes to Donna's room to talk to her and finds her trying to sneak out of your room instead

● "Really Donna, you're hooking up with Y/N?"

● "yeah I know he's annoying but the sex is really great, like really great"

● "give me all the details"

● lucky for you not everyone on the team is so quick to figure it out

● Gar is walking down the hallway with his arms full of gaming snacks for him and Connor when it's your turn to be caught leaving Donna's room

● "Hey Y/N what's up?"

● "Oh nothing… Donna was just… helping me fix my compound bow"

● "where is your bow?"

● "uhhh I forgot it… that's why I'm going back to my room… to get it"

● "Okay have fun fixing your bow"

● the sex really is great

● especially when you and Donna were bickering on a mission and it leads to very passionate hate sex

● but thanks to her Amazonian stamina you can barely keep up with her

● "come on Y/N don't tell me you're tapping out early"

● "early?? We've been having sex for three hours already!"

● Donna loves that the only thing that can shut you up is telling you to use your mouth for something more useful and go down on her

● Oliver trained you to be disciplined, meticulous and attentive which you apply to every aspect of your life and Donna highly benefits from it

● she will drag you back to bed when you're walking around your room in nothing but gray sweatpants, bulge on full display for her

● you pick up on this and start walking around the tower like that just to turn her on much to your teammates display

● Jason "dude put that thing away"

● "no idea what you're talking about Todd"

● Donna "Y/N can I have a word with you… in private"

● she gets you back by only wearing your shirts

● and again she benefits from this because it gives you perfect access to eat her out

● you and Donna often fight for dominance

● though you usually end up letting her top you because it's incredibly hot when she's in control

● especially when she uses her lasso to tie your hands above your head while she rides you

● you finally go official after you accidentally use the g word when fighting onomatopoeia

● "hands off my girlfriend you literary creep"

● *later after the fight while shes patching you up* "you know you called me your girlfriend back there"

● "yeah I guess I did"

● "this is the part where you're supposed to ask me to be your girlfriend you idiot"

● "Oh, hey you wanna be my girlfriend?"

● "I hate that I'm saying yes"

● she kisses you and you pick her up, carrying her to your bed

● soon you tell Dinah about your relationship who then tells Oliver and he calls you just to gloat that he was right

● "I told you kid, you and Donna were always meant to end up together"

● "I'm hanging up the phone and blocking your number Oliver"

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXIV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... PHYSICAL!! THERAPY!! LET'S GET TO IT!! *80s aerobics music is piped in from nowhere* Also Flash numbero two was there.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Green one,” the quickfast one says. The masked teenager groans.

Danny looks down at his cards. He’s got a green eight. He drops the card onto the pile, and waits, perfectly aware that the girl is only down to her last two cards. The card flutters vaguely toward the pile on Danny’s bed cot.

He’s sitting with his legs crossed now, he admires. Holy crap. This is what dreams are made of.

“Bruce two,” the teen in the leather jacket demands, slapping down a—Oh, it’s a green 2+ card. It’s take two. Right.

The blonde girl scoffs, but her two cards bloat back up to four. Quickly though, with a little shuffling, the four become three with a green three slapped down on top of the deck.

Everyone is down to only a three or four cards. Danny is sweating through his medical issue tee and shorts.

Danny has not won a single game yet.

Danny really wants to win.

The masked teen (why is he wearing a face mask?? Like…over his eyes?? Not even his mouth??) opens with a new complication: a red three.

The red-haired quick-kid flicks a wild card plus four down with a smirk, pleased to make this Danny’s problem. “Blue, cnytte four!”

Okay, so what is cnytte?? Danny just got used to ‘take’. What is this new synonym. Why is everyone determined to hurt him like this. Why couldn’t these people just use Esperanto.

Whatever. Danny bites his lip and pulls the trigger: wild card plus four. He quickly points to the leather-jacket teen. “R-red. Br-take eight.”

The kid splutters. “Hey! That’s not the riht!!”

That is for sure how he and Jazz used to play it in after-school. The other kids never complained. “Is.”

“No, it’s not??”

Danny sticks his tongue out. The leather-jacket wearer squawks theatrically; it takes the mask-wearing kid thirty seconds to find the official pdf of the rules of UNO, and a new argument is off to the races.

“Atredde!!” the teen demands, snatching the phone out of the masked teen’s hands to show Danny the screen. “Þær, there!!”

“I can’t read,” Danny points out cheerfully. He can read some things, sure, but not when he refuses to look at the phone.

The phone gets closer and closer to Danny’s face, and Danny looks anywhere else—at the ceiling, the floor, and his bed, all without letting the guy point it out to him.

“Atredde,” the guy demands, the glass of his screen mashed against Danny’s cheek. Danny struggles not to laugh. “Atredde, atreddeatreddelooklooklook, you wearg—“

“No aðs, no aðs!!” the only girl of the group yelps, grabbing the spare pillow from underneath herself to start beating him with. Danny’s assailant shrieks. “Do you want to get in trouble with Wonder Woman?!”

“Wonder Woman wolde take my sid!” the teen hollers. Danny ponders if biting him would solve anything for all of two seconds before the doors smack open.

Everyone looks at Diana. Diana looks at everyone.

“I win!” Danny cheerfully announces, and sets off more yelling.

Danny does not, in fact, win anything other than a late lunch. Still, it is enough that he won, even if he has to sit through a gentle, brow-raised scolding as the nurse cleans his port and replaces his stomach-hole bag.

Lunch is a smoothie with powered vitamins and some pain medication mixed in. Life goes on.

For the first time, though, Danny doesn’t eat lunch alone; since he can, like, keep his bed relatively clean now that he isn’t constantly leaking ectoplasm everywhere, there are four teenagers crammed onto his bed with sandwiches, wraps, and sodas of their own. Danny can phonetically pronounce the brands on the side of the can, he notices. He has no idea what they mean, but sometimes the girl in the blonde bob and the too-fast teen will ask him to pronounce them, and they only snicker sometimes.

The teen in the mask makes a noise. “I want a lið. Wha want anything?”

“Nah,” No,” “Na þancs,” all echo.

Danny sucks on his smoothie straw. It tastes like bananas today. Ew; potassium. “What is… lið?”

The teen holds up a can of soda in his ungloved hand. Danny makes a face. He’d love a Mountainous Dunk right now, but gas in his bag…eugh. More trouble than it’s worth.

“No.”

The teen shoots him a pair of finger guns and darts out the door, leaving the rest of them behind to argue over UNO rules in at least two languages and without any expectation of resolving the issue.

Danny peaceably polishes off his smoothie. He’ll have to get the back done again, but eh. As long as no one’s directly looking at the process while it’s going on, he doesn’t super care whether or not anyone’s in the room, per se? Is that weird? Is this weird??

It’s probably weird. But also. Danny has fuzzy memories of roaming the building and leaking goo the entire time he was out and about, so… Suck it, he can do what he wants! He’s sick!! And maybe even dying??

“What is þæt andwlita??” the blonde girl asks, only for the quick-fast teen to poke Danny in what can be assumed to be a grumpy expression. Danny feigns a bite just to be mean. The other teens don’t even pretend to think it’s a threat—the blonde even laughs.

The teenager comes back and sits on Danny’s bed again, mattress barely bouncing as he makes himself comfy. It takes Danny a second to realize that he didn’t come back empty-handed, though—but instead of sodas, the guy brought back a tablet and a weird expression under his mask.

“…Look,” the teen finally says, and flips the tablet onto his lap so that the screen is visible. The teen clicks on a browser, and types in a word Danny isn’t familiar with, and pulls up a stock photo straight out of a photo frame Danny could buy at the craft store. He points to the smiling woman, the man, and the kid in the picture. “Moder. Fæder. Dohtor.”

Danny glances at the photo, and then at the teen. …Okay…?

The teenager bites his lip, and picks a new photo. This one has two men and a child, but it was basically the same. He points to each person as he named them: “Fæder and fæder, and sunu.”

Danny looks at the photo. He looks at the teenager. He looks at the photo again, and the masked teen backs out of the photo he onscreen to pick another one—with a woman and a man crouched around three kids and a dog.

“Moder. Father. Daughter. Daughter. Son.”

Realization breaks over Danny—oh. These are supposed to be families. These are family titles. Huh.

Danny scrutinizes the image. They…you know. They look happy. Danny used to…

…Mom, and…

It hurts too much to look at the photo for long. He knows that it’s fake, and he knows that models just get hired for show, but even the imaginary families hurt. Happy, loving people exist out there in the world.

Danny was in a box. Danny was in a box.

Danny—

The teen makes another noise, and Danny drags his focus out of his melancholy doom spiral with every tooth and claw. He manages. Barely. The masked teenager switches over to a drawing app and pops a tablet pen out of—nowhere, actually? Where did that come from??

The teen hems and he haws and he fills out a stick figure with some red and black clothing details—and a mask, and a bowl cut, which is how Danny figures out it’s a scrappy little self-portrait. It doesn’t look at all like the oversized tee tucked into the teen’s short shorts, but you know, whatever.

Next to him, the dude draws a giant, brick-wall-broad, no-eyed, man-shaped blob with upright pointed ears.

It’s. Uh. It’s sure…something.

“Son,” the teen labels himself, and then draws an arrow to the giant, colorless blob. “Father.”

…Danny squints. Is that normal? To have a huge hulking entity-dad, and then have a short, shrimpy-looking teen waif?

Like you, imaginary Jazz interrupts, since he was thinking about her.

He carefully bats the thought away before it can make him cry.

“My father,” the teenager adds, since Danny probably looks like he’s mostly paying attention. “Stincende.” And then the guy draws a bunch of stink lines coming off of him, just to prove a point.

Danny chokes more than he laughs. The teen’s friends laugh outright, teasing with words that are a little too quick for Danny to parse and snickering under their breath. The masked teen smiles quietly.

“So mean,” the teen in the leather jacket declares, cackling mercilessly. The orange-haired teenager wheezes breathlessly.

“Stincende hlaford of the trask,” the teenager adds mildly, cheerfully without mercy. “Very boring. Very stif. Very grimm.”

Okay, so some of those words were definitely straight-up cognates. Mr. Lancer gave Danny a C in English last semester, but Danny’s going to guess that, based on how their language is pretty much entirely similar, that the stink lines are more of a metaphor than anything.

“Gross,” Danny decides. He’s not sure if the word actually means gross or if it’s more of a medical-trash-and-waste-disposal sort of word, but his audience of four snicker and bump his shoulder and that’s good enough.

“Mmhmm,” the masked teen agrees. He clicks on an eraser tool, enlarges it, and wipes himself clean off the image. In his place, he puts a little white-haired figure in a white medical gown.

…Oh.

Between them, the artist puts speech bubbles, giving both the drawn Danny equal part in the imaginary conversation.

“Talking,” the teenager says without looking at Danny. Eventually, when the speech bubbles are done, he lifts his head. “Yes? No?”

…Is this a request? Is this a demand? Danny fists the sheets between shaking fingers. Nowadays, they always shake at least a little. There are no perfectly still days.

“Have to?” Danny asks, hesitant. It’s a common enough clarifier to use when he doesn’t want to do something. They try to explain what they can to him here, but the language barrier is thick and impenetrable in many places.

“No. He just wants to.”

“…Why?”

The masked teen frowns. He takes the tablet back from his lap and begins to draw something way more complex.

Everyone else slowly works on their food, but the masked teen doesn’t return until he has, from what Danny can tell, a thickly complicated organizational tree chart.

He recognizes a few headshot photos in the middle. The green guy. The human-looking guy in red that Danny does PT with sometimes.

Towards the bottom are the teenagers—both ones Danny does and doesn’t recognize, and some of the teens around him are photographed in different hats and outfits and masks. The quick-fast-red-haired teenager Danny’s come to recognize used to have shorter hair, apparently? Now it’s down to the teen’s neck. Meanwhile, the blonde girl’s got a haircut; her new look has a shaved undercut and a body too short to prop back up into her photographed pigtails.

The guy in the leather jacket looks the same.

…Danny holds up the tablet to compare to the teenager himself, who kindly poses the same way as he does in the picture in the same way: suns out, guns out. Yep. That’s him alright.

At the top of the organizational tree are three people—a dark-haired guy who Danny’s seen in passing, Diana, who is both a superhero and a super-minder, and some scary lookin’ dude who looks exactly like the doodle Danny just saw absolutely smothered in stink lines.

The tablet falls out of Danny’s hands. He’s not mad or anything, but he tends to drop stuff when holding it becomes too much of a burden.

So.

The masked teen’s dad, is, like…one of several bosses. One boss is the person watching Danny at all times, which is…weird. Danny isn’t sure he warrants, like, constant security from a high-ranking super-someone. He mostly just sits around all day. Sometimes he gets his stretches in. Sometimes he gets wheeled out to look at the stars, and then he just…sits some more.

Danny shifts in his seat. So maybe he. Maybe…

…Okay, so even if talking isn’t good, per se, at least maybe he’ll figure something out? Maybe?

Like. Maybe he’ll be able to figure out, like…why he’s here. Why he’s in space. Why they’re taking care of him.

Danny doesn’t look forward to talking. But it’s. Fine.

Probably.

He nods.

“…Yes?” the teen asks again, double confirming that this is what Danny wants. Danny doesn’t want this, but he wants answers, so he nods again, more firmly. But still. Staring. At the sheets underneath him.

“Okay.” The teen opens up a messaging app, and types something into the address bar. “Now? Or later?”

“Later.” Danny’s got to rest and digest lunch first.

“Okay.” The teen types into the tablet with the little pencil. Danny sees verbatim what the masked teen wrote when he turns it around: very literally, “Yes,” and “Later.”

There’s a little spot for Danny to sign his name. The teenager gives Danny his pen.

…Danny just hits the send button and is done with it.

[farshootergotme]

Kinda doing a hurt/comfort aftermath of Forever Evil in Wayne Family Adventures universe.

Dick's "thing with the Crime Syndicate".

As posted in Asks before, decided Spyral and Identity Reveal is unlikely to have happened in this timeline. So it is mostly a Batfam hurt/comfort fic while Dick recovers from the torture (and Bruce tries to recover from having to watch his son die).

Thinking about the angst potential... The Crime Syndicate looked like the Justice League members. Bad in N52 Forever Evil, but at least that Dick doesn't have much of a connection to most of them.

WFA!Dick? These people torturing him has the faces and voices of his dad, his aunts and uncles, the people who watched him grow up. That has to be a whole new boatload of trauma.

Hours waiting in there, bleeding and in pain, strapped to a bomb, knowing death is next to inevitable... And the ones responsible look identical to the people he love and trust so much.

But he can get over that, at least, around that. They've all dealt with mind control/possession scenario of getting attacked by a friend.

Plus, Owlman kept his costume on all the time, and wasn't even the Bruce Wayne of Crime Syndicate universe, there's a difference. And Ultraman may have sounded like Superman, but he can't sound/look like Clark Kent. Diana and Superwoman... a bit more trouble, but Diana isn't a frequent visitor, he has time to get through it before meeting her again.

The problem is... Alfred.

Owlman's Alfred is the one who strapped Dick to the bomb, who watched, offering tips, while Dick was being tortured.

Alfred, who looked and sounded identical to their Alfred.

Dick, waking up in the med bay of the Cave, freaking out at the sound of Alfred's voice...being triggered by him...

I really hope you make something about this because I love what you're exploring and the potential there is.

Seeing the same person who raised you be the one who hurt you can be very damaging... Even if that wasn't his Alfred, he still wore his face and used his voice.

Luckily for Dick, he doesn't live in the manor, so he can get away if he needs space. But I'm sure the first few weeks he would be asked to stay to take care of him. Dick is tense, though. It's hard falling asleep when you could freak out once you wake up when you see the face of your parent (yes, Alfred is more of a parent to him than he is a grandparent).

It'd require a lot of space, time and some exposure to get over it in a healthy manner. (I wouldn't be surprised if at first Dick forced himself to repress these fears as not to hurt Alfred, though, which would only play against him later on since he didn't allow himself to heal naturally and instead left the knife where it is so the blood wouldn't pour out, even when he had the tools to clean the wound and stop the bleeding. All this figuratively speaking, of course.)

Hopefully Dick will reach out to his friends if he doesn't feel comfortable telling any of this to his family.

Thanks for sharing!