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cxrrodedcoffin · 5 months ago

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Jealousy, Jealousy - Spencer Reid

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Summary: Spencer and reader are both BAU agents in a secret relationship and a charity gala has reader tired of hiding.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Trying something different with the first person perspective here! bc of that I did have to use y/n twice so sorry for that lol. This is later seasons but pre-prison Spencer, so he’s a little more sure of himself and in return more dominant without being fully there. I promise I’m working on a few sub!spencer fics right now but I stumbled across this old fic of mine while going through my past works and I was dying to rework it because I wasn’t happy with what it was before lol.

TW: jealousy, angst, kissing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, afab reader, use of “girl” in reference to reader.

Rating: R, 18+ only please!

——

We’d already been here for three hours and I was growing weary watching Spencer make awkward conversation with every person at this charity gala. There were hundreds of people neither of us knew in this room, but bureaucratic duty required the both of us to make small talk with everyone no matter the department. Heaven knows Spencer didn’t have any intention beyond professional with these people, and I certainly didn’t either as it came with the territory of being BAU agents, but somehow I couldn’t help but find the jealous side of me rearing its ugly head with every attractive colleague that looked his way.

I’d kept my distance, allowing him the space he needed to not seem too attached. I knew how important it was that everyone assumed we were both single, interpersonal relationships between agents aren’t exactly looked highly upon here. Still, watching him talk the ear off of another woman had that familiar blossom of insecurity blooming in my chest. No matter how clueless he was, I knew just how many women and men in our professional vicinity would risk a lot to be with Spencer, and they figured that maybe given the right set of circumstances, perhaps they’d have the opportunity. He never gave them that privilege of course, even though we weren’t public with our relationship, we knew what we were, and he never betrayed that trust.

Still, as he was approached by a particularly tall, gorgeous redhead I found myself growing more and more jealous. He said something and she laughed a little too hard, laying her right hand on his bicep and tossing her hair over her shoulder with the other, and the green eyed monster returned, fiercer than ever. A tear slipped down my cheek as I watched, but I quickly wiped it away, fighting to keep my composure.

When he finally broke away from her, I made my way through the sea of elegantly dressed attendees, whispering his name to catch his attention. He turned to me, features softening as he registered my features.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, concern lacing his tone.

“I’m not feeling well, I’m going to head home.” I told him, forcing a reassuring smile so as not to worry him.

“Would you like me to come with?” He whispered, brushing his hand against my arm, just as the redhead had done to him. Such a simple, loving gesture, and the thought of someone who was not me doing it to him made my blood boil. I shook my head, giving him one last look of reassurance before gathering the top of the skirt of my overly detailed gown in my hands and making my way out of the ballroom and ordering an uber.

When I got back to his apartment, I kicked my heels off haphazardly the second the door locked behind me before stumbling to his bedroom. I don’t know why I’d come back to his apartment, I should’ve gone to mine, but I didn’t want to. I was sick of the hiding, the secrecy. I wanted him. I wanted to live with him. I wanted to be with him.

I reached around to the zipper on the back of my dress, roughly pulling it down halfway before it got caught, the expensive fabric bunching under the hardware. I pulled as hard as I could, desperate to get out of the increasingly suffocating garment, but my attempts seemed in vain as the zipper stayed put.

All the emotions I’d been holding in throughout the night boiled to the surface, showing themselves in the form of hot, frustrated tears. I collapsed face first onto the bed, letting the plush bedding consume me as I folded my arms beneath my cheek, feeling the wetness gather against my skin. I let it all out, quiet sobs wracking my body as I groveled in my jealousy, the physical pain of the restrictive fabric only doubling my emotions.

I didn’t know how long I’d been laying there, but his hand on my shoulder broke me out of the jealousy fueled haze I’d been locked in.

“Y/n? Why didn’t you go home? What’s wrong?” His voice sounded fuzzy as I quickly stood to face him, wiping away my tears.

“I don’t want to go back there Spencer, I want here to be home. I’m not home if I’m not with you. I’m so sick of hiding. I want to be yours.” I blurted, too overwhelmed to think about what I was confessing.

“You are mine.” He whispered.

“I don’t believe you.” I responded.

“There’s no one else y/n, you know that.” He continued, but it did little to calm me.

“All those women at the gala, touching you, flirting with you. I don’t want to have to sit back and watch it anymore. I die a little every time I see it.”

“Y/n, you know I don’t-“

“I know! You don’t enjoy any of it, I get that, but they do! They want you, Spencer, and I can’t bare the thought of losing you to one of them.” I confessed, tears welling in my eyes again.

“That won’t happen.” He said, a kind of sureness in his tone.

“How do I know that?” I asked.

“Because you’re the only one I want. You’re the only one that understands me for who I really am. I don’t care about them, not the way I care about you. I’ve never cared about anyone as much as I care about you.”

“I love you, y/n.” It rolled off his tongue as if they were the truest words he’d ever spoken, and as he placed his hands on my hips I practically melted under his touch.

“I love you too.” I breathed, looking up at him doe-eyed, lip quivering as I held back the tears of contentment fighting to escape my waterline.

“I’m yours.” He whispered, pulling me into him before crashing his lips to mine. I turned to putty in his hands, hanging on his every touch as he pulled away and spun me around, large hand resting on my exposed shoulder as the other worked carefully to untangle my zipper, finally allowing the fabric of the gown to fall from my frame.

His lips met my neck, sucking hungrily against my blushed skin and I brought my hand to rest in his brunette curls, holding him steadily against me. He pressed his hips flush against my lower back, his member growing hard as he marked my neck, drawing his swollen lips over the purple patches forming across the sensitive skin of my neck.

I whimpered as he nipped at my pulse point, nimble fingers undoing my bra before letting it join my gown on the floor, immediately cradling my breasts in his soft grip. I rolled my hips back against him, earning a deep groan as my free hand moved to palm him through his fitted slacks.

“Let me prove how devoted I am to you.” He breathed, spinning me back around before laying me slowly onto the bed. I propped myself up on my elbows, watching as he removed his suit jacket, then undid the buttons of his dress shirt one by one, maintaining eye contact as he undid his belt and dropped his pants and underwear, leaving him bare for me to take in.

He knelt at the edge of the bed, taking my ankles in his grip before parting my legs, placing a soft kiss to the small dip on the inside of my ankle. He looked up at me, his gaze never leaving my face as I watched him plant wet kiss after wet kiss up the expanse of my leg before repeating the action on the other, the intimate act arousing me more and more by the second.

When he finally reached my left upper thigh, he lingered, drawing his tongue over the apex of my thigh to my panties, licking a flat stripe over the soaked panel of fabric, drawing a panting moan from my throat. He locked eyes with me, placing a kiss over my clit before taking the waistband between his teeth and letting it slap back against my hip, earning a whimper from me.

He gripped either side of my hips, taking my underwear in hand before pulling them slowly down my legs and discarding them across the room.

I watched transfixed as he kissed his way up my body, leaving soft magenta marks blooming like peonies over my damp skin, paying special attention to my breasts.

“You’re perfect.” He mumbled, tongue tracing around my nipple as I blushed at his words.

“I want to devour every inch of you.” He continued, taking the stiff peak gently between his teeth and tugging, sending a delicious mix of pain and pleasure to every nerve ending in my chest.

“Then do it.” I gasped, relaxing back into the bed. He hummed against me, flicking his tongue over my breast as his other hand slid between my thighs, cupping my cunt. He dipped his index finger to part my folds, already swollen and sticky and dripping with need. I wanted him, and although this certainly was not the first time we’d had sex, I was finally going to have him, all of him.

“So wet…” He trailed off, dragging his mouth up the expanse of my neck before drawing me into a kiss, deep and warm and full of a fire I’d never felt from him before. It’s like his confession had set something free in him, torn down a wall or two, uncaged the animal of desire within him.

“All for you.” I whimpered, pulling him down into another kiss.

He pressed two fingers in slow, pressured circles against my swollen clit, his full lips swallowing every last one of my needy moans and whimpers. Any other night I would’ve reveled in it, secretly loved the slow burn of his teasing, but I was far too emotional for that tonight, and I couldn’t put up with not having him inside of me anymore.

“I need you.” I whined, rutting my hips up into him.

“What do you want me to do, my love?” He asked. I huffed, knowing the game he was playing.

“Please Spence, I need you inside of me. Fuck me, show me what I mean to you.” I practically moaned as he continued rubbing harsh circles against my clit.

“That’s my girl, always so eager.” He praised, snaking his hands around the back of my thighs and lifting to wrap my legs around his hips.

He rubbed himself slowly through my folds, properly coating his cock with my slick before aligning the head at my slit, ready and inviting him in. He pushed slowly into me, a low groan slipping from his clenched jaw as he savored every inch of my wet heat and I met him with a tight embrace, gasping at the way he filled me.

I’d never felt so connected before, like I could feel him in every fiber of my being and as he was seated fully inside of me I felt whole, like we were made for each other.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss before he pulled almost completely out, pausing before pushing back in, my wetness making it almost embarrassingly easy. He angled his hips upward, knowing how quickly I’d crumble beneath him with the repeated brush of his cock against that soft spot inside of me.

He looked down at me, a certain warmth spreading over his dilated pupils as he halted his hips and opened his kiss-swollen lips to speak.

“It’s only you. Forever.” He purred, pushing the stray hair from my face before kissing my temple and pistoning his hips forward, punctuating his words with a deep thrust.

Each roll of his hips against mine had my muscles contracting, pulling him closer in every way, never wanting this to end. His rhythm remained steady as he picked up his pace, driving the pressure building inside of me ever closer to bursting.

I snaked one of my hands into his hair, gripping tight as the other found his bicep, matching my grip. I needed to hold him, to feel him, to know that having him here like this wasn’t all a dream. His groans and pants filled the thickening air, like a melody in my ear, mingling with my own and the almost feral “mine” that ripped from his throat on a particularly hard thrust had me crying out for him, clawing at his arm as he repeated the intensity.

I was close, so close and as I felt his cock twitch inside of me I knew he was too. I locked my ankles around his hips, holding him inside of me as he rolled his hips quickly, head dropping onto my shoulder. The continued stimulation of that spot, the sweet spot inside of me only he could hit became too much, bringing stars to my eyes as I cried out his name, euphoria so strong I couldn’t feel my legs as I dug my nails so hard into his arm that I had surely drawn blood.

“I’m yours.” He groaned, hips faltering as he filled me, my cunt still pulsing around him with every spurt of warm cum.

Everything after that was a blur of being held in his arms, whispered I love you’s, and gentle caresses.

“We’ll go to HR as soon as possible, I don’t care what paperwork they want us to fill out or how much shit we’ll get from Morgan, I want everyone at that gala tonight to know that I love you.” He broke the silence, his words a final cementing comfort.

No more hiding, no more sneaking around, no more secrets. Only the two of us.

——

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dreamcubed · 7 months ago

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...ready for it? | mattheo riddle x reader

song; ...ready for it? [taylor swift] pairing; mattheo riddle x fem!muggle-born!reader genre; fake dating, s2l, fluff, smut word count; 5,3k timeline; subsidiary 8th year warnings; swearing, references to alcohol/drugs/smoking, violence, blood and injury, piv sex, unprotected sex, fingering, discrimination (of muggle-borns) summary; following the war, mattheo is suffocated by the association with his father, and decides there is only one way to make people see that he is nothing like him. you, on the other hand, want to prove to people that, in the year you've been in hiding, you have changed from the naïve goody-two-shoes you once were

screaming crying throwing up at how good tortured poets department is

masterlist

"in the middle of the night, in my dreams, you should see the things we do."

————————————————

The rumours followed Mattheo Riddle like hitmen— praying for his downfall, never leaving him alone, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. To many, it was obvious what he was before even meeting him. Evidently, the son of the Dark Lord was every bit as bad as his father, would fill his shoes now that he was dead, that there would be a Third Wizarding War with Mattheo at the very centre of it. Never mind that he hardly knew his father, that Voldemort had been gone for almost his entire childhood.

After the final demise of the Dark Lord, and Mattheo had elected to return to Hogwarts for the subsidiary eighth year, his reputation built on gossip and assumptions had only gotten worse. It hadn't helped that he now bore the dark mark on his left forearm, and he had tried to explain that his father had forced him to take it, that he would have hurt him in unthinkable ways if he didn't, but no one listened. No one cared. He still had his friends, but his association with them didn't help, as most of them were pure-blooded Slytherins whose families were death eaters.

But without them he would have nothing.

He didn't understand— no one was nearly as mad at Draco for walking over to the Dark Lord at the final battle as they were at him for simply possessing some of his DNA. It made him resent his cousin, but he knew he couldn't blame him. He had been every bit as coerced into the death eater cult as him: threatened with the deaths of them and their families.

Muggle-borns and the majority of the half-bloods avoided him like the plague; even some pure-bloods, who were far more politically correct, looked at him with distaste in their eyes. Mattheo wanted to scream to the whole world that he wasn't his father and didn't give a single fuck about blood purity. But who would listen? They would see that he was screaming and immediately associate his anger with the desire to start a war.

You, on the other hand, also couldn't escape your reputation. Prior to the war, you had been known as a goody-two-shoes, called uptight, boring, a smartass. While in hiding throughout seventh year, you had shed any resemblance you had to such an identity, but despite appearing and acting completely differently now you had returned for the subsidiary eighth year, your peers still treated you like a naïve and overly innocent child. Bullied you, even, in some more extreme cases. They viewed you as socially inept, sexually unaware, scared of alcohol, smoking and drugs.

They wouldn't listen when you told them that you had changed— so, there you found yourself, in a Saturday detention after doing something incredibly stupid to get people to stop seeing you that way. The stupid thing in question? You had let yourself get caught being outside of your house quarters after curfew. It was pathetic, and an admittedly idiotic thing to do just for the sake of changing your reputation, but there you were.

Worst thing was it hadn't even worked.

"I bet she had a panic attack," a Ravenclaw girl had giggled.

"She definitely got on her knees and started begging for the professor to show mercy," a Hufflepuff boy had laughed.

They still saw you as pathetic and helpless: a certified teacher's pet.

"Miss L/N, you'll be serving detention with Mr Riddle today," Professor McGonagall spoke, snapping you out of your self-pitying thoughts, "Your task will be to clean every cauldron here in the potions classroom— by hand, no magic— until they are gleaming."

You glanced over to your right to see that Mattheo Riddle was indeed sat there: he must have snuck in while you were deep in thought. It was just your luck, that your weak attempt would have the worst possible consequences— being stuck in detention with the Dark Lord's son as a muggle-born.

"I will check on you both periodically." The headmistress then departed, but not before saying to you, "I'm disappointed in you, Miss L/N."

Even your professors still saw you as naïve. It made you angry.

Mattheo watched you curiously as you stormed over to the big stack of cauldrons and roughly grabbed one, slamming it down on the floor and grabbing the muggle cleaning supplies left out. You started scrubbing in such an anger-fuelled rigorous manner that he almost forgot that he was supposed to be helping you.

"You gonna help or not?" you snapped.

His eyes widened, and he couldn't stop a smirk from gracing his lips, "Never thought I'd see the day where goody-two-shoes L/N is in detention and yells at me."

"Would people stop fucking saying that?" you said all too loud, "I hate it. I fucking hate it."

"Hate what?" Mattheo asked delicately, standing up and walking over to grab a cauldron from the pile.

"Being called a goody-two-shoes like I'm some kind of child," you scowled, "I'm sick of being treated like I've never even had a sip of alcohol."

This was the first time since before the war that a muggle-born had even entertained having a full conversation with Mattheo, even if you were filled with rage throughout it. Because of that, he decided that he needed to calm you down and make you actually like him— association with a muggle-born could completely transform his reputation.

"I'm sorry," he said delicately, the words foreign to him, "I didn't realise it hurt you so much."

You stopped scrubbing the cauldron to look up at him with shock evident on your face: had the son of Voldemort just apologised to you? He had to be mocking you, there was no way he wasn't. "You're making fun of me," you said cautiously.

"I'm not, I swear," he held his hands up in surrender, "I know all too well what it's like to not be able to escape a reputation."

"Aren't you in here for getting into a fight?" you raised an eyebrow curiously.

He nodded grimly, "Guy wouldn't stop saying I'm exactly like my father."

And that was when your opinion of Mattheo began to soften, and you started to feel bad for assuming he hated muggle-borns simply because of who his father was. But he did have the Dark Mark.

"If you're not like him, why did you get that?" you gestured towards his left arm, which was covered but everyone knew what sat there.

Mattheo drew back, "He was responsible for genocide, do you really think he was beyond threatening me if I didn't take it?" His words were cold, and angry.

"Sorry," you mumbled, regretting asking such a personal question when you hardly knew him.

Silence fell upon you both for a couple minutes as you polished away at the cauldrons.

"For the record, I didn't ever think you'd only had a sip of alcohol."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, "No?"

He shrugged, "Everyone gets drunk. I just thought you only did it outside of school."

A small smile crept on to your face, "Thank you, mind telling everyone else that?"

"Sure."

You had said it as a joke— you didn't expect him to be so agreeable. "Really?"

He nodded.

"Oh, God, now I feel so bad."

"Why?" Mattheo asked, finding your muggle-speaking mannerisms endearing.

"Because I believed your reputation."

"You don't anymore?"

You shook your head, "This is the first time someone's ever treated me my age."

He tilted his head curiously, "You know, I think we might be able to help each other's reputations."

"You do?"

"Think about it," he shifted closer to you, "People think I hate muggle-borns, you're a muggle-born. People think you're an innocent goody-two-shoes, I'm known for being quite the opposite."

"So...?"

"We date."

Your brain short circuited and you dropped your cloth into the cauldron, "We... date?"

"Not for real," he clarified, "Just until people's views of us are changed."

You thought it over. It was true: no one would think of Mattheo as like his father if he was willingly in a relationship with a muggle-born, and no real goody-two-shoes would date bad boy Mattheo Riddle.

"Okay," you said, holding out your hand, "Let's do it."

The boy smirked, taking your hand, "Perfect."

***

When you arrived at dinner that evening, after a long few hours of cleaning cauldrons until they glistened, it was hand in hand. He squeezed your palm softly as watchful eyes observed the two of you together, and he even tugged you over to the Slytherin table, making you give him a worried look.

"They'll be civil," he leaned down to whisper in your ear. You nodded nervously.

All of his friends were in silence as they watched you take a seat next to Mattheo, and their jaws almost dropped when he began dishing food on to your plate first. You felt embarrassed under their gaze, but you didn't let it show, thanking Mattheo once your plate was full. He gave you a soft smile that you had never seen grace his face before— not that you had ever been close enough to him to see it.

One of his friends, Blaise Zabini, cleared his throat and broke the silence, "So, uh, are you two a thing?"

"Yeah," your 'boyfriend' replied.

"I didn't even know you were courting," Blaise stated simply, clearly suspicious.

"There's a lot of things you don't know," Mattheo said vaguely, "Can't a man have some secrets?"

Silence fell once more.

"Do any of you have a problem?" he asked, the slightest hint of anger lacing his tone.

They all immediately shook their heads.

"Good."

Despite Mattheo's friends being remarkably docile towards you, you could still feel the stare of other people littered around the room. It was quite a shock, you supposed, as you two were probably the last couple anyone would have expected. Regardless, they should really learn to mind their business— if they did, you wouldn't have to be doing a whole fake dating scheme in the first place.

***

Mattheo walked you to class, held your hand in the corridors, and even carried your books for you wherever you went. Stares continued to follow, but people no longer called you a goody-two-shoes: no, instead when you overheard people ask about you, they said "she's Riddle's girl" instead. You would prefer to be thought of as your own person, but it was certainly a step up from the reputation that you were so sick of. That, and Mattheo had informed you that muggle-borns were no longer avoiding him like the plague, even occasionally nodding at him in the hallways. All around, the plan was working.

No one knew that your dating scheme was fake apart from the two of you, even his friends believed it— and, despite your blood status, they were beginning to warm up to you. Pansy especially, and you were grateful to finally have someone that you could consider a friend.

One chilly Tuesday morning, when Mattheo was walking you to your ancient runes lesson, there was another girl in your class being 'dropped off' by her boyfriend. You both watched as he leaned down to peck her lips before leaving, and you didn't think anything of it until you reached the door and Mattheo leaned down to press a soft kiss on your lips. Taken aback, your ears heated up, and you felt shy as he smirked at you.

"What was that for?" you whispered.

The man before you shrugged, "He did it. Can't have people knowing the truth about us."

"They have no reason to suspect it," you grumbled, but you couldn't deny the butterflies swarming around your stomach.

"Better safe than sorry," he grinned cheekily, "I'll see you later, doll, yeah?"

You nodded, caught off guard when he kissed you yet again.

You were in a daze when you entered the classroom, and you knew that everyone could guess why there was a smile plastered on your face. You felt like a lovesick fool, when you weren't even in love.

***

Mattheo had insisted that people would question the validity of your relationship if you didn't go on Hogsmeade dates together: every Hogwarts couple went on dates to Hogsmeade. You had reminded him that people had no reason to question whether or not your relationship was fake, but he had once again shrugged and said, "Better safe than sorry." Not that you minded, of course, you had always wanted to participate in the Hogsmeade dating tradition. Although, it did make you wonder how long this dating scheme would go on for, as Mattheo's reputation was essentially already completely transformed.

"Can we go in Honeydukes?" you asked as Mattheo, like the gentleman he apparently was, helped you down from the carriage.

"Of course," he smiled, not letting your hand go, "Wherever you want, doll."

Your stomach flipped, but there remained an itching notion in the back of your head. It was fake: it was all fake. He was only being so gentlemanly and caring to prove to the school that not only did he not share his father's views on muggle-borns, but that he could dote on one like it was his life's purpose. All he wanted was to no longer be seen as the devil's incarnate, so he presented himself as an angel. But, when he looked at you with that smirk and that glint in his eyes, it would feel real— just for the briefest moment. No one had ever been romantically interested in you before, maybe that's why you felt his actions deep in your core.

"Hello? Y/N?" his voice snapped you out of your drifting thoughts, and you realised that he was talking to you.

"Hm?"

"Thought I'd lost you there," he chuckled, "C'mon, doll— Honeydukes, remember?"

"Yeah, sorry," you looked down abashedly, and his grip on your hand tightened.

"Sometime this year, if that's okay with you."

***

Mattheo's ring-clad hands left a cool trail against your blazing skin, setting your insides alight as you felt wetness pool at your core. He had his signature smirk settled on his face, the smooth curve of his pink lips sending sparks throughout your body. The hazed look in his dark eyes likely mirrored the one in yours— you were getting desperate, revelling in the way he stared at your tits.

"Please, Matty," you murmured, begging for something, anything.

His sinister chuckle made your senses twitch and tingle. "Please what? What do you want, doll?"

"You," you said thoughtlessly, reaching your hands up to grasp on to his shirt.

"I'm all yours," he whispered, his hand trailing down to the inside of your shorts and panties. When he finally made contact with your slick entrance, your hips bucked up, grateful to have finally received some amount of stimulation. "You're so wet for me."

You hummed as he began tracing circles on your clit, forcing out a moaned, "Only for you."

He applied more pressure, making you grasp on to the bedsheets for dear life, unable to physically comprehend the magic feel of his calloused fingertips. The smirk on his face returned as he watched you writhe beneath him, and you felt your peak approaching faster than you had imagined was possible. Everything about it felt so right, so perfect, so erotic.

"You gonna come for me, angel?" he asked, his eyes locked on to yours.

You nodded.

"Then come."

And just as you felt your muscles begin to tighten and the pleasure begin to climax, the moment was cut short.

***

You were in bed, that much was still the same, but there was no sign of a Slytherin descendant anywhere in your vicinity, and your tits were not out in the open, being enclosed within your large pyjama shirt. You groaned, feeling the pool of wetness between your legs, but being unable to do anything about it due to your shared dormitory situation. Fuck, Mattheo wasn't even your real boyfriend, and you had just had a godly wet dream about him that lit a match in your soul.

How could you face him after picturing him in such an intimate situation? How could you pretend like you were okay with the surface-level falseness of your façade? He was your doom's day: you could feel it. You should never have agreed to a fake relationship, and remained begrudgingly within your outdated reputation.

Reluctantly, you peeled the covers off of your sweating body, and made your way to the showers.

***

Avoiding him was just as impossible as being around him. For one, you couldn't risk people questioning the stability or realness of your relationship. For two, the second you entered the Great Hall for breakfast, he was beckoning you over to where his friends were. And you couldn't very well ignore him when he had done absolutely nothing wrong.

"Hey, doll," he greeted you, pecking your cheek in the process. The very action made the flame burn brighter.

"Hi," you all but squeaked, focusing your attention on taking some waffles.

"We were just discussing the next quidditch game."

"It's a guaranteed win for Slytherin," Zabini smirked, knowing full well that the team that they would be playing against was your house's.

You scrunched up your nose, "I wouldn't be so sure."

"Are you not even gonna wear my jumper during the game?" Mattheo asked, sending yet another sparking bolt straight through your veins. You could feel your body heating up just by being in his presence.

"Against any other house I would, but I have to draw the line somewhere," you said, hoping your voice sounded completely normal and not at all like you craved his naked form. Unfortunately, the appeal of wearing a clothing item that would have his scent woven into its fabric was not helping your case.

"Pity," he grumbled.

Thankfully, Zabini challenging your opinion that Slytherin wasn't guaranteed to win led to a wonderfully distracting argument with the rest of the Slytherin boys. Not only was it a distraction, but it also made you feel as if they saw you as an equal, not just as a muggle-born, but in age and lack of innocence as well. It was a stupid notion, but it was the kind of treatment that you had desired for so long.

"I can't stand this quidditch talk any longer," Pansy finally said, having remained quiet for the majority of the conversation, "Y/N, wanna get away from the men?"

"Please," you murmured, grateful to escape the intoxicating presence of Mattheo.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

Pansy shook her head as she stood up, "Anywhere but here. The girls' toilets if it means getting away from you all."

You giggled, going to stand up. You felt Mattheo's hand grasp your wrist, giving way to tingly sensations reminiscent of last night's dream.

"I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Of course," you nearly stuttered, "We have defence against the dark arts."

He nodded, letting go of your wrist, before saying to Pansy, "Don't keep her too long."

"Calm down, lover boy," she retorted, linking arms with you as you began to walk off.

The last thing you heard from the Slytherin boys was Berkshire saying to Mattheo, "You're pussy-whipped, mate."

Oh, how you wished he was.

***

"I don't know how you managed to lock down prince of the fuckboys Mattheo," Pansy spoke as you both entered the girls' toilets, "And I do see the way he looks at you-"

"The way he looks at me?"

She nodded, "Like you're the only girl in the room— but, please be careful. I don't want you getting hurt."

You knew that it was too late for that, as you had caught feelings in a fake relationship, and it was killing you inside that you couldn't tell anyone about it. All you could do was agree with Pansy. "Thank you for your concern, I appreciate it."

"Of course, we're friends," Pansy smiled, "And I love Mattheo dearly as a friend, but I know his history when it comes to romance and sex."

"People change," you murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

"That they do," she agreed, "But just be sure of Mattheo's change before you fall madly in love with him."

Somehow you feared it was too late for that.

***

During defence against the dark arts— a theory lesson, unfortunately— you found your seat next to Mattheo as you let Pansy's words mull over you. The anxious pondering that you were in too deep caused you to start nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It was an action that did not go unnoticed by Mattheo, who furrowed his eyebrows at your behaviour. Gently, he placed his hand on your thigh and watched as you froze up at the contact.

Because, little did he know, the simple act of a touch so close to your core sent tingling flashbacks of your dream of him flooding through your veins. Your skin became ablaze with desire, and long gone was the obsessive overthinking about what Pansy had said to you. You sucked in a shallow breath, gripping your quill tightly as you glanced towards Mattheo who was now looking at you with thrice the concern than he was earlier.

"You okay?" he whispered.

You gulped and nodded, but it was clear that he didn't believe you. He squeezed your thigh gently, and you swore that your brain nearly short-circuited— yet you didn't want to push his hand off. This moment was so far removed from the fake external image of your relationship that you temporarily forgot all of your concerns. No one could see where his hand was: it served no purpose towards your reputation as a couple.

Merlin knows you would never be able to recall the content of that lesson.

***

One breezy autumnal afternoon and you were walking down the hallway, hand in hand with Mattheo and giggling about this and that. You had finally pushed Pansy's warning to the very back of your mind, and allowed yourself to almost fully immerse yourself in the moment with your so-called boyfriend. The interlocked nature of your hands felt natural as you paid no mind to bystanders.

That was, until, the unmistakable word of mudblood passed through your ears from the direction of a seventh year Slytherin, who evidently disapproved of your newfound association with the house. It was annoying, really, how your ears always tuned into that word no matter how distracted you were. You paused in your movements and stared at him: you were no longer timid, nor a push-over. Mattheo looked confusedly at you and where you were looking.

"What are you looking at, mudblood?" the seventh year sneered at you, and before you could even say anything, Mattheo's hand had let go of yours.

And he had barrelled right into the boy, throwing merciless punches as his face went stone cold. "Do you wanna say that again, hm?" he spat, landing another solid hit, "Don't ever fucking talk about my girlfriend like that."

You stared in shock at the brawl, feeling a whole wave of mixed emotions— Mattheo was defending you, and by God did he look fucking hot doing it. But, also, you really should break up the fight before he committed manslaughter.

"Mattheo," you said softly, but he didn't hear you, so you said louder and more sternly, "Mattheo."

His movements ceased and he resorted to staring down at the boy who now groaned in pain, covered in blood and already darkening bruises.

"This was a warning," he said carefully, "Next time I won't stop."

You shook your head, grabbing his bicep to pull him off the boy for good and dragging him away. It was lucky there hadn't been a professor around, but they would probably still find out one way or another and Mattheo would get punished. For now, however, he was yours to deal with.

"I can fight my own battles," you bit off, but there wasn't any real malice in your tone.

"I know," he said simply.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, "Thank you, though, for defending me."

"Of course. No one belittles my girl."

Your heart flipped— there was nobody around, there was no reason for him to say that. Deciding to focus your attention in order to ignore the thumping of your heart, you analysed his hands. "We need to get you cleaned up."

"It's just a little blood," he shrugged.

"A little is still too much. C'mon."

You dragged him to the abandoned girls' toilets, where Moaning Myrtle resided, and ran some toilet paper (which had probably been there for decades) under the tap. As you began delicately wiping down the injuries, Mattheo watched you with intrigue, admiring your attention to detail. Little did he know, you were simply trying to stop yourself from replaying the sexiest image you had ever scene in your life inside your head. You felt as if you were about to burst into flames.

Once you were finally done, you chucked the toilet paper into a toilet and re-emerged from the cubicle, making eye contact with the man leaning against the sinks. Moaning Myrtle seemed to be nowhere in sight.

Which was a good thing, because the tension in the air was thick— thicker than blood. You bit your lip as Mattheo's eyes raked down your body and drank you in. Under his gaze, you felt purely animalistic: beauty didn't matter, intelligence didn't matter... all that mattered was skin on skin and bodies becoming one. But, when it became clear no one was going to make a move, you said, "Pansy warned me about you."

"In what way?" he smirked.

"That I shouldn't get in too deep with the prince of fuckboys until I'm sure you've changed."

"And do you think I've changed?"

"What does it matter? We're not actually together."

A flash of hurt coursed through Mattheo at the reminder, but he remained stoic and said, "That's not what I asked, is it?"

You stared at him blankly.

"Do you think I've changed?" he repeated.

You said nothing.

"Because I think I've changed," he stepped closer to you, "So, I'll ask you one more time, do you think I've changed?"

"Yes," you replied feebly.

"My friends think I've changed," he continued, "They think I'm pussy-whipped."

You felt bold for the briefest moment, and asked, "Are you?"

He shrugged, leaning his face down until it was inches from yours, "I don't know yet. Guess we'll have to find out."

And then his lips were on yours in a passionate frenzy. None of those pecks he had given you in greeting and goodbye: no, this was a real kiss, one that had the fire in your heart dancing erratically. You pulled away, breathless, to see that Mattheo was looking at you with hazy dark eyes.

"Was that real?" you asked.

"Well, it happened, didn't it?"

You shook your head, "I mean, was it real?"

A smirk tugged on his lips, "No one was here to see, sweetheart."

And that was all the confirmation you needed to kiss him again, sliding your tongue along his lips as he grabbed your ass, squeezing and groaning. You felt electric, alive— transcendent. His mouth moved from your lips, to along your jaw, to your neck. He sucked and licked in a way that had you letting out a gasp, melting under his touch.

"You're my nicotine," he mumbled, slipping a hand under your skirt and pushing you back against the wall.

You moaned as his fingers glided over your clit.

"You like that, doll?"

Helplessly, you nodded, your legs buckling as he applied more pressure and more vigour.

"Mhm, that's my girl," he murmured, bringing you quicker to your release than you had ever been able to manage yourself.

"Fuck, Matty, I'm gonna come," you gasped out, hips bucking up as you leaned against the tiled wall.

He chuckled as you rode out your high, the slickness of your pussy creating a squelching sound throughout the acoustics of the massive vacant toilets.

"I hate it when my friends call me that," he muttered, pulling his fingers out from under your skirt.

Your ears heated up even more— if that was possible— and you quickly rushed out a, "Sorry."

"Don't be," he kissed your lips softly, "I like it when you say it."

Your lips curved into a shy smile.

"Do you mind if we deal with a certain problem?" he asked, gesturing to the tent in his trousers that had more slick leaking from you at the sight of.

"Of course," you said slyly, a new wave of confidence rushing over you. Slowly, you walked around him and sauntered over to the sinks, pulling your tights and panties down as you leaned forward and lifted up your skirt.

"Fuck," you heard him curse, "You really have changed."

And then he was behind you, as suggested by the sound of a zipper so close to you, and the fact you could see him in the mirror. You watched as he pulled out his dick, which was thick and long, making your mouth water as he lined himself up with your entrance.

"Are you sure?" he questioned, not sure if he could take any answer but 'yes'.

You bobbed your head, "Fuck me, Matty."

"As you wish, doll." And then he was inside you, filling you to the brim and making you feel as if you were finally whole.

"Fuck," you gasped, clutching the edge of the sink as he began thrusting, your eyes tightly shut.

"Look at me."

You opened your eyes, making eye contact with him in the looking glass. Sweat was gathered on his brow, and his hands were tightly on your hips— you felt so close to him, in such a real and authentic way that had your soul burning.

One of his hands moved, retreating out of your view, but you knew exactly where it went when you felt a jolt of pleasure shooting through you. He rubbed circles that had you seeing stars, your moans and curses pushing Mattheo close to the edge along with the pure ecstasy of how you felt around him. He didn't think he had ever been so vocal during sex before, but with you, everything felt brand new. Finally, Mattheo felt like he belonged somewhere, felt like he was nothing like his father— but he had no place in his thoughts at that moment. Instead, he focused on you and the clothed curves of your body, until he was about to explode.

"Can I come inside you?" he panted.

In a sex haze, you moaned, "Yes."

And then his release hit, the throbbing of his dick pushing you to your second orgasm as his movements became sloppy. Eventually, once your highs had been ridden through, he stopped moving, the only sounds remaining being the ones of heavy breathing. When he had pulled out, and you had both cleaned up and done up your clothes, you gave him a teasing smile.

"Are we real now?"

He chuckled, "This was never fake. Not to me."

"Well, then, boyfriend," you smirked, "Better scurry on and get me a Plan B potion."

He pressed a kiss to your lips, "Yes, ma'am."

And he took your hand in his.

———————————————

masterlist

written; 10/04/2024 —> 25/04/2024 published; 25/04/2024 edited; —/—/——

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comikadraws · 1 month ago

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The "No Regrets" Line

At the request of @the-real-sasuke-uchiha and because this seems to be a common point of critique of Itachi Uchiha.

So yeah. This is the explanation all of you have been waiting for. I've got Japanese raws, researched the original expression used, and now I'm here to let you know how haters never seem to understand this scene.

Length: • 1.8K Content: • The "Wrong" Translation • The Correct Translation • A Quote Taken Out of Context

DISCLAIMER: Blue links are sources. The art in the header is mine but drawn referencing Kishimoto's original art.

The "Wrong" Translation

We all know it. We all have heard it. It regularly comes up in anti-Itachi discourse to show fans how much of a remorseless monster Itachi truly is. It's the infamous "I have no regrets" line at the end of the Kabuto fight.

And it shows up not just in the manga but in the official English Sub and Dub as well. So it should be perfectly fine, shouldn't it?

Well. Before anybody's attention span gives out, this is indeed a translation error. Sort of, at least. The English translation is "correct" but it sacrifices nuance for the sake of a simpler, crispier line. Unfortunately, this nuance just so happens to be a vital puzzle piece to understanding both Itachi and Sasuke in this scene. The lack thereof became the origin of many misconceptions about Itachi's words and, therefore, his true character.

So, instead of its true meaning, many people who read "no more regrets" ended up interpreting the line somewhat like this:

"I never regretted anything I ever did. Just deal with it, Sasuke."

And that interpretation has since turned into a stubborn misbelief within the anti-Itachi part of the fandom, so much so that it has developed a life of its own. People no longer analyze the entire scene but instead, they rip two panels out of context. They no longer quote Itachi's "I have no more regrets" but instead simplify it further to "I have no regrets" as if he never had any regrets, ever.

Don't believe me? Here's a compilation!

DISCLAIMER: I intentionally did not include sources or usernames in the compilation to avoid unnecessary witch-hunting of people who just didn't know any better or fell victim to Itachi hate propaganda. If you recognize a comment of yours and would instead like to be credited as its author, please let me know.

The Correct Translation

But now, let's take a look at what Itachi was actually meant to say in that scene. I found a Japanese raw and had a friend (who is studying Japanese) translate it for me.

Kana: もうこの世界に未練はない Rōmaji: Mō kono sekai ni miren wanai. English: I have no more attachments to this world.

If you don't believe me, you can literally enter that full sentence into Google Translate and it will provide you with the exact same translation.

And by now you probably wonder "How the fck did this happen" because the mistranslation appears to change the message of Itachi's words drastically. One speaks of resignation; The other is complacency. What rid the translator here?

Well. The secret lies in the Japanese word 未練 "Miren". It is one of many words in Japanese that express feelings of regret, each with different nuances. 後悔 "Koukai", for example, could have been a perfectly viable option had Itachi meant plain regrets or remorse for his actions. But "Miren" expresses a more complex emotion.

To better understand the meaning of "Miren", I checked three different Japanese-to-English dictionary sites [1] [2] [3]. It translates to a multitude of different words, including "lingering affection", "attachment", "reluctance", "ruefulness", and "regret". When in use, it means a reluctance to abandon or depart from something. I was told that "miren" often appears in the context of breakups, expressing an attachment to a past romance. The regret part refers, in this case, to a life that could have been or once was that you refuse to let go of. Having "Miren" means that you want to stay and that you would regret leaving. Not having any "Miren" means you are ready to move on.

Itachi uses this expression in reference to 世界 "Sekai" (World) to mean that he no longer feels a lingering attachment to the (mortal) world or life itself. He considers his own job done - Not because he thinks himself to have finished the job but instead because he has no belief in his own ability to change things for the better. With nothing left to salvage, he is ready to move on.

It is not that Itachi thinks he is a good person. He is simply just giving up. This becomes more apparent when viewing the line in context.

A Quote Taken Out of Context

What should probably be mentioned as well is that while the "no regrets" translation definitely does Itachi a disservice, haters usually also rip the line out of its original context unnecessarily. Not that I entirely blame them, as the trajectory of both Sasuke's and Itachi's thoughts is not exactly straightforward. Add to that that the butchered translation can easily be twisted to imply a different meaning entirely - especially when followed by the younger Uchiha's reaction - and you might end up interpreting Sasuke's words somewhat like this:

"You have no more regrets? You have been and are aiding the village that ruined you - That ruined me! And it is your fault! How dare you say you don't regret that?! How dare you side with them? How dare you make those your last words?!"

The outrage becomes very pronounced, is what I am saying.

At first glance, it seems as though Sasuke searches for any signs of his brother's guilt and regret, fishing for an apology, perhaps. But anybody who has paid any attention at all already knows that Itachi has expressed his guilt and regrets multiple times over already.

Aside from being shocked and disheartened to learn that Sasuke has joined the Akatsuki, he consistently frames this turn in Sasuke's path as a result of Itachi's own actions. While, yes, he recognizes "Madara's" involvement in all this, he rather says "It's my fault you became what you are now" and "I turned you into a criminal" than distracting from his own responsibility. And then when Sasuke describes Itachi as "perfect", the one thing that Itachi points out, in order to contradict this notion, is his attempts to manipulate Sasuke, characterizing them as mistakes or a character flaw of his. Itachi even denies himself the right to berate Sasuke for his decisions because he knows the weight of his mistakes.

So no, Sasuke knows that Itachi experienced profound guilt over his actions and feels deep regret - Both for their manipulative nature as well as for the effect they had on Sasuke. Sasuke has no reason to demand an admission of guilt he has already received.

But then, what does Sasuke want from Itachi? For that, let's take a look at the true context of this scene.

It begins with Sasuke's realization that, with the release of the Edo Tensei, Itachi is going to disappear yet again. Their words are meant to be interpreted somewhat like this:

"The dead revived with Edo Tensei will disappear." "But that means you will leave as well." "I know, but I accept that outcome. Even if it will be the end of me as well, I will have protected Konoha - my homeland. But beyond this, there is nothing else left for me to help with. I have no other purpose in the world of the living."

And it is not before this that Sasuke has his outburst. Much like Itachi's line about lingering attachments, the intent of Sasuke's words changes now that the mistranslation is out of the way. And much like last time, context reinforces this interpretation of Sasuke's response.

"Why would you sacrifice yourself for Konoha again? What they did was unforgivable! You should want to stay rather than help them at the cost of your life."

Sasuke clearly frames Itachi as the victim in the first part of his outburst. He is angry at Konoha not because of what they did to him but because of what they did to Itachi. He then builds upon that.

"And even if you do forgive, I still won't. I will remain their enemy. You helping Konoha will be futile. I need fixing. You've said it yourself. Both your guilt and the threat I pose should be a lingering attachment to you! So beyond Konoha not deserving your attention, I actually do require it! You are not done in this world yet."

In the second part, Sasuke picks up Itachi's own words and turns them against him. He makes himself out to be both a threat and a mistake to appeal to Itachi's wish to protect Konoha as well as his guilt over failing Sasuke.

In his mind, he must either convince Itachi that Konoha is not worth the lingering attachments or remind Itachi that Sasuke should be considered a lingering attachment (or rather, unfinished business) as well. The idea is to make one option more appealing than the other. Upon success, Itachi will stay.

The reason why is elaborated on in the next chapter. He still needs to learn the truth from Itachi but also he is longing for his older brother that he still feels affection toward.

I am not saying that Sasuke's hatred for Konoha doesn't play a role or that he is not indignant over Itachi's dedication to saving the village. It is simply that Sasuke is not just merely having an outburst, as his words are more deliberate than that, even while wrapped in anger and incomprehension. Sasuke isn't actually being malicious but desperate instead. It uncovers a layer of vulnerability in his character.

Back to Chapter #588, Itachi knows that Sasuke is not looking for an admission of guilt from him. So instead of an apology, Itachi responds, saying he is not the one to change the younger Uchiha. Instead, he believes it is Naruto who can and will stop Sasuke.

Itachi's reasoning here is that he no longer believes himself fit to steer Sasuke onto the right path. The older brother has made too many mistakes to believe himself worthy or competent enough to take on such a role in Sasuke's life. This decision was made more than 30 chapters prior (or more than 200 chapters ago, actually), when Itachi decided to leave Sasuke to Naruto.

(Obviously what is actually going on is that Kishimoto must shoehorn Naruto into the equation, but I am trying to explain Itachi's in-universe reasoning)

It is certainly a heartbreaking interpretation in which Sasuke seeks justice and wants his brother to understand his crimes, admit to them, and take it all back. One in which, instead of a brother, all he is given is a mindless puppet of Konoha.

However, the true meaning of the scene is that Itachi already has accepted his crimes. He already has sought justice for them. But this acceptance, this guilt, and those regrets are exactly the reason why Itachi is ready to move on. There is nothing keeping him in life because, in his opinion, he isn't worth it. Sasuke, instead, wants for his brother to stay. It is a longing that Itachi cannot fulfill - Not when this selfishness will get people killed or possibly spell the end for Konoha.

Isn't this a tragic way to look at it, too?

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venus-haze · 2 years ago

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My Destruction Is an Hour Late (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: As a nameless, faceless administrative assistant, you never expected any members of The Seven to give you the time of day. In your year or so of working at Vought, Homelander’s taken a particular liking to you, always seeking you out to help him with whatever tasks or projects he can conjure up to take up as much of your time as possible. When you’re not available to help him after hours since you have a date planned, his interest in you proves to be far more than professional.

Note: Reader is a woman but no other descriptors are used. First time writing for Homelander so I hope it’s at least okay! Y/N naming convention isn’t used in this, Homelander only refers to you by pet names. This takes place between seasons 1 and 2. On the shorter side of what I usually write, but a lot happens in this. Title comes from one of my favorite lines from Buddy’s Rendezvous by Father John Misty. Do not interact if you are under 18 or if you post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Homelander is a warning. Suspected murder, age gap (Homelander is in his 40s while the reader is 20s/30s), emotional manipulation, some dubcon which involves explicit depictions of food play and mommy kink. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Being part of the corporate machine wasn’t exactly what you’d dreamed of when you were a little girl, but working for Vought softened the blow. You could see the look in people’s eyes when you told them who your employer was, one of the first things strangers learned about you. Interest and envy punctuated every question, but what everyone wanted to know was ‘Have you ever met any of The Seven?’

You had, and you weren’t sure whether it was a good or bad thing that in your drive to keep the best paying job you’d ever had in an overpriced city like New York, you earned a reputation of reliability, which meant extra assignments but the overtime pay to go with it. One supe in particular was the source of most of your after hours work. Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased about the singular occasion when you were unavailable.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you said. “I can’t tonight. I blocked off my time this evening on my calendar.”

“Yes, I saw that, but what could you possibly be doing that you can’t help me with this? You’re my go-to! I thought you were reliable, but this is—“

“I have a date,” you said softly.

His jaw clenched, and you could’ve sworn you saw a flash of red in his eyes for a brief moment as he glared at you. He couldn’t have been that angry that you wouldn’t stay late to help him, not when there were dozens of other low-level Vought employees around. You couldn’t accept jealousy as a possible motivation, perhaps possessiveness, you’d heard of his odd relationship with Madelyn Stilwell, who was killed a little over a month after Vought hired you.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you repeated weakly. “I can help tomorrow.”

He scoffed, clearly expecting you to offer to cancel your date to help him instead. Vought was one of the highest paying employers in the city, and you’d heard from your acquaintances in the HR department that the average job posting got well over 2,000 applicants on the low end. It wasn't uncommon for employees to work late nights here and there, but it seemed like so much of your time was consumed by Homelander. You’d foolishly volunteered to help him with something not long after you’d been hired, and as he said, you’d become his go-to. He intimidated you, but at times you found he could be almost sweet when it was just the two of you.

In all honesty, your social life had suffered immensely since you began working at Vought, and some of your friends had stopped the pretense of asking if you were free when they were planning to hang out, and you’d only become aware of the plans when you saw the Instagram stories after the fact. Restaurants, concerts, weekend trips—that used to be you. In a fit of loneliness and desperation one of the few nights you didn’t arrive back at your apartment and practically collapse asleep, you’d opened all of the dating apps you hadn’t touched in months, and quickly arranged a dinner date at your place with a nice enough guy named Jesse.

You sunk into your desk chair, an expensive ergonomic one he specifically had Ashley order for you because you’d complained of back pain once. Returning to your assignment at hand, you tried to ignore the eyes on you for declining Homelander’s request. At least five o’clock came sooner rather than later, and you rushed to gather your things, wanting to get out of the building as quickly as possible to avoid any further confrontations.

It was odd leaving Vought Tower when it was still light out. You’d almost gotten used to leaving for work and coming home in the dark. The train back to your apartment was unusually crowded, a consequence of actually leaving at rush hour. Jesse would be over at seven, leaving you just an hour and a half when you got back home to cook and get ready. You’d decided on lasagna, a dish easy to make but equally easy to impress with.

Multitasking dinner and fixing up your hair and makeup probably wasn’t the best idea you’d ever had, but before working at Vought, you loved to entertain. It’d been so long, though, you’d forgotten how involved it was. Despite nearly spilling pasta sauce on your simple yet classic black dress, you were a bit relieved when Jesse seemed to be running a few minutes late–until a few minutes turned into far more.

7:14 ‘If you need directions, let me know!’

7:36 ‘Hey, is everything okay?’

7:53 ‘Are you seriously ghosting me?’

At a few minutes past eight, you angrily typed a simple ‘Fuck you’ when a knock at the door startled you, and you nearly pressed send when you flinched. You had half a mind not to answer. Who the hell did he think he was showing up an hour late? Another impatient, more forceful knock echoed through your apartment and you rose to your feet, throwing your phone aside on the couch and storming over to the front door.

Opening it, you expected to see your less than punctual date in your doorway. Instead, the man at your door looked extremely out of place in your modest apartment building.

“Homelander?”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Is that lasagna I smell? Yummy.”

“I—what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you, but—“

A drop of blood rolled from one of his gloved hands and onto the floor in the hallway. Your mind immediately raced to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’d just apprehended some violent criminal. Although, in that case, he’d return to the tower right away and report the incident for the crime analytics team.

“I was just in the area and thought I’d stop by,” he said casually, as if he regularly came over to your place unannounced.

You nodded, moving out of the way for him to enter. “Of course, um, is everything okay?”

Vought kept all employee information in a database, and you were sure he had access to it and found your address that way. Still, it didn’t make any sense. You weren’t important on the Vought totem pole, and you didn’t feel like you and Homelander were all that close. Though, it seemed he knew far more about you than you could have anticipated.

The more you considered it, though, the timing, the convenience of his arrival in the absence of your date, not to mention the literal blood on his hands—you looked at him, wide-eyed at the man who just stepped foot in your home, not wanting to believe the worst but knowing it’d be dishonest otherwise.

Homelander grinned, his pearly white canines glistening like fangs beneath the soft lighting you’d carefully set up in your living room. “Now, why are you looking at me like I’m the big bad wolf?”

Your lip trembled. “It’s nothing.”

“Perfect! Then let’s eat,” he announced jovially. “I’m sure you’ve been waiting long enough.”

“Sure, make yourself at home,” you said.

You went into the kitchen to retrieve the lasagna from the oven, which you’d kept at a low temperature to keep the dish warm but not overcook. Grabbing fresh basil from the fridge, you garnished the pasta with a few leaves. Suddenly lasagna seemed like a stupid choice. Jesse probably would have appreciated it, but Homelander was used to food cooked by Vought’s staff of professional chefs. It was too simple, even if you had made the sauce yourself.

He glanced around at the decor in your apartment while you busied yourself in the kitchen. A framed print of Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart on your wall, a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice among the books stacked on your coffee table, assorted candles glowing softly in your dim apartment, “You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

You could feel your face heat up at his correct observation, nodding bashfully as you set the tray of lasagna on the table. It didn’t help that in your excitement for the evening, you’d made a ‘first date playlist’ consisting of Elvis, Sinatra, Simone, and some other older artists that played softly from the speaker you had set on the counter. It wasn’t like you had expected Jesse to be the one, but you wanted to indulge yourself.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I am too, really,” he said, his voice oddly assuring, as if he weren’t saying it just to humor you. “Not many of us hopeless romantics around anymore.”

He had taken off his gloves since you’d gone into the kitchen, laying them neatly next to his plate. You ignored the small droplets of blood that had pooled on the table, focusing on making sure the serving of lasagna didn’t collapse into an unsightly mess on his plate. At least luck was on your side in that respect, as you nearly sighed in relief at the nice presentation. You were a bit less careful with your own serving before sitting down across from him.

Having Homelander eat your food felt more nerve-wracking than if Gordon Ramsay were over, it wasn’t like the latter could laser your kitchen table in half if he thought it was horrible.

“Goddamn, this is delicious. What’s that I taste in here?” He sounded genuine, not patronizing as you almost expected. Maybe he just didn’t eat lasagna very often.

“I seasoned the ricotta,” you said.

He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I didn’t know you cook like this.”

“I love to cook, I just haven’t had much time recently.”

“Interesting what you learn about people outside of work.” He grimaced a bit when he took a sip of wine. That was on you and your tendency to buy cheap alcohol. You could stomach the subpar taste for the sake of the buzz, but as far as you knew, Homelander couldn’t get drunk, so there wasn’t even that benefit.

“I can get you something else to drink. I’m so sorry,” you said. “I have water, iced tea, I think some soda, too.”

He looked at your fridge and huffed, displeased. “You have half a bottle of flat Coke. I’ll take the tea.”

You could’ve given A-Train a run for his money with how fast you raced into the kitchen to pour Homelander a glass of iced tea and bring it back to him.

“Did you find someone to help you with that thing you mentioned earlier?” you asked as you handed him the drink.

He shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “No, like you said, it can wait until tomorrow.”

You hummed in response, biting back a comment about how it didn’t seem like it just a few hours ago. Instead, you sat back down and focused on finishing the lasagna on your plate. Suddenly it seemed like far too much, but you powered through the rest of the meal you’d worked so hard to make as Homelander led most of the conversation, while you gave short responses, hoping he’d get the hint at how uncomfortable you were. If he did, he certainly didn’t care.

“So, what’s for dessert?” he asked when you collected the dirty plates from the table.

“Ice cream,” you answered. “I’ll get yours first.”

“Nonsense, we can share,” he said.

You merely nodded, disappearing into the kitchen to pull the small carton of vanilla ice cream from your freezer. The bowls in your cupboard seemed too pedestrian to serve Homelander in, until you remembered the plastic, diner-style ice cream cups you’d bought not long after you moved into your apartment. Carefully scooping the dessert into the cup, you were pleased with how professional it looked.

Ice cream and spoon in hand, you set both in front of Homelander, who looked from the treat to you. “Ooh, vanilla, such an under-appreciated flavor, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” you answered, unwilling to admit you’d only bought it because it was on sale, and you had left over chocolate syrup from when you were on your brief home cafe kick.

You yelped when he pulled you onto his lap, bracing yourself by placing your hands on his chest. He seemed pleased at your reaction, smiling as he took a spoonful of ice cream and held it in front of your mouth.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he said.

You leaned in, opening your mouth and allowing him to feed the dessert to you. His smile widened when you swallowed.

“Okay, my turn,” he said cheerfully, ignoring the way your hand shook as you scooped up a generous amount of ice cream and put the spoon in his mouth.

The moan he let out as he sucked the ice cream off of the spoon was nothing short of sinful, and you felt ashamed that it stirred something in you. Sure, you found Homelander attractive and had a brief crush on him before coming to terms with the fact that it’d never happen, but this was just bizarre.

The odd ritual continued for another few agonizing minutes, and it was almost like he was going out of his way to see how much you would put up with before you’d protest or challenge him. You told yourself it was because you wanted to keep your job, and you were definitely afraid of him, but a small part of you that you tried to push deep into the recesses of your mind was starting to enjoy it.

“You know, I’m having a great time. We should do this more often,” he said, finally setting aside the half-empty cup.

You gulped. “Yeah, if you want to.”

“Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that, I just–I was expecting someone else tonight.”

“Right. Jesse,” he said, spitting the name like venom.

You’d never told Homelander your date’s name in the brief conversation you’d had with him about it back at the tower. There was no way he couldn’t hear your heart racing. If you didn’t calm down, you were sure your dinner was going to make an unwelcome reappearance.

“So, what was the plan after the romantic candle lit dinner? Just a kiss goodnight, or were you going to let him fuck you?” he asked, his voice flat as he pinned you in place with nothing more than a cold stare.

You balked at his wording. Not that you hadn’t heard him curse before, it was a shock in and of itself the first time he dropped the f-bomb in front of you. He’d never been so directly crass toward you, though. “I-I don’t—“

“You don’t put out on the first date?” he finished. “Really make ‘em work for it, huh?”

“I just don’t want to be that intimate with someone I don’t know well,” you answered, shifting uncomfortably in his lap.

“Good thing you know me like the back of your hand, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed absentmindedly.

His fingers brushed one of the slinky spaghetti straps of your black dress, the caress reminding you of how easily he could break you if he wanted to. You'd seen him lift cars with his bare hands and not even break a sweat. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then to the crook of your neck, then your cheek, until finally he captured your lips in a kiss that left you dizzy. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until he forced your mouth open with his tongue.

Tangling your fingers in his hair in an attempt to steady yourself only encouraged him.

He pulled you closer so you were fully straddling him, and you knew despite the force with which he held your hips in place, he was holding back. You nearly choked on your own spit, or perhaps it was a mix of yours and his at this point. He was already pushing it with how much force you could handle, and he was holding back.

When he finally pulled away, you looked at him, glassy-eyed and lips surely in the process of bruising. You could feel his hardening cock through his suit as it pressed against your thighs. He stared at you, intense and uncomfortable for a few moments before his gaze wandered right next to your ass. He picked up the cup of melted ice cream with one hand, and tore open the front of your dress with the other, as if it were nothing more than tissue paper.

“You dress like such a little prude at work, but this–fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Before you could respond, he poured some of the melted ice cream over your chest, and you gasped at the sensation of the cool liquid making contact with your skin. He watched, mesmerized as it rolled down your breasts, a droplet of vanilla hanging from one of your exposed nipples. He dipped his head, licking it gently before taking your breast in his mouth.

You whimpered as his teeth harshly grazed your nipple, needy and insatiable as he lapped up the sticky ice cream that’d begun to dry on your chest.

“Fuck, mommy,” he whined against your skin, throwing you for one hell of a loop.

He poured the rest of the vanilla ice cream on your chest, some of it landing on your already ruined dress. Throwing the cup aside without a second thought, he brought his attention to your other breast which he’d simply been groping until then. You nearly jumped when he grabbed your hand, threading your fingers through his hair. Oh god, he wanted you to pull him closer.

Hesitantly, you pushed his face against your breast, his moan practically vibrating through you. You kept your hand in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as he relentlessly sucked and licked your breasts. The stimulation was almost too intense to be pleasurable, but the wetness between your legs said otherwise. You couldn’t hide that from a man like Homelander, your gut twisting at the realization he could probably smell your arousal.

He was fully hard now, and with how rough he was getting, you could tell he was close. Biting your sensitive lip, you slipped your hand between your bodies, rubbing his hard on through his suit.

“Oh fuck, mommy, don’t stop,” he moaned.

It felt almost wrong, seeing the most powerful superhero in the world so vulnerable, but you knew better. Despite the facade of submissiveness, he was in control.

“Are-are you close, baby?” you asked, hoping if you played the part, the less time you’d be subject to his troubling fetish.

“Yes,” he whined. “God, I’m–”

He squeezed your breast when he came, and if you weren’t sure it’d be bruised in the morning before, that had made you certain. You gasped in pain, tears rolling down your cheeks which he wiped away in his post-orgasm haze.

“You did so good. You did so fucking good, just like I knew you would,” he praised.

He picked you up like you were nothing, and in a way, you were nothing. Your body was already pushed to limits you’d never experienced before, and the night was far from over, as you’d find three hours and a broken box spring later. You weren’t sure at what point you’d fallen asleep–or maybe passed out was more like it–but when you awoke the next morning well past nine o’clock, your body was almost too sore to move as quickly as you needed it to.

“Good morning, babe,” Homelander greeted as you shuffled into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as if he owned the place.

“Homelander, I’m going to be late—“

“No you’re not. I already called in for you, let ‘em know you’re taking a sick day. We can keep the little white lie between us,” he said, with a mischievous smile and a wink.

“Oh,” was all you managed as you sat at the table, a wrapped breakfast sandwich and cup of coffee from the bagel shop you stopped in every morning was sitting neatly at your place. “You picked up breakfast?”

“It’s the least I can do after you made dinner last night. By the way, the people over there wanted me to tell you congrats when I let them know the good news.”

“Good news?”

“Your promotion,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You’ll be reporting directly to me from now on, take out all of the bureaucratic bullshit between us.”

“Thank you,” you said, voice shaky and uncertain.

He pursed his lips. “I’d expect a little more fucking enthusiasm, but we can work on that.”

“You’re right, I’m just still a little groggy is all,” you said, forcing a smile on your tired face. “Thank you, honey. I appreciate it.”

“There we go,” he said, his quick mood shift almost startling you as he leaned down to give you a kiss. “You know I’m always looking out for you, right, babe?”

You glanced at the dried blood on the other side of the table, where he’d been sitting the previous night. Before you could think too much about it, you widened the fake smile you were giving him. “Of course I do.”

#homelander x reader #the boys #homelander #the boys x reader #homelander imagine

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natbelovasblog · 2 months ago

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Stalker.

PAIRINGS: AOS!Natasha Romanoff x CCTV!Fem Reader.

SUMMARY: While your Coworkers relish in their lunch breaks-you take to watching the security cameras. But while watching over live footage you see something, or rather someone, in the corner of the camera. Who are they and why are they here?

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood, Budapest references??, and a slightly agitated Katness Barton.

A/N: I had gotten this idea from a day dream, and decided to write it out at 2:30/3am. :). It was going to be a series.. but I’m too inconsistent for that.. so.. if anyone wants to actually write a whole or short series on it, be my guest, but tag me bc I wanna read it!

I had visions of it being like flirty nat, and playing hard to get reader, so nat keeps stalking and popping up everywhere trying to get her to go on a date with her, then she finally does so nat will leave her alone and the rest is history.

… anyways. Hope you enjoy. AOS means agents of SHEILD.

“I’ve got eyes on the target” A slight Russian accent was heard through the comms.

“You act like we’re in a movie” The archer spoke up.

“Shut up Barton, I’m doing my job” Natasha vocalized her annoyance. She’d only been with the man for 7 days, but even with it being that short, he was still a pain in her ass.

“We’ve got movement! I’m going in. Cover me.” The spy was already gone before Barton could even speak.

“Nat, you can’t just run off like that! There’s a woman in there. Who knows how many more. We should’ve sat back and waited longer!” Clint had told her, climbing higher up the tree to get a good look in the building.

“Oh please, they don’t even know they’ve got a weaponized system in the building! There’s probably only 3 security guards and I’m sure they would’ve already seen us with how slow you walk. I’ll be fine. Thanks for the concern.” The red head rolled her eyes. Knocking on the door before taking down 2 security guards with her widow bites, after they’d basically invited her in.

“2 down, 1 too go” She spoke just before halting her steps. Peeking into the door on her right.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Clint’s voice appeared in her ear. Wondering why the recently departed widow had stopped

“Another one…A woman.” She paused. “Do you think she knows about the weapons?” She continued.

“Well it’s not like you can walk in there and talk to her about it, I’d say no. Take her out and let’s get this done, I have a dinner party to get too.” The archer replied. He had climbed down from the tree and slowly walked his way towards the 2 big double doors.

Your head snapped towards the cameras when you heard the alarm go off. Checking each one of them to see nothing but a glimpse of red hair and an arrow.

Sprinting down the hall, you’d reached the break room, opening the doors to see if one of your coworkers had set the alarm off. Only to find them all on the floor and one of them bleeding throughout their nose.

Quickly dialing security, you told them you needed backup.

“You idiot! Who doesn’t check the doors before going into a building, with a million dollar weaponized security system?!” Natasha was pissed. They’d waiting in a stupid vent for 7 days, an entire week to steal the systems hard drive. All for Clint to try and open the doors at 12am. Setting off all the alarms.

“In my defense, there was no more people to let me in since you’d knocked them all out. And I couldn’t get the other one to let me in because you were too busy drooling all over her.” Clint threw his arrows back into the vent, settling down just in time to watch the security guards rush past them.

“I wasn’t drooling over her, I just thought maybe she knew something. She didn’t even look like a security guard.” Natasha thinks back to when she’d seen you twirl around in the spinny chair.

“Oh let me guess, she looked like a princess?” The Barton man whispered.

Yeah..

Yeah, she did.

“I saw a flash of red hair, and then what looked like an arrow.. I don’t know if it was an arrow tho.. I mean. Who carry’s around arrows anymore?” You questioned out loud to your boss.

“The boy, Katness Everdeen from the avengers does!” Mike, a coworker had joked. Making the others laugh.

“This isn’t a time to joke. It’s serious. Someone tried to get into the building and your joking around? Are you fucking kidding me?” Your boss, Chris yelled. Making the others stop laughing.

“Come on man, clearly no one got inside the building, if they did. We’d have seen. We do have some of the best security cameras.” Mike stood up, trying to calm Chris down.

“Whatever, get back to work. See if you can find anything” Chris walked out.

“We’ve check the cameras over and over again. We didn’t see anything!” Jake, another coworker yelled out the door.

“Check again!” Chris replied.

You did feel a presence watching you.. but maybe that was just your imagination.. right? I mean Mike was right. There was absolutely nothing on the cameras. Maybe you just needed some sleep.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x you #natty #natasha marvel #natasha and yelena #natasha romanov #natasha x y/n #soft natasha romanoff

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writingtraumaforever · 9 days ago

Text

Courtship: Chapter 2

Notes: Here we go! Chapter 2! And ohhh boy, this is gonna be fun.

Summary: Shadow has been researching the courting rituals of the hedgehog. Sonic unknowingly initiates said rituals.

Chapter Select: Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Link to my AO3!

Start:

They’ve been meeting up for months now.

Since the night Shadow and Sonic planned to meet at the Green Hills sign, they haven’t stopped scheduling rendezvouses. At the end of each of their races, the person deemed the winner— which is often argued over for far too long— chooses the next meeting spot and time.

Sonic picks the police department rooftop once, Shadow picks the rooftop of the ‘Bean Hill Zone’–previously known as Mean Bean, Sonic picks the back alley of the arcade, Shadow picks the mountaintop right past the town limits. Every spot had to be out of sight and discreet, Shadow having obvious anxiety over being seen or recognized. It kind of hurt Sonic’s heart seeing Shadow feel so… hated.

Typically, their races would end with them arguing the winner and then picking their next spot before leaving. But they recently began to grow into more of a hangout afterwards. Shadow would stick around rather than rushing off or disappearing. He never seemed thrilled about being around Sonic, but he didn’t seem disgusted by the fact, either. So Sonic sees it as progress.

Honestly, Shadow isn’t half bad when he’s not trying to destroy the planet.

He’s kind of quiet. Very quiet, actually. But when he does talk, he has a lot of interesting things to say. Like stuff about the stars and constellations and patterns in the solar system and how they varied from others. He always seemed attentive when Sonic spoke about earth, too. He’d listen when Sonic would go on and on about his favorite locations around the world, about how chili dogs are man’s greatest creation, and how the Olympics had turned him down three times now to being a competitor–which he thought was discriminatory.

He was also kind of funny! Which shocked Sonic, honestly. He didn’t really laugh. Ever. But he’d drop the most deadpan, dry humor jokes that always threw Sonic off and had him cackling which usually resulted in Shadow giving a tiny smirk and hum of humor, seeming proud of his joke. He got better with time, too. Seeming to pick up on pop culture references Sonic would teach him and use those to his advantage.

One time he told Sonic to check ebay for a life, and Sonic didn’t know what to do with that.

Speaking of pop culture, Sonic let Shadow borrow his old MP3 player! It was loaded with all sorts of good beats and genres. Shadow didn’t seem to like it at first, finding the headphones overwhelming in his ears. But Sonic told him he could play them through the speaker instead, and ever since, Sonic catches him humming tunes he recognizes now and then..

Once he swears he heard him humming ‘Shake It Off’ by Taylor Swift, but he’ll never dare to ask or judge.

They take walks when they hangout, mostly. Slowing down to just trot through the woods or hike along the mountains and end somewhere that seems like a good enough view to chill. They don’t do this on purpose. It just sort of flows that way.

And while Shadow’s personality is a bit difficult to navigate at times.. Sonic enjoys his company. A lot. Maybe a little too much.

For a long while, he kept this a secret from his family under the guise that he was simply going out for a run. But when he stayed out a little too late one night and didn’t get home until 3 AM, Maddie and Tom were absolutely rampant with worry and demanded he be truthful with them. So he told them. Maddie seemed a bit shocked but open. Tom?? Tom seemed.. reluctant is a weak word for it..

‘I forbid you from seeing him anymore!’

‘Forbid me?? Like a disney villain??’

‘What he means is that we expect you to be more honest with us about who you’re hanging out with, but we trust your judgment.’

‘No. No, I mean forbid. It’s forbidden. It’s a rule. I just made it. Forbid.’

‘Thomas..’

‘Ow! Stop pinching my arm!’

‘This is so unfair! You haven’t even given him a chance, yet!’

‘I don’t need to give him a chance! Last I saw that little psycho, he had me pinned to the floor with a gun to my head declaring it justice!’

‘He was confused! He had been brainwashed into believing that revenge is what his sister wanted as her dying wish!’

‘Oh that poor baby..’

‘Baby!? Maddie– did you not hear what I just said???’

‘I know, Tom. I was there. And while it was traumatizing, I think Sonic is right. He deserves a chance. Knuckles had been manipulated and nearly annihilated Sonic when we first met him, too. And look at him now.’

‘..Okay, fine. A chance is one thing, but why does does that chance have to be one we give??’

‘Because he doesn’t have anyone else!... He’s lonely. And he doesn’t say it, but I think he’s scared a lot. He lost his family.. I think he just needs a friend. You can’t take me away from him.. I’m all he has.’

‘....Okay. Okay, I’m crazy for this, but okay. You can.. keep seeing Shadow.’

‘Ugh. Stop saying it like that. You make it sound like we’re dating–’

‘But I want to meet him, first. Man-to-hedgehog. He has to earn my trust and approval. Prove he’s changed.’

‘...Sure! Yeah, he’ll totally be down for that!’

“I am totally not down for that.”

“Whaaaat?? Come on, Shads–”

“Don’t call me that.” “--You gotta meet my folks, or they’ll like- forever be up my case.”

“I fail to see how that’s my problem.” “It’s your problem because that’ll make us hanging out wayyy more difficult. And you can act like that doesn’t bother you all you want, but I so know it does.”

Sonic is waltzing along the railing of a bridge in the woods, Shadow walking alongside him close enough to grab him if Sonic falls–not that Shadow cares.

He doesn’t.

Wobbling in his steps, Sonic continues when Shadow’s only response is a grunt, “What’ll it hurt?? It’s just my parents, they’re not gonna bite.”

“I don’t fear them..,” Shadow scoffs, arms crossed tight as he glares at Sonic, “I simply don’t need their approval.”

“Don’t think of it as approval. Think of it as.. Just getting to know new people! Mom definitely just wants to talk to you. Dad may have.. other intentions, but he’s harmless. Promise.”

“Anyone deemed the Lord of Donuts has to be harmless.” “Exactly! So what do ya say??”

Shadow doesn’t answer, just stops when Sonic hops down to land in front of him with that stupid grin. Shadow huffs a bit, looking off to the side rather than at Sonic. He can see how much this means to him in those big, bright emerald eyes, and it’s tiresome.

He’s never questioned why Sonic cares for these people when they aren’t his real family. He’s never questioned why Sonic stays with them despite not needing to to survive..

He knows for a fact he’d still be with Maria if given the chance..

No, this isn’t a matter of why Sonic cares so much about his family’s opinion. He’s been intrigued and honestly a bit refreshed seeing another hedgehog with a human family..

No, it’s why Sonic cares about their opinion of him that gets Shadow bothered.

Why does he need to be involved??

Though, he has his suspicions..

He’s been reading up on the courting rituals of hedgehogs. He was raised with humans, so he isn’t quite familiar with this part of his DNA’s customs. But from what the earth books have told him, and while Sonic isn’t the same as an earth hedgehog, it’s all he’s got to go off of.

And hedgehog’s pursue their potential mate. Challenge them. Chase them. Then they circle them to feel out their mate.. See if there’s a chance for matching with them..

All things Sonic seems to have done with Shadow.

Then there’s snorting. Where the pursuer will snort at their mate and see if they’ll snort back. Sonic often snorts when he’s joking with Shadow.. And Shadow has joked back in return..

And as far as human customs go when pursuing a mate… meeting one’s parents is definitely part of it. It’s often thought of as a more serious step, in fact.

Shadow has had his suspicions all along of what Sonic’s intentions were in searching him out and very persistently sticking around. This just confirms it.

And Shadow… Shadow has been enabling such courting rituals. He’s been participating. He’s agreed to numerous meetings with this hedgehog. He’s enjoyed their conversations and time together, and he’s not looking for them to end. He’s, in all aspects of the word, reciprocated Sonic’s advances.

So to turn Sonic down now?? It would be cruel, wouldn’t it?? And Shadow isn’t even sure he wants to turn Sonic down. He isn’t ready for any sort of relationship, absolutely not. He still has a lot of trauma he needs to work through, but having Sonic as a companion through it.. doesn’t sound horrible. He’d prefer it, actually. He thinks.

He can’t lose Sonic. He does know that.

And if meeting Sonic’s family formerly will allow them to continue this courting dance they’ve been partaking in to see where it goes, then so be it.

“Very well.”

Sonic blinks, “Wait- what?”

“I accept your invitation to meet your family.”

Sonic immediately grins, his tail wagging practically as fast as the hedgehog runs, “You mean it?” “Why would I say something I didn’t mean??” “Oh, thank you, Shadow!” Sonic jumps up and down excitedly, and Shadow can’t help but smile a tiny smile at the sight of his excitement, “You won’t regret it.” “We’ll see..”

And so Sonic went home to let his family know they’d be having a guest for dinner the upcoming Friday. Maddie seemed nervous-excited, immediately going on about how she’s going to cook up this fantastic dinner for him. Tom seems a on guard about this, but he’s also agreed to go into it with an open mind.

It’s his brothers Sonic really has to worry about.

“So.. why is Shadow coming over again??” Tails asks, spinning around in his chair with a tiny gadget and screwdriver in hand. Sonic has no idea what he’s working on, and he’s learned not to ask since he won’t understand ha;f the explanation anyway.

“Because he needs friends. And we can be those friends,” Sonic assures with a thumbs up.

“But.. he tried to destroy the world,” Tails argues with a knit in his brow, tilting his head at Sonic.

“And he broke my hand! My glorious hand..,” Knuckles adds, holding his fist up dramatically.

Sonic sighs at this, rolling his eyes, “Yes, I know. And he’s sorry for those things.”

“I have not heard an apology from him,” the echidna huffs, arms crossed disapprovingly.

“That’s because you haven’t seen him since it happened,” Sonic replies, looking between this two misfit brothers, “Look. I know we all have history with him–” “Bad history.” “He scares me.” “Anyway, I also know we all can relate to him, huh??” Tails and Knuckles exchange unsure glances before Sonic is quickly moving to Tails, “Tails, buddy, you’ve felt out of place and alone in the world before! You know how awful it is.. How it can be hard to navigate the right direction without someone to guide you..” “That’s.. true..,” Tails agrees before giggling when Sonic ruffles the fur on his head.

Sonic then dashes to Knuckles, throwing an arm around him and shaking him roughly, “And you, Knucklehead–”

Knuckles punches Sonic in the chest, making Sonic stumble back with a chuckle.

“I am nothing like that fiend–” “Know what it’s like to have something horrible rip you from your family and be manipulated into hurting others as a way to seek justice for them..”

Knuckles goes silent at that, opening his mouth only to close it again with a thoughtful hum.

“...I suppose that’s true,” Knuckles nods, seeming won over by Sonic’s point.

“Exactly! You too have fallen victim to a Robotnik before– we all have in some way. Everyone makes mistakes, right?? We just gotta recognize those mistakes and grow from them.. So what makes Shadow any different??”

Knuckles and Tails are both quiet a long moment, looking at Sonic, then down, then each other..

Both slowly smile, Knuckles speaking as he looks back to Sonic,

“Very well. We shall allow our rival one trial. But if he fails, I will not hesitate to destroy him before he has a chance to destroy our tribe again..” “Fair enough,” Sonic nods with a grin, looking to Tails who nods in agreement.

“I trust you, Sonic. If you say Shadow has changed, then he’s changed,” the kit beams confidently, full loyalty in his big brother. Though, his smile grows a bit nervous, “But just.. Maybe he can prove he’s changed from a distance?” “Sure thing, buddy! I’ll be between you two at all times if it’ll make you feel better.” “Much, thanks,” Tails breathes in relief.

Sonic grins at this, “Good. Glad we’ve all come to an agreement then. Wachowski bros gotta stick together, right??” “Yeah! Team Heroes!” Tails grins, putting his fist out only for Sonic to fist bump him with a, “Red, Blue and Yellow!?” to which Knuckles then joins the group fist bump with a unanimous, “Hello!”

They all laugh amongst each other for a moment.. Only for Sonic get dead serious once they get quiet again and add,

“Okay. Now we gotta talk about you guys not embarrassing me.”

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carpenterswife · 8 months ago

Text

ALL MY GHOSTS (iii)

series masterlist

- summary: With Jenny now on board too, the four of you begin to investigate the strange-happenings occurring to you, behind Beau’s back. As things get weirder, you’re forced to finally tell your friends the truth of your past.

- word count: 2421

- warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of abortion, panic attack, dissociation.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

As it turns out, hiding an entire investigation was harder than you thought — which was honestly no shocker. Though Beau still remained blissfully ignorant to your endeavours, Jenny had, very quickly, caught onto the fact something was going on, when you excused yourself from work for the 10th time to pick up a phone call.

As you hung up, Jenny cornered you, arms crossed. You took a step back, surprised by her sudden appearance. But, before you could question her, she spoke, voice hard. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“What—?”

“You’re keeping something from me.“ Jenny interrupted, not letting you spit out some useless lie. Her brows raised. “Cassie knows. I know she does. I wanna help.” You knew that you couldn’t get away with not telling her — she was determined to figure out what you were hiding, and Jenny knew you far too well to believe any lie that fell from your lips.

So, you sighed, shoulders deflated, resigning yourself to spill it with Jenny. “You can’t…” your eyes trailed over her shoulder to Beau’s office. “You can’t tell him.”

Jenny didn’t have to turn around to know who you were referring to. “I won’t.” She assured you, speaking much more softly than she previously had been. “Now, what is it?”

“It’s just… like, strange things happening.”

“The flowers?” Your brows raised in confusion. Jenny nodded once, watching you carefully. “Beau told me. He said you were scared?”

“Yeah, well, I had a bad feeling.” You sighed, fiddling with your phone case. You hesitated before speaking again, wondering if you really wanted more people to know about this. Jenny’s sharp look made you start talking again. “It’s not just the flowers.” You mumbled. “My doorbell camera keeps telling me there’s movement outside my apartment, and— and I‘ve gotten, like, 15 mystery phone calls already today with no one talking.”

A best of silence fell over you, as Jenny considered your words. “That doesn’t sound like the ‘nothing’ you’ve been telling Beau about.” You hesitated to reply to Jenny. She frowned, now more concerned. “Why aren’t you telling him? He could help. The entire department could help — and will, if you just tell them.”

“No, Beau’s got too much to worry about already.” You immediately shot down that idea immediately. Jenny’s face flooded with disappointment. “He’s got that— that murder, and the drug cartel. And Carla and Emily to worry about.”

Jenny sighed. “Beau would help you in the drop of a hat.” You bit down on your tongue. You knew she was right. And that was the worst part about it; that Beau would do anything to protect you. “All of that? It’d mean fucking nothing to him if you were in any sort of danger. You’ve gotta tell him.”

“No. Cassie and Denise are handling it.”

She let out another sigh, shaking her head in disappointment. “Okay.” She relented with your idea begrudgingly. “Let me help, too, then.” You opened your mouth to argue. “Or I’ll tell Beau.”

You immediately groaned, rubbing your forehead. “Fine.” You agreed, sighing heavily. “Just… don’t tell him.” You sent her a pleading look, and then walked away, brushing past her as you returned to Beau’s office, where he was going over a file with Pop. Jenny was right on your heel, the pair of you entering his office together.

With a glance up at you, Beau grinned. “There you two are. Was wonderin’ where y’all wandered off to.” He chucked down a file on the table in your direction. “Need you two on this case. That okay?”

Shrugging, you reached over to grab the case file. Flipping it one, your hands stiffened.

Why did Beau always stick you with domestic abuse cases?

You bit your tongue, hard enough for it to sting and burn. Your eyes jumped up to Jenny, who had been closely watching your reaction. Sighing, your attention returned to Beau. “Yeah.” You agreed, hiding your reluctance pretty well. “We’ve got it, boss.”

He patted his desk and beamed. “Thanks, ladies. Pop ‘n’ I are dealin’ with that burglary on 5th. You wan’ a ride?”

“Nah.” You shook your head. “We’ll take my car. I need gas, anyway.” You slapped the file on Jenny’s arm shoulder, indicating for her to get going. With one last smile in Beau’s direction, you left with Jenny, fiddling with the corner of the file as you went.

“You okay?”

You nodded at Jenny. “All good.” You strode out of the police station with your heart hammering in your chest.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

Like you’d expected, the domestic abuse case had left you shaken up. Jenny had pulled you out of the case halfway through, when she’d noticed your pale and terrified expression, sending you back to the station and calling in extra units to cover for you.

10 years ago, you’d been a normal girl. Then came Jack. And your entire life had been altered. He’d ripped apart any remaining innocence you’d had left in you.

He’d taken everything from you.

He’d taken things from you you couldn’t even predict.

And the blood on your hands made your body ache.

You sat at your desk, toying with a pen, staring blankly down at the paperwork on your desk. The words seemed to blur together, turning into a dark blob in your vision.

Your pen tapped incessantly onto the wood of the desk.

And then a hand snatched it from you. “Stop that.” Beau held your pen away from you, eyes narrowed as he stared down at you. “What’s up wit’ you? Jenny said you freaked on the case. You’re meant t’be helpin’ her.”

“Sorry.” You ran a hand down your face with a heavy sigh. “Rough day.”

He stared for a moment, then nodded. “Mmm, I get’ya.” Beau dropped your pen back onto the desk. He pushed his hand through his hair, flashing you a reassuring smile. “You good? You ain’t hidin’ nothin’ from me?”

Your head tilted, and you smiled at him. “I’m good.” Came your instinctive reply.

“Mm, okay.” He nodded, clearly not believing you. He glanced over his shoulder for a moment. “Need a ride?” He held up his car keys, brows raised as he jangled them.

You hummed, considering it, flipped your file closed. “Sure.” You agreed, tucking the file into your draw and locking it.

Beau lit up with your acceptance. He grabbed your jacket and hung it over his arm, making you smile fondly. “You get anythin’ on that murder case yet?”

“Not really.” You got to your feet, following Beau away from your desk. “I was thinking, through, you should check out the new girlfriend of the ex boyfriend.” He looked at you questioningly. You smiled sheepishly, raising your shoulders into a shrug. “Just a suggestion. She might’ve been jealous of her guy’s ex girl. The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head; doesn’t take much strength.”

He pressed his lips together and nod. “Huh.” He muttered, thinking it over. “Yeah. I’ll check that out.” He held open the door of the station, grinning at you as you exited.

“That’s all I got, though.”

He chuckled. “It’s more than I got. Good work.” Patting your shoulder, he led you over to his truck, yanking open the passenger seat. Once he’d ensured you were in safely, he shut the door, rounding the truck to get into the drivers seat. “Home?”

“No, no, Cassie and Denise.” You plopped your bag down by your feet. “I have some stuff to talk to them about.”

Starting his truck, Beau glanced at you. There was suspicion in his eyes. After a few beats, he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He agreed playfully, making you laugh softly. He pulled out of the parking lot, his hand on the gear stick drawing your attention far too much. “So, you wan’ talk ‘bout what made you freak on the case today?”

You shifted in your chair, crossing your arms defensively. “Not really.”

Beau cracked a smile, amused at your attitude. “Y’should know by now I ain’t taking that answer.” He glanced at you for a moment, sighing deeply. “Talk to me, honey. What’s going on wit’ you, huh?”

“Nothing, Beau.” You attempted to lie to him again.

Unimpressed, he pressed his lips together. “You’ve always been a shit liar.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Listen, if ya don’t wanna tell me, I get it. I ain’t gon’ push.” He reassured you, voice now far gentler. “But I’m gettin’ worried now. This ain’t the first time you’ve shut down on a case.”

You closed your eyes and gathered yourself. Beau had always been good at not pushing your boundaries, which was something you’d always greatly appreciated.

But it was times like these you wished he’d push a bit harder. You wanted to tell him — Beau was the one person you wanted to tell about your past. You wanted to spill every detail, and have him hold you to his chest as he comforted you. You just couldn’t find the words in your mouth.

“I’m okay.” You said instead, trying to sound reassuring. “Just having a rough time lately.” You tapped your fingers on his arm in an attempt to convince him.

It didn’t work — of course it fucking didn’t. Beau was like a mind reader when it came to you. “You know I don’t believe you, right?” He asked, soft.

Biting your cheek, you nodded.

“Okay.” He smiled warmly in your direction, his eyes still dark with worry. “I ain’t gon’ push. Just… come to me, yeah? If you need me. Come to me.”

“Always, Beau.”

He cracked a smile, relaxing a smidge. “Good. I’m always gon’ protect you, darlin’. Always.”

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

Cassie didn’t have much good news to deliver you. Your case was posted up on boards hidden away in her office in the back, just in case Beau turned up with no warning and took a peek. Jenny had been helping them dig deeper, using the department’s resources to be more efficient.

Yet, they’d turned up with little to nothing.

Except one thing.

“We weren’t able to track the calls. Or the details of the person who delivered the flowers.” Cassie explained, leant back against the wall. You nodded, looking between the three women delivering your fate.

“But, Beau introduced a new system at the station last month.” Jenny began explaining. Your hopes rose a little. “When your mystery admirer delivered the flowers, he had to give a deputy his name.”

You almost sighed in relief. “Okay..?” At least that was something. A name. You could work with a name.

Cassie flipped through a paper. “He said his name was Jack.”She looked up at you, brows raised. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

Cold washed over you. The ground tilted under your feet. Jesus, were you going to pass out or vomit? You couldn’t tell.

“He said he was your boyfriend— Y/N?”

You didn’t realise you were falling until Cassie and Jenny lunged forward to steady you. The world seemed to fade to a dark blur, the name echoing in your brain like a gunshot. They were speaking, but the sound was muffled like you were underwater.

The next few minutes passed in a sort of haze. You weren’t aware of anything, really.

At some point, they’d sat you in a chair and wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, crouching in front of you. They were trying to ground you, hands holding on, squeezing and talking in gentle voices, trying to ground you. Denise returned from the back room with a mug of tea, handing it to you, as you took it in autopilot.

“Hey, there you are.” Cassie sighed in relief as she saw the daze in your eyes float away. “What happened? You scared us.” Your lack of a response seemed to worry her further.

The three women exchanged a look.

You knew what they wanted to ask. Who was Jack? Why did you freeze up like a damn idiot when his name was mentioned? They were trying to be respectful, by not asking, but, hell, you’d always hated being treated like you were glass.

You sipped the scalding hot tea. “He’s my ex-fiancé.” Their attention shot to you immediately. You tapped your nails on the mug, listening to the clink through the silence. “I dated him for four years in New York. We lived together.” They all looked equally parts concerned. Your breath was stuck in your throat. You released it all with your next words. “He was abusive.”

The room seemed to shoot down 20 degrees.

“Oh, Jesus.” Jenny whispered, realisation hitting her. “How bad?” You just nodded. That was enough. It was bad.

“I got pregnant.” Your voice caught in your throat, muscles tense. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean for it. I didn’t— I couldn’t keep the baby. I couldn’t raise a child in that place.” You whispered quietly, head shaking. Your hands trembled, making you tighten your hold on the mug of tea. “I kept it from him, got an abortion. When he found out… Jesus, I thought I was gonna die.”

Cassie, silent, pulled you in for a tight hug. She cradled you close to her chest, sighing sadly. “You think it’s him?”

You clung onto your friend tightly. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” You wished it wasn’t him. You really, really hoped it wasn’t, and that it was just some freak coincidence. But it was such a Jack to do. To travel half way cross-country in some crazed attempt to reclaim your love.

“Okay, this is part where we tell Beau.”

Frustrated, you sighed. “I’m not telling Beau.” You argued firmly.

“Why not?” Cassie asked gently. She pulled back from the hug to look at your face, her brows knitted together in concern. “He can protect you, much better than we can.”

“He’ll worry—“

“Good.” Jenny put a reassuring hand on your knee, squeezing gently. “You need protection from this asshole. And Beau can do that.”

For a moment, you considered it. Beau protecting you did seem like a good idea. And you knew he would, without a moment of hesitation. Beau would drop everything to protect you, and he’d made that abundantly clear.

But still.

“No.” You shook your head, not backing down on your decision. They sighed, evidently disappointed. “We’ll deal with it. We don’t need him.”

You did need him. You’d never needed Beau more.

“Okay.” Cassie agreed reluctantly. “We’ll deal with it.”

God, you were so fucked.

━━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━━

taglist: @yvonneeeee @deans-spinster-witch @fanfic-n-tabulous @dwonfilm

#beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #big sky #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #all my ghosts

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 months ago

Note

AITA for not supporting my friend’s relationship?

(@aita mod I pinky promise that this is not an “aita for thinking/feeling something” submission, I’m just a long winded mf)

Okay this is admittedly stupid stupid dumb but it’s bothering the hell out of me so here we go. I (26X) have a friend (23NB) who recently got into a nice, stable(?) relationship after a string of messy short-term ones. They’ve been dating for ~2 months now, and the guy (early 30s?M) seems really nice and genuine. My friend is very happy and gushes about him constantly, which makes sense because the relationship is fairly new and their most recent previous relationships were with people who weren’t very open or communicative at all. I feel like the only valid reason I could possibly have to not like this dude is the age gap, which is more of a personal ick as I’m not really comfortable with dating anyone more than 5 years older/younger than me. They’re both adults and it’s their love life, so whatever.

The thing is, I just…do not share their enthusiasm for this guy. At all. He seems like a cool guy, but the fact that he’s dating my friend just isn’t jiving in my brain for whatever reason. I’m getting an inexplicable weird vibe. When I see a picture of them doing cute couple shit on instagram or wherever, my reaction isn’t “that’s adorable, I’m so happy for [friendname]!” or even “I’m glad they’re happy!” It’s more like “eugh, why are they doing that? I don’t want to see this.” This isn’t a normal reaction for me at all. I’m usually very supportive of my friends’ relationships as long as there are no obvious red flags. The only reason I can think of as to why I might be reacting this way is that an acquaintance of mine was pushing me to get with this same guy a couple years ago for NO REASON, and I was absolutely not interested, so it might be leftover discomfort from that. I don’t (consciously?) hold that against him though, that was 100% my acquaintance’s strange bullshit. I’m mostly into women and fem dudes, so there’s no latent attraction to my (masc leaning) friend or their bf involved either.

Here’s the part where I might be the asshole: because of my weird uncomfortable reaction to seeing this dude and my friend together, I haven’t been liking or commenting on posts/messages/etc about them being together or how wonderful this guy is. Social media interaction/validation is a big thing for them, and eventually they noticed that I wasn’t interacting with anything pertaining to their relationship. I don’t think I was obvious about it or anything, just operating on the “if you don’t have anything nice to say…” principle. Regardless, they asked me about it, and I went completely deer-in-the-headlights. I ended up saying something like “I just didn’t have anything to say about those posts, it’s not really my business” but I could tell they weren’t convinced. They asked me what I thought of the guy and I told them he seemed nice but I didn’t know him that well. I think that just made them more suspicious because I’ve been working for the same company as the guy for about 3 years now, but it is technically true. After my first few months I got transferred to a different department and haven’t seen him since.

They looked really disappointed and asked me if I could try to be a little more supportive of their relationship online, reminding me that this is “the first nice person [they’ve] dated in years” and that they “went through hell to find him.” (I think they were referring to their most recent breakups and exaggerating hardcore. They were messy, but I’ve heard every little detail about those relationships from them and they sounded like they ended due to plain old incompatibility/lack of interest. I would only call one of their recent exes “not a nice person.”) They ended the conversation by telling me that they trusted me and my approval was really important to them, which made me feel like shit, but it didn’t really make me see the relationship in a different light or anything. l definitely FEEL like an asshole, because even after they talked to me about it I have no plans to lie and act super into their boyfriend when I’m not. I realize how petty all of this sounds, but it’s obviously affecting my friend a lot, or else they wouldn’t have spoken to me about it in person. It just feels like I’d be an even worse friend if I started regularly lying to them about what I think of their relationship, even though I don’t have a valid reason for feeling the way I do. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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alyssaforevermore · 10 months ago

Text

Unearthed ↦ Daryl Dixon season one, part one

Synopsis: Based on the events of The Walking Dead television series, Y/N Grimes, younger sister of Rick Grimes, attempts to survive in a world now inhabited by walkers. Family has always meant everything to her, but in this new world, can she keep her family safe and together?

Show: The Walking Dead (S1-S11)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Warnings: coarse language, violence, character deaths, drug and alcohol references, series spoilers and general The Walking Dead content warnings!

Masterlist

If there was one thing you’d learned in your almost thirty years of life, it was that nothing was ever easy. You’d grown accustomed to things falling apart, no matter how hard you tried to keep it all together. The only thing you were ever able to keep together was your family.

You grew up in Georgia with your parents and your older brother, Rick. Your mother was a homemaker, always around to support you through your childhood. Your father had run the family farm for many years, only selling it a few years ago when he got sick. His own father had fought in the war before you were born, something you had heard little about in your lifetime. He didn’t like to talk about it with you, besides once when you were eight years old. It wasn’t much of a shock when your brother decided to become a deputy for the local sheriff's department. Rick always wanted to rush in and save anyone he could, a trait that seemed to pass from generation to generation. Hell, you were a nurse yourself. As much as Rick’s heroics scared you, you always told yourself that, like your grandfather, he would be okay. That was until his best friend and partner, Shane Walsh, showed up at your front door one afternoon.

You opened the front door of your apartment, Shane standing in front of you with two deputies standing slightly behind him. The look on Shane’s face and the way he spoke your name told you everything.

“Is he dead?” You asked.

Shane frowned. “He’s in surgery right now. I just dropped off Lori and Carl at the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“There was a chase. We were told there were only two men in the car, but-“ he trailed off. “I’m so sorry.”

You stood in the doorway, trying to process the emotions that were rushing over you like waves crashing the shore. You knew this was a possibility, a risk of the job, but you’d never really let yourself accept that. Finally, your mind shifted to Carl, his son.

“How is Carl handling it?” You asked. “Is he okay?”

Shane nodded. “You know him, always hopeful. He’s stronger than any of us.”

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile among the tears you felt racing down your cheek. Shane was right; Carl had a way to make even the hardest of moments a little easier.

“I should get to the hospital, keep Lori company.” You responded.

“I’ll drive you.”

You nodded, grabbing your keys from the table by your front door.

With you working at the hospital, you spent all of your time there, waiting for your brother to wake up from his coma. You were constantly sending updates to Lori, who you tried to convince to go home and have a proper rest each night. It wasn’t like there was much to update her on though, only really the fact that he was still alive. The more time that passed, the more you began to lose hope.

As if Rick being in a coma wasn’t hard enough to handle, it would only be less than a week until the entire world fell apart.

You had left the hospital for the first time that night, realizing how badly you needed a proper sleep. With the influx of flu cases, you were past the point of exhaustion. Knowing how bad the city was at the moment, you decided to spend the night at Rick and Lori’s house; It was closer to the hospital anyways.

The next morning you awoke to the sound of movement in the kitchen. Checking the clock, you realized it was already eleven.

You pulled yourself from the couch, making your way into the kitchen to find Lori who was making coffee.

You greeted her with a smile, sitting down at the table.

“He still hasn’t woken up…” Lori mumbled, pouring two cups of coffee. She headed over to the table, sitting down beside you and offering you one of the cups.

“He will,” You spoke, squeezing her hand. “Rick is a fighter. He’ll wake up, I know it.”

Lori tried to muster a smile. “Every morning, every time I pick him up from school, Carl asks me if his daddy is awake yet. Every time I tell him no, I feel like I’m breaking his heart even more.”

It was hard for you to find the words to say to Lori. You weren’t a parent and you had no idea how you would handle the father of your child being where Rick is. All you could do is listen to Lori and try to reassure her, even if you weren’t entirely sure you believed what you were saying.

Rick had always been the strong one; the one who kept it together and let the rest of you lean on him. Now, it was your turn to be the strong one and you finally realized just how much you did need your big brother. How were you going to keep it together if he was gone?

The question plaguing your mind would be answered sooner than you could have ever expected. Carl was already home from school and you were just about to leave for your shift when Shane came rushing through the front door.

He was freaking out, speaking of things you didn’t understand.

“This illness, whatever it is, is getting worse. It’s not safe here anymore. We have to leave, now.”

Shane urged you all to go with him, saying there was a safe zone in the city. When Lori had asked about Rick, after sending Carl to grab some clothes, Shane’s face fell.

“He’s gone,” Shane spoke. “I went to the hospital first and he’s gone. I’m sorry.”

You’d barely had a moment to process the loss of your brother, Shane rushing you and Lori to collect your things and load up his car. All you had was the clothes on your back, having been in a constant loop of washing the same clothes for the last week. Lori had packed up all the photo albums, a sentimentality you’d always appreciated in her.

The four of you made your way towards the city, the sky falling dark before you got anywhere close. Traffic wasn’t moving, cars lined up as far as your eyes could see. Many people were outside their cars, chatting with those around them.

That is how you met Carol Peletier, her husband Ed, and their daughter Sophia. Carol was a quiet and sweet woman, offering Carl food soon after you’d met. Her husband, on the other hand, was the complete opposite; cold and controlling. Seeing the way Ed was around his wife, you were reminded of the many women you’d treated in the ER. It made your blood boil, but you tried to keep it contained.

Shane and Lori had wandered off for a bit, wanting to see if they could see the entrance to the city; if they were actually letting anyone in. You stayed behind to keep an eye on Carl.

As you stood outside the car, your eyes fixed on the city ahead, you felt a pit begin to build in your stomach. Fighter jets flew over your head on their way towards the city. Before you knew it, the ground began to rumble as fire and explosions lit the night sky.

They were bombing the city.

Shane and Lori quickly returned, Shane having a new plan and inviting Carol, Ed and Sophia along. The drive towards the Quarry was quiet, each of you silently taking in the events of the night.

Your brother was dead.

Society had fallen into disrepair.

It felt as though you were living a nightmare, one you couldn’t force yourself to wake up from. Now, all you had left was Shane, Lori and Carl and you would do anything to keep them safe.

Before you knew it, a month had gone by. Over time more people had joined you at the Quarry, and it started to feel like a little community. The dead rarely traveled up here, which almost made you forget what was happening in the world.

A small group has gone into the city for supplies, a dangerous task considering the streets were filled with the dead. It had been almost a full day since they left, and everyone was beginning to panic, especially one of the girls’ sister Amy. You had gotten a radio call from one of them earlier that morning, saying they were stuck in a building surrounded by the dead. As much as you wanted to believe they’d find a way out, your hope was slowly dying.

For a moment your mind drifted to your brother, wondering what he would do in this situation. You knew he’d be leaving this camp, heading for the city to at least try to save them. Shane was against that, and you weren’t about to fight him on that. As much as you felt for the others, your only concern was your family and they were safe at camp.

The sound of an alarm blaring in the distance caught everyone’s attention, sending most of you rushing towards the main road leading to camp.

You, however, ran towards the RV, an older man standing up there using a pair of binoculars. “Dale, you see what that is?”

The man remained quiet, continuing to stare into the binoculars.

Shane came to your side. “Talk to me, Dale.”

“I can’t tell yet.” He finally responded.

“Is it them? Are they back?” Amy asked, an obvious hopefulness in her voice.

“I’ll be damned.”

“What is it?”

Dale shrugged. “A stolen car is my guess.”

You waited a few minutes before a red Charger sped into the camp. A young man, Glenn, hopped out of the passenger seat, smiling ear to ear.

“Hey,”

“Holy crap,” Dale grumbled. “Turn that thing off!”

“I don’t know how.” Glenn confessed.

Shane headed over to the car. “Pop the hood please.”

Amy rushed over as well, clinging to Glenn. “My sister Andrea-“

“Pop the damn hood!” Shane snapped.

“Alright, alright!” Glenn responded, popping the hood.

“Is she okay? Is Andrea alright?”

Glenn nodded. “She’s okay.”

The alarm stopped, Shane stepping back from the vehicle and taking a deep breath.

“She’s coming back?”

“Yes.”

Amy continued. “Why isn’t she with you?”

Glenn sighed. “She’s okay. Everybody is. Well, Merle not so much.”

Merle Dixon. The current bane of your existence. He was so much of what you hated about humanity, personified in one single person.

Shane marched over to Glenn. “Are you crazy, driving this wailing bastard up here? Are you trying to draw every walker for miles?”

Dale shook his head. “I think we’re okay.”

“You call being stupid okay?”

“Well, the alarm was echoing all over these hills. Hard to pinpoint the source. I'm not arguing. I'm just saying.” Dale responded before turning to Glenn. “It wouldn't hurt you to think things through a little more carefully next time, would it?”

“I’m sorry.” Glenn nodded. “I got a cool car though.”

You nodded, folding your arms across your chest. “It is pretty sweet.”

“See?” Glenn chuckled.

As everyone began to welcome Glenn back, a truck slowly pulled in behind the Charger. Andrea was the first to hop out, her legs shaking as her feet hit the ground.

“Amy.” She called out.

“Andrea!” Amy cheered, rushing over to her sister and pulling her into a hug. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Andrea replied, pulling away and holding her sister's face in her hands. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Next a man named Morales hopped out, his wife and kids running over to greet him.

Dale smiled. “I thought we had lost you folks for sure.”

“How’d y’all get out of there anyway?”

“New guy,” Morales replied. “He got us out.”

“New guy?” You asked.

“Yeah, crazy dude just got into town.” Morales nodded before looking back at the truck. “Helicopter boy! Come say hello.”

Your eyes drifted to Amy and Andrea, still holding one another as Amy continued to ask if Andrea was okay. They made you think of your brother. You would give just about anything to see him again; to be able to hug him and know he was okay.

“Oh my god.”

Your eyes widened, the voice all too familiar. You slowly turned your head, your jaw just about falling to the ground.

“Rick?”

“Dad!” Carl's voice rang out as he ran towards his father.

Rick took his son in his arms, falling to his knees. “Carl.” He choked, tears falling down his cheeks.

Lori ran over, joining the hug and burying her head in her husband's neck. You watched on, frozen in disbelief.

The hug was over and Rick turned his attention to you, his eyes still full of tears.

He called your name, his voice breaking.

You finally allowed yourself to breathe again, all feeling in your body springing back to life. How was this possible? Shane had told you he was dead.

Pushing your confusion aside, you walked towards your brother, pulling him into a hug.

“I thought you were dead.” You whispered in his ear, your voice breaking.

The two of you pulled away from each other and Rick smiled softly. “You think I’d want to miss all of this?”

You chuckled, a tear falling down your cheek.

Shane soon caught your eye, standing behind the hood of one of the cars. You expected him to be smiling and laughing like everyone else, but instead, his face was the same as it had been the night he told you Rick had been shot.

----

AN: Thank you for reading this first chapter, I really hope you all enjoyed it! If you'd like to request to be tagged in future chapters, you can do so here. Please be sure to like and reblog <3

#daryl dixon; unearthed #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader

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euphoniumpets · 10 months ago

Text

From another world | Sebastian Sallow x Reader x Ominis Gaunt [ 01/?]

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x reader x Ominis Gaunt

Summary: You woke up feeling disoriented, wondered where, how and why you came across in a city. That's when you sawthat the city and Professor Fig was real and in front of you and that's how you knew that you were in the Harry Potter world. You didn't know why, but you knew that you had one goal in your mind and that was to stop Sebastian Sallow from murdering his uncle and give him a second chance in life. And perhaps it was the reason why you ended up there to stop more than one life.

A/N: hi! yes, so, i was in a hiatus for a while before and now i am brain rotting over sebastian sallow and ominis gaunt from hogwarts legacy. these boys deserve more love and i'm ready to give it to them. this story is an AU where the reader is from our world but get transported into the game. I placed the reader in Hufflepuff but you can imagine your own house as well! Taglist is open if anyone want to be tagged in further chapters! just comment down below or send in my inbox!

Warnings: smut can come across further in the series, some sexual references, violence, blood and gore.

CHAPTERS: one - two

All you knew that you woke up and felt disoriented. You heard your mother's voice coming downstairs and calling your name to wake up. You thought it was your real mother before you had woken up, got changed, and then walked downstairs. Your first reaction was that you were shocked.

But not because you didn't recognise your real mother, but the way she used her wand in her hand and used magic. You almost passed out and thought it wasn't real until when she said that you were almost too late for the carrige that would take you to Hogwarts.

You didn't question it, since your mother would think that you had loosen your mind and before you knew it, you were waiting outside for the carriage and Professor Fig would accompany you to Hogwarts.

It felt real. Almost too real and it made you shudder with fear, knowing how things and event would turn out if you didn't act quickly.

You waited with your bags in front of your apartment and saw a carriage approaching you. Your eyes widened in surprise when you realized who it was. You recognized professor Fig and you knew he was not from your world.

''This is impossible....'' You whispered to yourself. ''I must be dreaming,'' You muttered as he approached you. ''Ah! it appears we are almost ready to depart,'' You heard him speak to you and you almost wanted to approach your soon to be mentor a hug. He was one of your favorites person in the game and you knew that he was soon going do die.

You took in your surroundings and you knew that scenario. It was the beginning of the game you knew very well and you knew that your journey to Hogwarts was not going to be a pleasant one. ''It's a pity we didn't have a bit more time to spend on spell-casting,'' He spoke.

''I persume you've been practising the spells we worked on?'' He asked you. You nodded. ''I have, professor,'' You lied. You actually didn't know if you had practised with the spells since everything felt unknown at the moment.

''Well, I'm quite sure I've never seen anyone take so quickly to a second-hand wand,'' He complimented. You glanced at your wand in your hand and remembered that scene very well. ''You'll be a force to be reckoned with when you get your own,''

''Thank you, Professor Fig, I appreciate your working with me before the term begin-'' You were about to say before you noticed a familiar figure that had apparated in front of the two of you.

You felt your stomach turn into a twist.

''Oh! Eleazar!'' Mr. Osric exclaimed when he saw Professor Fig. ''George, glad my rather cryptic description of our location did not thwart your finding us,'' Professor Fig told him. ''I've apparated to more vaguely defined destinations than this,'' Mr. Osric informed and chuckled.

''Though, I confess I may have miscalculated slightly on my first try, gave quite the fright to some theatre-goers in the West end,''

''It's been much too long, when I recieved your owl, I must say I-''

''Best not to speak here, Elzear,hm?'' He stopped him before he could finish his sentence. ''Of course, why don't we speak en route to Hogwarts? We have a start-of-term and a Sorting Hat to get to,'' Professor Fig replied and looked between you and Mr. Osric.

''Wonderful idea, as long as your young charge here doesn't mind me tagging along,'' Mr. Osric asked you. ''Not at all, sir,'' You told him.

''After you,'' Professor spoke and gestured towards you. You entered into the carriage as the two of them followed after. You knew that Mr. Osric would die on your way towards Hogwarts and the dragon and about the portkey would be on your hands. You decided not to stop it since all you knew that it felt like a dream, that you were still dreaming, but you still felt like his blood was on your hands.

Mr. Osric and Professor Fig began to catch up and you looked out from the window to spot the dragon. It was all too foggy and you couldn't see anything so it was pointless to keep an eye. Your eyes drifted back when you noticed that Mr. Osric had asked about you.

''A new student,'' Professor told him. ''Y/N L/N, pleasure to meet you, sir,'' You introduced yourself with a smile. ''New?'' Mr. Osric asked with a surprised expression. ''Yes, sir, I'm starting school as a fifth-year,'' You explained.

''How extraordinary,'' He spoke. ''It is indeed, none of the faculty has ever heard of anyone being admitted to Hogwarts so late,'' Professor Fig informed.

''Nor have I,''

''Of course, as the other fifth-years will have been honing their magical skills for four years now, the Headmaster asked if I could get our new student up to speed a bit before the terms begins,'' Professor Fig told Mr. Osric.

''Well, you couldn't have asked for a better mentor, Professor Fig is not only an exceptional teacher, he is also a remarkably intuitive - and gifted - wizard,'' Mr. Osric spoke with a glint in his eyes. You smiled softly when you heard Professor Fig's friend complimented him.

He was indeed, you thought.

''Mr. Osric is prone to flattery, I daresay it's one of the reasons he's risen so far at the Ministry,'' Professor Fig spoke.

''Have you seen this?'' Mr. Odric asked and pulled out a newspaper in front of you. You noticed the person and knew who it was. The goblin rebellion and Ranrok. You felt a slight anger when you saw his face appear in front of you, knowing why he must be stopped.

''I have, opinions differ as to how great a threat Ranrok really is,'' Professor Fig spoke. ''Although, I've yet to convince my colleagues at the Ministry, I believe he is a significant threat,''

''And it was your wife, Eleazar, who alerted me to his activities months ago'' Mr. Osric informed. ''Miriam, how?''

''She wrote to me about Ranrok before she died, wondering what the Ministry knew about his activities,'' Mr. Osric explained with a sympathetic expression. ''Before I could respond, I recieved this, it was the last thing she sent me, Eleazar,'' He replied and pulled something out of his pocket.

It caught your attention since you recognised the portkey in his hands and the symbol but also the strange glow. The glow was exactly like from the games would show up. ''It came via her owl, but with no correspondence, I can only assume-''

''That she had to get rid of it quickly to keep it safe,'' Professor Fig spoke as Mr. Osric handed the objec in his hands. ''Persumably from Ranrok,'' Mr. Osric said.

''I cannot open it, whatever magic protects this is powerful indeed,'' He spoke. ''It looks liek goblin metal,'' Professor Fig spoke as he examined the Portkey.

''That symbol-''

''What's that glow?'' You spoke. ''I don't see a glow,''

''Neither does I,'' You looked between the two men as Professor Fig handed you over the Portkey. The lid suddenly opened up and revealed a key. ''Merlin's beard, how did you-?''

You were about to grab the key before Professor Fig stopped you.

''Wait! We don't know what-'' Professor Fig spoke and grabbed the Portkey. The dragon suddenly attacked the carrige and split it in half and Mr. Osric was long gone before that. It felt too real, but how brains play a trick on us. You knew that would happen and you tried not to panic.

''Hang on!'' Professor Fig yelled. You suddenly flew out of the carriage and you saw the key flying beneath. You tried to get to the key before it could fall. ''Grab my hand!'' Professor Fig shouted as you grabbed his hand tightly and before you knew it, you apparated.

The next thing you knew, you felt like you were going to throw up.

You realized you were in the cave of the beginning in the game and I knew how this was going to be further.

After finding Professor Fig and defeating the Pensives, you found yourself back at Hogwarts. ''Are you alright?'' He asked you with concern. ''I've never seen so powerful a goblin, he seemed totally unaffected by my magic,''

''It seems like we're back where we're supposed to be,'' You spoke and looked at your surroundings. You spotted the familiar castle up ahead and that brought you a smile on your face.

''You're right,'' Professor Fig chuckled. ''It seems those who set up the pensive, the locket, and the path to both wanted someone with your ability, to end up here,''

''Come, we have a sorting ceremony to get to,'' He spoke. You followed after him and towards to Hogwarts.

As you walked inside of the familiar corridors that you had seen in the movies and in the game, you couldn't help but gasp in surprise when you saw the hallways.

''Remarkable, isn't it?'' You heard Professor Fig question next to you as you took in the castle. It was every harry potter fan that had wished for ever since to see the real castle in front of their eyes.

You watched as you stood at the entrance to the great hall as you saw Professor Fig facing you. ''Oh good, we haven't missed the Sorting ceremony,'' He spoke with a relieved voice after he peeked through the doors. ''I'm no expert, but-'' Professor Fig stated before he used his wand to change your clothes into the same first year clothing that they had in the movies before they got sorted into their houses.

''That seems more appropiate, now, I need to study this locket as soon as I can, but first I must contact the Ministry, they need to know what happened to George and be warned of Ranrok, for the moment, I ask that you keep all that's happened this evening between you and me,''

''Of course,'' You told him.

''Thank you,''

''Ready for the Sorting Ceremony?'' He asked and looked at you with excitement, ''Yes,'' You spoke. Professor Fig opened the door to the great hall and you saw the other students gathered around as well by their houses at the dinner table.

You spotted your headmaster, Black and Professor Weasley with the Sorting Hat in her hand. Headmaster Black noticed Professor Fig at the door.

You heard Professor Fig mutter something about Black before he approached the two of you. ''Fig,'' He spoke and you rose your eyebrow towards the man.

You understood why the other Professor didn't like their headmaster that much.

''Nice of you to join us, the Sorting Sediment is over,'' He replied.

''There were complications,'' Fig replied. ''Complications?'' Black repeated and looked at him. ''It seems the goblin is-''

''Goblins! No time for rumors, Fig, and I'm rapidly losing whatever patience I had left,'' Black spoke before his eyes drifted towards to you.

''If you're lucky, we might still be able to get you sorted this evening,'' He spoke and walked back to the great hall. ''I'll be in touch,'' Professor Fig spoke as you nodded before walking inside. You couldn't help but look marvelled at the sight.

It was just like the movies when Harry, Hermione, and Ron had walked for the first time and the ceiling was written in the stars. You looked at your surroundings, spotting a familiar Slytherin brunette boy who talked with a blonde one. You thought it must've been Ominis and Sebastian.

As you walked down, Sebastian could feel someone was watching him and noticed your eyes on him. While you locked your eyes with him, you sent a small smile before turning back to the Sorting Hat.

''Professor Weasley!'' Headmaster Black called after her. ''We've one more to be sorted,''

''Welcome, you're just in time, have a seat,'' She spoke as you sat on the chair in the middle. You took a deep breath when you felt the hat on top of your head.

You were nervous and always wondered in what house you belonged to. Sure, you've taking dozens of quizzes and even in your game got you placed in Hufflepuff. ''Ah yes,'' You heard a voice inside of your head.

''A bit older than the others aren't you? You come here with preferences and preconceptions, certian expectations,'' The sorting hat told you.

''I know where to put you, better be Hufflepuff!'' You smiled as you felt the hat was removed from your head. You wondered how this was going to be and you knew that this was just all a dream before you were going back to the real world.

At least that what you hoped.

#hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy #professor fig #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt x reader #anne sallow #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy ominis

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therhythmafterthesummer · 1 year ago

Note

IF you ever change your mind and your fingers are itching to post the pretty getting a backhanded compliment Drabble just know that I’ll be willing to receive

previous ask for reference

you know what??? sure. this is way longer than i remembered it to be so i'm not sure i can call it a drabble anymore lol

Pairing: Werewolf!Chan x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series, but you don’t really need to read any other instalments to understand/enjoy this one). | Word Count: ~3k | Themes & Warnings: fantasy/supernatural AU · smut | established relationship | physical descriptors of the reader such as: being curvy/chubby and having an absolute dumptruck · annoying co-workers · usage of the word fat in a very neutral manner · Chris in a suit (figured that warrants a warning) · alcohol consumption (very moderate) · possessiveness · pet names · oral [F.Rec] · unprotected penetration [piv. no barrier method used, but reader is presumed to be on some form of birth control] · praising · creampie · breeding kink

You hardly ever attended events related to work. You only got along with a few people there who you even hung out with outside of the office sometimes, people who coincidentally also hardly ever attended these events. But for some reason, your boss really wanted you to come to this party, and when she told you you could bring a plus one, you figured having your lovely boyfriend there with you would make things much more bearable.

And it did.

It was a fancy event, and seeing Chris all dressed up stirred butterflies in your belly. The white button-up shirt, the tie, the perfectly fitted black suit… He looked absolutely delectable. The only thing you weren’t too fond of was the fact that he’d asked you to straighten his hair. It was fine, he looked dashing as ever, but you just loved his curly hair so much more.

Even with the eyebrow slit he’d recently gotten, he still looked like he belonged at the event, and being honest, you did, too.

You chose to wear a lovely black dress, strapless, with thigh slits, sheer tights, and heels. The dress hugged your figure pretty much perfectly, and you were one-hundred percent sure of it the second you were going into the event venue, and you felt Chris’ hand on your lower back just as he leaned in to whisper in your ear. ‘Can’t wait ‘til we make it home so I can rip this fucking dress off of you and eat you whole…’

Everything was going fine, you were doing an outstanding job at pretending you cared about anything anyone was saying to you, and Chris, unsurprisingly, had charmed everyone up. As soon as more than two words left his mouth he already had people at his feet, and you honestly couldn’t blame them.

Two whole hours after you arrived you left your boyfriend at the bar to go to the toilet, and when you came back, just like you had predicted, there was someone already chatting him up. It was this girl from your department that hated your guts, and, boy, if you were ready to give her a metaphorical slap in the face.

“Hi, Gina”, there was a polite smile on your face just as you wrapped your arms around Chris’ waist. One of his arms immediately wrapped around your shoulders so he could pull you in to kiss your temple.

Gina was clearly taken aback by your sudden presence, she looked like a gaping fish, and it almost made you laugh.

“Hi, baby. What’re you drinking?”

You directed the question to your boyfriend, who simply handed you his glass. “It’s a mocktail. Try it, pretty”.

“I must say”, Gina started, just as you took a sip of your boyfriend’s fruity drink. “When Chris said he was here with his girlfriend, I didn’t think it’d be you”.

Ah, there it was.

Gina had an excellent way of delivering her messages… In which they’d always sound incredibly diminishing and condescending. You didn’t care much, though. You were used to people like her, so you just brushed it off, like you didn’t even pick up on it. Chris, on the other hand, had gone a bit quiet. The polite smile was gone from his face, and his eyebrows were pulling together the tiniest bit.

“Yep, that’s me”, you replied simply. Chris offered to get you a drink, and you figured a mojito wouldn’t hurt, so you took his offer. He immediately signalled the bartender just as you diverted your attention back to Gina. “You look really beautiful tonight”.

She did. She looked incredibly beautiful in her outfit, so you felt like telling her. Your plan of action with Gina was to kill her with kindness, so you always tried to treat her almost like you treated everybody else–sometimes you did get a bit sarcastic, you’d admit, but it wasn’t the case with your original statement.

Gina forced a smile, and she took a sip of her drink before speaking again. “Likewise. That’s a very revealing dress. You’re really brave for wearing that”.

Of course. A back-handed compliment was always Gina’s way. In her eyes, you were brave for wearing a dress like this one because you were fat, and fat people never felt beautiful or confident enough to wear something that showed skin.

You could now practically feel the anger rolling off of Chris. This could potentially get really ugly, really quickly, so you immediately placed a hand on his chest, stopping whatever it was he was about to say. “I don’t think I understand, Gina. Why am I brave?”

Playing aloof was something that always drove her crazy. You’d lie if you said you didn’t like to do it on purpose.

Gina blinked a little, and you saw her left eye twitch. “Well… You know…”

“I’m afraid I don’t? This is just how I normally dress for events like these, to be honest with you. So if anything I just feel like I usually do”.

Gina stumbled over her words, mumbling some pathetic excuse before she left altogether, and you finally heaved a sigh of relief as you took the stool she was previously sitting on. Chris’ form relaxed a bit, but you could tell he was still tense.

He thanked the bartender for bringing your drink, and he handed it to you. “What the fuck is that girl’s problem?”

“She just hates me and likes to be annoying about it”, you took a sip of the drink. It wasn’t particularly strong, for which you were grateful. “What was she talking to you about?”

“Honestly? No clue”, Chris took one last swing of his drink, placing the empty glass on the bar right after. “After I introduced myself and noticed she was trying to hit on me, I just stopped listening”.

“Can’t say I blame her for hitting on you”, you chuckled, taking another sip of your drink, placing a hand on your boyfriend’s thigh. “You look absolutely delicious, baby”.

It wasn’t like you liked when people hit on your boyfriend, but you could certainly understand why it happened. Chris was just unfairly handsome. Supernaturally so. Not only that but his entire aura just drew people to him, so at this point you weren’t surprised when someone tried to make a move.

To you, it didn’t matter anyway. Chris was yours, and yours only. Which was something you had absolutely no doubts about. After all, he had made sure to show you time and time again how true that was, so it didn’t make you particularly insecure if people hit on him, it mostly just annoyed you.

A smug smile spread on Chris’ face, and he placed one of his hands on top of yours on his thigh, hiking it further up. “Do I?”

“You do”, you looked him in the eyes as you said it, taking a sip of your drink. Chris’ gaze shifted, to that predator look of his you knew so well, which immediately had the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

You crossed one leg over the other. The slit of your dress exposed the skin of your upper thigh, and Chris’ eyes zeroed in on the movement. The tights might as well have not been there. One of the many love bites he’d left on your skin a couple of days ago was perfectly visible below the nylon, exposed only when the slit opened up more than it should probably have.

He stood up from his stool, moving to stand right in front of you, bringing a hand to your hip. Your soft flesh dipped under his tight hold, and you held your breath in anticipation when he leaned in to press a lingering kiss on your cheek before whispering in your ear. “Don’t try to rile me up now, pretty… Not unless you want us to get arrested for public indecency”.

You chuckled, but the way your thighs clenched to ease some of the ache that was quickly building between your legs didn’t go unnoticed. When Chris buried his face in the crook of your neck, brushed your pulse point with his nose, and inhaled deeply, you knew that the smell of your arousal probably didn’t go unnoticed, either.

“Say…” Chris spoke once he finally pulled himself away from your neck. “What if we get the fuck out of here?”

“Took the words right out of my mouth”, was the last thing you told him after you dawned the rest of your drink, before you pressed a brief kiss on his lips.

“Oh, fuck…”

After you and your boyfriend stepped through the door of your home, It took probably less than five seconds for him to push you against it and kiss you breathless.

His suit jacket ungracefully hit the floor when you pushed it off of his frame. You hastily untied his tie to also drop it somewhere on the floor just as he was rolling his sleeves up his arms, not detaching his mouth from yours for a second.

You didn’t even manage to unbutton two buttons of his shirt before he was taking a hold of your hips and turning you around so he could press his crotch to your ass. His lips attached your neck, making you whine, making you grind your ass on the very prominent tent in his trousers. His groans whenever you so much as put pressure on his growing erection would always be one of your favourite sounds in this world.

“Fuck, pretty…” Chris pulled you further against his crotch, just as he pressed kisses on your shoulder. “Can’t fucking believe the audacity of that woman…”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Of course Chris was still angry at Gina, you hadn’t expected any less of him. After all, you were comfortable in your body, but Chris was particularly proud of it himself, so he took these things personal. You supposed it was an instinctual reaction.

Before you knew it, he was on his knees, pushing your dress out of the way and ripping your tights. You gasped, surprised. “Chris!”

“I’ll get you new ones…” He replied simply, just as he attached his lips to your buttcheeks so he could suck and nibble your flesh, so he could leave his mark all over. “Fuck…look at this ass. I’ve been going crazy all night just seeing it in this fucking dress, baby…”

Chris gripped both buttocks tightly in his hands, making you whimper. He let go of them only to land mild smacks on each cheek, holding them again to attempt to soothe the sting. You were sure you were dripping already, and your suspicions were proven correct once your boyfriend pulled your thong to the side and got a good look at your bare centre.

“Shit… Push your hips back a bit more, pretty. Arch your back…”

You did as asked, and immediately, his mouth was on you. You swore, loudly, resting your forehead against the cold door of your flat as Chris lapped you up.

Reaching behind you, you buried your fingers in his hair and gripped him tightly, pushing him further into you with a whine. A low growl resonated from Chris, one of those animalistic growls that had goosebumps raising on your flesh, and his movements sped up with your motions.

Everything was a blur after that. You could only register your boyfriend’s devious tongue on your clit, your slit, your ass, anywhere he could reach. It didn’t take long for him to have you coming, to make your legs tremble as your orgasm raked throughout your body.

As soon as he stood back up from the floor, you turned around and pulled him to you, enveloping him in a sloppy kiss. You felt him fumble with his belt and his trousers, and a groan escaped his lips when you lightly scratched his scalp with your fingernails.

“Sofa. Now”, Chris mumbled against your mouth, right before he pulled himself away from you and started getting out of his bottoms.

You were taking too long to get to your destination, clearly, because as soon as he was bare from the waist down, he took your hand and pulled you towards the sofa. When he sat down, he tugged on your hand, urging you to straddle him. So you did, right as you cupped his cheeks to pull him in for a fervent kiss.

Chris pulled you as close to him as he could, reaching behind you to further break your tights open. Somehow, your thong got caught in the cross-fire, and you would’ve complained about it had it not turned you on so much. He could break all your clothes, for all you cared.

“Need you inside me. Now”, you mumbled against his mouth between kisses, moaning at the feel of his fingers digging on the supple flesh of your ass, at the feel of his shaft dragging through your folds with every roll of your hips.

“Fuck… Go slow, then, pretty baby…”

You’d gotten better at coaxing your boyfriend into giving you his cock with less prep than he’d usually prefer. You were always fine, you were used to him already, considering how often you had sex, so it hardly ever hurt as long as you did go slow.

Separating your bodies a bit, you took his length in your hand, feeling him throb in your grasp as you gave him a couple of pumps. Chris groaned, throwing his head back, and your mouth watered. Both at the feel of him in your hand, and the sight of him, all dishevelled, desperate for you just like you were desperate for him.

“Fuck, perfect little cunt, huh?” Chris mumbled when you started to sink on his cock. He’d told you before, many times, how perfect he thought your cunt was. ‘It’s like… So plump on the outside, just like the rest of you… But so fucking warm and tight on the inside… Makes me wanna eat it all the time, baby, it really does’.

“Your perfect little cunt, Chris. Yours”, you whispered in his ear, whining once he was fully sheathed within your warmth. “Perfect little cunt for your big, alpha cock. Hm?”

Chris hummed, holding your hips tightly so he could guide you to start moving back and forth, letting your clit deliciously rub against his pubic bone. “Your alpha’s cock, pretty. All for you”.

With trembling hands, you unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way so you could press your palms against his heated skin while you kissed him.

Chris always made you feel so full. Not only with his monster cock, but also with the undeniable love he had for you. There was just absolutely no doubt in your mind that this werewolf under you loved you with all of him, and, quite honestly, you had no doubt in your mind that you loved him just as much. You hoped he knew.

“I love you so much”, you gasped, rolling your hips harder against him, and his grip on your hips tightened.

If he didn’t know how much you loved him, you’d remind him. You’d remind him as many times as necessary.

“I love you, too”, Chris replied simply, kissing your cheeks, groaning a bit. “Wanna come again like this, baby? Grinding against me with my cock deep inside you?”

You just nodded, burying your face in the crook of his neck to press kisses on his skin, whining, moaning, feeling your mind empty out, leaving nothing but your boyfriend behind.

“Fuck, I want that, too… Want to feel you come around me, and then rail you on this very sofa. Would you let me, pretty? Let me fuck you dumb?”

You nodded again, speeding the movement of your hips, claiming your boyfriend’s mouth in a heated, sloppy kiss to muffle all the sinful sounds coming out of your mouth.

After a while of this, of just kissing and grinding against Chris, when you started to feel the familiar build up of your orgasm in your belly, you felt Chris’ hands move away from your hips. He dragged them all the way down to your thighs, your calves, and back up, squeezing as he went, humming and groaning into your mouth.

“Pretty, these heels… They make your legs look extra scrumptious”, he dragged his short nails over the fabric of your tights–or what was left of them… “Been–fuck… going insane all night”.

“I–I know”, you replied simply, whimpering a bit as you started to grind even harder against his pubic bone. “That’s why I got them… Why I wore them to go out with you tonight”.

Chris laughed at that, throwing his head back and everything. It made you laugh as well, with the only difference between your reactions being that yours ended in a breathless moan as your boyfriend bucked his hips. “I might be the monster here, but you’re certainly the dangerous one, love”.

“Mmm… My dear monster boyfriend…” You were honestly not even making much sense to yourself, but you vaguely noticed Chris’ gaze softening, which somehow had your lower belly tightening further. “Baby, I’m so, so close…”

“Good”, Chris replied simply, kissing you again.

You needed something extra, though. You knew you could come like this soon, but you were craving a bit more stimulation. “Chris?”

“Mm?”

“My tits”, you mumbled against his mouth, and Chris inhaled deeply, detaching himself from you.

“Want me to play with your tits, love?”

As soon as you nodded, Chris was pulling the front of your dress down so he could cup your breasts without barriers. He dragged his fingers over your stiffening nipples, making you roll your hips harder, faster, and mumble a barely audible ‘More…’

It took only a couple of rolls of your nipples between his fingers for you to finally come crashing down, moaning your boyfriend’s name and burying your face in the crook of his neck. Chris just held you close, mumbling words of praise against your hair as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

When you caught your breath enough, you pulled away from his neck, smiling brightly at him and bringing him in for a sweet kiss.

“Feeling okay, my love?” Chris asked, pressing lingering kisses on your cheek.

“Perfect, baby”, you replied simply, melting under the motions of his lips.

“Good. Now, let’s get you out of this thing…”

Chris helped you get out of your dress, and as soon as he’d shrugged his shirt off, you were on all fours on your sofa. Knees firm on the cushions, elbows on the armrest, and your boyfriend right behind you, shoving his werewolf cock time and time again within your sensitive core.

In no time, Chris had you a whimpering, moaning mess again. His hands were everywhere, on your hips or your waist to pull you back to meet each one of his precise thrusts, on your shoulders or the back of your neck to hold you in place, or even digging on the supple flesh of your thighs.

“Can’t believe…some people would even dare imply…” Chris brought a hand to your shoulder, pulling back towards him and wrapping an arm around your waist so his chest could be flush to your back. His lips attached to your neck, eliciting more moans to fall from your mouth. “…that this body of yours is anything less than perfect, fuck… So, so perfect. All mine to enjoy… I’m so fucking lucky…”

His relentless pace had your mind completely disconnected from everything outside of your flat’s walls. It took a moment to register what he was saying, to remember the encounter with your co-worker earlier in the evening. It was so insignificant to you, but it struck a nerve of Chris’, clearly.

Bringing a hand behind you to take a hold of his hair, holding onto the backrest for stability with the other, you started to push your hips back to the best of your capabilities in this position, just as quiet moans spilled freely from your lips. If there was anything you were good at at this point, it was knowing what to say to your boyfriend to calm him down in situations like these.

“All yours, Chris…” Your grip on his hair tightened, his thrusts sped up, and you were honestly on the verge of tears. “My soft body all perfect for you and your puppies, hm?”

“Oh, shit–Fuck, fuck. Gonna blow–”

“Stuff me full, Christopher. Gonna stuff me completely full of your pups, right?”

His hair tickled your skin when he nodded. One, two, three more thrusts and Chris groaned, filling you to the brim with his cum, panting, borderline growling against the skin of your shoulder. His other arm also wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to his body, and you immediately relaxed in his hold.

“Your…” Chris started speaking, a bit breathless. “Your soft body all perfect for me and our puppies…”

You giggled at that, feeling yourself flush.

“Get back on your elbows, pretty…”

You did as asked, lowering yourself again. Chris pulled out, and his cum started leaking from your now swollen hole. You heard him swear, barely a whisper before he started wiping you clean.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I seriously hope you’re not using my black dress to wipe your cum off of me”.

Chris laughed, and he asked you to lay on your back. That was when you noticed it wasn’t your dress, but his shirt he’d used.

“‘Course not, silly”, he started untying your heels to get them off. What was left of your tights came off after, finally leaving you completely bare.

Chris hovered over you for a second, pressing a brief kiss on your lips before he snuggled closer, laying his head on your chest. “I love how you look in that dress, wouldn’t want to ruin it…”

You hummed, burying your fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp. The tips of his hair had started to curl again from his sweat, and it made you smile.

“You looked incredibly handsome tonight, baby…” You couldn’t help but compliment him, kissing the top of his head. “You always do, but tonight especially…”

Chris kissed your chest, finding his way to your neck to lick and kiss your pulse point as well. “And you looked gorgeous, love”.

After a while of cuddles, of a comfortable silence spent catching your breaths, Chris shuffled down your body, kissing his way all the way down to your tummy where he placed loud, lingering kisses there before he stood up from the sofa altogether. He scooped you in his arms, and pressed a brief kiss on your lips, making you giggle.

You found yourselves in your bathroom seconds after, where your boyfriend started drawing a bath while he dropped the words you��d been waiting for all night. ‘Okay, I need you to tell me who was who tonight. I need to put faces to all this office gossip you’ve been telling me for months, baby, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight…’

figured i’d tag anyone that wants to be tagged in my wereroomies instalments. if you don’t want to be tagged in little ask responses like these let me know ! If you want to be added to the tag list, you can fill in this form. be aware that you must have an indication that you’re an adult in your blog if you want me to tag you in my works

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little-pondhead · 8 months ago

Text

The Folly of Men -

Chapter 3: #228B22

AO3 - MASTERPOST

[GENERAL TW: Swearing, lukewarm violence, lots of POV changes, and mild body horror.]

Damian was still being watched. The summer storm had well and passed, but the eyes he felt on the back of his neck were persistent, following him no matter where he went. He drove himself mad, tearing his room and the rest of Wayne Manor apart for bugs, asked Oracle to scan the city while he patrolled, and even pulled in a favor with some magic users to ensure he wasn't being haunted. Nothing! It was concerning his family, but Damian didn't care. He kept himself surrounded by others at all times whenever he left the house. Something was out there, ready for him to be truly alone. He didn't want to give them the opportunity.

The day came when he was assigned to patrol with Orphan since Batman was with the League but was separated due to the Riddler's schemes. They had solved the riddle already, thankfully, but Damian was intercepted while on his way to their meet-up point.

Pru, a former League assassin, caught his attention from one of Gotham's rooftops, and he swung down to meet her.

“Assassin,” was his only greeting. Damian was not a fool. No matter what had happened between Pru and Drake, she was still dangerous. He drew his sword easily and pointed it at her neck, reminding her that he was still a threat as well.

Pru didn’t look too happy to see him either. “Don’t give me that shit, Robin,” she snarled. “I’m just here to pass on a message.”

“I believe you are loyal to my brother, not me,” Robin hissed. “Why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth?”

“Because it’s important!” Pru looked frustrated. “Eth Alth'eban is on lockdown, and I barely managed to get out. I can’t get in touch with Red Robin; every time I try, something happens and messages are re-routed or destroyed. Lightning strikes on the communication towers in Antarctica, the encrypted server that runs through Bolivia crashed from a fucking hurricane, even the goddamn carrier pigeon got drawn off course from high winds in Brazil! Do you have any idea how erratic the past two weeks have been? It’s like something is out to get me!”

“So why come to me? You’re in Gotham now.” He pointed out.

Pru threw her hands up, exasperated. “Because Nightwing told me Red Robin is out of the country to help with flooding in Qatar! Apparently, there’s a fucking tropical storm hitting it for the first time ever! You’re the one who really needs to hear this, anyway, so I gave up and found you. It seems Gotham won’t let me leave until I say my piece.”

Damian considered the situation. Pru really did look like she’d been through hell and back. She looked furious at something, and her clothes were still damp from rain. Except it hadn’t rained in Gotham for a while. Not since…the summer storm. The back of his neck tingled again, and he glanced around. Clouds were closing in. Fuck.

He sheathed his sword. Pieces from this puzzle were starting to fall into place, but he needed more information. “Say what you must,” he nodded to Pru while tapping his comms to alert Oracle to the conversation. He also activated his emergency tracker, hoping Orphan or Nightwing would find him in time. Their conversation would end quickly once the woman relayed her message, and Damian wasn't about to force Pru to stay because he was nervous about being alone.

“Finally,” Pru sighed and sat heavily on the rooftop, not minding the glass that dug into her hands and thighs. “Your grandfather has a new Heir.”

Damian blinked, pausing. He wasn’t quite expecting that.

“I only knew about this early because they killed my inside man in the medical department. I got a hold of his notes, and it looks like they were in the middle of treating an unknown entity, and the files all referred to it as the ‘Demon's Heir.’ I'm not Red, so I can't be sure, but the records don't start in a way that would suggest they made a test tube baby or another clone."

"And it is not my cousin they are treating? Perhaps grandfather has changed his mind and declared Mara his ideal Heir."

Pru stared at Gotham's roiling clouds, looking frustrated. She didn't seem to notice anything strange about them. "No. Mara al Ghul was in Kuwait until recently. She and the others from the Demon's Fist were doing something on orders from Mother Soul. It's above my pay grade, so I can't tell you much more than that other than they left suddenly without finishing their business. I'll take a guess that Mother Soul will be pissed about that. I do know that the medical records were updated two days ago to reflect a stab wound to the entity's chest. Their name was also updated: Phantom."

Damian considered Pru's words. He turned the clues over in his mind like stones, carefully examining anything that might hint at deceit. She was telling the truth, unfortunately. "So someone named Phantom has claimed the role of Demon's Heir, and my cousin most likely heard this news first and abandoned her post to attack the usurper," he summarized. "And my grandfather has closed off his city for one reason or another, presumably to either train or protect Phantom. Am I correct?"

Pru nodded. "That's pretty much it, birdie. Whatcha gonna do about it?"

He ignored the jab. "I will consider my options," he said stiffly. "Now that you've served your purpose, leave Gotham immediately." Orphan, where are you?

The former assassin laughed and hauled herself to her feet, brushing off the glass and dirt that stuck to her clothes. "I'll consider it. I've been running around for weeks; Red Robin won't mind if I crash at his, will he?"

"He will."

"Tough shit. See you around!" Pru jumped off the rooftop and into the alley below, not giving a shit about potential muggers as she waltzed into the night.

He was alone.

Damian watched her go before tapping his comms again. “Did you hear everything?” He asked Oracle, but no reply came except static. He expected this but cursed anyway. Thunder started to rumble overhead; he felt it deep in his bones. Whispers of electricity started crawling along the rooftop, following wires and coming dangerously close to touching him. He was forced to back into a corner on the rooftop and hoped his rubber-insulated boots were enough to prevent a shock. The feeling from earlier was stronger than ever. Someone was watching him. They knew he was finally alone. Obviously, Orphan nor Nightwing would get there in time, so Damian would have to deal with this himself.

He turned in a circle, straining his eyes to see through the cloud cover. He still couldn’t pinpoint their location, but he knew they were up there. “Reveal yourself!” He barked, hand on his weapon.

A moment passed. The air pressure changed, making his ears pop uncomfortably. His eyes were trained on the sky as rain started to fall. The clouds above the city gathered wildly, swirling together and reaching down toward him. The bolts of electricity that crawled over the rooftop raced together and rose up to meet it, becoming large bolts of lightning that could do real harm to the city if even one got loose. He stepped back into the corner even further, watching the mass of storm clouds finally get low enough to spread out across the building like a thick fog, revealing a figure in the vague shape of a man.

Great. Of course, it was something magical. He'd be having words with the magic users from earlier.

The man wasn’t touching the ground. In fact, Damian could hardly make out his legs as his broad form blurred from the wind, snatching bits of his green body away. Smaller rain clouds encircled his waist like a belt, and his hair looked more like jagged horns sitting against his brow. While he wore a well-loved weather vest and thick gloves, the rain around them would have soaked the man through by now. But he was perfectly dry. Damian was a little envious.

The man was smiling at him, but not the kind of smile that welcomed him into the conversation. No, this man of clouds and lightning was holding himself like someone was forcing him to be there. His red eyes looked like a swirling red cyclone, and his overall air was disinterested and tired.

Damian flinched as the man opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out except drawn-out screeches and clicks. It sounded like thunder was crashing right next to his ear or a tree getting struck by lightning. He didn't like it. The man frowned, realizing Damian couldn't understand him, and cleared his throat to try again.

“Hello, little Robin,” the man eventually tried, this time in Arabic. His voice was…strange. It sounded like he was gasping with every word, and the thundering sound was still there, muted and layered under the greeting. "I'm sorry, I forgot the people of this world are not natural speakers of the Realm's language."

“I am not little,” Damian snarled, likewise in Arabic.

“Of course not,” the man waved his hand. “A ghost’s size does not determine their power. I greet you nonetheless, little Robin.”

Damian had a feeling that speaking with this man was going to be infuriating. “Who are you?” He demanded. “And why are you in Gotham City?”

“You may call me the Navigator,” the man bowed a little, stiff in his back like he wasn’t used to the action. The Navigator, it seemed, was used to being in power. But by bowing to Damian, he showed his reluctant submission right off the bat, hoping to appease him and have a civil conversation. “And I believe you have a hunch as to why I’m here. You noticed me pretty quickly, after all.”

“So you are the one who’s been stalking me.”

“In plainer terms, yes.”

“I presume you’re the one who’s been messing with Pru as well?”

“You would presume correctly,” The Navigator's face scrunched and swirled like he was making a face of disgust. “I would rather have sent my sylphs to do it, but the Scepter insisted I do this part myself.”

More new information. If Damian remembered, sylphs were elemental wind spirits. So the Navigator was either a spirit himself or someone who could control them. But he said ‘ghost’ earlier. How did that fit in? He didn't look like the undead Damian knew of.

And ‘the Scepter’ was said with an inflection that suggested it was a name. Scepters were symbols of royalty, but Damian didn’t know anyone who actually used one or went by that name. It was no title he’d ever heard of. Whoever they were, they had to be more powerful than the Navigator if they had truly sent him after Robin.

“Aye, I can hear your brain working from here, little Robin.” The Navigator rolled his eyes, stretching the tiny cyclones. “You three are so similar that I’ll never find peace.”

“I don’t quite follow. State your business quickly; I’m losing my patience.”

The Navigator waved his hand, summoning a tablet out of nowhere. He tapped on it a few times clumsily, like he wasn't used to holding it, and then tossed it to Damian. The boy caught it easily and examined the thing. It looked like a normal tablet, similar to the ones Drake made and sold. It had a shield logo stamped on the back with Egyptian hieroglyphs engraved around the edge. It was warm to the touch, and Damian felt a little tingle as he turned it over in his hands. This was filled with magic.

The screen was made from something other than normal glass, that much he could tell as he scrolled away, trying his best to absorb the information quickly while keeping an eye on the stranger. It was a contract, he realized. The contract had been written on papyrus and then scanned in digitally. Half of it was written in a language he recognized but couldn't read. The other half contained details on limitations for the Navigator and instructions he was to follow regarding 'ghostlings,' 'The Guardian,' and...Damian Thomas al Ghul-Wayne.

Damian paled beneath the mask. His full name was in this contract. This was about him. The magical being before him knew who he was. He sped through the pages faster, frantically looking for answers.

...And as stated previously, the Navigator, Ancient of Storms, will grant Damian Thomas al Ghul-Wayne his blessing. This blessing will last the entirety of Damian's natural life until death returns him to the Realms. Upon completing the blessing, the Navigator will dispatch one guard to watch over Damian until the Scepter returns* but will not interfere with him personally.

During this period, the Guardian will fulfill the contract between the Gardener, Ancient of Growth, and one Ra's al Ghul. *The Scepter will enter The Guardian's time loop, and therefore, the Navigator may return to the Realms once the time loop is closed again. The runaway ghostlings will be promptly returned to their Lairs and Haunts in the correct dimensions.

As one last note, the Navigator will also refrain from fucking around with The Sword and The Shield unless he wants to find out what they can do. (I'm serious, too. The Shadow is busy, but I'll still find out if you try something, and I will kick your ass with no hesitation. The other two will be more than willing to punt your ass into Soup Time, as well.)

Upon completing this assignment, I release you from your bind, Ancient of Storms. Return to your Lair and rest with your sylphs. Thank you for your service.

Upon signing, all parties agree to abide by this contract until its terms are met. May the End take our souls if it is ever broken.

The Navigator, Ancient of Storms

Jasmine Nightingale, the Guardian's Scepter

At the bottom, under the signatures, Damian spotted a smaller note addressed to him.

Damian al Ghul, I look forward to our first meeting. Don't forget to bring your sword!

"You," he breathed heavily, glancing up at the mass of clouds. "Explain. What on earth is this?"

The Navigator cocked his head a little too far to the left. "I thought it was pretty self-explanatory," he said in a bored tone. "I was essentially sent on a ravenger hunt to find you and some escaped ghostlings. You shall receive my blessing whether I like it or not, and then I'll leave you to return to my Lair. Hopefully, I'll never have to grace these rotten clouds again!"

"It's 'scavenger hunt.'"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. You are useless at explaining. What is this 'Ancient of Storms' title you have? What are these Realms this contract speaks of? Why must you give me a blessing?"

"Ughhh," the Navigator rolled in the air, groaning. "I'm the embodiment of storms, isn't that obvious? I'd rather deal with Plasmius now than talk with a naive ghostling like you. What kind of ghostling speaks like this anyway? It's rude! I've been practicing my manners; the least you can do is humor me. At least Phantom can figure shit out on his own; I don't have to explain anything to him."

"Phantom?" The name caught Damian's attention. "You know Phantom? Who is he? What does he want with my grandfather?"

"Dunno, little Robin. That's between the Scepter and the Gardener. They had a contract in place decades before your grandfather was even born. And since I'm not allowed near Phantom for a while, all I know is that he's been handed over to Ra's al Ghul for a chance at recovery. He was involved in an incident recently. I don't know the details, but he's hurt so badly it's turning the Realms upside down. That's why I was sent away; I thrive off chaos."

"So, again, you are useless," Damian snarled. He turned away, which, in hindsight, was a stupid move, but he was so angry at the lack of answers that he didn't care. He buried himself back into the tablet, scanning through the contract again, looking for anything useful. Everything seemed so organized, yet the information he wanted felt just out of reach.

He vaguely heard the Navigator mutter in surprise. Something about freaky time visions being too accurate before a blinding white hot pain spread across his body. He dropped the tablet, falling to his knees. It felt like lightning was crawling under his skin, burning him from the inside out. He was distantly aware that he was screaming but didn't know how to stop it. Then the pain was gone in the next instant, and he was left collapsed on the roof, eyes screwed shut as shudders racked his body. He smelled burning flesh. A misty touch brushed away his damp bangs, cooling his brow.

"Yup, I'm pretty sure he's still alive," the Navigator murmured. "Well done, little Robin. Perhaps the Scepter knew what she was talking about when she said you could house my power. Either way, I've said my piece. The rest is up to you. Goodbye, and I hope to never see you again. Feel free to pass on those ghost rabies to the Gardener if you ever see him, though."

And with a rumble of thunder, the presence of the spirit disappeared, taking with him the gentle rain and green storm clouds. Damian lay on that roof for what felt like ages, staring into nothing and dazed from the pain. Nightwing eventually found him, however, with Orphan not far behind.

"Baby Bat!" His elder brother cried, sliding to a stop beside him and gathering Damian in his arms. Cass hovered next to them, unsure of what to do.

"Baba," he croaked in return. "The tablet..."

"Don't worry about that," Nightwing pushed his bangs back, just like the Navigator had. "Are you okay? You're shaking; Oracle lost contact with you over an hour ago and you never showed up to the rendezvous spot. What happened?"

Damian tried to tell him. A being made of storms came by, looking for me by name. He wanted to say. He cut off my comms and shared a contract with me. Then he struck me with lightning and left. We need to bring the tablet back to the Cave for analysis.

But his throat was too dry, and Damian's mind was in too much pain to form the words. As he curled up in Nightwing's arms, all he could mumble was the word 'baba' again and drop his head to the side. Nightwing cursed, instructed Orphan to grab the tablet, and swiftly made the trip back to the Cave with a sense of urgency. Damian groaned the whole way. His body was tender, and every jostle sent tiny shocks through his nerves.

He must have passed out at some point because he remembered skirting around Crime Alley one moment and Alfred checking his vitals the next. The butler gave him a gentle look and dabbed his forehead with a cool cloth. "Where's-" he tried to ask.

"Quiet, Master Damian. Master Dick will be here in a moment." Alfred soothed. Damian dropped it and settled back into the medical bed. When had he taken his clothes off? How long was he out?

A few minutes later, his siblings got the message that he'd awoken and stormed the med bay. "Baby Bat!" Cried Dick, sliding into the room and bolting to Damian's side. "Are you okay? Do you remember us?"

"Yes, baba." Damian croaked. Alfred held a glass of water to his lips, and he sipped carefully to soothe the burn in his throat.

"Dickie told me you got one hell of a shock," Jason, the second eldest, stood in the doorway, arms crossed and staring at them. Cass hung from his side, overwhelmed with anxiety. Steph was shuffling an exhausted Duke into one of the other medical beds, simply so the boy could feel included but still get some rest.

"I did," Damian confessed. Dick gripped his hand tightly, helping him sit up better. "I've been feeling a presence stalk me over the past few weeks, and tonight, I was finally confronted when Cain and I were separated." He left out the part with Pru for now but relayed everything the Navigator had told him, including the details he'd seen on the contract.

Everyone stayed silent as he spoke, but Dick looked like he was ready to bite someone by the end of the story.

"I'm calling everyone back to the Cave," he decided. "This is a Code Addams."

Jason shook his head immediately. "I'm all for punching storm cryptids," he said. "But you know this doesn't fall under Bruce's emergency plans."

"He's right, Dick," Steph frowned. She sat on the other side of Damian's bed, playing with his fingers lightly, and he didn't have the energy to move her. "We can put out a warning, but this sounds like League business to me. Most of us won't really be any help when it comes to al Ghul family drama."

"It's not 'drama,' Brown. Grandfather has taken a new, unknown Heir that has connections to several powerful entities if I'm not mistaken."

Steph nodded. "Yeah! Drama! And if that freaky storm demon shows up again, then we're even less equipped to deal with it. B's not even here right now to help, so we're on our own for this one."

"I'll even send Babs a copy of the contract; she'll probably be able to find something we can't." Jason started tapping away at his phone with one hand, updating the BatKids group chat on the situation and unloading the work onto Barbara.

Dick looked devastated. "But-"

"Hey, Dami?" Duke groaned, cutting everyone off. He was tangled in the thin sheets of the bed now, squinting at the youngest Wayne like he was staring at the sun. "I was kind of half-listening, but you said something about the lightning strike being a blessing, right?"

"Correct."

"Okay, um. Are you aware you glow now? Well, glow more than you used to?"

"...I was not aware. What do you see?"

Duke shuffled and threw an arm over his eyes. The lights of the med bay were giving him a migraine, but he refused to leave now. "You used to just look like a lamp. Now, you look like a bolt of lightning," he said. "There's electricity following your nerves. And your eyes are glowing green—just like Jason's when he's mad. Whatever you got hit with, it's definitely doing something to your body. I just don't know what."

Everyone paused at that.

"Well shit," Jason eventually broke the silence, bringing Cass even closer like a teddy bear. "Looks like we should get a hold of Talia and Bruce, at minimum. Demon Brat, you should probably go to Eth Alth'eban if you want answers."

Damian thumped his head against his thin pillow. "Fuck."

"Potty mouth!"

Danny was starting to get tired of waking up sore.

At least he recognized the room. It was the same one as before and actually decorated like a patient's room, not an underground bunker with his own blood splattered on the walls. He groaned, trying to shift his body. How much was he missing? His lungs were back, obviously. They felt raw in his chest. His vocal chords were also half-baked, but speaking wasn't really an issue right now.

What mattered was his pounding headache and the fire beneath his skin. He had started to sweat in his sleep, which is something he'd never done ever since he had died. Danny tried to glance down at this chest. (Had someone slipped his bones back into place?) The bandages were professional work but pulled away easily when he tugged on them. He hissed as they caught on fresh scabs and drew tiny amounts of blood.

His torso was a fucking mess. Danny was underground for ages, he knew. The GIW treated him like an immortal lab rat by tearing open his body every day to poke around and take samples. It was a miracle they didn't find his broken core, which was hidden deep behind his heart.

The cuts on his torso were being held together by surgical staples; no doubt any stitches or glue dissolved when in contact with his blood. His skin was flushed, puckered, and oozed green. The stab wound was fresher and looked nastier than what Lunch Lady could cook up. It was probably infected. He most likely would have scars even as a ghost. Frostbite once told him that wounds to the soul were the hardest to heal, and Danny didn't see himself getting over this anytime soon.

He laid his head back, staring at the smooth ceiling. A whine built in his throat. Why did everything have to hurt? He just wanted to go home.

But where was home?

His home was gone.

He had nothing to return to.

His parents pretty much disowned him the moment they sold him to the GIW.

The whine turned into a quiet sob, and he let himself sit there and shake. All he had ever done was try to be a good son to his parents, a good friend to Sam and Tucker, and a good brother to Dani and Jazz. Why did it have to be up to him to save others? Sure, it was kind of fun, but the stress of protecting both humans and ghosts got to Danny fast. The others didn't understand. No one understood. And now they never will because Danny was gone and had no home.

And there was that heavy pain again. His core became impossibly cold, uncomfortable against his human heart. It was pulling at his skin and at his bones. He gasped and cried, balling up the bandages in his fist. Was his chest caving in? His core felt like it was trying to turn him inside out and tear him apart.

Why was no one there to help him? Why wasn't he good enough to be saved? Was it because he couldn't save that little girl? Were his failures finally catching up to him? He'll do better, he promises...

Desiree must have heard his silent pleas. The door to his room opened, and a single man entered. It took a moment to recognize him through his tears, but Danny eventually saw that he was the same man who had soothed him to sleep previously.

"Ra's al Ghul," Danny managed. The man nodded to him, coming closer to stare at Danny while he writhed on the bed.

"You are having another panic attack."

"C-can't-"

"The doctors say you have lungs once more. Use them."

"It hurts-"

"Then let it hurt," Ra's didn't look away from Danny. He was cold but not disgusted. He expected Danny to be strong enough to handle this himself. "You are my Heir now; either embrace the pain or let go of what torments you. Become stronger."

"I can't!" Danny sobbed. His shoulders shook with the effort it took to speak. "They'll come back-"

Ra's firmly said, "They shall not."

"You don't know that! I'll be cut up again!"

"You are not from this world, Phantom. Whatever torments you cannot follow."

The words slowly sunk into his brain. The weight was lifted off his chest for a moment. Another world? He wasn't in his home dimension? The GIW didn't exist here? His parents weren't waiting around the corner with a bone saw and handcuffs?

That was great, but that also meant he truly was alone now.

There was no way for him to find his way back, was there?

The pressure from his core lessened, and his body stopped trying to eat itself. His chest expanded again, allowing him to breathe properly through choked sobs and broken groans. He clenched his teeth, trying to stop the tears. He really was useless.

"You are not useless, Phantom." Ra's had a hard light in his eyes. "As mentioned before, you are an al Ghul now, one of my grandsons, no matter what you were previously. You are very valuable to the League now, and I refuse to let you go."

Danny sniffed. "I can't offer you much," he said. "I remember that Undergrowth promised you power and knowledge, but I'm practically a high school dropout, and I'm so weak I can barely lift my head."

"So you shall regain your strength. I have lived a long time, grandson, and I shall live even longer. Your recovery will be swift when compared to the erosion of time."

"Mr. al Ghul..." Danny said defeatedly. His throat felt thick from all the crying. "I couldn't even keep my town safe. All I'm good for is killing kings and pissing people off. I don't want to bring you that kind of shame."

Ra did not show any signs of his satisfaction with Danny's words, but Danny could taste it in the air. "So you were a warrior, yes?"

"I-uh, sort of? I'm a ghost, and I died two years ago. Ghosts fight for every reason and no reason. I kinda had to learn on my feet or risk getting Ended."

"A warrior who cannot die. A man who has the will to act." Ra's appraised him like a prized cow. "Yes, I shall be able to use you, child. The al Ghul legacy shall never die out if you become the Demon's Head. Phantom al Ghul is a...fitting name, I suppose."

Danny wrinkled his nose. "I don't know what half of that means, but okay. And my name isn't really Phantom; that's just my title and hero name. My real name is Danny."

"Then, Daniel-"

"Danny!"

"Daniel, now that your tears have stopped, let me call for refreshments and fresh bandages. We must discuss the Gardener's contract and your usefulness in great detail."

Danny sighed. He was calmer, but now he had to do an Ancient's magic paperwork? He'd rather let his core swallow him whole.

At least someone needed him again.

The group followed Jazz’s decision without a second thought and stepped through the giant portal alongside her. Luckily, it led right to the edge of the In-Between, where Clockwork and a few others resided in their individual spaces. Jazz yelped as she realized there was no solid surface to land on and flipped around in the air uncontrollably. Sam and Tucker had the same fate. All of them kind of bobbed around like ducks in the water before Danielle sighed, gathered them all up with some rope from Tucker’s pack, and hauled them along in the vague direction of Clockwork’s tower.

For a space called Long Now, it didn't take very long to reach the tower, even with Dani hauling along three passengers. Everyone was pretty quiet during the ride, still processing what they had seen in the underground facility. It was a little strange. None of them felt disgust or fear at Danny's actions, but anger and sadness at what he was forced to endure. Not once did they consider abandoning him, even though others might have shied away from his monstrous outburst.

Jazz wondered what Clockwork could possibly say to them that would make the whole thing better. She just wanted to see Danny. She wanted to sit down with him and watch shitty kid's movies while they huddled under that one big quilt her parents had. The one that was gifted to them as a wedding gift and the one they added to when something important happened. She felt horrible thinking about it now.

Jazz would probably never see that quilt again. And if she did, she would probably burn it.

"We're here," Dani quietly announced, untethering the group from her body as they touched Clockwork's island. Long Now was a special place even in the In-Between. The tower's foundations were in varying stages of decay, and much like its owner, the building warped from looking good as new to 'about to fall over' kind of old right before their eyes. Everything felt so fragile.

They entered the lower entrance, climbing a spiral staircase past rows and rows of clocks lining the walls. Everything was ticking out of sync, which usually annoyed Jazz to no end. Right now, she couldn't care less.

Reaching the top had a lack of fanfare. One minute they were passing the biggest fucking grandfather clock they'd ever seen, and the next, they were in Clockwork's main room at the top of the tower, facing the old ghost himself.

Clockwork didn't even look at them. He seemed exhausted.

"We're here," Jazz announced. "Tell us what you know."

"No greetings, Jasmine? I thought you raised Danny to have manners, so where are yours?"

"Locked behind the walls of Fentonworks. Tell us what you know, Clockwork, or I'll break everything here." She snarled. It wasn't an empty threat, and everyone knew it.

"Please, Clockwork," Tucker added. "We saw your message. Where's Danny?"

Dani started crying into Sam's shoulder. "Where's my brother?" The ghost girl sobbed. "I want to see Danny!"

Clockwork sighed. He was aging rapidly, growing wrinkles as they watched. "Daniel is safe, for now. I hid him in another world. However, the flow of time has changed. New paths are being forged. If things continue as they are, Daniel will become something worse than Dan."

Danielle muffled another sob.

"Daniel did something I did not expect while having his rampage in Yellowstone. It will take a delicate hand to make sure his actions do not cause him to go down the wrong path."

"What did he do?"

Clockwork looked them each in the eye. His eyes were glassy and blank, like the face of a new watch, but his sincerity was enough to reach them. "He sealed off the Realms."

Tucker choked. "I'm sorry, he wHAT??"

"Daniel, in his explosion of sudden power, sealed off the Infinite Realms from your home world's influence. Only the power of an Ancient can break that barrier now. The only portal still open is the one located in Fentonworks, protected by the strongest shield your mortal world has to offer. Vortex had to be sent out to collect ghostlings who didn't return in time. By sealing off the Realms, Daniel effectively declared they were under his protection and claimed the title 'Guardian' since only Guardians have the right to seal off worlds."

Jazz's mind was spinning. "He...sealed off our world. Did he do it on purpose?"

Clockwork shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. This was a decision made by Fate alone. He was simply the strongest power source available that was also willing to defend the Realms to his End. The Realms responded in kind and claimed him as Guardian. That is a title and a burden he will share forever."

"Oh, god..." Jazz sat heavily on the floor, reeling from the shock. Dani left Sam's shoulder and crumpled into her lap, still crying. Tucker and Sam also offered each other comfort, leaning on each other as Clockwork's words sunk in. "So, what happens to him? Where is he now? What future do we have to avoid?"

Clockwork waved his staff, summoning a few large clocks with reflective surfaces. The clockfaces glitched and changed to show different pictures of Danny, all doing various things at different stages in his life. One had Danny laughing with a group of strangers. Another had him shaking hands with a green-skinned man. A third was him sitting in a hospital bed, getting stabbed in the chest. They cycled through different pictures and videos, and it was hard to look away.

"This is the future we must avoid." Clockwork motioned to the smallest clock, which showed a furious Danny screaming into the vacuum of space, tears pouring down his face. A large rip into the Realms tore open from his Wail, and the stars surrounding him started to get sucked in.

"If this future comes true, Daniel will destroy not only your home world but the Realms as a whole," The Ancient explained. "Because of his new link to the Realms, no one will be able to take the title of Guardian from him. He will become a destroyer and tear apart every universe and every timeline. Everything will just...End."

"That's horrible," Sam whispered. "What's the tipping point?"

Again, Clockwork looked them deep in their eyes. "Your betrayals."

"WHAT??" Danielle screeched, whipping around.

"You betray him by dying, Danielle. You melt in his arms and ask why he didn't save you. Samantha, you betray him by leaving him. Your home world is never unsealed and you can't stand not being able to see your grandmother again. Tucker, you betray him by lying to him. You say you're on his side but end up stabbing him in the back for a 'good cause.' Jasmine, you betray him by acting just like your parents." Jazz felt tears prick her eyes, but Clockwork kept going. "You see the monster he has become and can't look past it. The four of you betraying him would be his last straw, and Daniel would rather tear apart the universe than be reminded of you four ever again. And so he does."

Sam protested, "We would never!"

"You wouldn't." Clockwork agreed. "But you can, and in some ways, you already have. That is how time works. If you do not want to bring about this end, you must actively fight against this destiny like Daniel has fought against Dan."

Tucker whipped out his PDA, already taking notes. "What's the game plan, then? I would rather eat Dash's underwear than stab Danny in the back. If I have to throw hands with an evil version of myself from the future, I'm willing to do that, too."

Clockwork smiled at them for the first time since their arrival. "That was the right response," he told Tucker. "You're already taking a step away from that future. But for the best ending for everyone, all four of you will need to connect with the Realms as well."

"But we don't have the same power that Danny does."

"No, but your will is just as strong as his. Prove to the Realms that you're willing to fight, protect, and love just as much as Daniel. Become his support. Do it right, follow in his footsteps, and the Realms shall accept you with open arms. You will be bound together as a family for eternity."

The four looked at each other. Jazz gently wiped away the remainder of Dani's tears as they pondered over the ghost's words. Connecting with the Realms would probably mean giving up some amount of their humanity, especially if it truly was a forever thing. They might follow in Danny's footsteps a little too closely-but for their friend and brother? They would do anything.

"Fuck eternity!"

"Tell us what to do."

"We'll always be there for Danny."

"I don't plan on eating any underwear, but I will fight evil me if that's what it takes."

Clockwork shriveled up, folding in on himself several times before unfolding into a child, like a phoenix (but without the fire). He looked less exhausted now, less like the promise of the End was no longer hovering over his shoulder. "Become the Guardian's Shadow, Danielle. Take up his mantle while he is away and keep the peace in his stead. Be the Guardian's Sword, Samantha. Be at the front of each fight and kill when he cannot. The Guardian's Shield will be you, Tucker. Your wish to protect those around you will come true, and you will gain the power to shield them from harm. And Jasmine-"

Jazz held her breath.

"You will have the most difficult job. You will be the Guardian's Scepter. His symbol of power. You will work behind the scenes to stage events that shall work in his favor no matter what."

She released her breath, surprised. "A scepter? Like the symbol of royalty? But wasn't the position of King given to another?"

"In sorts. Daniel helped elect a council to rule the Realms and refused to be a part of it. However, you shall be his Scepter, only wielded in times of need. You will take the dark and harsher jobs that shouldn't be brought to life. You will pull the strings to ensure the timelines stay together, and he never strays from the path."

"How would I do that?"

"You need to become my apprentice."

After Jason's statement about coming to see Ra's in person, the whole Batfamily blew up. Words were said in person and over text, and Damian was too exhausted at the time to get a word in edgewise, so let Jason argue for him. Eventually, Bruce had to take a moment away from his League duties and settle the matter over a conference call. After debating, he allowed Damian to return to the League of Assassins, provided Dick went with him. The man was already on a leave of absence from his job to cover for Batman, and he could keep a level head when dealing with the Demon's Head.

So off they went as soon as Alfred gave Damian the all-clear. Strangely enough, he had no side effects from being struck by fucking lightning. Well, almost none. He did feel flush every once in a while, and his veins burned like there was liquid battery acid in them, but other than that, he was fine! No, he didn't need another cold press, Alfred! It was only a few hours by plane; he'd be fine!

And honestly, with the news that Eth Alth’eban was on lockdown, Damian thought it would be harder to enter the city. Undetected, at least. Sadly, they were found out immediately and had a group waiting for them as they touched down. As soon as he stepped off the Batplane onto the private airstrip in Yemen, he was quickly surrounded by the 'welcoming' entourage of assassins. They took his bags, herding him toward a black car as Dick jogged to keep up with them. Damian was glad they didn't do a pat-down in their rush; he'd hidden the tablet under his clothes just for this purpose.

"Hey!" his brother shouted. "How did you guys even know we were here?"

"This is a League matter, Nightwing." The head of the group, a one-eyed man named after the god Balor, whom Damian recognized as part of his grandfather's elite, barely turned to look at Grayson and dismissed him entirely.

“No, this is a family matter,” Dick leaned against the door of the car, preventing Balor from opening it and shoving Damian in. They stared at each other long and hard.

“You are not an al Ghul.”

“Damian was nearly killed by a storm demon and told there was a new Heir who is somehow connected to said storm demon. I’m not leaving him alone.”

Balor considered the options before him, glancing at Damian. His one good eye assessed him. The boy simply raised a brow. “I’d prefer it if my baba came with us.”

The assassin’s face twitched, which was the equivalent of a snort of disgust, but gave in to Dick’s demands and herded them both into the car. Two more assassins slid in on either side of them while Balor took the passenger seat. The driver barely glanced at the airport security as they drove the vehicle off the tarmac and into the middle of the desert.

The drive felt long. Damian held a stoic face whenever Balor looked at him and refused to engage in any conversation with Dick. Even when the AC was turned off, everyone started sweating, and his brother was threatening to sing show tunes until they turned it back on.

He ended up singing, of course. Damian just zoned out as his brother started warbling through the entire soundtrack of Hairspray. Truly, the man had questionable taste. For their credit, the assassins made it through the entire performance of Hairspray and halfway through High School Musical before the driver slowly leaned over, never taking their eyes off the desert landscape, and flicked the AC back on to blast. They lasted longer than Bruce would have.

Dick still finished the High School Musical soundtrack despite getting what he wanted. No one ever said he did things half-assed.

Finally, Damian spotted the maze of canyons that housed the Assassin City, Eth Alth’eban. Damian wasn’t sure if his elder brother had ever been there before, but the tight hold he had on his hand suggested that Dick either had very complicated memories of the place or was anxious about being in enemy territory. He wasn’t really interested in asking.

As they approached, the main gate was large and imposing. The sun was high in the sky now and beat down on them to reflect all the minute details that had been carved into the gates. They were gorgeous pieces of work, ones that Ra’s was no doubt very proud of. Guards were there to welcome them, examining the vehicle from top to bottom to ensure nothing strange was being brought in from the outside world. Damian glared at his brother when the man leaned forward to take the attention off of him and the hidden tablet, loudly asking the outside guards when they could go in yet.

One of them narrowed their eyes at Dick. “An extra?” They hissed in Arabic. “This was not approved by the Demon’s Head.”

Balor jerked a thumb at Damian. “His choice,” he responded simply. “The Bats are never alone. The Head is aware of this." Since when? They never called ahead. Damian felt the burn of lighting in his veins again. He caught Balor's eye in the rearview mirror and realized that the man's eye color was much lighter than it was supposed to be. It was shifting between gray and blue, like a cloud, and stared at him with unusual intensity.

Fuck. Of course, the secret guard that was mentioned in the contract. It must have gone into effect when the Navigator returned to wherever he came from. How did he know they would end up in the Eth Alth'eban?

Whatever was said next, Damian missed, but eventually, the gates opened, and the car was let through. Dick was quiet once more, staring at the lush city, probably trying to figure out how to do a backflip off the tall buildings. They headed straight for the palace that was past the training grounds. Most people were taking a noon daybreak, so the grounds were empty when the car pulled up next to the designated drop-off point.

Balor motioned for the group to leave the car, and the two assassins tugged on Dick’s arm painfully, practically dragging him along and not allowing any room for him to wander off. Damian wasn’t touched, but he was no less shuffled in the same direction. They went up the steps, through hallways lined with servants and fountains, following a path Damian recognized easily. They were headed to the medical wing.

His mind raced. Was he ready to meet this ‘Phantom’ fellow? Would he insist on fighting to the death to prove his worth? Had his mother gotten his message and made it here before him? So many questions ran through his head, yet this was not the time to ask them. Damian bit his tongue and instead played the part of the perfect al Ghul. Silent, deadly, and proud.

Balor was leading the way. He studied the older man's back carefully, looking for any other inconsistencies in his behavior. There were none, except for a single cloud symbol stamped into his neck that shimmered the same color as Vortex. Did this mean he was possessed? Was he another one of the Navigator's blessed? Did Damian also have the same symbol? No one else seemed to notice the mark, so Damian put it in the back of his mind. He'd have Dick check his neck later, just in case.

They'd reached the end of the medical wing now, where Damian knew the rooms were sealed off for quarantined patients.

Indeed, a pair of guards stood in front of the extra set of doors. Balor nodded to the guards and pushed through without stopping. The quarantined corridor was short, with only six rooms, three on each side. Five were marked with a little green flag by the door, indicating their vacancy. The sixth, the farthest on the left, had a little red flag displayed. Damian pushed his way to the front of the group and beelined for the door. This was it. Soon, he'd have some answers.

His grandfather opened the door before he could knock. The al Ghuls looked at each other, noting how much had changed since they had last seen each other. His grandfather looked…well. He was healthy, and there were no visible injuries. His clothes were immaculate but simpler than his usual ornate robes. It felt like Ra's was dressed for a close social visit, not for taking over the world and planning murder.

"Damian," His grandfather was as short as ever, however. "You are late."

"Good to see you too, old man," Dick snarked. Ra's ignored him, waving a hand to Balor, who promptly shut the door again before Dick could walk through after Damian. The two were to wait in the hallway, apparently.

Damian moved further past his grandfather, forgoing the greeting. His eyes were glued to the hospital bed. Draped in rich blankets and wrapped in soft cotton bandages, a boy around his age was sitting up and staring at him with green eyes similar to his own. He was holding a glass of Lazarus water, raised to his lips like he was about to drink it. Honestly, if it wasn't for his incredibly pale skin and wispy white hair, the boy could have been his-

"Holy shit, we look exactly the same!" The boy lowered the glass, staring at Damian in wonder. His voice was double-layered, like the Navigator's, and it grated on Damian's mind with the sounds of screaming and creaking ice. "Are you Mr. al Ghul's other grandson? This is so freaky!"

Ah, so this was Phantom.

#dpxdc #pondhead writes #the folly of men fic #no beta we die like danny #long post #really long post #I asked myself how many titles i can give people and my hands took that as a challenge #the reason undergrowth and vortex go by those weird ass names is because the words for their name don't exist in the dc world #add that to ghost speech and basically it's easier to give themselves a title over the centuries #clockwork is just dramatic

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