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floralcyanide · 1 year ago

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― 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜 (nsfw)

⌯ pairing: bale!bruce wayne / afab!reader ⌯ warnings: smut, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation, fingering, nipple play, friends to lovers, love confessions, mentions of fear toxin (dcu), no gender affirming language other than anatomy description ⌯ word count: 2.5k ⌯ summary: based on these prompts: “I dreamed of your legs wrapped around my waist.” and “How do you always end up under my blanket?” your best friend bruce wayne has been missing for a while. when he comes back, he has a confession to make. ⌯ author’s note: this took a little while to write because I wanted to write an actual fic for bale!bruce. I hope yall enjoy (:

divider credit: @arminsumi | @firefly-graphics | @cafekitsune ⌯ masterlist

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

You’re busying yourself by folding laundry, trying your best to get your mind off your best friend Bruce. While his job is very demanding, and he goes away for a while sometimes, he’s never been gone this long. You’re beginning to worry- so much so that you’ve lost sleep and the ability to eat properly. But you know Bruce, and you know he’s resilient. It’s just a matter of time. But, of course, he was presumed dead for years before now, and that will always haunt you. So it’s not entirely irrational of you to worry.

A knock at your apartment door startles you out of your sleepy stupor. You set down the towel you were folding before shuffling to the entrance. You peek through the peephole to see none other than Bruce standing there. You swing the door open, and Bruce immediately wraps his arms around you. You do the same to him, holding him tightly, fearing that this is some hallucination from lack of sleep. Your face is buried in Bruce’s chest, and his scent tells you that this is real and he’s really here with you.

“Where were you?” you whisper, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

It had been quite a few days of radio silence from Bruce. You know he’s Batman, and he keeps you updated on his safety status. But he, of course, doesn’t tell you details of the villains and crimes for your safety. You’re his childhood best friend, so you knew he was Batman before he even told you. The day he told you, you just laughed. “I know, Bruce.” But you were still very concerned about his well-being after trying to approach one of his enemies.

“One of the guys I was after had a toxin,” Bruce pulls away from you, looking around to ensure no one would hear, “It got to me.”

You furrow your eyebrow, “Come in.”

Bruce enters your apartment, waiting for you to close and lock the door. He shoves his hands into his pockets, unsure of whether or not he should explain the situation at all. But he knows he owes you an explanation.

“A toxin, huh?” you ask, crossing your arms as you lean against the door.

“Fear toxin.” Bruce clarifies, “It makes you hear and see the things you fear the most, but they aren’t really there.”

You shudder, “That sounds horrifying. And you said you experienced it? How long did it last?”

“I was out for a few days while Alfred worked with someone to make an antidote. I saw things. Things I didn’t want to.”

You pull away from the door and slowly walk to Bruce, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Bruce looks at you as you stand before him, “No, but I probably should anyway. Considering the things I was seeing.”

You pull the sides of Bruce’s jacket together, holding onto them as you search his eyes. They’re different, and you figure it’s from whatever he experienced from the fear toxin.

“What did you see, Bruce?”

Bruce grimaces with a nervous laugh, “Are you sure you want to know?”

You look at him and nod, still clutching his jacket.

“I saw you,” Bruce sighs, shaking his head, “Something kept hurting you and killing you over and over. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

You stare up at Bruce with a frown etched on your face at the thought of your best friend feeling helpless.

“That sounds awful,” you say.

“It just made me think about a lot and realize things I didn’t see before.”

Bruce turns his thoughts over carefully, choosing what exactly to say next. He had always loved you, sure. But Bruce never thought of it as a romantic thing. Not until the fear toxin made him see things and feel things he had never felt or seen before. He wants to protect and care for you so you never have to go through what he saw you go through. Even though it isn’t plausible that you would, Bruce still wants what is best for you because he does love you. A little more now than he did before. You, on the other hand, have always loved Bruce. You've been enthralled with his presence since you were kids playing in the Wayne Manor backyard. Everything he did amazed you, especially now with him helping the people of Gotham. His intelligence, softness, even the cockiness he sometimes lets seep through. Even before, when he was a slightly bratty rich guy, you loved him. Bruce's absence for days has made your feelings for him more intense. With love comes worry and concern.

“And what would that be?” you ask.

Bruce pulls your hands from his jacket, enveloping them in his, “You’ve always been here for me, and I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I love you and will always do anything to protect you.”

“I love you too, Bruce,” you say back, not realizing the total weight of his words.

“No,” he says, “I really do. It’s taken me this long to see, but I do love you. And not like a best friend.”

Your face softens, “Bruce, you don’t mean that-”

“No, I do mean it,” he says, squeezing your hands.

There’s a pregnant pause before Bruce slowly leans down to capture your lips with his in a swift, gentle motion. The world seems to stop around the two of you, the sirens outside quieting and the sound of your washing machine fading away. Bruce lets go of you and cradles your head in his hands, deepening the passionate-turning kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him ever closer. Bruce slips his tongue past your lips, battling yours for dominance, which you gladly let him take. He guides you backward until the base of your spine is pressed against the kitchen counter. Bruce moves his grasp from your hair to your thighs, where he hikes them up around his waist. He smiles into the kiss, and you pick up on it.

“What?” you ask, pulling away briefly.

“I dreamed of your legs wrapped around my waist.”

You feel a warmth spread along your ears at that confession. Trailing your palms up Bruce’s neck and past his jaw to his cheeks, you stare into his eyes. A smile spreads across his face into slight laughter, to which you mirror.

“What else have you dreamed of, Bruce?”

“Want me to show you?”

A nod of your head leads to Bruce walking you to your bedroom, still perched on his waist. He gently lies you down on the bed before climbing over you, his strong arms on either side of your head. He lowers himself onto you to kiss you again, his weight on his forearms by your ears. Bruce then moves to your jaw, teasing you with small kisses and nips. You can’t help but giggle at the feeling of his stubble on your skin, tickling it. Bruce travels down your neck and then down to your torso, where he lifts your shirt and kisses your stomach. You watch with content as he tugs your shirt over his head so he can reach higher to your breasts. You don’t wear a bra when at home, so Bruce has easy access to them. He softly kisses your skin, avoiding the areas you want him most. You open your mouth to joke about it, but before you can say a word, his fingers pinch one of your nipples as he lays his head by the other. Bruce shoves your shirt to your shoulders, resuming his previous position of pressing his cheek to your left breast and toying with the right one with his hand. With a slight movement of his head, Bruce is now suckling your unoccupied bud. Your hips buck into his stomach, and you feel his length growing hard against your leg. Bruce gazes up at you through his lashes, his eyes a little darker than before. Your hand finds its way to his hair, fingers tangling themselves in it.

Bruce tweaks your nipple with his teeth as he rolls the other with his fingers, making electricity jolt through you. A gasp leaves your lips at the sensation, your grip on Bruce’s hair tightening briefly. He leaves open-mouthed kisses along your breasts before moving down your sternum and stomach, toying with the hem of your sweatpants. Bruce glances up at you to ask for permission, and you nod.

“You can touch me.”

Bruce pulls your sweatpants down, and you kick them off the rest of the way. He bites and licks the skin of your thighs before cupping your clothed heat with his mouth. Bruce flattens his tongue against you, dragging it upward against the cotton material of your underwear. You whine at the contact, wanting something a little more direct. With your hands still in Bruce’s hair, you remove them, moving them to pull down the barrier between you and Bruce’s mouth. He helps you with a knowing smirk. He softly kisses your clit before letting his tongue delve into your wetness, a sharp inhale through your nose letting him know it feels good. You would be lying if you had said you hadn’t thought of this exact moment before. Bruce steadies your hips with his hands, his fingers digging into your flesh. When the tip of his tongue comes in contact with your bundle of sensitive nerves, you attempt to buck your hips up to no avail. Bruce is incredibly strong, so you had no chance of moving. But he begins to guide your hips up and down, making you ride his tongue on his own accord. You move with what he’ll allow along with his guidance, and pleasure flowers through you. Bruce coaxes a finger into you, the feeling of him exploring you with it making you moan loudly. When he finds your spot, he adds another finger to circle it slowly. You gasp, biting your lip to keep from moaning too loud again.

“No,” Bruce shakes head, pulling away from you and stopping his movements, “I want to hear you, sweetheart.”

“Fine,” you exhale, hands clutching the bed sheets.

Bruce resumes pumping his fingers in and out of you while pressing his fingertips to your spot every now and then, eliciting noises from you that you’ve never let out with anyone else. He laps at your clit simultaneously, and he allows you to move your hips freely as he spreads your legs with his free hand. You feel yourself becoming lost in pleasure, your head cloudy and letting out noises without a second thought. Bruce feels you tightening around his fingers, signaling you’re close to release. So, he pulls away from you and sits up on his knees. You wriggle at the loss of his fingers, but he quickly replaces them with the tip of his hardened length. Bruce holds you still with one hand as he drags himself up and down your weeping cunt with the other. You pull your shirt the rest of the way off as Bruce slowly pushes himself inside you. Giving you a moment to adjust, he peels off his own shirt and tosses it before continuing to thrust slowly into you.

When he’s entirely inside, he notices you taking deep breaths, “All good?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “It’s just been a while.”

That and Bruce is well endowed, so you have to relax fully to take him comfortably. When you finally feel comfortable enough to move, you give your hips an experimental roll. Both you and Bruce groan at the feeling, to which Bruce pulls out a little before pushing back in.

“Don’t be shy, Bruce,” you joke, “You can go faster.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Bruce smiles deviously down at you.

He picks your legs up and lays them on his shoulders before he begins to pound into you, leaving you gasping for air. You grip Bruce’s biceps, his rhythm is merciless as your bed frame squeaks underneath you. He moves you upward to the pillows so you can rest your head on them and so he can grip the headboard for leverage. Bruce’s hips snap forward rapidly, just as he assured, and he has to put a pillow above your head so it doesn’t slam into the bedframe. Your moans are incoherent at this point, and your eyes are wound shut.

“Look at me, babe,” Bruce says, moving a hand from your thigh to your cheek, bringing you out of your fog.

You open your eyes to gaze into his, Bruce pressing his chest to yours and fucking you at a new angle as he puts his forehead against yours. You gasp and pant into each other’s mouth before finally embracing in a heated kiss. Deciding to switch up the angle, Bruce removes your legs from his shoulders and spreads them apart as far as they go. You howl into the kiss as Bruce hits that spot inside you, driving you crazy.

“Right there, Bruce,” you manage to stutter, “Right there!”

He hooks his arms under your knees, slamming you against him even harder than before. Bruce presses a thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles into it. You curse, no longer caring if your neighbors hear you or your bed slamming into the wall. Heat builds up in your belly as you struggle to maintain eye contact with Bruce, stars flooding your vision. He hits that spot inside you harder than before, sending you over the edge in a snap. Your walls clench around Bruce, causing his orgasm to unfold shortly behind yours. The feeling of him emptying into you coaxes your release to last longer, and Bruce not letting up on your clit adds to the overstimulation. You cry out as another orgasm washes over you, and Bruce hisses from his own overstimulation. He curses under his breath as he pulls out of you, hurrying to your closet for a towel. Bruce cleans the two of you up as you work to bring yourself back to Earth.

“That,” you say, Bruce hovering over you, “was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” Bruce says, and you both laugh at his cheesiness.

Rolling over to lie next to you, Bruce pulls the blanket on his side of the bed over him, and you do the same. But the ownership of blankets doesn’t last long as you cuddle. You manage to pull Bruce’s blanket over to your side, much like you used to when you were both younger. You had sleepovers a lot, and you’d always somehow end up stealing Bruce’s blanket.

“How do you always end up under my blanket?” Bruce sighs.

You peek at him, opening your closed eyes momentarily before shrugging, stifling a laugh. Bruce pulls your head into his neck before kissing your hair, allowing you to doze off. Even if the things he saw during the toxin’s hold on him were disturbing, at least it allowed him to see things more clearly and find his way to you.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x reader smut #bruce wayne smut #batman x reader #batman x reader smut #batman smut #batman begins #bale!bruce wayne #bale!batman x reader #christian bale #christian bale x reader #christian bale x reader smut #christina bale smut #floralcyanide writes #pop up workshop

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luminnara · 25 days ago

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The Blood-Sucking Brady Bunch | The Lost Boys x Reader (ch 1)

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Summary: After your mother and younger brothers packed up and moved to California, the last thing you expected was a phone call informing you that she was getting married. Naturally, you drop everything to go meet this Max guy—but there’s definitely something weird going on in Santa Carla. (Post-movie canon)

“Well, hon, I’m getting married!”

The words had floored you. They had struck you so hard you’d nearly dropped the phone.

“Wait…what?” You had asked, picking your jaw back up off the floor.

“I know, I know…it’s soon. But, well, one thing led to another, and next thing you know…it’ll be a courthouse wedding with a small reception at the house, nothing big. Really, I don’t think I could stand another big wedding!”

She had sounded cheerful as always, ever the optimist. Sometimes, you doubted that your mother had the ability to feel pessimistic, especially after the messy divorce that had been finalized only a few months earlier. You remembered how you had helped her pack up the car before she and your younger brothers had left Phoenix in favor of your mom’s hometown in California, and how even then, she had smiled at you and told you how you’d need to come visit when they got settled. You hadn’t really heard much from any of them since then, and you had chalked it up to the chaos of moving across state lines, finding new jobs, new schools, and the beginning of new life for the three of them, away from your wealthy Arizonian father. You hadn’t exactly done your part in communicating, either–you’d been busy working to afford your share of the apartment you split and wondering if you should actually go through with your idea of community college classes.

When the phone had rung one evening, you’d been surprised and excited to hear your mother’s voice on the other end…but that excitement had quickly turned to confusion and the realization that a lot must have happened in the months you’d been separated from most of your family, and as your head had spun while you’d listened to her telling you about a wedding, you’d already begun putting your shoes on.

“Okay, okay yeah, when is it?” you’d asked, holding the phone snugly against your shoulder as you’d searched for your keys.

“Oh, well, that’s the thing,” your mother had said, a bit sheepishly. “Like I said, it’s sudden, but…two weekends from now?”

And that’s how you’d ended up quitting your minimum wage job, helping your roommates find someone to take your place and share of the rent at the last minute, and buying a one way bus ticket to Santa Carla, California.

“You sure you wanna do this?” your roommate asked as you packed the last of your belongings in a suitcase on the day of your departure. They’d both been aghast at the news of your sudden decision to leave, initially arguing against it. You couldn’t really blame them—this would have been crazy in any other circumstance, but they didn’t know your family the way you did.

“My mom gets a little…well. She’s just too nice sometimes, y’know?” you forced a laugh out, trying to lighten the mood. In truth, you were worried, concerned that your mother had landed in some terrible situation, and you knew that if you didn’t haul ass to California, you’d never be able to sleep again.

She looked at you skeptically. “So maybe it’s a midlife crisis. Is that really enough of a reason to sell your furniture and skip town?”

“I never liked that furniture anyways,” you shrugged. “It’s all from when I lived with my dad, and honestly? This is as good an excuse to get away from Phoenix for a while as any.”

“Alright, suit yourself,” she muttered. “I’ll give you a ride to the station, at least.”

And so you shoved your suitcases into her old beater car, made small talk, and then sat alone in a busy Greyhound station, trying not to worry. Your entire life, your mother had been kind–too kind–and your father had been…well, the opposite, on many occasions. As a result, you’d developed a tendency to react harshly to change, or to situations you deemed suspicious, and a sudden marriage to a man you’d never met definitely had your hackles raised.

“Everything is going well here,” your mother had said over the phone. “I got a job! And, well, that’s how I met him—my fiancé, Max. He owns the video store here in town…you’d love it, hon, you really would.”

Max. Max what? She hadn’t even given you his last name. Max, the guy who owned the video store in Santa Carla, whom she had said was charming and trying his best to connect with your brothers so that everyone could get along and live happily ever after.

Just Max.

“Sam and Michael are doing well, too,” she had told you. “Michael still doesn’t have a steady job…he works around the boardwalk here and there, you know how it is. And Sam’s made some new friends!”

Hearing that your brothers were doing alright had been a relief. From the moment your mother’s car had pulled away, you’d been worried about them, wondering if they’d settle in and find new crowds to hang with in California. You could still remember how upset Michael had been when he had to leave his sort-of-girlfriend, Laurie, behind in Phoenix, and how Sam had spent a few days begging to stay behind. You’d been surprised when he had eventually agreed that a change of scenery could be alright, after all.

Now, as you donned your comfiest travel outfit, boarded your bus, and found a seat, you wondered what Santa Carla was really like. You had been thinking about leaving Phoenix for a while, and once your parents’ divorce had been finalized, you had really, really been thinking about it. What would it be like, seeing the ocean all the time? And was Santa Carla really as sketchy as the news made it out to be? Even all the way in Phoenix, you occasionally heard about the murder capital of the world. Whenever something particularly grisly happened, or if something became politically relevant, your mother’s hometown would pop up on TV or the radio, and you would stop and listen every time.

As the bus pulled onto what you knew would be a very, very long stretch of highway, you wadded up a jacket to use as a makeshift pillow and held it against the window. If you had spent even ten minutes actually preparing for this trip, maybe you would have brought a real pillow along…but in your desperation to make sure your mother wasn’t making the worst decision of her life, you had left them all behind.

“Max really is the sweetest…and he’s so in touch with the latest fads! Oh, honey, you should see his house—well, I suppose you will soon enough, huh? Anyways, what I mean is, he’s got so much art and so many fun decorations…he’s very hip!”

This Max guy couldn’t be that bad, could he? Your mom’s description had made you imagine a dorky suburban dad who was always trying too hard to keep up with the latest gadgets, who camped outside RadioShack whenever the newest gadget was released. He was probably desperate to stay young or something. He probably had a weird mix of all the cool stuff from his childhood that he could never afford, and everything that people your age now wished they could get their hands on. He’d probably rub it in your face that he was middle aged with an entire business and the salary to buy whatever he wanted, while you had spent your adulthood just trying to pay your rent.

That bit was partially your fault–your dad had plenty of cash, but you’d been so determined to move out and away from your parents’ dysfunctional marriage that you’d made a pact with yourself to refuse any money he’d try to shove your way. Not-so-shockingly, he never really had…which was a little insulting, but also made your resolution easier to keep.

As the bus rumbled along the desert highway towards California, you tried not to be too pessimistic. Maybe Max was a nice, normal guy, and this was simply a case of your mother getting a little excited about her newfound freedom after the divorce. You figured that was probably the best case scenario, with the worst case being something more along the lines of a scam, or a hostage situation, or worse. Maybe this Max guy wanted your mom’s money…not that she had any. Maybe he thought you or your grandfather did, since your father in Phoenix was decently loaded. You hadn’t seen a dime of his money in years, though, and to your knowledge, Grandpa wasn’t exactly rolling in cash. If Max’s plan was to extort your family, he probably wouldn’t get very far.

Or maybe, just maybe, he actually, really, genuinely wanted to be with your mother, and maybe she felt the same way about him…though you couldn’t quite manage to shake the uneasiness you felt creeping up your spine. You were on the defense about all of this, that was for sure.

Was it crazy, going to so much trouble just to check on your mother? She was an adult, with a lifetime of experience behind her. She could handle herself, and she could marry whomever she wanted now that she had divorced your dad. Was uprooting your entire life to run after her too extreme? You’d simply been invited to a wedding, for Pete’s sake. Nobody would be expecting you to be moving to Santa Carla. And maybe you weren’t, not really—maybe you��d end up deciding that everything was up to snuff and this Max guy checked out, and that Santa Carla wasn’t really your vibe. There was a solid chance you’d be hopping on another bus before too long and heading south to LA or somewhere with more opportunities than the Murder Capital of the World had to offer.

-0-

The long bus ride gave you way too much time to think. A few of your fellow passengers made occasional small talk, asking why you were heading to California and if you had ever been there before. You had, you were pretty sure, once when you were little—before Michael was born—but you couldn’t really remember it. Your mom had never gone back to visit her parents very much, and now that it was just Grandpa left there, nobody from Santa Carla ever set foot in Phoenix, either. You’d spoken with him on the phone, on birthdays and holidays, but really, the old man seemed to prefer the peace and quiet of his house in the hills, and you couldn’t really blame him.

That’s where you were headed as soon as you reached Santa Carla—Grandpa’s house. Well, first you’d hop off the bus and find the nearest pay phone, and tell your mom you were in town, and maybe look around for a motel to stay in so you were out of the way during the wedding preparations, but then you’d be heading to grandpa’s.

As the bus rumbled along the highway, you did your best to sleep, though it didn’t come easily. You tried to pass the time by reading a newspaper borrowed from a fellow traveler, but the local news was boring, and the crossword puzzle was already done. You should’ve picked up one of those paperback sudoku books or something to occupy yourself with. You’d brought a couple horror comics, the entirety of your modest collection, but they were tucked away in the suitcase stashed in the bus’s luggage compartment, and besides, you’d read them all a million times.

Whenever the bus made a pit stop or you needed to make a transfer at a Greyhound station, you considered calling this whole thing off. At one point, as you faced yourself in a dingey bathroom mirror, you wondered if you should go up to the ticket window and try to get yourself back to Phoenix. Arizona was familiar, and even if you didn’t like it or the fact that your father lived within its borders, at least it was a place you understood. The concept of California felt foreign, and as the newspaper headlines grew more and more focused on Santa Carla’s crime rate the closer you came, you wondered if it was really a place you wanted to land in.

Whenever those thoughts started to feel a little too comforting, you reminded yourself of your mother and the whirlwind marriage she was getting herself into, and you realized how determined you were to reach her. You told yourself that you weren’t afraid of Santa Carla, that there was nothing it could throw at you that you hadn’t seen before. You told yourself that it was only a town, a city by the sea with an unfortunate reputation. During the last leg of your journey, you psyched yourself up, and by the time the bus came to its final stop, you had managed to convince yourself that this was where you were meant to be.

You heard the brakes hiss before the lights came on, momentarily blinding you. Squinting, you gathered your things, waited awkwardly for everyone ahead of you to move, and then shuffled your way off of the bus and onto the dark asphalt of Santa Carla’s bus station.

It was dusk, the sun having already set. All in all, your journey had taken over a day and a half, and you were exhausted, despite the sporadic napping you had managed. With your luggage—all of your worldly possessions, now, really—in hand, you made your way into the sidewalk and away from the small crowd exiting the bus, noting the missing persons flyers pasted all over the light posts lining the outside of the station. The sheer volume was a little unsettling, but then again, Phoenix had its fair share of stuff like that too, probably. You probably just never heard of most of it, you reasoned.

As your eyes drifted over the poorly-photocopied posters, you spotted something much more useful—a pay phone, with a badly bruised phone book sitting nearby. Flipping through the yellow pages revealed the names of a few cheap-sounding motels, and after a quick glance at a map of town (kept safe behind foggy plexiglass), you set off in the general direction of one of them. Your first night in Santa Carla wasn’t likely to be one of supreme comfort, nor would it be particularly clean or fresh smelling, but you’d at least have a place to stay.

Though your initial plan had been to call your mom first thing, you opted to wait until you reached the motel and find a pay phone there. If the room was already paid for, she’d be less likely to convince you to stay with her instead, something you just didn’t think you had the emotional energy for after such a long journey. Maybe in a day or two you’d be willing to move yourself over to be with her and her new fiance, but you needed to decompress and ease into this whole “mom’s getting married” thing.

When you reached the motel, it was exactly as you’d expected: small, a little rundown, and with a half-full parking lot. It seemed quiet enough, and after paying for a room at the office, you made your way beneath the flickering street lights to unlock your door and dump your suitcase on the bed. The sheets seemed clean and while the room was dated and the carpet showed a few stains, you were more than okay with sleeping here for a night or two. Or more, depending on how you liked this Max guy. If you hated him, you’d have to start paying the weekly rates.

“Okay,” you sighed, flopping down next to your suitcase. “Food. Call Mom. Sleep.”

You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, willing your body to move again.

“Alright. Santa Carla, here I am.”

#the lost boys x reader #the lost boys #the blood sucking brady bunch

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bekolxeram · 3 months ago

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A whole day late to @bucktommyfluffebruary's day 1 prompt: non-sexual intimacy. Inspiration strikes suddenly, what can I say?

You can also read it on AO3.

Golden Hour

rated G | 1027 words

“Morning, team!” Buck walks into the firehouse with an extra bounce in his step, looking the most carefree he’s been for months.

“What got you so… woah,” Hen begins questioning, but stops in the middle of the sentence once she fully turns around and takes a good look of her strangely jovial co-worker.

“What’s wrong? Is there something on my face?” Buck instinctively touches his face in response to Hen’s reaction. He has a hard time deciphering her expression; She seems… surprised, astonished, but at the same time, shocked, and confounded.

“No! Not really. You seem… happier,” Hen puts on a reassuring smile, “but the bags under your eyes seem like they came straight from the Milan Fashion Week, and your hair looks like you’ve just rolled out of bed.”

The entire 118 bore witness to Buck’s post-Tommy heartbreak. Yes, he obsessively checked his phone and got addictive to baking, maybe he let his stubble grow out a day or two more than it should, but he never, ever, neglected personal hygiene or grooming. He always made sure to dress like a functioning member of the society before heading to work, what happened outside of shift was his own business.

“I used to know someone like this at school,” Chimney joins in. “His girlfriend dumped him just before summer break. Then he came back to school looking like a hobo, but at the same time, happy as the Buddha. He told me he went on a trip to discover himself.”

“But Buck was with us last shift, 48 hours ago. What life-changing destination could he have gone to in such a short amount time?” Hen furrows her brows in confusion.

“By trip, I mean an acid trip,” Chimney snickers, then he turns to face Buck in chorus with Hen, waiting for an answer.

“I can assure you, I’ve never taken any mind altering substance before coming to work. That would be irresponsible!” Buck objects, attempting to halt this dangerous speculation at once.

Just as Hen and Chimney are about to interrogate further, Eddie chimes in while slowly sipping on his coffee, “Buck and Tommy are back together without telling us.”

Gasps, then cheers fill the room.

“Wait, how? Did Tommy tell you?” Buck asks.

“No one told me anything,” Eddie takes another sip from his mug, “I can just tell, from your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Oh! Yeah!” Hen’s whole face is lit up by her realization, “the hair thing, right?” She vaguely gesture at her head.

“Exactly.” Eddie snaps his fingers at Hen.

“What hair thing?” It’s now Buck’s turn to be utterly confused.

“I don’t get it either,” Chimney turns his attention to his brother-in-law. “Is Tommy bad at picking shampoo? Or hair product? Can’t you just bring your own?”

“Um… I don’t know.”

“You’ll get it once you’ve spent enough time with them,” Eddie sighs.

“I’ve spent plenty of time with them. One is my oldest friend, the other is my brother by marriage!”

“With both of them together, as a third wheel,” Eddie adds.

Chimney grimaces. “Ugh, no! Is it a sex thing?”

“It’s appropriate safe in public,” Hen clarifies, “as long as you don’t find two people of the same gender being in love inappropriate.”

“Oh, okay,” Chimney nods in understanding, “but, what about the bags under your eyes?”

“Um… Tommy and I…”

Buck’s interrupted by Eddie.

“Stop. That one’s definitely a sex thing.”

It takes Chimney another few months to figure out what the “hair thing” actually is.

Buck and Tommy have been invited to dinner at the Han’s.

The four of them were anxious about the possible awkwardness, but Chimney and Tommy settle right back into their old buddy dynamic once the conversation starts flowing.

“I think you two fixed my brain when you showed up all sooty at the hospital. I was groggy all week, but connecting the dots that you guys had been making out? That was the first time I felt like I could finally think clearly,” Chimney recounts his experience coming down with viral encephalitis, and marrying the love of his life at a hospital.

“A hospital, what is it?” Tommy asks, barely containing his giggle.

“It’s a big building with patients, but that’s not important right now,” Chimney bursts into laughter in unison with Tommy by the time his finishes his sentence.

“Um… What’s the joke?” Maddie asks, while both Buckley siblings frown, seemingly puzzled.

“Airplane! The greatest comedy movie of all time!” Chimney exclaims.

“And the most quotable,” Tommy supplements.

“Neither of you have watched Airplane? Tommy, you didn’t introduce your man to the most influential film in your life?”

The Buckley siblings shake their head.

“Alright, we’re watching it after dinner.”

Chimney has seen Airplane! countless times before. The simple, sometimes childish humor of this classic has been his go-to for years whenever he needs a pick-me-up.

He may have the ability to recite the entire movie from start to finish, but the source of the enjoyment now comes from watching his friends and loved ones’ reaction to this comedic masterpiece, to experience the amusement and wonder anew from their fresh eyes.

“We have clearance, Clarence.”

“Roger, Roger. What’s our vector, Victor?”

Chimney turns to focus on the viewers’ reaction, instead of the screen.

Maddie’s almost crying with laughter, while shoving a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth. Popcorn with butter and pickle juice, the exact snack she’s been craving.

Buck, on the other hand, is laying his head onto Tommy’s shoulder.

And Tommy, he absentmindedly anchors his hand into Buck’s hair, and ruffles the curls around.

Chimney himself would gladly push off whoever dares to touch his carefully styled hair, but Buck’s happily leans into his boyfriend’s touch.

“Is that correct phraseology in aviation?” Buck beams at Tommy, half flirting and half genuinely asking to satisfy his curiosity.

“Yeah, more or less. That’s why it’s a classic,” Tommy gazes back at Buck softly, hand still messing up the younger man’s hair.

Buck shows his dimples, nestles his head at the crook of Tommy’s neck, and continues watching the movie.

My brother is in good hands.

Chimney tells himself silently.

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommyfluffebruary #bucktommy fic #bucktommy fanfic #tevan fic #tevan fanfic #tevan #kinley

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arcanewhoosh · 12 days ago

Note

Hii, I'm new to Tumblr so I don't know if this is where you place requests, hopefully it's right! I have a request if you could write a Jinx x gn!reader who would never kill someone or harm, strictly against it hut tolerates Jinx's antics, until one night reader got extremely jelaous when a guy was flirting with Jinx (Jinx just nonchalantly kept avoiding the guy and giving him hints but he is not giving up) and the reader gets too jelaous to the point they harm the guy or something.. Idk! 😓

We're Good

I didn't know what direction you wanted this to go, but I got toxic vibes from this so I just decided to go full send in that direction. Advanced apologies.

This work will have an extended explicit scene that will be posted on AO3 (I wasn't 100% sure about your age my b, but if you confirm I'll post it here too.)

Masterlist here

1.8k words

Proofread? Y/N (Had a bit too much wine while writing this but I'll edit before posting on AO3)

Relevant Tags: Gender Neutral reader, toxic relationship, implied stalking, Hailey Bieber level commitment, violence, possessive reader, alcohol, aged up characters

You're a good person. You really do think you are. You really are. At least, that's what you tell yourself.

You're a good person.

Well…at least you think you are. And really, isn't that all that matters?

You've managed to keep your nose clean for most your life; no fights, no killing, no stealing. Odd jobs around The Lanes kept you afloat. Not like you had any other choice, you couldn't stomach gore, and every time you'd get an adrenaline rush from so much as a wound, you'd end up passing out.

You're level-headed, fairly well-read, and comfortable in your own skin.

So why the hell is your blood boiling over some weirdo trying to flirt with your girlfriend?

Jinx is beautiful, full stop. Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot. She's a genius in every sense of the word, a physical specimen—respectfully of course, she's literally super athletic—and quick with her tongue. If this wasn't Zaun, people would be tripping over themselves trying to win her over. But her reputation always made people rethink any approach they'd make towards her. Her father's reputation, made people steer clear entirely.

Anyone that had enough audacity to actually approach her, she'd—figuratively—shoot down immediately. At least when you two got together, you're not sure if she actually shot them prior to you asking her not to.

She knows what she wants, and she's not the type to sit and wait for the other person to make the first move. You should know, she cornered you five minutes after you two had first met, and she hasn't let go of you since.

The thought of being romantically linked with Jinx hadn't even crossed your mind when you two first met. You weren't blind, of course, but you also weren't stupid. All of the stories you had heard about her, all the people she's blown up for Silco, or just for her own amusement, none of it sat right with you. So, you avoided her like The Grey.

Well… You tried.

For some unknown reason, the Chem Barons suddenly took an interest in your services. Suddenly, you had a contract for the next few months, just for them, and all coincidentally putting Jinx up as your contact. Every job you had, she came with you. Super quick dead drop for Marcus' weekly bribes? You needed her to protect the money. Week long stake out at the shipping yard? Jinx had to go to keep you on your toes—whatever that meant. She'd show up to your house first thing in the morning, and followed you to your doorstep by night.

You tried dropping out of the job, but you were hit with threats ranging from you being blacklisted from all of your contacts, to being killed on the spot. So you bit your tongue and did your job, but made sure not to accept another contract from the barons.

Then one day, negotiations with a dealer went south, and they refused to give their payment for the last stash of shimmer you and Jinx had delivered. One second you were arguing with him, the next his blood and brain matter were on your face. You're not one hundred percent sure what exactly happened after, but you did pass out.

Then, you quit. You even told Jinx to kill you and get it over with. When she didn't, you stormed off, and ditched the rest of your jobs for the barons. It was only a week left, they'd get you, one way or another.

To say you were surprised when you weren't killed or blacklisted the following week was an understatement. But what was even more surprising? Jinx had stopped following you around.

You chalked it up to simple curiosity, when you decided to seek her out. You didn't dare admit to yourself that you had missed her constant presence, especially since she had been stuck to you like glue for months. You wanted to ask why no one had sent a hitman to off you, nothing else. Once you found out why, you'd disappear from her life forever, gleefully so.

She had covered for you, for a week, doing all the assigned jobs you had, alone. None of the barons knew better. She even apologized for shooting that dealer in front of you and getting blood spray all over your face.

You should've walked away then, but you didn't. In fact, you started willingly hanging around Jinx. Accompanying her in her misadventures, or helping her with her inventions; and she helped you with whatever job you were doing.

You would never admit it to anyone, but it felt good to have someone nearly bend over backwards for you. Hell, she even toned down the killing people part, at least when you were around.

Less than six months after, you were hers, and she was yours.

She wanted you, and only you.

But there was something so disgustingly triggering about someone trying to make a move on her—looking at her, even. It was bringing out progressively uglier thoughts out of you. Thoughts you would never think about anyone else.

Jinx noticed this, of course. But she never tried to stop the train of thought. Hell, a part of you thinks—knows— that she enjoys seeing you worked up over her.

The music in The Last Drop is loud; uncomfortably so for someone sober. The bass blaring from the speakers thrums in your chest, and the constant stutter of the lights is making it hard to keep track of where Jinx is. Which is bad, because this rando doesn’t want to let up and keeps following her around. Even the vantage point the second floor isn’t helping.

To be fair, Jinx is ignoring the prick. And you trust Jinx. But the gnawing feeling in your insides every time you imagine some guy's hands on her is only building up your anger.

No one puts their grimy hands on your girl.

You decide that the best course of action is to just go down to the dance floor and take care of the problem yourself. What was that saying? If you want things done, do it yourself?

Pushing yourself off of the railing, you make your way through the all the bodies moving in time with the music. You grimace, the thought of having alcohol and cheap perfume clinging onto you by the time you get downstairs isn't all that appealing, but you had a girl to find. Which is starting to prove difficult, seeing as the strobe lights are throwing off people's hair colors. The only reprieve that you have is the fact that people still kept out of Jinx's way even at the busy club. If there was a spot at the club where the crowd was thinning out, she was probably there.

You're given space to breathe once you reach the bar. A lot of the club goers were on the dance floor. Credits to the DJ, you think to yourself, for getting people away from where you were, and for also, actually, being good at what they were doing. You give a cursory glance at the seats, your girlfriend is unfortunately not there, but you do catch sight of a familiar face.

"Sevika!" You shout over the din of the music. The older woman, busy tending to her glass of whiskey, barely spares you a glance as she looks up, huffing before gulping down her drink and pushing it towards the bartender. Her dismissive attitude doesn't deter you, however, as you make your way towards her.

"Have you seen Jinx?"

"Didn't know I had to babysit your girl." She says before taking her refilled drink and taking a swig from it.

"I don't have time to do this little dance, Sevika." Her eyebrow quirks at your terse response, a hint of mischief in her eyes. It was a look you knew well—she always had it right before she'd try to piss you off.

A shrug instead, turning back to her drink. "Last I saw, some dumbass was trying to talk her up."

Your jaw tightens at the thought, and this doesn't escape the other woman's notice as she smirks. "I always knew you weren't the sharing type." She says smugly, taking another swig.

You lean in closer, well into her personal space. "Where is she?"

She scoffs, a mechanical finger poking you in the shoulder slowly pushing you back. "Don't start shit you can't finish, kid." She nods towards the far end of the club. "Being followed by the dumbass that way."

You throw a scowl her way before walking the direction she pointed out, your previous irritation with her dissipating as soon as you catch sight of Jinx's hair.

For a moment, a wave of relief washes over you. But it leaves just as fast when you see the same man that was talking to her, leaning over her much too closely for your comfort.

Jinx's eyes flick towards you, a knowing, anticipating, look in them. Like she knew you'd come rushing down there for her.

You don't notice your own steps becoming hurried.

His hand brushes her arm. You see red.

The poor sod doesn't even have time to react before you clock him in the jaw, and he falls backwards. Jinx simply takes a step back. Unsurprised, when you grab her arm and pull her away. She doesn't even try to free herself from your grip.

There isn't a lot of privacy allowed in The Last Drop. In fact, there's only three places there where you could get a semblance of privacy. The supply room, but you didn't want to risk anyone walking in on you and Jinx. The second one was Silco's office, an even worse choice, for obvious reasons. Which left only one place for you to take Jinx to: the Chem Barons' meeting room.

The heavy doors of the meeting room slams as you shut them behind the both of you. Jinx, who had been quiet the entire way there, rips her arm away from you.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Despite the furious look on her face, the anger doesn't reach her eyes. It never does. Not when she enjoys seeing you get so protective of her. Not when she spent months trying to win you over.

You don't bother with an answer, dragging her mouth to yours. Your lips mashing together, teeth bumping into each other. She grips the front of your shirt, holding you in place, only letting you pull away when she needs to breathe.

"Crazy." She whispers against your lips, eyes wide, her grin taunting.

"Takes one to know one." You answer back, breathless.

Her laugh is mirthful, genuine. Like she hit the lottery. Maybe she did, seeing how you act around her—how she acts around you.

You find that you don't mind the hidden accusation in her laugh. Because in your mind, you're a good person.

And really, isn’t that all that matters?

#arcane #arcane x reader #jinx x reader #arcane jinx #arcane netflix #Sevika #she has a little cameo #implied stalking #toxic relationship #like bruh what #possessive reader

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evverest · 11 days ago

Text

sunday morning

This is a chapter of the Clove/Gale smut anthology fic I've been very slowly plugging away at, titled Tap Water Drinking. This chapter will fall somewhere in the middle of the fic, but I don't think it really requires context, as the broad strokes of the journey they're taking in this fic should be pretty self explanatory from the smut tags alone. This should, theoretically, function fine as a one shot, and it will be a good while before this is posted on AO3, so I'm just being an impatient little gremlin and posting it here early.

I know I said this is a smut anthology, and I do mean it, I swear, but this chapter does require a trigger warning for pet death, and grieving. Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry. More smut specific content warnings under the cut. Word count 5.5k.

somnophilia, dom/sub, pegging

sunday morning is a song :) tap water drinking is also a song, the first line of which is, 'i want to drink you water', and that is relevant if you want it to be.

clove and gale are doing new things, and i'm writing new things, and it's all very scary for everyone involved!! i'm proud of this one, though. i sincerely hope you enjoy.

-----

The first emotion to wash over Clove, when she wakes with her shirt bunched up around her armpits and Gale’s lips meandering hungrily down her sternum, is confusion. The second is wariness. The third, trailing shamefully far behind and barely clinging to existence, is arousal.

Not exactly her typical response, but Clove does have her reasons.

It’s been a little over six months with no intimacy beyond a hug or the occasional peck on the lips. It’s not all that terribly long in the grand scheme of things, but much longer than they have ever gone in the past, far outside the realm of what either of them ever would have considered ‘normal��. Clove is not blind to it, just as she is not blind to the reason for it.

Six months ago, they lost Tara.

They knew it was coming. For so long, it seemed to happen in slow motion, and then it happened all at once. As old cats tend to go.

Apparently.

Clove didn’t know that. She had never lost a pet before; never had a pet to lose. It hit her hard in ways she’d never experienced, made her ache in new and strange places, knocked the wind out of her.

It hit Gale exactly as hard as they both expected it to, which is to say, hard.

Clove has observed the absence of his sex drive the way she has observed every other side effect of his grief: with an abundance of caution, patience, and deep concern. It fell near the bottom of the list of things to worry about, at the start. His appetite and his sleep–or rather the complete lack of both–took up most of her worrying capacity in the early days, but those issues have since resolved themselves. Now Gale is back to normal–at least, outwardly. To his coworkers, to his friends, to his mom, to anyone besides Clove, really, he appears to be entirely himself again.

Clove knows better, though. She alone has a window into the little ways in which Gale has not yet come back to himself, and she is still waiting, still watching, still worrying.

Now, it is the middle of the night, and Gale appears to have very suddenly found the piece of himself that wants again, and Clove is… still worrying.

Six months, and now… this? Waking her up in the middle of the night, in the dark, in silence, face hidden? Clove certainly isn’t one to be offended by a direct request, and waking each other up has been rather enthusiastically allowed from the start, but this? Now?

Even half asleep, Clove knows it: this is not Gale being Gale. This is Gale being weird.

The thought pulls her away from the warmth of his lips; her body grows stiff and unresponsive beneath him.

Gale reads it immediately, and stills.

“Clove?” he asks, voice rough and half muffled in her stomach.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Is this alright?”

Clove runs a hand through his hair, scooping it back from his face as he peers tentatively up at her. “Of course,” she says softly. “Can I have a kiss?”

Gale climbs up her body obediently, but he looks damn near… apologetic by the time he makes it up to her. Anxious. Guilty. All wrong. He gives her the kiss she requested, half hearted and brief, and the knot in her stomach solidifies.

“I know this is sudden, and I’m sorry to wake you, but I need–I want you to… take me again,” he admits in a half-whisper, radiating shame.

Every single one of Clove’s instincts scream at her that this is not right as Gale’s hand traces the inner lines of her hip.

“Are you sure?” she asks with a frown. There are definitely more tactful ways of doing this, but quick thinking is difficult with sleep still clouding her thoughts.

“Yes, of course I am,” Gale snaps, embarrassment making him quick to anger. “I would not ask if I was not sure.”

The response is somehow more uncharacteristic of him than the six months of no sex, despite the fact that, historically anyway, Gale is rarely celibate, and often bitchy. It makes Clove’s hair stand on end. She tenses, and Gale feels it, and that’s all it takes. He heaves himself off of her and onto his back beside her, glaring up at the ceiling, and Clove sits up.

“Hey.”

No reply.

Clove suppresses a sigh as she rubs her forehead, still trying to clear the sleep from her mind. God, she was unconscious barely two minutes ago, and now they are… having a fight? For some reason? Or perhaps Gale is just having a fight with himself. Her head swims as she tries desperately to make sense of it, and Gale stares resolutely upward, refusing to even acknowledge her, no explanation forthcoming. In any other context, Clove would probably feel the urge to laugh at the bewildering and tantrum-like behavior, but she finds nothing amusing about it right now.

Gale does not throw tantrums, not real ones, not unless something much, much worse than reality is happening inside his head.

Clove takes a few deep breaths, giving her brain time to wake up, absorbing the sting to keep it from steering her, considering her next words. She tries to collate everything she knows about how they got here and why this is happening, trying to puzzle him out just enough to find a way in.

“Kissing you again was really nice,” she says finally, gently.

Nothing.

“So was waking up like that. That’s one of my favorite ways to wake up.”

Silence. Clove has to fight a lump in her throat to get the next words out.

“I missed you.”

Tears glisten in Gale’s eyes for a brief moment before he turns his head away from her. The muscles in his jaw flex as he thinks, and Clove waits.

“I’m aware I am being… ridiculous,” he says, slow and stiff.

“You’re not,” Clove says carefully. “You’re fine; I just need to know that you’re not asking for this because you feel bad.”

Gale shakes his head. “No, I… I do want this, I just…” He trails off, choking on his own words, hands curled into tight little fists at his sides. These are hard words for him to say, harder than most of the words he has ever said to Clove; he winces like these ones burn him on the way out. “... I have not been a good partner to you. I’ve been insufficient. I do not deserve you, yet I want you anyway. The guilt is… difficult to contend with.”

Yeah. Clove saw this one coming, through the haze of sleep and all. This is Gale being Gale.

She climbs on top of him in one rapid motion and cradles his face in both her hands, forcing him to look at her.

“Hey. None of that. You’ve been fucking grieving. If anybody besides you was saying that shit about you, I’d fucking deck them.”

“I’m grieving a cat.”

“You’re grieving your friend. What did you tell me, once? That she was your only friend through the darkest part of all the Mystra shit?”

Gale shakes his head again. “I should not have neglected you.”

“I don’t feel neglected. I haven’t felt that way a single time for the last six months. Shouldn’t that be the primary metric for whether or not you neglected me?”

Gale is too agitated for this conversation, too close to breaking apart. He’s barely even hearing her, barely seeing her through the tears, still shaking his head. “Even now, I woke you up, and for nothing because I ruined it–”

“Gale.”

“–allowed this to, once again, impede on our relationship, and–”

Clove kisses him, a motionless press of lips to halt his talking just long enough for the sobs to overtake him and stop his words in her stead. She releases his lips then, squeezing her eyes shut as she rests her forehead against his, rubbing his temples.

She has to count out her own breaths so she doesn’t have a meltdown right along with him. She can, generally speaking, be calm when she needs to be, when it comes to Gale. This is a skill she has developed, honed, particularly for situations like this, where Gale has been locked in his head for so long, being so utterly himself where nobody can see it, that he’s lost the thread of reality. Maybe it has never happened quite on this scale, to this degree of near disaster, but it has happened before. They’ll survive it. They’ll be okay.

It’s just scary. It’s always scary, and it is especially scary right now.

When Gale shifts uncomfortably beneath her, Clove rolls off to the side, and he rolls with her fluidly so she doesn’t have to let go of his face. A practiced move. When the sobs have finally faded to hiccups, Clove leaves briefly to retrieve some tissues, and this, too, is practiced. She needs to say no words; make no explanation. Gale knows what she’s doing, and that she is coming right back.

He sits up wordlessly to blow his nose and dry his face, and Clove settles in next to him, left knee knocking against his right.

“I could not ask for a better partner, Clove,” Gale says finally, quietly, hoarse from crying but calmer than he has sounded all night.

“Neither could I.”

The demon telling him to deny it is ever present; she watches him wrestle it into submission. “I should have talked to you about this first,” he says instead, eyes on his hands.

Clove shrugs. “I mean, I’m no stranger to lust being, like, a much easier emotion to wrap your head around.”

“Well, it’s only that–I am afraid this has eaten at me for a good while. Longer than I care to admit.”

“Yeah. I know. And I get it. Like, this shit being hard to talk about; I do understand that, especially when you’re already going through it, but… I don’t have that problem, Gale. If something’s upsetting me, I’m pretty straight up about it. That’s the only thing I don’t get in all this. If I felt neglected, I would have told you, and I feel like you… you know that about me, Gale.”

“I do know that,” Gale says quickly, looking up, meeting her eye in an effort to convey his earnestness.

“Okay, but I don’t think you knew that when you woke me up, and that’s what fucking scares me. Because if I had–if I’d gone and–”

“I know,” he cuts in again, softer now.

Clove frowns at him, jaw working for a long moment before she can get the words out. “You would have felt like I was punishing you.”

“I would have perhaps felt punished. I don’t know that I would have assumed anything of your intent,” Gale says, reaching for her hand, rubbing it gently. “It was wrong of me, regardless. I… I do know that you are not one to hide things, Clove, and I know the depths of your patience better than anyone. I think I did understand, on some level, that I was manufacturing guilt out of nothing. It has just been difficult to see anything clearly when my whole world has been thrown off its axis for so long, when we have been thrown off as a result, and… I did want you. That much was not manufactured. My desire was genuine, and… and still is, for what that’s worth. Even so, it was wrong. I should not have put you in that position. I am sorry, Clove.”

Clove stares at her fingers, intertwined with his, white from gripping so hard. “You do some wacky stuff in that brain of yours, lover.”

“Like all the math?” Gale asks softly, and she hears the smile.

“Yeah,” Clove says, smiling too, eyes down still. “Like all the fucking math.”

“You are a phenomenal partner, and my rock. I cannot imagine what the past six months would have looked like without you.” At this abrupt but seemingly premeditated speech, Clove looks up, surprised, and Gale meets her gaze warmly, but there’s a hint of wry humor in his voice as he continues. “That was, if you can believe it, what I first planned to lead with when proposing we re-initiate the… physical aspects of our relationship. I got rather sidetracked, obviously, but I hope the sentiment can still be felt.”

At this, Clove can’t help but laugh, a little hysterical, leaning forward to bury her face in his shoulder. Gale’s hand immediately threads into her hair.

“Jesus, Gale. You had a whole speech prepared and everything. You’d think I’m a lot less easy than I actually am.”

“Clove,” Gale admonishes. “You can’t call yourself easy. That makes me fumbling the lead up so badly earlier look much worse.”

Clove heard the joke coming, but she did not, for a single second, hear that joke coming. It catches her off guard, leaves her speechless for a moment, and then it makes her laugh so hard she tips over backwards onto the bed. Gale follows her, curling up on his side to mirror her, a proud smile lighting up his entire face, his entire being.

“Brat,” Clove wheezes, and this finally makes Gale lose it, too.

So, for the third time, there are tears when their lips meet, but they are much better tears, and it’s a much better kiss. Eager, tender, with no lingering doubts or unspoken worries holding them back, just relief.

Clove slings her right calf over his left, and uses the leverage to tug him closer. “Fuck, I missed you,” she sighs, brushing her thumb over his bottom lip.

“And I you.”

“Mm. I’ll tell you what.”

“What?”

“I think that tonight, you should lay here and make out with me until you fall asleep. Partly because you look tired, but mostly because I really want to feel close to you like this for a while. And then in the morning, I’ll try to be up early enough to wake you up, and I’ll see about giving you what you asked me for earlier.”

Gale nuzzles her cheek, erection pressed ever so softly against her hip, and hums happily. “That sounds lovely.”

“You don’t mind waiting?” she teases, wiggling her hip surreptitiously.

“No. I will savor the anticipation, and this is… quite lovely, anyway. Laying here with you.”

Clove smiles. “I have one more question. About tomorrow.”

“Mm?”

“If I need to do some… prep work, while you’re asleep, would you be… okay with that?”

Gale is nodding before she’s even finished her sentence, and she’s not all that surprised, but it makes her giggle anyway.

“I’d like that,” he whispers.

“You’re going to wake up exactly where you wanna be tomorrow, baby. I promise.”

“Oh, I’m very much looking forward to it.”

And just like that, they’re kissing again, cuddling again, on the same page again. They know where they are, and where they’re going, and what they want. They both want the same thing, still, even after all these months, and, somehow even more sweetly, they have both found it can quite happily wait one more night.

There’s just something about a Sunday morning, anyway. A lazy one, a slow one, syrupy sunlight coming in through the window, sheets in a tangled mess and no plans to leave bed. Idyllic.

Well, Clove left the bed very briefly, for supplies, but she’s back now. She has everything she needs laid on a little towel beside her as she cozies up to spoon a softly snoring Gale. The warmth of him makes her heart ache a little. Sunday mornings were always when she missed this the most.

She woke up before him by pure luck, and she is very glad she did. She had trouble falling asleep last night in anticipation of this. If her luck holds out, he’ll wake the exact moment she wants him to, and not a moment sooner.

A healthy amount of caution won’t hurt, to help the luck along. She is strict with herself not to touch more of him than she needs to, no matter how much she wants to, and she rubs the lube between two fingers to warm it before she touches him with it. When she runs one finger down the crack of his ass, announcing her approach to his subconscious, Gale does not so much as stir.

She is able to massage the surrounding muscles without incident, but as she finally presses inside, just the tiniest bit of one finger, Gale moans.

The sound is unbearably soft and quiet, and even as subtle as it is, Clove does not miss the way his back arches ever so slightly, thrusting his ass into her. She smiles.

“I missed you too,” she whispers. Gale moans one more time, then falls silent as she works him with the one finger. She forgot, all over again, about the fucking heat, and she very nearly gets lost in it, but she is on a ticking clock here, and she doesn’t know how much time she has left.

At two fingers, Gale comes back to life, and this time more vigorously, with a loud groan and thrashing legs. Clove finally has to lift her head to peer over his shoulder and try to see his expression. When she catches sight of it, her breath catches, and her thighs clench.

Her Gale. He must be lost in the most pleasant of dreams. Mouth open and jaw working slightly, like wherever he is, he’s sucking on something; brow furrowed in fierce concentration, because Gale always tries his best, even in his dreams. Then, further down: his hands, flexing against the sheets, not yet gripping; his cock, fully hard and twitching with interest; his toes curling, just the tiniest bit.

“I fucking love you,” she sighs, pushing deeper, curling her fingers, searching until she finds that still familiar spot, and Gale’s head snaps backwards suddenly, landing where Clove’s head rested mere moments ago, and she lets her cheek rest against his with a smile.

He nuzzles into her immediately, instinctively, and Clove has to move this along, or she is going to start fucking crying.

She gives him a few more, experimental strokes, making sure he’s ready.

This part intimidates her. This is the part where Gale may wake up, and she would be disappointed if he did. They’re so close.

Very slowly, Clove slips her fingers out of him, and wipes them on the towel. Then, she straps into her harness. Still familiar, still empowering. Clove shivers a little bit as she smears lube over her cock–excitement, nerves, arousal.

Gale sleeps. Oblivious.

Clove begins to tug at him. It doesn’t take much to convince him to roll onto his back, though he frowns as he does it. Once he’s still again, Clove drapes a little hand towel over his eyes, gentle as she can. Gale sleeps.

Clove situates herself carefully between his legs, then hoists them over her thighs, tugging him closer to her as she slides a pillow under his hips, positioning him like a rag doll to where she can fuck him best. Gale sleeps.

Then, after a deep breath, finally ready, anticipation at its sweetest peak–

“Gale.”

She does not say it softly. Gale stirs.

“There’s a towel over your eyes, lover. Don’t panic. Just leave it there for me.”

It’s hard to say whether Gale registers her words or not, especially since she can’t see if he’s opened his eyes, but his thighs twitch, and Clove wonders if whatever part of his brain that’s conscious has perceived the lube that is smeared on his ass, or the way his hole is already a little loose. Aching to be filled again, maybe.

“Gale,” she says again.

Gale stirs further, and his hand reaches for the towel automatically.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Clove tuts at him, and the hand freezes. “Leave it.” The hand drops with a whimper.

Awake, then.

Clove gives him less than a second to adjust to the sudden insistent pressure of a cock against his asshole before she pushes into him.

It has exactly the intended effect. Gale cries out, thrashes, head whipping frantically from side to side under the towel, scrambling for something to hold on to and ending up with two fistfuls of pillow.

This is exactly how Clove wanted him to wake. Ready for her, aching for her, being fucked before he’s even said a word. Right where he belongs.

Clove pulls out from only an inch or two deep, and begins again, all the way from the outside, making him feel the stretch again, the weight of her, exactly how fucking ready he was for her. Her clit throbs against the pressure from the harness, and she ignores the urge to sink all the way into him, because after six months, this part is well worth savoring.

“Good morning,” she purrs. Gale is not as content with the shallow little thrusts as she is, and she grabs his hips to stop his wiggling. “Behave for me, lover. You were so good for me while I worked you open. Was it a mistake to wake you up? Should I have let you sleep through this, too?”

Gale shakes his head fervently, but his hips fight her still, so she pulls all the way out again, leaving him empty and whimpering.

Clove rests at his entrance, grinding the harness in slow little circles against herself, not leaning into it enough to push inside him, no matter how easily he would yield to her.

“Such a little whore, my Gale is,” she sighs. “Filled the second he wakes up, and still not satisfied. Needs to be fucked hard or not at all, is that it? I’ll tell you what, my love. I’ll fuck you like you want to be fucked, on two conditions.”

“Yes, Clove,” Gale gasps, such delicious first words of the day, husky with sleep and lust. “Anything, tell me, name them–”

“You come when I tell you to. No sooner, no later. On time, like a good boy, like the perfect slut you are for me.”

The sound of his breathing grows harsher. “And?”

“No touching yourself. You can touch me, the sheets, the pillows, your chest, but no matter how badly you want it, you will not touch your cock. Understood?”

His knuckles go a little whiter where they grip the pillow.

“Yes. Alright. I agree.”

Clove slams into him, in one smooth motion that drives the air from his lungs, and Gale’s whole body spasms.

“Fuck, yes Clove, please, more–”

His words cut off as she repeats the motion, pulling back just on the edge of too slow, but still bottoming out with enough force to jolt him with every thrust.

“Were you dreaming of me, Gale? Do you remember?”

Gale flushes, even now. “Yes.”

Clove growls. “Tell me.”

It takes a couple more thrusts for him to gather the courage, and Clove runs a soothing hand up his side.

“You were–you were on top of me, and you were dangling your tits over my face, and I was sucking on them, and you…”

He trails off, blush deepening as it spreads across his chest.

“Did I like it?” Clove prompts softly.

“Yes,” he whimpers. “Yes, you came, just from my mouth, and then I woke up, and I couldn’t see, and you–mmph.”

His words are cut off once more, this time by the Clove picking up the pace, slamming him back onto her with the grip she has on his hips in a freshly brutal rhythm.

“Do you want to see me now, baby? I didn’t want the surprise to be spoiled, but you can look now, if you want. Look at what I’m doing to you.”

Gale whips the towel off his face, and squints against the light to look down at her. His eyes can’t widen, not with how bright everything is all of a sudden, but they so clearly want to. His cock reacts instead, twitching where it rests in a pile of his own mess on his stomach, unattended to and throbbing with it.

“Fuck, I love you. Clove, I love you. I missed this.”

“Yeah? Is this what you wanted then?” Clove pants. “Do you feel taken, Gale?”

Gale nods, and a tear slips down his cheek as he stares at her, eyes flickering occasionally down to where the strap-on is disappearing into him, over and over.

“You take it so beautifully, lover. My perfect little slut, my Gale.”

Clove shifts, nudging his hips higher, adjusting her angle. Aiming for his prostate, and hitting her mark easily, muscle memory taking over as she speeds up once more.

Gale groans, loud and broken, and his eyes slip closed again. His hands are indecisive for a moment. They twitch towards his cock, then reach for her thighs in a biting squeeze, then palm her breasts, then rake in one frantic movement over his stomach and chest, red welts in his nails’ wake, only to finally settle for scrabbling desperately over the sheets, as if they’re the only thing he can touch without worrying he’ll draw blood.

“Good boy. So fucking perfect for me. I love you, Gale. I love how you let me take you apart.” Clove is running out of breath, all her oxygen going to her core muscles and her thighs and her cunt, and she uses the last of it to ask him one last time: “Is this what you wanted, Gale?”

Gale nods, and his mouth opens, over and over, neck muscles straining around the words stuck in his throat, but no sound escapes. He’s a vision, her Gale, writhing beneath her. So fucking beautiful, so fucking pretty. Fucked into silence.

Clove, too, falls quiet, utterly focused on her task, and the delicious sound of their thighs slapping together.

She fucks him relentlessly, thrusts harsh and punishing, and the ache in her muscles barely registers. All that matters is making sure Gale feels full, stretched, taken, fucked, and Clove knows she can give that to him.

Gale wants more, though. Even now. He wants to touch his cock; his hands twitch for it constantly, and every time he opens his little whore mouth, Clove knows that the words he does not have the breath to force out are the ones to beg for her to touch him herself.

He writhes, he squirms, he cries, but, as usual, his hands are the most telling part of him.

She watches his beautiful fucking hands like a weathervane. This is the most important timing for her to get right, the only one she really fucking cares about, the one she needs with every fiber of her being, the one she craves so desperately after these six months.

He can do it; she knows he can. If she can just fucking time it right.

When Gale’s cock is stiff enough to no longer be resting in the precum pooled on his stomach, purple and throbbing and leaking profusely, and his hands are all but pounding on the mattress, as frustrated as it gets, Clove slows down. She shushes his sobs, and reaches out to grip his left hand where it’s tangled in the sheets. He clings to her with all the force in his fingers.

“It’s okay, love,” she says roughly, panting hard. “I’ve got you. Breathe. I need you to breathe, so you can answer a question for me.”

“Clove, I can’t, I’m so close, I’m so fucking close, I need–”

His words have no oxygen behind them, voice choked and strangled.

“Breathe. Now.”

Gale’s body thrashes with displeasure for a moment, a brief rebellion, but he quickly submits, and struggles through a few ragged, deep breaths.

“Good boy. My perfect little whore. Now, remind me when you’re allowed to come.”

“When you tell me to,” Gale gasps as she bottoms out roughly, one-handed grip biting into his hip hard enough to bruise.

Clove’s whole body simmers with anticipation. Her clit throbs. Her blood sings with hope, desire, knowing.

“And who’s allowed to touch your cock?”

“You.”

“Oh, my sweet Gale,” Clove purrs, and her pace quickens one last time. “If only you were so fucking lucky.”

Gale’s eyes fly open at that, gaze fixed only on her face, stunned into speechlessness, trying to appear dismayed. His cock gives him away though, stiffening further, standing up taller, tall enough for the precum to dribble down his shaft rather than dripping onto his stomach.

Mouthwatering.

Clove adjusts her angle once more, makes sure it’s exactly how she wants it, precisely perfect, and drives into him with all the force her screaming muscles can muster. Gale’s whole body goes rigid; his breath catches in his chest.

“Come for me, Gale.” She squeezes his hand like she’s pulling a trigger. “Now.”

Gale is nothing if not prompt. Long white stripes paint his chest, more of them than Clove thought possible, and Gale groans the whole way through, back arched and eyes rolled back.

“Good, Gale, so fucking good. Oh, my Gale, so perfect for me. I love you. God, you’re fucking hot, and you listen so well. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. Good boy.” She chants praise in an endless stream as she withdraws from him gingerly, fumbles with the clasps on her harness, and tosses it roughly onto the towel beside them.

She cradles his cheek as he comes down, blinking dizzily up at the ceiling, breathing hard. “Gale, my love, sit up for me. Please, just for a little bit,” she murmurs, more huskily than she intended, but her core is still flooded with heat, still aching, still unsatisfied, and she needs just a little bit more from him, needs it now.

Gale rushes to obey, even though he shakes just with the effort of moving his limbs. Clove helps him up, guides him back until he’s slumped against the pillows, and climbs into his lap.

“I won’t take long, baby, I promise, but I want to come for you like I did in your dreams. Can you give me your mouth, lover? Just for a bit?”

Gale nods feebly as Clove settles herself atop one of his thighs. When she takes one of her breasts in her hand and starts guiding it towards him, he opens his mouth automatically.

“Fuck, yes, open for me, baby. My little slut. My Gale. I love that you dream of giving me pleasure.”

Gale sucks the peak of her breast into his mouth greedily, and Clove moans, and her hips grind down fiercely onto his thigh.

“I won’t touch myself either, to make it more fair, baby. But I am going to cheat a little bit. Is that okay with you?”

Gale moans, takes more of her into his mouth, and Clove takes that as a yes.

True to her word, it doesn’t take long. One hand massaging the breast not claiming Gale’s mouth, one hand threaded into his hair, riding his thigh like it’s the only option she has in this world for making herself come. It may as well be. At this precise moment, she wants for nothing else.

All she can hear while she comes is Gale’s soft whimper as her entire body grinds him back against the pillows, her thighs squeeze around his impossibly tight, and her fingers tug on his scalp without meaning to.

As soon as she’s recovered enough, Clove heaves herself off of him, and pulls Gale’s entire boneless body into her lap, wrapped up entirely in her arms, head cradled to her chest. It’s a miracle her muscles still have the strength to move him, but she can always find energy when Gale most needs her to.

“I love you so much,” she murmurs, and she knows Gale was already crying, but at this very gentle, most obvious of statements, it becomes audible. “You are worth any wait. We were always okay, my love. We have still been us, these past six months. I have loved you the same. Nothing could take that from you.”

“Fuck,” Gale hiccups. “I love you too. Thank you. For that, for everything. This was–I don’t want to say needed, but it was…”

“Helpful?” Clove suggests with a smile.

“Yes. Immensely.”

“And hey, you discovered a new talent.”

“I am of the opinion that we learned nothing of me; only that you are capable of pulling off any feat you wish to.”

Clove laughs, and presses a kiss into his hair. “You don’t need to flatter me, baby. My head is big enough, I promise.”

Gale wiggles in her arms, on the hunt for a proper kiss, which Clove eagerly provides.

“It’s Sunday, isn’t it?” Gale murmurs against her lips.

“Yes.”

“So we have no reason to get out of bed.”

“I mean, I could go for a shower. But yes. Basically.”

“Oh, perfect.”

#if this gets edited before it goes up on ao3 no it didn't #also i cannot overemphasize. i have never written anything even remotely close to this. i still think it's good but. LISTEN.#anyway if you're wondering hey emmy why don't you fandom tag your fucking writing so people can find it. the answer is i'm a little bitch #my writing

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thicc-ray-of-sunshine · 3 months ago

Text

Does Your Mother Know?

Posting this on here since it's already up on AO3. I'll update this once I have the smut also but for now it's PG.

Summary:

Stan's first time back in Boston in more than 30 years. While trying to make his own fun some young wild thing approaches him at a bar, good thing he knows better. Right?

It was really weird being back in the city. Hell, he hadn't been in Boston for more than 40 years. Obviously he didn't really have much of an opportunity to travel after his second falling out with Ford, but before the portal he had been banned from the state entirely. For what he couldn't really remember, time sort of just slipped together after all these years. Plus some of his memories were still a jumbled mess knocking around in his skull even more than a year after the whole Weirdmaggedon escapade. Regardless, it didn't matter anymore since Ford had made a nice little arrangement with the Feds after the fact to wipe both their records clean from any and all of the criminal activity.

He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself now. They were making a pit stop here so that Ford could meet up with an associate, a doctor of some kind, someone he knew from his years in college. Didn't matter and it wasn't his business.

He needed a break from spending every waking second with Ford anyway and in all honesty he really didn't have the patience in him to wait out all the nerd talk that was bound to happen between the two. So here he was, wandering around the streets of downtown Boston aimlessly. He briefly considered going to a bar but a cursory glance around himself told him that most, if not all of the surrounding dives were college spots. He already felt out of place enough in the young crowd in his meandering outside, he'd stick out like a sore thumb actually in one of these places. A sour look crossed his face as he imagined himself sitting at a bartop, a room thrumming much too loudly with some pop song he'd never even heard of, shoulder to shoulder with kids just barely old enough to drink. No thanks, he'd pass on that. Maybe one of the Irish pubs? He cast a look at one of them, peering through the over the top banded windowpanes. Yeah, not interested.

Turning on his heel he started the trek back to the boat, it wasn't too far from where he was. Ford's doctor friend had directed them to berth her right past the aquarium where all them fancy yachts and houseboats were. He tried hard not to think about how lonely he was inevitably going to feel when he got there and Ford was still gone. Maybe he'd make the most out of it and grab a couple beers on his way back, make his own fun so to speak. While contemplating what kind of beer he should grab and from what cornerstore something caught his eye.

It was a woman. She looked completely out of place, possibly more than he did. Actually to be more accurate she looked out of time as she stood next to him. She looked like she had walked straight out of the late seventies. Wearing a wispy little dress that didn't go anywhere near her knees with long flouncy sleeves that fluttered as she walked and paired with a set of off white platform gogo-boots that accentuated her legs in a way that made his knees weak. He watched as she snapped her head right and then left; checking the street. Her hair bounced with the movement, swishing in the wind as she crossed. He was still watching as she met up with another similarly dressed woman outside of what appeared to be a nightclub or some adjacent venue, bouncing giddly as she brought the other woman into a tight hug before turning to the bouncer. Stan was in far too much of a trance to really feel creepy about the whole situation.

Looking up he could see the sign above the place, below the colorful lettering that labeled the building there was one of those old movie theater signs that told you what show was playing. In big black letters it read “Gimme Gimme Disco. Disco Night Tonite, $20.” He laughed to himself. Casting his gaze back downward he found that this somewhat-less-mystery-woman had gone inside, leaving him to consider his options. Without too much thought past ‘ah what the hell’, he crossed the street and reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet.

He was at least dressed for the occasion he thought as he crossed the threshold. He had on a pair of camel colored slacks with a matching suede jacket, brown leather shoes and a burgundy dress shirt. He had felt the need to be well dressed among Stanford's colleagues, wanting to seem more dignified than he actually was. He shook the nasty thoughts of his self worth out of his head as he walked towards the bar, unbuttoning the top three buttons of his dress shirt and adjusting the gold medallion around his neck.

Observing the scenery he could see that this was typically a music venue for small shows. There was a small stage area with a pit surrounded by a more elevated surface that wrapped around up to the stage where there was a full bar against both walls. Correct in his earlier assumption, the majority of the crowd was young, probably college age. Among them were some people his age, possibly a bit younger. There was no real congregation of the older folks in any particular place, which he had somewhat hoped for but oh well. He wasn't really planning on talking to many people anyway, just here for something interesting to do and a couple overpriced drinks. To soak up the feelings of nostalgia for a bygone era and wash away the lingering feelings of inadequacy with some most likely watered down liquor.

There weren't too many people actually sitting at the bar, most just taking their drink straight to the dance floor. So it was pretty easy for him to just sit and observe while he nursed a twelve dollar whiskey sour. The music was loud, enough to feel it in his bones as it rattled up his body from where his feet touched the floor but not enough to make his eardrums pop. Currently they were playing ‘Hot Stuff’ by Donna Summers which the women in particular seemed to enjoy.

It was a sea of glitter, bell-bottoms, boots and blazers. Every shirt was low cut, every skirt and pant flared. It was truly amazing how people could accurately recreate the discotheque look, hell even the smell of cheap cologne and hairspray was period-accurate. He had a feeling that this was a regular thing for some of the people here. He could see some clearly vintage pieces, all tassels and suede amongst a fair amount of cheesy Halloween costumes that just screamed tacky. As long as people were having fun he mused

He'd been there for a good bit into an hour before he saw you again. You hair was tousled and your face was flushed with exertion, clearly you had been dancing and perhaps a little tipsy. He watched you as you waited in line for a drink. You were still swaying a little bit to the music, the skirt of your dress fluttering hypnotizingly around your thighs. Stan shook his head, he shouldn't be looking at you like that, he didn't want to come off as some creepy old geezer. He really couldn't help it though, something about you was just mesmerizing to him.

You had made it to the front of the line, chunky earrings clacking loudly as your head snapped towards the direction of the person manning the bar. You said something to them that he couldn't make out, a compliment maybe, as you fished out cash from your small purse. He turned back to his drink sitting on the bar next to his arm, taking a lingering sip before going back to people watching. His breath caught in his throat when he looked up.

You were looking at him. Your pretty eyes sparkled, refracting the various colored lights that bounced across the room, as you flashed a coy little simper his way before making your way back out into the crowd with two drinks in your hand. For some reason seeing you with that second drink left a bad taste in his mouth. The idea that you had already found somebody to spend your night with came with a certain displeasure that he had no right to feel. Not for someone so young. You looked young at least, no more than late twenties he'd wager. Not being able to help himself; his eyes found you again.

You were leaning against the far wall near the stage area, talking rather animatedly to an equally young man. Your hand was on his shoulder as you leaned up to practically yell something into his ear, the music to loud to communicate in any other way. Stan's grip tightened on the cup in his hand, watching you give the man a cheeky look as he laughed at whatever you said. He didn't know why he felt jealous, he truly had no reason to be and he felt gross in doing so. He chalked it up to him feeling lonely and being surrounded by the echos of his youth, making him feel a tad emotional. One thing he couldn't blame it on was the alcohol, having only just started his second drink of the night. Feeling that much more sober when your eyes met his again through the throng of people.

This time however you did not pivot in your heels and sink into the crowd. His eyes followed you as you clapped the man on the shoulder, telling him something before settling your gaze back to where he sat at the bar. Stan felt panicked and feverish as you strode gracefully across the club floor towards him. He feared briefly that you were coming over to tell him off, yell at him maybe for being some perverted old creep. However, these thoughts were dashed as you threw him that look again, that same little smile from before. You were interested, he realized. He felt a nervous sweat bearing at the back of his neck at the thought as you hopped up onto the barstool next to him, placing an arm on the counter to balance your chin in your hand flawlessly.

“Well hey there stranger. Don't think I've ever seen your face in here before “

You batted long black eyelashes at him, the glitter on your eyelids shining bright in the club lighting. He swallowed back his nervousness as he remembered how to be suave.

"Just passin through.”

Deciding to play along, he turned up the charm. What harm could some casual flirting do? He took another long sip of his drink, lilting a brow at you as his lips turned into a smirk.

“Now tell me, what's got some hot young thing like yourself comin and talkin to an old man?”

He looked at you from over his drink, eyebrow still raised playfully as you smiled dazzlingly and put your index finger on your chin thoughtfully; pretending to think about it.

“I just thought you looked like a good time.”

The look you pegged him with had his throat feeling extremely dry despite the alcohol still on his tongue. He must've made a face because you laughed and patted the space on the bartop next to his hand

“It's alright sweetheart I don't bite.”

You waved your hand dismissively, clearing the air. The comment didn't make him any less nervous but he could feel the adrenaline zipping up his spine and mixing with the alcohol in his system; dispelling any real anxiety. He could play this game.

“Ya got a name Sugar? Or ya gunna leave me in suspense?”

He grinned as you cocked your head at him and let out an airy little laugh. Straightening your posture and shot out your hand to him, offering your name. He gave you his name in return, shaking your outstretched hand in his own larger one. Your hands were soft against his, long painted nails scratching gently against his palm as you withdrew.

“So Stan, what brings you to my part of town?”

His name sounded good in your mouth, sticky sweet as your free hand drew circles aimlessly onto the countertop with your nails. You listened intently as he told you about his twin brother, his big wig doctor friend and his afternoon in the city. You both chatted for a little while longer, joking and laughing together with ease. His nervousness had completely dissipated and was replaced by flirty banter.

Unfortunately this couldn't last. He was far too old for you. He had tried to sneak a peek at your ID when you had flashed it to the bartender when he bought you another drink but his cataracts wouldn't allow him to read the nearly miniscule text there. Even without that information he knew you were still far too young for him to be chasing, even if you were interested in him. That on its own was hard to believe, even with your hand placed atop his own on the bar. He was just too old.

His train of thought came to a grinding halt as a hand appeared on your shoulder; it was the man from before. He could feel his right eye twitch behind the frames of his glasses as the guy leaned down and closer to your ear to whisper something to you. His gut twisted as he watched you laugh and hit his lithe shoulder, the hand that was touching his own moving from its place as you stood up and brushed the wrinkles out of your dress. He forced a smile onto his face and schooled his expression when you put a hand on his shoulder, winking at him.

“You've been a real peach Stan. I'll try to catch you in a bit, I've still gotta make my rounds. It would seem I'm a very popular lady tonight.”

You gave him a little wave as you turned, hand in hand with the smooth young man to your left before disappearing into the thicket of dancing bodies on the main floor. He couldn't help but feel disappointed, the sudden lack of company opening up a hole in his chest that stung.

He felt foolish, some like some old man trying desperately to reclaim some part of his youth. Deciding to be an adult for once, he sighed and leaned heavily against the wall behind him.

It had been probably about thirty minutes since he had last seen you, popping in and out of conversations with probably about a dozen different people. It made him feel a little better knowing that you were actually a hot commodity and not just trying to find an out from talking to him. It wasn't hard to imagine that that's what you were. You were beautiful after all; and from what he could tell, witty and extremely amicable. It was rather enjoyable seeing you find friends wherever you found yourself within the space, even if it made him feel a little less special.

Out of the corner of his eye, through the mist of sequence and bell sleeves he caught a glimpse of that fluttery little dress again; finding you in the middle of the dancefloor. He was surprised to see you by yourself there after he had seen you chat up so many people. He watched as you swayed your arms and hips to the rhythm of the song, dancing gracefully under the light of the disco ball above you; shimmering almost angelically as the sleeves of your dress twirled around you.

The track switched again. From the first few notes and the peppy instrumentals he could tell it was another ABBA song.

"You're so hot, teasing me

So, you're blue, but I can't take a chance on a chick like you

That's something I couldn 't do"

The irony of his current predicament paired with the song choice was not lost on him; though he was left little time to think about it. His breath caught in his throat again as your head snapped back to the bar almost viciously, looking directly at the spot where you two had been chatting earlier. He observed with rapt attention as your eyes surveyed the surrounding area; landing square on him.

"There's that look in your eyes

I can read in your face that your feelings are driving you wild

Ah, but girl, you're only a child"

Your face breaks into a wide grin when you spot him, clearly very amused that he was looking at you already. You tossed a rather saucy look his way and started walking towards him. He just barely contained the lunch in his stomach that told him to run as you reached where he had perched himself. Wasting no time, you grabbed his arm and leaned in so your voice would reach his ears.

“Come dance with me!”

He very nearly gaped at you, just barely managing to keep a cool exterior as you hung off his arm. Not quite being able to grasp that you still wanted to spend time with him. He couldn't. More accurately, he shouldn't. He should walk away right now and leave you and your perfect self behind and go straight back to his boat. That's what he should do, but alas he was never a man known for his restraint. He knew he was a goner when you batted those big (Y/E/C) at him and fluttered your lashes exaggeratedly, feeling his restraint wash off of him like rain.

“Sure thing Sugar.”

He let you lead him to the dancefloor, eyes glittering with excitement. He couldn't help but match your giddiness as he slid next to you.

“Alright Stan, show me what you got!”

You were beaming at him as you started swaying your hips to the beat. This was something he could do, something to impress you. With a flash of teeth and a wink he found his rhythm.

"Well, I can dance with you, honey, if you think it's funny

Does your mother know that you're out?

And I can chat with you, baby, flirt a little maybe

Does your mother know that you're out?"

He was still painfully aware of the song choice and the situation he had let himself get into as he widened his stance. Moving with a surprising amount of grace as he put his limbs to work at a very impressive rendition of the hustle, bumping his hips in time with the music. You clapped wildly when he did a little spin, ending tastefully with his right arm pointing towards the ceiling above.

“Wow Stan! You've been holding out on me! If I knew you were this good I would have dragged you down here earlier.”

Stan felt his chest puff out with pride, your praise going straight to his head; among other places. Now he felt in his element, feeling like the smooth young man he once was; being transported back into a time where such an interaction was not particularly uncommon for him. It was exhilarating to say the least, he really was having a great time.

"Take it easy (take it easy)

Better slow down, girl

That's no way to go

Does your mother know?"

Your bodies were nearly touching now. He could see the shimmer of the lipgloss you were wearing as you mouthed the lyrics. Lights bounced off of the glitter of your now hooded eyelids, further attracting his attention the sultry look you held there. Said look pinned him in place for a moment before you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into you. While doing so you faltered a bit on your feet, so, dutifully he placed his hand on the small of your back to keep you afloat.

“Dance with me.”

He tried to keep it polite, he really did. Even in the haze of the alcohol the words of the song rang loudly through his skull as he tried to remember. It was difficult, his brain sending him a million signals when you stared almost hungrily back at him.

"I can see what you want

But you seem pretty young to be searching for that kind of fun

So maybe I'm not the one"

Briefly, he feared his heart would stop beating in his chest when you brought your bottom lip between your teeth and batted those gorgeous eyes up at him again when he dipped you low. Again he tried to remember himself, the lyrics in the song a clear reflection of the thoughts he should be having. He twirled you around again so he didn't have to face the intense look you were giving him, and to stop himself from thinking about how soft your lips would be against his own.

"Now you're so cute, I like your style

And I know what you mean when you give me a flash of that smile (smile)

But girl, you're only a child"

When you were facing him again your eyes were closed, a soft laugh leaving your parted lips as you let him guide your movements, clearly reveling in his attentions. You cracked your eyes open at him, winking as you let your hand slither up to the lapels of his jacket, grasping the smooth fabric between your fingers.

“I really like this song. It's my favorite one of theirs.”

Your lips just barely touched his earlobe when you spoke, he could barely hear you above the music and the thumping of his irrational heart. His pulse thudded loud in his head as your hand slipped down to trace around the medallion sitting on his sternum.

"You know what else I like?"

"Well, I can dance with you, honey, if you think it's funny

Does your mother know that you're out?

And I can chat with you, baby, flirt a little maybe

Does your mother know that you're out?"

Your lips finally brushed the shell of his ear, sending a shudder zinging down his spine and raising alarm bells inside his puddle of a brain.

“You.”

One word. One word was all it took to rip the very last vestiges of his restraint as he finally gave into his desires to take you up on your very clear interest.

"Take it easy (take it easy)

Better slow down, girl

That's no way to go

Does your mother know?"

“I think this song fits us pretty well don't you?”

Instead of responding, he decided to beat you at your own game. Catching the hand you had on his chest he brought it to his lips, barely brushing the skin of your knuckles as he watched you blush. Instead of placing a kiss there; he kept you on your toes, quite literally, as he spun you around by the hand he had stolen. Stan took full advantage of it, using the momentum to twirl you right into his arms, completely flush to his chest. You stared wide eyed at him before narrowing them, a somewhat smug smile fighting it's way onto your face.

“You sly old dog I knew you had it in you!”

You lips had tilted up into a small smirk as you regarded him with a mildly sardonic expression, giggling a bit. He laughed with you, tension oozing out of his body along with his inhibitions and any common sense as your other hand found his waist.

"Take it easy (take it easy)

Try to cool it, girl

Take it nice and slow

Does your mother know?"

“Yeah this dog knows a few tricks, s’pecially for a sweet thing like you.”

His hand smoothed slowly down your waist, faintly playing with the pleats in your dress as they moved lower to skim the hemline teasingly. Your throat went dry and you felt a little off kilter, feeling the control you had on the situation slip between dainty fingers. You wouldn't let go that easily though.

“Like what?”

You leaned back a bit, peering up at him through you lashes and watching intently as his adams apple bobbed in his throat. After a moment he matched you flawlessly.

“Ain't nothin I can do here Dollface.”

The hand on your dress flexed, emphasizing his not at all innocuous statement. Clearly a switch has been flipped somewhere and you had every intention of seeing just how far you could take it.

“Come with me.”

You weren't listening to the song anymore, you knew how it ended. It didn't matter that it was your favorite; what mattered was the hand you were pulling and the man attached to it following you through the horde of people crowding the dance floor. Pushing your way through the masses with a singular focus and holding tightly onto the hand in your grasp.

The cool night air was a welcome change from the stuffiness of the air inside the club. The breeze was pleasant on your flushed skin and a balm to your inebriated state. Stan seemed to have similar thoughts as he found his place beside you, closing his eyes and sucking in a breath.

“Ya sure ya wanna do this?”

He ran a hand through his hair in an exasperated gesture. You could see the trepidation in his face, clearly a part of him still on the fence about the whole thing. Delicately you took a hold of both of his hands, squeezing gently while looking into his eyes.

“Very, but I'm not gonna hold it against you if you're uncomfortable Stan. We don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

He shook his head at you. You were really too sweet, he really didn't deserve it. He let you reach out to him, to take his face in your hands as he leaned down to close the distance. The kiss was just as sweet as you were although extremely chaste. Just testing out the waters and nothing more. His brown eyes burned into yours from where they loomed above you, just inches away behind the thick frames of his glasses. One of your hands slipped forwards to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, rubbing the skin there, watching as his lips split into a grin briefly before his mouth was on yours again. The second kiss was even better; Stan seemed more confident and sure against you. Lips sliding over and between your own leisurely as your mouths molded together into new and interesting shapes. You found that you had zero qualms when Stan's tongue pressed against the seam of your lips, humming contentedly as you let him pass.

Tongues danced languidly together, his hands finding their place; his right on your waist and then his left snaking into your hair to pull you infinitesimally closer. Both your cheeks were rosy when you pulled away, lips slightly puffy from kissing as you both caught your breath. When you opened your eyes Stan was already looking at you, his gaze smoldering and accompanied by a rather sultry smirk.

“So, yer place or mine? I ain't got a problem with makin the boat rock with ya.”

Stan let out a breezy chuckle, his new self assured countenance unruffled by his scandalous comment that had your blush intensifying tenfold. His hand on your waist slipped downward to sit teasingly just above your ass while his other played with the ends of your hair.

“Mine. It's less walking and I don't actively live in the same room as my twin brother.”

You laughed and poked his chest chidingly, forefinger lingering to trail through his exposed chest hair.

“I'll even pay your train fare, think of that.”

That pulled another laugh from him, his barreled chest jostling slightly under your hand to release it.

‘Y’wanna get me in yer bed that badly huh Sugar?”

He raised an eyebrow at you in a playful manner, voice dropping an octave into a sexy little rasp that put a pulse between your legs.

“Among other places Mr.Pines.”

Your voice was a honeyed purr, eyes twinkling with mischief as you hooked your index finger through the gold chain around his neck, pulling him that much closer. Calling him that did more for him than he was willing to acknowledge, feeling his cock twitch in his pants at the honorific.

“Careful now Sweetheart or we ain't gonna make it that far.”

The hand in your hair moved to skim your jaw with his knuckles lightly, you nipped at his thumb when it brushed against your lips.

"Promises, promises. Saddle up then cowboy, we got a rodeo to get to. C'mon follow me."

Your tone was light, chastising, as you pulled yourself from his grasp, cheekily squeezing the hand above your ass.

"Lead the way Toots."

His grin was wide, gesturing ahead of himself to urge you to direct him to your dwelling. Snatching his hand in yours, you pulled him along.

#stan pines #stan pines x reader #stanley pines #stanley pines x reader #disco stan supremacy #I HAVE A MASSIVE BRAIN FOR THIS IDEA #this has been untouched since October #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #certified silver fox chaser #certified silver fox chaser posting #this ones for my Boston/ Cambridge natives #the interior of the club is based loosely of the Middle East in Cambridge bc i love Xmortis night #thank u swooning over stans u changed my life

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xreaderwrites · 1 month ago

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A Little More Time

Pairing: Mark S/Helly R

Summary: Mark and Helly scrape out a life together in the few minutes between now and never.

Tags: fluff, bittersweet, post-S2, it’s not a half-life to them

AN: the final was amazing I just had to write something

Words: 749 | AO3 | Masterlist

Mark gently entwines their fingers and tugs Helly away from the exit. They run. First he’s leading her but she moves so they’re side by side. He doesn’t know where they’re going or what they’ll do. All he knows is that he wants more time. Of this life. Of her. So he runs with her until she starts leading him.

The path is familiar but he thinks he’s reading it wrong. Surely, they’d had enough of the dead today. But no, Helly leads him to the Perpetuity Wing. Her hand tightens around his when he hesitates. They sprint passed the statues, down the stairs, and a smile starts to curl around his mouth when they stumble out onto a lawn. Helly throws a smile at him over her shoulder and his heart does this full thing he isn’t sure how to handle. They slow to a walk by the time they reach the door. She turns on her heel towards him, her hands still tight in his.

“Honey,” she says and his heart cracks. “Let’s table the coupon talk for now.”

She quirks her eyebrow at him, a question. He nods, eager and excited. They can’t have forever, they probably can’t even have tomorrow, but they have right now. They have this house and each other. What more could he need after a life filled with fluorescents?

“Only if you agree there is no right way to cut coupons,” he says.

“We both know I won’t,” she says as she reaches behind herself and opens the door.

They stumble to the kitchen where their ideas for new dishware get wilder and wilder with every suggestion made. Helly teases him for always getting crumbs in the butter and he teases back about her leaving the every cupboard door open whenever she leaves the room. They fall on the couch and kiss in the living room. Mark promises to record her favourite show and Helly promises to pay full attention to whatever boring documentary catches his interest next. Things get heated on the way to the bedroom, more than a few figurines purposely knocked over on their way, but they do little more than explore. There’s no need to rush. They have all the time in the world to fuck and fight and make up and talk and banter and love and learn how to live a life out in the wide world. Together. Always together.

They end up on a window seat. Helly talks about the weather. How she can’t wait for the warmth to come but she doesn’t mind the need to curl up under blankets together. She speculates how harsh the summer will be, and what they’ll do to avoid the heat, or if they’ll seek it after a long winter. He doesn’t join in this time. He leans back and watches how the light brings out highlights in her hair he’s never been able to see before. How the differently angled light creates new shadows on her face.

“What is it?” she asks curiously, no bantering barb to be found.

“I love you,” he says. Breathes, really.

She softens. Her vulnerable edge has no need to hide behind a hard shell with just the two of them and she leans in to brush a kiss against his lips.

“I love you too.”

He glows as brightly as the sun.

They stop in the dining room only long enough for Helly to gleefully smash a goat-man statue and Mark its presumed demon spawn. Another sitting room later and Helly is sitting in his lap with her arms wrapped around his neck. She’s gloating about how this handsome man in a suit managed to woo her in the middle of corporate hell and he’s gloating right back about how a woman’s furious determination changed his entire world.

“And her beauty, of course,” he adds on to get a snort and light blush.

They’re debating how to redecorate the more boring paintings when it comes to an end. There’s nothing in the drawers, so nothing with any kind of ink, but Helly’s found some sort of decorative thing that should have a sharp enough edge to do what she wants when they hear footsteps pounding against the pavement. His heart drops. Helly steps closer, still wearing that brilliantly soft smile. She holds out her hand to him.

“Ten more minutes?” she asks.

He grins and grabs her hand.

“If that’s what it takes to get to the Equator.”

They run.

#my work #markhelly #fanfiction #mark s #helly r #markhellyna #mark x helly #mark s x helly r #mark/helly #mark s/helly r #severance spoilers #severance #helly riggs #one shot #ficlet #ff

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britcision · 9 months ago

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FRIENDS IT IS HERE. As promised even! We are technically just under 20k for this chapter, but still not small enough that cutting it in half has stopped it from brutally murdering the app, so…. We’ll see how this posts! 😅

I did myself a whole honkin’ reread on the whole thing too, refreshed my lil reminders of what I named things and all the lil threads I was playing with… and hot damn it’s a beast huh?

The good news is, although we are getting into plot, we are getting out of the heavy stuff, at least for the next little bit! Back to our silly happy fun times with the boys 🥰

And, y’know, dealing with Jason’s death and first transformation and all. Totally all fine! Nothing to worry about! 😇

Today’s chapter is a lil Bruce-heavy in this front half because the main thing stopping me was that I got most of the way through before I realized I needed to rewrite Jason’s entire first scene, but I’m a lot happier with it now 😁

First Chapter and AO3:

Previous Chapter:

——————————

The Finished Core part 1

When it finally happened, Jason’s core coming in was pretty anticlimactic. For all they’d worried it might trigger a transformation, rile up the pit, or even have a physical shockwave… the event itself was almost disappointing. Buried busily in some paperwork for the library, Jason himself hadn’t actually noticed.

He’d already started feeling what he thought might be his core over the past few days; like a vibrating ball of energy, usually in the middle of his chest (although it wandered in all directions). Which would make the knot of tension that sometimes sat in his gut and sometimes went as far up as his throat… probably Pitty.

Not fun having a distinct sensation that went along with everything else the Pit was. Did nothing at all to ease his worries about what the hell would happen when they were both actually completed.

But when the day finally came… yeah, nothing. The soft, warm glow in his chest when he thought about the project had grown steadily stronger over the week and a bit he’d known Danny at that point, so he hadn’t really paid enough attention to notice a change.

They’d still been seeing each other every day, although now that the new school semester had started up it had slowed down to a couple hours in the evening. Jason had dived headlong into his restoration project both on Frostbite’s advice, and to keep himself from counting the hours. Which, apparently, worked?

The biggest disruption was actually Danny blasting in through the wall not a minute later, invisible until he dived through one of Jason’s freshly legal goons and almost knocked the table over. Luckily there were no actual Red Hood links lying around - Catherine’s name was staying clean, which was for the best since Jason still hadn’t thought of a way to bring it up.

Even now, back from another appointment with Frostbite to confirm all was well, Jason didn’t actually feel any different? It was official though; both cores were complete, and now all they had to do was wait until the pit matured enough to actually leave Jason’s body and do its own thing.

Now that he didn’t have any choice but to confront it, he couldn’t have said what he’d expected anyway, but… well, surely there should have been something? More energy? More corruption? Hell, even increased ghost senses or some indication that the powers would be coming in.

According to Danny, intangibility usually came with the pit dropping out of your stomach and feeling floaty. Accidental floating came with a head rush or feeling like falling. Invisibility just fucking happened.

All he felt was weirdly normal? The fancy ecto ice was working, and his little ghost succulent - that or all the time with Danny; even Pitty’s flares of emotion were manageable. The green haze hadn’t come back since meeting Lady Gotham.

And okay, maybe he was pushing that by going right back to the manor the next day, but listen. Frostbite had reminded him to do calming tasks, since Pitty should start being more aware of their surroundings now.

Baking with Alfred was as calming and soothing as Jason could imagine, without stapling himself to Danny in classes. And sure, he’d helped with Danny’s homework the past couple nights, but the guy would get sick of him eventually. Faster if they stayed attached at the hip.

(And that had been another “fun” tidbit Frostbite had dropped on them; if they were actually making their own ghost baby, they’d have been able to trade the core off between them. Jason hadn’t thought anything could make that idea sound appealing, but if he coulda just stuffed Pitty into someone else… well, he probably wouldn’t actually wish its corruption and constant tantrums on anyone else, but having a break woulda been nice.)

Now that his core was done, technically the daily hanging out probably wasn’t as necessary. So long as Jason had some backup plans to keep himself calm and in control. Which should mean that they could go from hanging out as a necessary chore to just… friends.

And since no one in the city wound Jason up like Bruce, if he happened to also be at the manor he’d have a trial-by-fire for his shiny new core. He’d kept his word and tapped out of patrol since meeting Lady Gotham (and apparently Harley had taken the manor in fire and glory the night after and locked Bruce… somewhere for two full days), so he’d not heard from B since.

According to Tim, Constantine hadn’t returned to Gotham at all.

The thought of their names only stirred angry bubbles from Pitty, and Jason absolutely wasn’t self destructive or a masochist, so he was just testing to see how far that’d last. How careful he’d need to be, and how aware the little guy was.

So obviously he wasn’t even all the way into the manor before he ran into the man himself.

Stopping short, Jason’s fist clenched more from force of habit than any actual desire. Sucking in a deep breath, he thought of his ghost succulent (which had started glowing faintly blue a couple nights ago, which was hopefully a good thing?) and carefully unclenched. Nodded a little stiffly.

This would be the first time they’d been alone together since… shit, he didn’t even know. He hadn’t seen the guy without the buffer of at least one other bat in months.

“Bruce,” he said warily, half hoping the man could just… be normal. For once. Nod, say hi, fuck off about his own business. He couldn’t still be on his anti-Danny crusade, could he?

The man actually flinched, face twitching through a couple of expressions Jason couldn’t even guess at. A sudden urge between his shoulder blades did nothing to help, distracting him long enough for everything to be smoothed under the usual masks.

If Bruce just had a damn aura… okay, that’d be one change with the completed core. All of his attempts to reach out with his own aura before had basically involved his whole body actually leaning in the same direction.

That… urge, itch between his shoulders, if that had been his aura trying to reach out, felt more like an entirely new muscle group. Curiosity won and Jason focused, trying to follow the urge and reach out… and wasn’t sure it had worked at all.

Because all he could feel was sorrow and regret, and that didn’t sound like B. At all. His compartmentalizing was out the ass, sure, but what the hell would he actually feel sorry for?

“Jason?” And from the sound of it, not the first time he’d said his name. Great.

Shelving the apparently-faulty aura for now, Jason frowned back.

“I’m here to see Alfred.” It wasn’t exactly a warning. Wasn’t exactly a threat, although it carried the possibility. Meant that if B pissed him off enough to leave, he’d face some British disapproval.

Bruce’s shoulders sagged just a little, and then he drew himself up, his face firm and resolved. Jason tensed automatically; if he actually tried to bar him from seeing Danny face to face, would he still be able to walk away?

That was why he’d brought the glacierfrost. Slipping a hand into his back pocket, he crushed a crystal quickly before the man could open his mouth. Wintergreen mint burst across the back of his tongue, another brief flicker of distraction that, for some reason, came with another pang of sorrow.

“I’m sorry.”

Jason nearly stumbled, and he hadn’t even been moving. Bruce looked… tired, all of a sudden. More tired than he could remember ever seeing him.

“Wait… what?”

Bruce gave him a sad smile.

“It’s been brought to my attention… multiple times… that you should have heard that from me alone first. And then I kept adding more and more to be sorry for. And I know you don’t want to see me, so now seems like the best time to start.” It was jerky, and awkward, and probably the most uncomfortable Jason had ever seen Bruce in a conversation.

Which only served to confuse him further. Bruce overplanned everything; he never acted without at least two layers of backups. It was why he had a million plans for every possible micro-scenario. He didn’t do spontaneous.

“What are you even talking about?” He asked, half exasperated, and Bruce’s smile widened a fraction. That only made it more self deprecating.

“There are too many things to count, but… Jason, I’m sorry I sprung the apology on you at the gala. I thought having the world as my witnesses would show you I meant it, but I should have asked first. I should have apologized first, to you. Alone. I’m… aware what it says about me that I couldn’t.” He was almost wearing one of Brucie’s self-deprecating smiles now, but the edges were raw. Unpolished. Certainly not camera ready.

Real?

Jason’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his brain entirely short-circuited. Of all the things Bruce could have said to him… of all the things the man might apologize for, he’d honestly forgotten all about the damn gala speech.

Forcing himself to focus, he folded his arms and regarded his former father figure warily.

“Sure, that’s a place to start,” he agreed, more sarcastically than he’d meant to. But he couldn’t take it back.

There was another moment of stiffness, and then Bruce’s shoulders sagged as well as he breathed out, still looking… well, so much more human. More breakable, more fallible. Or was that just from hearing him admit he’d been wrong?

“I do mean it, Jason. I did mean it,” he said softly, piercing blue eyes unusually gentle as he looked him over, and suddenly Jason knew what was bothering him.

The mask. The iron mask of Batman, the bumbling shield of Brucie. B always had a mask, over every interaction. Every situation, every possible scene, B always had a character to play. And he played them well.

That was what looked wrong about him. He wasn’t… intentional. His posture was open and unthreatening, his face lax in a way it never was while he held every muscle in check.

This was just actual, sincere B.

Jason wasn’t completely sure why that made him want to run or cry, but it said a fuck of a lot about him too.

More that he just couldn’t bring himself to return it.

Sucking in a sharp breath, seriously considering grabbing for another crystal, he nodded sharply.

“Okay. Now what.” Because that was the thing; Jason had never wanted B to be sorry that he hadn’t come for Jason. That he finally hadn’t been on time to save him from himself.

He didn’t want the apology, he wanted things to change. To be better. For Bruce to accept that it had happened, and Jason was who he was now because he’d decided to be, not the pits or Tallia or the Joker.

He wanted so many things.

Bruce was searching his face, eyes sharp even as he consciously kept the rest of the expression open. Jason could see the tick of muscle in his cheek. Fuck, was it that hard for Bruce not to put on the act?

After a moment, he spread his hands. A gesture of peace? Not holding a weapon, not tensed for an attack?

“That’s all. For now. I just… wanted you to know. I’m sorry. And I’m…” the expression pulled a little, becoming pained, “I have been told I am overreacting to the news from Amity Park as well. I should trust your judgement. So I’m pulling myself from the case to focus on the Anti-Ecto Acts.”

This time Jason’s jaw just dropped. B… Bruce never. Never pulled himself from a case. Not for broken bones, ruptured organs, not even if he’d died.

It was almost worse than the rage; all of a sudden he was lost at sea, the one grounding, immovable rock in his life swept away. Part of him was even angry at that - at B suddenly deciding that now, this time he was going to be reasonable.

When all Jason expected from him was judgement, antagonism, stupid overbearing demands and being held at arm’s length, now all of a sudden the Bat was human.

It was too late to pretend the moment hadn’t happened, to completely hide his shock, but he also couldn’t stop the bluster from rising. Not the way his eyes narrowed suspiciously, even when every part of him that had been Robin desperately hoped this was real.

“And what the hell brought that on?” Not the accusation in his voice, although for once Bruce didn’t rise to it. He just chuckled dryly, like he’d been expecting Jason’s reaction.

“Because you were right.”

And now Jason was fully on edge again, scanning the man more closely for any signs of hypnotism, mind control, that this was a clone or a replacement. A trap or a trick. Because B… Bruce would never…

Bruce raised both hands quickly, possibly expecting Jason to just… jump him. Which, to be fair, would have been a more normal interaction.

“You were the one who brought the Amity Park situation to our attention. And you’re right, that I can’t expect your doctor or any other ghost to come here to help you until it is safe for them to do so,” he added quickly, and Jason rocked back onto his heels.

Of course, the caveat. That made sense, bitter in the back of his throat as it was. Just an inarguable set of facts.

Not like he’d ever actually admit that Jason’s judgement was reliable or anything. Folding his arms again (partly to stop his fists from clenching), he gave Bruce a sceptical look.

“Right, so what finally yanked your head out of your ass about it?” He asked sharply. Bruce gave him that same wry smile.

“Diana. And Harley. And Alfred. And Selena. I have been… extensively informed I had my head up my ass. So. I’m sorry for that too. I just wanted to tell you before I left, since I don’t know when we’ll see each other again.”

And it shouldn’t have been funny that he actually looked more pained talking about this, admitting a mistake, than he had when nursing broken ribs in the infirmary. Than he’d looked during any of their fights, than when Jason had all but grabbed his face and forced him to see that it really was him, that his dear little Robin came back wrong.

But dark humour was a refuge for all the bats, and if Jason didn’t laugh he had a horrible feeling he’d cry. All that tension, all those days he’d worried about what he’d say or do when they came face to face again… he’d never have imagined any of this.

Could imagine another bloody battle before imagining Bruce saying sorry.

All of a sudden he was just tired. Ha. Dead tired.

Nothing drained the life out of him like dealing with Bruce.

“Great. So where are you going?” It was almost a rhetorical question; he didn’t really expect an answer.

Should have, though. Obviously B had to stick his foot in it again.

“Amity Park. As Bruce Wayne, not Batman,” he added quickly when Jason’s head snapped up, glare sharpening, “it seems the logical place to begin work on the acts.”

And alright, Bruce didn’t sound defensive. He never did; just obstinate, which meant so many things that guessing when it meant what was a losing game.

Jason groaned loudly, raising both hands to scrub down across his face. Because of course all that weirdness hadn’t changed a damn thing. B was gonna B, creepy and intrusive and all.

“And look into Danny.” He said flatly, locking eyes with Bruce in time to see his expression twitch. Was he actually gonna lie?

Apparently not. Bruce sighed and nodded.

“My focus will be on establishing a connection between “Brucie” and the Anti-Ecto Acts, and investigating the GIW. Danny has been involved in both, and Zatanna has requested the elder Fentons provide me with protection,” he said like it was anything but a weak excuse.

Jason stared at him for a long moment, and then figured fuck it. Actually telling them before he left was technically still an improvement, and Danny and Jason were both well aware that there was gonna be some nosy bullshit.

He’d warned Danny this was gonna happen, and Danny had said it was fine. That he didn’t care about anything Batman might find… and knowing just how badly the Justice League had fucked up was going to eat the asshole alive. Which he could have avoided just by listening.

About to just walk away, Jason hesitated. There was actually one thing… technically not a necessary for a halfa, but fuck it. Might as well get B used to some ghostly etiquette early.

“Have you asked Danny?”

Bruce stilled, giving Jason a complicated look that mostly felt like judgement. Like Jason should know better than to ask.

“I was under the impression that removing the Anti-Ecto Acts is a priority?” He said stiffly, all awkward tension again.

Jason really did roll his eyes this time.

“Sure, but you’re going to his haunt. You text Superman before investigating in Metropolis.” Which technically hadn’t even been true when Jason was actually Robin, but B did text Clark before getting caught investigating in Metropolis. By anything but Kryptonian hearing.

The protocol basically only applied whenever another hero wanted to operate within Gotham because only Batman cared, but it was on the League’s books.

Bruce had picked up the wording though, because of course he had.

“His haunt?” He asked carefully, that tiny tick between his brows that meant he was processing starting up.

Jason rolled his eyes harder. For emphasis. Had JL Dark actually missed this part of the briefing? He was so not writing up Ghost Etiquette 101 for the league. No way.

But. It. Might be kinda cool. To have for himself. Especially since it was gonna be increasingly relevant.

“He’s a ghost hero, B. He died there, he protects the city. He’s like, the only one who’ll actually get your territorial crap, because in his case it’s part of his makeup.”

Actually, might be part of B’s too. Danny hadn’t said how liminal Bruce in particular was, but it really wouldn’t surprise Jason if claiming a haunt was part of it. Or if Lady Gotham had already picked out a spot for him.

That thought stung, so he dismissed it immediately and turned towards the kitchen. Hell with the brownies he’d been planning, he was gonna need something much more complicated to keep his mind off the latest wave of bullshit.

Alfred liked soufflés. Jason could activate the house defences to keep the little gremlins out until they were done.

“Just fucking text him, B. Entering a ghost’s haunt without permission is declaring intent to throw down, and that’s a fight none of us need.” No matter how much he might like to watch B go up against the ridiculous power-set Danny was packing.

Sure, the Bat went toe to toe with the gods, but that was with plans, tech, and often, backup. Apparently he still didn’t know shit about ghosts, so it’d be fun to watch him try and adapt on the fly… especially when even Danny wasn’t sure how many actual powers were on the table.

Bruce hesitated for a long moment, looking at Jason’s retreating back.

That had gone… frankly he did not trust his own read on Jason enough to tell. Neither of them had yelled. He’d said what he was prepared to; he was still working on the appropriate format for the rest.

Jason… hadn’t reacted. Not with anger, which was a blessed relief, but not with anything else either. Except disbelief. Exasperation. Shock.

Not really any aggression, though. That had to be a decided improvement. And while part of Bruce suspected he’d been told to inform Danny so the boy could hide anything unsavoury….

He’d known that was likely to happen when he told Jason his plans. Jason would tell Danny; his allegiances there were firmly (and worryingly quickly) established.

Telling Danny himself… there was a chance that Jason had been serious about it being a matter of protocol. A formal request, for contact with an inter-dimensional entity.

Despite that entity being present and active in Bruce’s own city without so much as a nod to the Bat. But then, Batman was not a ghost, despite what the goons liked to suppose.

Firmly marshalling his own suspicions, Bruce pulled out his phone to message the youngest Fenton.

Stopped.

Bruce Wayne didn’t have the boy’s number. But Danny knew at least Nightwing’s identity; it was possible he knew them all.

He was going to Amity Park as Brucie Wayne, not Batman. But Brucie Wayne had no way to get the correct phone number. Unexpected contact from Batman was… well, expected, to an extent.

And his investigations would be handled and presented as Batman. Surely no one would challenge Brucie Wayne to a fight?

Mind made up, Bruce took his vigilante phone out and did a quick scan through his childrens’ updated contact lists. Most of them seemed to have been enjoying the company of the Amity Parkers; it wouldn’t be hard to get Danny’s contact information.

So. New year, new problems. Danny used to say it as a joke, but this year it was looking pretty darn literal.

Last year, for example, he hadn’t had to worry about his parents finding out about his supposed “love life” from a magazine (that Jazz must have sent them after they’d gone back to Amity Park, the traitor), and calling to hound him for details.

He’d managed to talk them out of driving the GAV straight to Gotham to threaten Jason into “treating him right”… which Jason thought was funny solely because he still didn’t actually know how large Jack Fenton was, nor how intense Maddie could be.

He still thought of them as civilians, and maybe a little less than competent, thanks to the database and their zero capture record.

Maybe Danny was cultivating that ignorance specifically so he could watch the moment of truth in person. Sue him, it was funny.

Unfortunately, since the magazine had also included that the gala they’d been “hooking up” at had been to celebrate Jason’s return from the dead, his mom had reached the halfa conclusion on her own. Danny had wanted to let Jason decide when to tell her, but that very first phone call the first words out of her mouth had been “Daniel James Fenton, have you met another halfa without telling us?”

And Danny had been so taken aback by them actually noticing anything (it was to do with ghosts, of course they’d noticed, he’d kicked himself for days after) that she’d taken his speechlessness as confirmation.

So.

They had that out of the way before they even said hi.

Despite Danny’s firm assurances that he and Jason weren’t actually dating, the papers were making the whole thing up (the photos hadn’t helped, but his dad seemed to buy that he’d been. Trying to help Jason fix his shirt. After the rogue attack, y’know), his parents had insisted on another call with Jason.

And Jazz. Because he had to introduce his sister to his new boyfriend too.

Jason had… taken it well? Hadn’t gotten much of a word in edgewise, around Jack Fenton’s boisterous laughter and insistence that he come around some time soon. He’d agreed with Danny that they definitely were not dating, which.

They weren’t.

They just weren’t.

They were just. Friends. Who hung out after classes in the evening. And texted all day. And told each other their deepest darkest soul secrets in like, a week after they’d met.

Danny’s mom had seemed a little more convinced by the end of the call, but still insisted Jason should come down to Amity Park anyway, to get to know the family.

Danny was still in denial about it being even a little bit helpful, but Jason had decided to drop the Fright Knight bomb right away. It was the actual real reason they were so close now, so it made sense as an explanation that wasn’t them being partners or whatever.

(Danny still hated it. Resented he couldn’t be trusted to just… have a friend. It always had to be something stupid and dramatic.

And he was totally offended by how immediately relieved his mom had been that he’d have someone “looking after him”. Like he wasn’t a whole ass adult for years already, and the king of a realm for longer than that.)

And now he was gonna have to call them back, and probably get a message to Fright Knight, because Danny’s newest problem was that Batman now had his phone number.

And was asking his permission to go to Amity Park to deal with the Anti-Ecto Acts.

(“Brucie Wayne” was officially the one going for the Acts, the message only said that Batman would be escorting the billionaire and gathering evidence separately, but Danny wasn’t fucking buying it.

And since Batman had his phone number and had used it, Tucker could technically get into Batman’s phone and prove it. Like Constantine showing up at Wayne Manor left a shadow of a doubt.

But noooo, Danny knew all about dramatics and billionaires and their sketchy underground labs. He could play along.)

Which, technically, might wind up solving one of his biggest problems.

It was also gonna completely ruin all the work he and Jason had done persuading the Fentons they weren’t dating; he could already hear his dad booming delightedly about meeting future in-laws. Because why else would Jason’s dad go to visit?

Not like there were actual laws on the books declaring Danny as a mandatory extermination target. Or like the Justice League might finally have gotten their thumbs out of their asses and want to check in.

Clearly Danny’s love life was the only thing that mattered.

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about that crap from Frighty; all the ghosts were gonna know all about Danny and Jason’s soul resonance (be still his beating fucking heart that was still ridiculous). He would have to let him know a superhero was gonna be in town though.

Actual ghosts weren’t likely to mistake Batman for one of their own and these days most of Danny’s rogue gallery was cool about not picking fights with humans without Fenton tech, but Danny figured better safe than sorry.

And.

Maybe.

Really wanted to see Batman and Fright Knight hang out. They were gonna totally love or totally hate each other, and either way he was a little sorry he was gonna miss it.

Unless he gave in and took time off class, kidnapped Jason from whatever work he did, and made the trip home… because he’d been direly warned that if he did show up without Jason, Jack Fenton would drive him back to Gotham personally. So, no. Nope. Not happening.

The long and the short of it was that instead of being blissfully free of his parents nagging him to visit until the summer, he was now fielding calls and texts demanding he come back home for March Break, at the latest. And bring Jason.

Mom wanted to “assess him”, which was fucking terrifying and the more Jason didn’t take it seriously the more Danny was tempted to actually make the trip. It would at least come with a defined end date. And force Jazz to take a break if she wanted to come too.

She at least had been less insistent on calling him every single day to bug him about it; probably because she was busy frying herself to death at university. She’d apologized for missing the group chat too, and the first family phone call, but it wasn’t a huge surprise.

Jazz had had the helicopter parent firmly knocked out of her by double majors, which Danny used to think was a good thing. Now he considered it might actually be a sign she was… not cracking under the pressure? But not taking care of herself.

Hopefully it wouldn’t return full force once she got some actual sleep and decent food in her.

Honestly, Danny wasn’t unaware that this was the most normal his problems had ever been. Just a few years ago he’d have done anything but wish to Desiree that his biggest problem would be “my parents think I’m dating one of my friends”.

Right now it was looking pretty good too, actually. Because at this precise second, Danny’s biggest problem was that he was running out of excuses not to talk to Nocturn.

***

Tim was beginning to think he had a bit of a crush on Tucker Foley. It was a surprise to him as much as anyone else; normally the kind of fawning adoration that tech geeks usually followed him with was an instant turn off. There was just… no point getting close to people who saw him as an idea, not a person.

And, frankly? The mere existence of Timblr probably would have been a red flag for anyone else. Sure, Tucker had closed it down, but it still existed - and Tucker Foley could have taken care of that easily.

The thing was… even under the hero worship he’d caught in Tucker’s eyes when they were first introduced… well, Tucker wasn’t exactly respectful to his heroes. That did tend to follow along with a friend in a teen hero career; everyone else was instantly less cool by association.

Tucker just plain wasn’t a good fanboy. He hung on Tim’s every word, right up until they started talking tech - the subject he most admired Tim for. Didn’t admire him enough not to cut him off half way through an explanation, call an idea “archaic”, or ask if Tim was serious.

(And okay, once or twice he hadn’t been; just testing his technical chops.)

The thing was, Tucker wasn’t only a genius with regular technology, he was a prodigy in an entirely new field of software and occult collusion, and he knew it. He was delighted to upgrade Tim’s systems (although Danny would still need to do the full ecto-infusions; Tucker could interface, but didn’t produce his own ectoplasm), and more than happy to point out everywhere they needed improving.

Tim genuinely respected his opinion, which wasn’t a distinction he gave to many people who’d never worn a cape; he’d already cc’d the other, Lucius Fox, into his and Tucker’s email chains. (Lucius was very enthusiastic about the oncoming apprenticeship - for him.)

And Tucker was funny, allergic to personal privacy, and… well, Tim was pretty sure he’d felt those first twinges when, as promised, he tagged Tucker in to help interrogate the Riddler.

Digitally, obviously. With Tucker’s classes starting back up and the New Years hangovers finally clearing the board, the next time they saw each other in person might be upsettingly far out. But Tucker had cheerfully hacked his way into Gotham PD’s systems and made himself comfortable while Red Robin and Batwoman waited for Riddler to be brought in.

Tim had so few pure pleasures in his life, but watching Kate try to keep a straight face when the interrogation room’s speakers began blasting what was essentially a stripper theme perfect for Eddie Nygma the second the door closed?

Riddler had been utterly baffled as well, talking over the beginning until they reached the chorus, where the singer practically spelled out his name. His stunned silence had given way to a burst of offended protest that was entirely undercut by the way his fingers kept time.

As the teen hero in the room, Red Robin was allowed to snicker at him, but Batwoman had to pretend to be an adult about it.

And when the first song ended, silence had fallen for what must have been a perfectly calculated fifteen seconds, and then the Jeopardy theme began playing.

Of course, soundtracking hadn’t been Tucker’s only contribution to the interrogation, just Tim’s favourite. Red Robin had the tablet from the gala back from evidence, from which Tucker had cheerfully admitted in Matrix style scrolling green text that he’d been the one back-hacking Nygma’s files… and locking him out of them.

And replacing every single link Nygma had clicked from the night of the gala to the day Batwoman hauled him in to a random page from Riddles.com, which Riddler had declared a new vendetta against every time anyone would listen. It was beautiful.

Robins were professionally annoying, it was part natural talent on all of their parts (except Damian) and part intensive training on how to disrupt thought patterns and push people into mistakes. Tucker could have led the class, and Tim had been overtaken by a powerful urge to kiss the smug grin he could feel through Tucker’s text straight off his face.

Of course, Tim had a boyfriend. And had been overtaken more than once by similar urges for almost every one of his friends, when they did something brilliant.

Steph called it oral fixation, Tim preferred positive reinforcement. Conner found the whole thing extremely funny, especially since Tucker still stumbled over his words if Conner was so much as looking at him.

Which made all of his siblings trying to tease him about Tucker’s “crush” on Tim look ridiculous, by the way. Tucker Foley was not a subtle man; he couldn’t even string a sentence together around someone he actually liked.

He could string plenty of sentences together around Tim, the two of them could finish each others’ half the time.

(He wasn’t upset about Tucker’s obvious interest in Conner either; Tim knew damn well his boyfriend was an incredible catch and he was lucky to have him. Tucker’s crush was just… peer review.)

Already he was counting down the days until March Break, when Tucker was going to visit in person again. Honestly, he might push to get a zeta put in nearer to MIT in the meantime.

It wasn’t like the institute was never targeted by supervillains, it would just be practical.

But Tim himself couldn’t suggest that now, because then all of his siblings would jump on the Tucker thing and he’d never hear the end of it. It was a dilemma… because even if Conner or Danny could just go and pick him up again, zeta was just faster.

It had nothing to do with missing time that Conner and Tucker were bonding, or being a puppy waiting for his master to come home, whatever Steph said.

(And honestly, Tucker Foley? Not exactly commanding “master” material. Until he was talking about his area of expertise. Then he was certain and confident and got this really attractive gleam in his eye…)

The quickest solution would be getting all of Team Phantom officially involved in the Justice League, of course. Then he wouldn’t even need to suggest it; close zeta access was vital for all of the heroes.

But Team Phantom couldn’t join the League until Phantom’s existence was no longer illegal. So they had to dismantle the Anti Ecto Acts. Bruce was investigating the GIW, and planning what he probably thought was a secret trip to Amity Park, but none of it was happening fast enough for Tim… because it probably wouldn’t be done by March Break. In two months.

He’d broken more than just the American government in two months; all it took was the right leverage. And a complete lack of self restraint.

So, y’know, Tim had a new side project in and around his other Gotham cases. All he needed was a house and then senate majority, and they could get those laws repealed the second the government came back from break.

Lois Lane was already working on the story, Clark would probably join Bruce in Amity Park (whether he knew Bruce was there or not) for interviews. There was only so much public pressure could do though, and that never worked fast enough either.

Not compared to Tim’s preferred methods. He liked the personal touch.

****

Fun fact, slower core formation? Had not meant slower ghost powers. Not in Jason’s case, anyway; not even a week after his core came in, a coffee cup had slipped straight through his hand and shattered on the floor.

He’d stopped handling Alfred’s good china that day, mindful of Danny’s many horror stories about the school lab’s glassware. Alfred hadn’t actually questioned it, although he’d gotten a couple of raised eyebrows when he slid a junk mug toward the kettle.

It was just a good thing he’d already cut down patrolling; he’d been planning to take a step back anyway for a while. Just until he got the balance right between being Red Hood and the newly resurrected Jason Todd.

He’d had to stop entirely, at least until he got the intangibility under control. Sure, becoming temporarily impervious to weapons would be convenient when he got to choose when it switched off or on. Phasing various limbs half way through solid surfaces and getting stuck though?

No.

Not a chance in Hell. That was not an acceptable risk.

Invisibility had started not long after, which had definitely complicated his trips to the manor; all the bats were good, but vanishing completely out of the blue? That would raise comment.

The good news was that the glacierfrost seemed to be helping there too; either because of the ecto in the ice, or just keeping his emotions regulated, which kept the powers from acting up. Jason wasn’t taking unnecessary risks, but he’d noticed that for at least a couple hours after a hit, he was in more control.

Intentionally turning the powers on was still a struggle, but apparently that’d just get better with time. And probably fighting - that was the common denominator under all his ghost problems.

Ghost Fight Club was officially starting the second he’d got the transformation down, but how exactly they were going to try and trigger that in a controlled environment was still… less clear than Jason would like.

They’d have to work it out soon though; the only other ability that was likely to kick in before he could transform was flight, according to Danny. Time was a-tickin’.

And… alright. It wasn’t like Jason was sat at home every night; that was what he and Danny were doing after school now that they’d cut back to at least a couple days a week. A little practice on budding ghost powers, with backup.

“Surveying his haunt” was what Danny called it, but it basically meant Danny going ghost and Jason putting on a domino he claimed he borrowed from Dick, and the two of them bouncing around the Alley. And occasionally Danny pushing him off roofs to see if flight had kicked in yet.

(It hadn’t, but he still had his grapples, and refused to let Danny rescue him from his own bullshit.)

Sensing the city’s natural ecto had gotten much easier with his core fully developed, and Danny was teaching him how to mark it with his own. Pitty’s ongoing corruption was fucking it up though; it was still producing corrupted ectoplasm, and actually more of it now that they were both whole.

(Jason had started sleeping with Frostbite’s ghost succulent next to his pillow. That was how he’d noticed the new blue glow, which he still meant to ask about. It was still firm and strong, and it… didn’t feel sick?)

Corrupted ecto reeked so strongly of that corruption that it was completely useless for anything else, apparently. So until they finally finished purging Pitty, what all their little adventures actually amounted to was tagging.

Danny made them special ecto-spray-paint, and they spent the nights finding weirder and weirder corners to spray a little mark onto. Jason would have liked to use something to do with Red Hood, for the symmetry, but. Well. He hadn’t worked out how to have that conversation yet.

He’d been making do with little ghost doodles. It had been years since he’d done any real graffiti art, but it was like riding a bike, and the ecto sprayed really well. A cartoon ghost wasn’t all that hard anyway; an elongated little blob, occasionally with little fangs or unattached clawed hands.

He’d been going for something like an Among Us bean, but Danny had declared that he was drawing Pitty, and well… it stuck. Doodling little Pit ghosts was the order of the day, ranging from cute little Pittys (modelling good behaviour, Danny called it) or vicious little bastards, depending on how both Jason and Pitty had been that day.

Because that was definitely one piece of good news, in with all the bullshit new ghost powers was causing. Before he’d felt surges of rage, the moments where the Pit was reaching out and trying to affect him. Universally bad, aggressive, and violent, pre-Danny.

He could kinda feel it all the time now, like a heated scarf draped over his body, or the constant breathing of a dog just behind his ear. It was quiet mostly, and he was beginning to suspect it had cost more energy than he’d ever expected for it to reach out to him at all.

For all that he’d worried about it being too much like raising a kid, it… well, the nice way to say it was probably that it wasn’t that bright. It could talk to him in ghostspeak, kind of; most of what he actually heard felt like emotional reactions, closer to speaking through auras than words despite how much it’d felt like it was crawling up his throat.

The Pit could handle basic concepts, recognised Danny’s name, but other than that? It mostly seemed to follow Jason’s emotional lead… and then dial it up to eleven. Which, yeah, was exactly what he’d been scared of when he thought it might be like, a whole ass person. Toddlers were terrifying little sponges.

Jason’s experience of kids wasn’t exactly what he’d call normal, sure, but Pitty was reminding him less of a kid and more and more of some kind of small and bitey animal.

Which, y’know, was a relief. Sort of. It wasn’t like he could fuck up an animal in the same way as he could a kid. Nowhere near the same level of responsibility.

Just. When he thought about the pit rage, the idea of it being attached to something which literally had fangs and claws was not exactly reassuring. Even at the size of a chihuahua.

A little impromptu art therapy while they marked his haunt wasn’t exactly helping with that part, but it wasn’t hurting. And he was trying to explain that feeling bad was not actually dangerous or harmful… via spray paint.

He was only about 70% sure that Pitty could see.

But it got him out and about, kept him in shape at least for swinging from roof tops, and gave him an excuse to hang out with Danny. It did involve actively avoiding anything he’d normally investigate (at least until he had a reasonable explanation… or brought up the Red Hood thing)… but it felt good. It was soothing.

Even knowing full well he’d made plans, prepared extensively, still had his guys making sure the Alley was safe and all was well, he still found himself itching to patrol on the nights he stayed in.

He could only assume that was part of the whole Haunt thing; he had good people working under him, and a couple of bright lieutenants that while he’d never let them wear the hood, he was comfortable giving them some solo enforcement missions to keep the fear of Red Hood in everyone’s hearts. All relevant parties, anyway.

Luckily he still had the library project as a convenient excuse for the bats. It kept them off his ass, and Jason could admit that it probably wouldn’t have taken much to persuade him to take a night run.

And get his ass stuck half way through some fucking wall somewhere, or lose a foot to a rooftop, and need to break himself free or call Danny in the fucking suit. Nope.

(He’d been tempted to let his family think he was saving his nights for Danny, which wasn’t even completely untrue; Danny wasn’t over every night anymore, not with his school schedule, but if he wasn’t over they texted.

Jason had begun saving a meme folder just for things to show Danny, which had quickly absorbed his full folder for death jokes and just kept going. Danny was going to be a very supportive “father” for their fake pit-kid, and had clearly been stockpiling dad jokes to send back.)

Honestly though, Jason was just relieved he’d already planned to slow the vigilante side for a while in the wake of his official revival; there was a lot that had to be done to come back from the dead, and a lot more he could do with official Wayne backing for areas of Crime Alley that Hood couldn’t touch.

He’d even let some of the bats in on those plans before Danny showed up; it wasn’t a surprise that he wasn’t patrolling. They were mostly leaving him alone about it, although Dick had offered to pop his Red Hood gear on and run a couple of patrols if things got too rowdy.

Jason had told him to fuck off, then got his street kids spreading the rumour that Hood was gearing up for something big. Let people think that the momentary quiet was just the first rumbles for an oncoming storm.

Hell, let them think Hood was in cahoots with Jason Todd-Wayne; that or preparing to run him out of the Alley. Let both of his lives work together for a while. The rumours shut half the fucking low-level dealers up; no one was pushing anything within three blocks of his territory, in case Hood was planning an expansion.

That’d boil over after a while and bite him in the ass if he didn’t go and kick something down, but for now it worked. He had so much to do for the library, for the new shelters from the Wayne foundation, for the soup kitchens. He actually was pretty busy, even on his nights in.

Fuck, he’d even taken time to hang out with the actual Alley kids, as Jason and Hood. The mouthy little shits kept him grounded, and maybe he’d tried it as a trial run for Pitty, but since that wasn’t gonna be the same problem he’d kept it up as a test of his own patience.

Which had. Very abruptly. Become the cause of one of his biggest concerns. Because the biggest change since his core came in had actually taken him a couple more days to notice.

Because now, Jason could see the fingerprints of the new entity.

That hadn’t been fun to work out; he’d been intentionally taking it slow until his core formed. Part of him had been sorta hoping to be able to just avoid anything that might set them both off until the Pit was ready to pop out on its own. Nothing related to the new case he couldn’t start, nothing related to the Joker or pits or any of that shit.

So when some of the kids had been showing up with some weird shadowy smudge on their clothes, he’d assumed it was the usual Gotham grime. They claimed not to see it, he threw them at the laundry room and cussed them out, it always came off.

Now the Curse, the Curse was staying out of Crime Alley entirely. He’d seen it during the day once or twice, a shadow attached where it shouldn’t be, a flicker over Damian or Tim’s shoulder. He always knew when the Curse was around now, a frosty fog filled his lungs whenever it was close.

(Danny had called it his “ghost sense”, which was lame but Jason didn’t have a better idea.)

And those smudges didn’t have the same kind of ozone-aftertaste that the Curse left in his mouth.

And then one of his girls, maybe seven years old, had come in with that same kind of smeared shadow sticking through soft black hair. He’d had some sharp fucking words with the older kids about that, he didn’t expect them to stay pristine at all times, but for fucks sake it was clumping.

Basic hygiene fucking mattered on the street, none of them could afford a proper de-matting or even a decent razor to shave their heads, so Jason had instilled the importance of bare-minimum finger combing in every one of them years ago. You could live with a fucking rug dragging at your skull, but it made absolutely everything harder.

He’d sat the girl on a stool and washed her hair in a bucket himself, while repeating the same fucking lecture to the other girls. Noticed half way through that while the sticky shit was indeed washing out of her hair, it wasn’t being broken down by the soap.

It was clinging to him instead, seeping into the creases of his fingers and under his nails. He’d tried not to visibly react, giving her a last rinse and wrapping her hair in a towel-hat that she didn’t stop touching for the next forty minutes, fucking it up a dozen times.

The smudgy crap had washed off his hands eventually, but when he saw Danny the next day he’d visibly backed up a few steps, then given Jason about six shots of ecto because his was apparently rancid again. No prizes for spotting the connection, and from there it was obvious.

And then he’d seen Harley the next day, that same smudgy crap a handprint around her fucking throat, and he’d seen red. Hot, angry, blood red, and it not being green had startled the life out of him.

(Harley noticed. Duh. It was her thing. And while Jason couldn’t just tell her some malevolent fucking entity made from her shitty ex was crawling through the city, he’d been as honest as he could be.

Harley definitely couldn’t see the smudges. Danny hadn’t had any answers or way to make it stop fucking touching people.)

Hypothetically, this was all gonna be good in the end. It’d make things easier, being able to see and track this shitstain’s work.

It did not feature in his “don’t get pissed off or think about work” plan.

It was just faintly possible that obsession, self flagellation, and a desire to be personally responsible for fucking everything might be more than just Bruce’s problem. Could maybe be a family affair.

Jason made more pies. Occasionally narrating what he was doing aloud, half for Pitty’s benefit and half for Danny’s when the little shit was crashing on his couch.

It was fine. He was coping. Another couple weeks, Danny reckoned, and Pitty would be out of his body and he could get back to his fucking life.

With a pet Pit ghost in tow, apparently, but if the worst came to the worst he could fucking soup the thing once it was outside him.

(He was also going to teach Danny to make soup. Proper soup. On principle.)

Preparing for his trip to Amity Park had taken longer than Bruce had expected. Not least because Alfred had finally run out of patience, and sentenced him to bedrest for the next 12 hours after he returned from the Justice League meeting lest he unlock the tranquilizer guns and give his children free reign.

In the old days, when he’d just become Batman, Bruce had assumed Alfred would never be able to catch him anyway. He’d been cocky and confident in his skills, and often ignored Alfred’s demands.

And yet the man always seemed to know, raising a disapproving eyebrow at Bruce every time he’d slipped back into the room just before Alfred made his rounds.

And then Steph came into his life, and Bruce learned all too fast that Alfred had merely been waiting for appropriate safeguards. That was three kids along of course, but by now Bruce knew exactly why it had been Steph Alfred had waited for.

His relationship with Dick was too tumultuous. While Dick never feared Bruce and was perfectly happy to join Alfred in nagging and bossing him around, by the time Dick moved out Bruce had half expected to only see his son at Justice League meetings, if at all.

They were different men, and Dick had always had an anger in him that Bruce couldn’t fathom. He’d mastered it, his control very rarely slipping, but… Bruce had trained Dick himself, and he was one of a very short list of people that Bruce had no concrete backup plan for.

Nothing but hope to make him cocky with the first attack, and pray the second caught him off guard.

His relationship with Dick hadn’t improved until Tim came into his life… and helped him get his head out of his ass.

Jason? Jason had been an angel. A scruffy, beaten down angel with badly bruised wings when Bruce first picked him up, but he’d flourished in Wayne Manor. He’d taken to Robin with joy and enthusiasm, but had more devotion to his studies than any of Bruce’s kids before or since.

He’d even stay in to study for tests, and if things had been different… perhaps he’d have been the one to break Bruce’s obsession with his night life.

But Bruce had begun taking that good heart for granted, pushed when he should have listened, and sent Jason to his death.

Tim had a hard enough time keeping Bruce from killing himself, along with anyone who stood in the way of his mission. He was a solemn, serious little boy from the start, and though Dick took a more active role this time around and declared himself a big brother (possibly to spite Bruce)… well.

It had to be Steph.

Steph, who would vehemently deny being one of his from whoa to go, was just like all of his children; a feral little gremlin. But Steph had that one more element too, the one which young Dick had had in spades but pulled back from with Bruce years before.

Steph liked to have fun.

Tim treated Bruce as a mission just as much as Gotham was Bruce’s, and Dick had never forgiven him for Jason. Or the fights that went before. Neither could pick up a Nerf gun and hunt him through the city in pure play in those days.

Until Steph gave them the guns, of course. Now any and every one of his children would happily take a tranq gun from Alfred and merrily stalk him through the manor and city at large, and even to the Watchtower if he tempted fate (and Tim).

Bruce was powerless against them, although pride warred with frustration every single time one of them managed to drug him to sleep. He’d trained them well. Well enough that they’d put what was right over what he wanted, that none of them were even a little afraid of him.

He’d planted the seeds of his own destruction.

So when he’d seen Duke and Dick hanging “casually” around the halls while Alfred escorted him to bed, he’d resigned himself to twelve hours of rest.

He’d slept for sixteen. And woke feeling much better, to his own chagrin. His head felt clearer, the migraine almost gone, and the sudden swoops of nausea had finally begun to pass.

He still had odd moments, especially when he’d been on the computer planning the trip to Amity Park for too long, but he’d reluctantly agreed with Alfred. He needed to fully recover from his concussion; that meant rest. And taking days and weeks instead of hours.

Amity Park would still be there, after all. He couldn’t get back the years they’d been late. He’d had to concede another two weeks.

Zatanna had also demanded an explanation for why he was suddenly interested in the town - luckily the Anti-Ecto Acts provided a sufficient cover. They were even most of the reason he was going.

She could also see the gravity of the situation, and offered to put him in touch with some local specialists who claimed to have tech that would keep him from being possessed. Specialists named “Fenton”. Because of course they were.

She’d offered him a ward as well, but mostly in jest. She knew how Bruce felt about magic, and had told him science was on the table almost immediately.

Bruce knew full well it wasn’t a coincidence. Formerly regarded as quacks, the Fentons had been featured prominently in all of their Amity Park news sources. Usually as menaces and a hazard to society, which aligned with what the Mansons had told him.

Still, their actions had nothing to do with the character of their son. Danny Phantom had been Amity Park’s protector for six years, although he’d not had many serious ghosts to fight for the last three.

As Foley had claimed, the ghosts seemed to have settled into a status of local nuisance that was oddly aligned with the Fentons senior; loud, intrusive, and often an inconvenience to your day, but not the threats to life, limb, or infrastructure that had characterised the first years after the portal opened.

Amity Park’s general consensus seemed to be that Danny Phantom had tamed the ghosts, won over the Fentons, and quite efficiently saved the day. He hadn’t been sighted there much in the past year, but that was because he’d been in Gotham.

In school. Finally being able to study and look towards his future.

His main heroic endeavours in the last three years of his career had involved the same GIW, the Ghost Investigation Ward that Foley had told Tim about. They unfortunately had not followed the general trend of de-escalation… although they had been rather subdued in the last year.

It felt different to Bruce, though. Incidents were less frequent, but those occurrences where they did find a ghost had become markedly more violent. The decreased frequency seemed to have lulled the townsfolk into believing they were also less of a threat, but the problem with pushing your enemies into a corner was how much more dangerous a cornered animal became.

There was something worrying happening with the GIW, that would have borne looking into even if he wasn’t also looking to understand Danny better. Preparing everything he’d need for the official investigation was most of what had slowed him down.

Of course, he was going to Amity Park as Brucie Wayne, not as Batman. Vlad Masters’ friendship was going to help him there; the man had been delighted to invite him down for the weekend when Bruce had reached out.

A little faked enthusiasm for football and interest in Vlad’s favourite team and he was a seemingly completely open book. He was more than happy to give Brucie the grand tour of his little town, and even promised a personal escort from the airport.

Bruce was beginning to suspect that getting away from the man might be more of a challenge, although he was another potentially useful source of information on the Amity Park situation.

Not that Masters was a particularly high priority source. But Bruce could admit he may have been hasty to dismiss his views on Danny as being biased, and as mayor he should know something about the GIW operations in his city… and given how many contracts with the agency could be traced back to his companies in the early days of the agency’s formations, he would be a much more serious subject for investigation than a source.

The good news was, everything was now in place. He had Danny’s permission and would be flying down to Amity Park in a matter of hours, and had already bought out the entire top floor of a local hotel, so he should have plenty of privacy to operate from.

With any luck, being able to set things in motion to repeal the Anti-Ecto Acts could also be a first step towards patching things up with Jason… and with Danny. No matter what conclusions Bruce came to in Amity Park, the Justice League owed Danny Phantom a serious apology, and the Infinite Realms some swift action.

Their negligence could have sparked an inter-dimensional war, and nearly had cost a young man his future. Bruce was self aware enough to admit that the guilt of that knowledge was a major factor in why he hadn’t spoken to Danny face to face again.

Yet.

At least Danny had given him permission to visit and explore his haunt. That had to count for something.

He was going to apologize. Probably after giving Jason the proper apology his son so richly deserved. Perhaps Jason would even be willing to help him work out how to properly apologize to Danny too; Bruce wasn’t good at apologies at the very best of times, but Harley had made it explicitly clear that he was going to be getting in a lot of practice.

Now, ya can call Harley Quinn a lot of things (and people definitely have), but one thing she ain’t despite the goofball act? Stupid.

Somethin’ was up in Gotham, somethin’ one heck of a lot weirder than all the weird shit that had marked her time in the city.

Oh, she’d gone an’ had another word with Brucie after Waylon told her how Jason’d had to leave through the roof after his talk with Constantine.

(She’d hunt Johnny-boy down later too, probably just after he decided she wasn’t gonna come for ‘im and stopped hiding, but odds on? Brucie’s fault, and Connie was just his unfortunate messenger.)

The thing was, he’d decided to sicc Johnny on poor Jason before they’d had their little talk, so by the time she caught him again he was already all downcast and shamefaced. Already admitting he done fucked up.

And it just wasn’t satisfyin’ to kick him while he was down, an’ while he was already tryin’. He’d even decided on his own to leave both boys alone for now, to let things cool down before tryin’ again.

Now, Mama Quinzel didn’t raise no dummy, she could see a million ways ol’ Brucie’s plan to go and try an’ fix Amity Park for Danny was gonna go wrong. But she wasn’t an expert at this ghost business, so she didn’t pretend to be.

She did exactly what she’d told Brucie to do; consulted an actual expert.

She asked Sammy and Jazzy, Danny’s big sis who was just a real darlin’, in their group chat (which had been popping off since Sammy was a lil sweetheart and set it up for ‘em; Jazzy-boo was of doin’ all kinds of neurological shit but she’d read some psych textbooks in her day, and Harley loved watching a self taught student grow). An’ then she hunted down Jason and Danny, to ask ‘em directly.

Which had been when she’d got her first clue that somethin’ was up; when Jason looked at her like she was still wearin’ a certain other clown’s paint, all stiff and locked up and full of anger.

See, that’d happened before. When they first met, him fresh outta the grave, her fresh outta Hell. When he’d asked if she and Joker were really through, an’ she’d told him hell yeah.

When he’d asked if she’d get in his way of killing the asshole.

That anger, all tight an’ tense an’ burstin’ had been wrapped around his throat then, chokin’ him on it. It was cooler now, more human, more like somethin’ the sweet lil sunshine child who could melt her heart with his tears could feel.

It still wasn’t, ya’know, in the vague vicinity of healthy, but she’d seen Jason Todd about to lose his shit before. An’ his hands shook when he touched her, when he asked what the hell she’d done to her neck.

Harley’d taken a good long look in several bathroom mirrors since. There was nothin’ she could see there, but Harley Quinn had been a short term guest in more than one Hell. There was plenty of shit she was all too happy not ta see.

Then there was ol’ Harvey. She’d run him down faster’n the bats, because she wasn’t also chasin’ Riddler, Great White Shark, at least three new plots from ol’ Pengy, or a suspiciously quiet and freshly escaped Scarecrow.

Two-Face had been all quiet an’ polite since his heist on the young Mr Todd’s party went tits up, so he’d flown under their radar.

Not hers.

Harley always made time for her old friends.

And Harvey had been weird too. Twitchy, on edge, jumpin’ at shadows. That happened if he thought the ol’ Bat was after ‘im, but he’d had no reason to think that. An’ for all he’d flipped his little coin and played up the bit, Harley knew when her friends were off.

Something had put Harvey on edge. Stuffed a bee up his ass and made him all snappy.

He’d even tried to pull a gun! On her! His sweet, darlin’, perfectly loveable and innocent Harleen!

So, ya’know, when she’d touched ground again an’ he’d run outta bullets, she’d knocked it outta his hands before he could reload and reminded him there were more than just Bats to fear. There was also her bat.

An’ by the time they were both all tired out and slumped against each other to order smoothies, he’d admitted he didn’t know why he’d decided to go fer young Jason. To attack their buddy Brucie’s boy.

Now, Harley wasn’t sure Harvey knew silly ol’ Brucie was the Big Bad Bat. She suspected he did, somewhere, in the part of him he hid from all the unpleasantness.

If he knew, he was repressin’ it real deep.

But he’d seen word of the gala, an’ something inside him went dark, and he’d flipped a coin. Got all sorts of plastic explosive of all things ready to really give Gotham a show they wouldn’t forget.

An’ then when it was time to roll out, nunna his cars’d start. An’ he’d flipped the coin again. And stayed home.

She snagged the detonators on his explosives on the way out, on principle. There were some rules after all, and while the Bats could certainly handle anythin’ ol’ Harvey could build, he shouldn’a shot at her.

Harley Quinn was officially out of the rogue game, but that had nothin’ ta do with shit disturbing. She was beginning to wonder though.

Somethin’ was weird in Gotham, a kinda energy in the streets that wasn’t the same black stubbornness she’d known and loved. Somethin’ that felt a little nastier. A little closer to biting.

Now, Harley Quinn was a lotta things. She also wasn’t a lotta the things everyone else thought she was.

She was no quitter. She was no fool. She was no coward to turn tail from some nasty vibes. She might still be a teensy weensy bit mentally disturbed, as you say, but she had her shit together.

An’ she knew when somethin’ else was tryin’ ta play with her head.

Much as she loved Gotham like a second home, she was beginnin’ ta wonder if she shouldn’t head back to Pammy an’ let their mystery of who was givin’ Coney Island a hard time sit with the Bats.

——————

The song Tucker’s playing for Tim and Nygma is here:

Tag List - @welcometosasakiworld @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence e @skitscratched @blackroserelina a @snoodly-boop @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin n @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 7 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson n @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this s @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook @adorkable1291

IMPORTANT NOTE! Since about half the tag list no longer links to a blog, I will probably be retiring it for chapter 20, so either comment and let me know you still wanna be on it, or proceed on over to AO3 for alerts!

Part two:

#dfdali #danny fenton dead and loving it #dead on main ship #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #chapter 19 part 1 #the finished core

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sleepynoons · 8 months ago

Text

Unconditional

Were you worthy of someone as irreplaceable as him?

ooc!gojo x f!reader, sfw

word count: ~2,300

cw: explicit language, body image issues + insecurities, anxiety attacks

notes: wrote this before gojo got... uh... :)) i also wrote this last year when i had a very different understanding of gojo's character than i do now (cross-posted from my ao3), which is why i labeled him as ooc. anyway, this is my love letter to those who struggle with feeling mediocre and insignificant and unneeded.

TO BE clear, it wasn’t like Satoru was never explicit in his affections for you. In fact, it was the entire opposite – he would plant a disgustingly wet kiss on your forehead every morning, dog whistle when you changed for work, and treat your body like a temple as soon as dusk hit. He drowned you in praises whenever he could, but perhaps that was the issue.

Were you worthy of someone as irreplaceable as him? Gojo Satoru may stroke his own ego by calling himself “the blessed one,” but it wasn't like he was wrong for it. In the jujutsu world, he was the industry’s ultimate weapon. Outside, he was a very striking and sexy man – tall, lean, born with the bluest eyes –, and while he was annoying, grating, and reckless at times, he had awareness and compassion that made him personable and trustworthy.

As a matter of fact, that’s what made you take the leap to become his. You're no jujutsu sorcerer, and you learned just how dangerous Satoru’s job was before you even began to develop feelings for him. Yet the self-assuredness he radiated when he spoke convinced you to trust him. You wouldn’t be able to lose him, even if you wanted to – he is the strongest, and he will continue to be so until he dies.

On the other hand, you were… well, you were just you. You weren’t ugly, but you weren’t stunning or gorgeous. You were neither thin nor thick, and you weren’t especially gifted in any particular intellectual matter. At times, you think, had you been specially endowed or gifted in one way or another, you wouldn’t have this internal turmoil. But in reality, your mediocrity was all you had to work with, and you’re not sure if Satoru’s love for you will last once he realizes that you have little to offer him.

“Hon, you’ve been in there for a long time! Is everything alright?” Satoru’s voice and his knocks on the fitting room door break you out of your trance.

You’ve been standing in front of the mirror in the same dress for a few minutes now. The way the dress sits on your frame dissatisfies you, and you realize that that was probably what triggered your spiraling in the first place.

You quickly respond. “Sorry for making you wait! Let me get changed.”

Right. There was no need to get into your head. It doesn’t matter if you were dating Satoru or someone else; relationships, even marriages and years-long friendships, are fragile in nature, so the only thing you should focus on is appreciating the present.

You unlock the door and let Satoru help you gather your things.

“Anything catch your eye?” he asks as he slips your bag onto his shoulder.

“Not really,” you say. “Let me return the clothes first. Meet you at the store entrance?”

He pouts and peers at you over his sunglasses. “Not even the dress I picked out for you?”

Ah, there was more to it. It was because Satoru had specifically picked out that dress that made you hope it would suit you. You smile apologetically at him before heading out.

The car ride is quiet, aside from the occasional hum that Satoru lets out as the speakers play your playlist. You would have felt much more relaxed, too, had you not noticed your boyfriend’s intense gaze on you. He has been looking at you since the two of you left the store, and while you know he has no bad intentions, his stare is only getting more pointed by the second. To any onlooker, they would think you're overthinking it – and maybe they’re right. After all, Satoru’s posture is still casual, and it’s not like there’s electrifying tension in the air. But still, you have been with Satoru for two years now, and your gut is telling you that if you looked back at him right now, it would only prompt a conversation that you weren’t ready to have. So you don’t return his gaze and, instead, pretend to be distracted by the streetlights and waning moon.

It isn’t until the two of you return to your shared home that he breaks the silence.

“What’s on your mind, hon?” His voice is gentle, laced with concern, gentleness, and curiosity. His tone is coaxing you to be truthful, but a discomfort sits at the bottom of your stomach that holds you back.

You don’t say anything as you take off your shoes, aligning your heels next to each other on the shoe rack. It’s only when you stand back up that you say, “I… I’m not sure if I want to talk right now, Satoru."

He stills behind you, a second longer to tell you that he’s thinking, before he gives you a brief back hug.

“That’s alright. Take your time,” he whispers. You lean into his touch before he pulls away.

Then, he begins to whistle and muses on about dinner as he strides towards the living room. All you can do is follow as you shake your head and chuckle under your breath.

The evening is spent with warm food and a drama playing in the background. The two of you cackle at the silly antics of the characters (“I could probably bench press the antagonist,” Satoru groans) and talk about how the jujutsu students are doing (“You should find some time to let the first- and second-years actually enjoy the amusement park,” you chide).

However, the insecurities never quite leave you. When your boyfriend moves to wrap his arm around your waist, you immediately lean forward, away to grab the remote control to turn the TV volume up. When he tries again – this time, resting his hand over your knee – you switch your posture and adjust the cushion in your lap. You hear Satoru grumble with displeasure but elect to ignore it.

Eventually, after several more attempts of trying to initiate any semblance of physical affection, Satoru finally groans aloud. He reaches over you to grab the remote, turns the TV off, and takes your face in his hands. Now you’re forced to look at him, and without his sunglasses to mute the blue of his eyes, his stare sends a jolting shock through your body.

“Hon, I know I said I would be patient, but this is getting out of hand.” You squirm a little, but his hands are sturdy in cupping your face in place. Like a child, you simply huff and close your eyes. “Oh, c’mon! At least look at me!”

You huff again. “No, I don’t want to.”

It’s silent.

Another moment passes, and Satoru lets go of your face.

It’s too silent.

You wonder if Satoru has teleported away. You’re sure he’s playing with you, but what if he just… gave up? Just like that? Maybe something just clicked in his brain, and he left because he realized you were too naïve and boring and normal for him?

You’re stubborn, but the urge to know overwhelms you and you open your eyes.

He’s still there. Satoru immediately falls back, laughing and rolling on the floor.

You grimace. “I wish you would be that quiet on a daily basis.”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Satoru’s laughing so hard, he’s beginning to clutch his sides.

You roll your eyes and begin to stand up. You feel a hand clutch at your wrist, and you glare down at the man(child). “I’m going to clean things up here while you waste away on the floor.”

“That was hilarious!”

“The only thing that’s hilarious here is your shit sense of humor.”

You don’t resist as Satoru pulls you down, wrapping you in his arms as you both lie on the floor. He’s still chuckling, but he’s turned his attention towards soothing you, running one of his hands through your hair and fiddling with the hem of your shirt with the other.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s on your mind?”

You hum, your smile melting off. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and mutter, “Why do you love me, Satoru?”

“I don’t know, there’s too much to love.”

“Cheesy. Bad answer. Give me actual reasons.”

“Where’s this coming from?”

You let out a strangled, muffled cry. “I asked first, Satoru.”

“I'll only answer if you give me context.”

You peer at him, and you see a patient and loving look settle on his face. You don’t want his expression to turn into one of hurt.

Finally, you admit, “I don’t know, I just don’t really get why… you’d date someone like me. It’s not like I’m useful in any way.”

Satoru’s hands continue their motions. He’s unfazed, almost as if he expected you to say this.

“Do you think people love others based on their utility?” he asks.

“To a certain degree, yeah.”

“Okay, so you’re saying you don’t add any value to my life?”

“Well, I hope I do. I just… don’t really know what that value is exactly.” Satoru sighs before lifting both of you into a sitting position, though you’re mostly in his lap. “Listen, I can’t speak for others, but I know I don’t love others just because they do things for me. Hell, Megumi was literally a child when I took him in. What could he have possibly done for me?”

“Be an adorable, chubby baby?”

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes. “Not the point.” You acquiesce. “All I’m trying to say is that our relationship isn’t transactional.”

You huff again. You know you’re acting childish. “But that doesn’t explain why you chose me. Like I’m not special, Satoru. I feel so… unworthy.”

Satoru’s face immediately drops, and he’s holding you tightly. “Why do you feel that way, hon? Am I not loving you properly?”

“No, not at all!” you say. “Satoru, no, sweetheart, this has nothing to do with you. You’re just so good to me. I-I don’t know what I did to deserve all of this.”

You sigh and slump into his hold. Tears are prickling in your eyes, and you feel your face heat up as you overwhelm with a discouraging mixture of shame, embarrassment, and guilt. Yet you hold back because this conversation is already as humiliating as it can get.

“But that’s what I’m trying to say, hon.” Satoru is cradling your head as he speaks to you softly. “My love for you is unconditional. I love you because I am in love with you.”

You shake your head and ask, “In love with what? Mediocrity?” Satoru takes a sharp inhale.

You continue, “Satoru, I’m no model. I’m also not a genius. I’m not particularly talented in anything or especially beautiful, and I’m not even a part of your world. Literally, what is there to love –”

“No one else has loved me for who I am until I met you.”

You look up at him quizzically.

“Listen.” Satoru readjusts your position so that the two of you are sitting facing each other. This time, he's not looking at you. Rather, he looks down at where your knees touch and interlaces your hands with his. “To the higher-ups, I am just the pillar that maintains balance. To the kids, I’m their mentor. And to the others, I’m just a colleague. Not a single person in my life has loved me so deeply before.”

“But what if you had met someone before me who could love you just as deeply, if not more?”

“But I didn’t. And that’s all that matters now.” Satoru takes your hands fully into his. Staring straight at you, he says, “You took me in, knowing all the dangers that come with being my partner. Maybe in another timeline, another universe, you aren’t my lover. But in this one, you are, and I have no intention of letting you go.” He pauses for a brief second before muttering, voice cracking, “I can’t lose you.”

The tears you had held back come streaming down, and you have to bite down on your lip to stifle your sobs. You manage to whisper back, “I can’t lose you, either.”

Satoru kisses you once, twice, thrice. Gentle touches on your lips, only filled with adoration and longing. He continues to press his lips around your face, mumbling praises between each of his actions.

“Beautiful.” Kiss on your forehead. “Compassionate.” Kiss on your nose. “Thoughtful.” Kiss on your temple. “Bright.” And his flurry of kisses and compliments don’t stop until you stop crying. Eventually, you start giggling at the light, feathery sensation, and when he is about to mutter something else, you take the chance to kiss him back.

It’s nothing sensual or breathtaking – just your lips slotted firmly and perfectly against his. But you feel so grounded and content, and the insecurities and anxiety that have been bothering you all day finally fade away. When you break away, Satoru gleams at you with pride and admiration, and you beam back at him.

“Feeling better?” he asks. You nod fervently before giving your boyfriend another quick peck.

“Thank you. Always,” you say.

His eyes crinkle at the sight of you happy and energetic again. “Of course, hon. Anything for you.”

It’s difficult to not fluster at his words sometimes, so you turn away and hide your face behind your arm, denying him any satisfaction.

Satoru whines and says, “Hey, lemme see you. I deserve it for being such a good boyfriend.”

You respond cheekily, “I’ll only admit that you’ve been a good boyfriend if you also wash the dishes.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!”

You giggle as you slide off the couch. “I’ll leave it to you!”

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fandoms-in-law · 3 months ago

Text

Not Billy

Summary: Lucas makes the kids realise that while everyone talks about King Steve as if he was the same kind of high school bully as Billy, he definitely hadn't been. It sparks a quest to figure out who he actually had been.

Author's note; Only reason I'm posting this now is I'm currently against WIPs and have a fanfic writing month planned for February and started this one a couple weeks ago. If you want chapters, find it on AO3 please cause tired brain is not up for fighting tumblr on that currently.

Steve was not Billy.

Everyone seemed to think that was an insult since Hargrove came to town, but Steve could not agree. He’d seen close enough to Billy his entire life, sometimes in his father, often in Tommy. He wasn’t surprised the boy that had been his best friend latched onto Billy so strongly.

Steve was not Billy, but he could tell people thought he was.

The first time he felt like pointing out he wasn’t Billy was to the other boy directly, but somehow the words never fit together in his head during those moments. Though Steve also noticed Billy deliberately tried to keep their interactions like that, all words and no giving Steve a moment to reply before Billy left. He didn’t worry about it much, as long as he and Nancy knew he wasn’t, it should be fine.

Perhaps it was because of the king nickname, everyone who had it must have been exactly like the current owner of it, so of course Steve was like Billy. Sometimes he thought goldfish must have better memories than the average high school student.

After Tina’s party and the bullshit speech Steve wondered at Nancy’s own forgetfulness over what were his actions, their choices and the actions of someone completely different to him. He was just glad that everything in the speech had at least been between them but the views didn’t fit from how he’d been viewing their relationship.

Billy was not Steve.

Now that was an insult which Max said precisely once.

He treasured the entire rant she’d gone on that day, coming into Scoops to have a break from home while the rest of the Party were busy. Robin had laughed like he’d been the one insulted and Max tore into her too, about how Steve was never Billy. If anyone knew just what she meant to be an insult or to be a comparison Steve came out on top of it was Max about her step-brother and Steve and she wasn’t going to let anyone laugh for the wrong thing.

Sometime after the fire to cover up the Russians and Mindflayer fight, Robin admitted she understood now what that sentence meant.

Steve was never Billy.

Everyone remembered Billy and the hate he pushed through the school. They forgot that Steve was not Billy though, and hated him for someone he never had been. That often felt especially true about Mike out of all the kids Steve looked after now.

“Just shut up Steve, go back to being a douche somewhere else.” He scathingly called when Steve had been reminding the kids not to get into fights.

“He’s not Billy, Mike.” Lucas countered, glaring at his friend. “Stop acting like everyone that’s ever played basketball besides me is the same.”

Mike gestured over at Steve, “That guy? The former King of the school? You really expect me to believe he wasn’t-”

“He Wasn’t!” Max cut him off. “He’s the one who stopped Billy first of all of us when I was dragged into Hawkins mess and that’s after I’d had months of hearing the actual assholes Billy hung out with declaring him more fun than Harrington. More fun because he hated anyone like Lucas, and joked about assaulting the Byers if Jonathan hadn’t proven better than Harrington already. Plus what was Steve just doing that you needed to insult him over? Looking out for kids that don’t fit in because he wants us to be safe? You really think he could ever have been as bad as Billy?”

At the start of the rant Lucas had looked like he’d say more to argue with Mike too, but now he just crossed his arms in a gesture they all knew was learnt from Steve, waiting for Mike’s reply.

Mike deflated, facing them. “So what was Steve like?” He asked. “Because he definitely changed and gave up his popularity instead of keeping it.”

The trio exchanged looks, and a glance back to where Steve was still sat in his car, looking from them to the arcade he’d dropped them off at curiously before reversing the car when he saw them watching.

Steve was not Billy but the kids now wanted to know who he was when he was King.

“Robin? Who was Steve in school?” Max asked, leading Lucas and Mike into Family Video when she’d seen Steve leave on his break.

Robin didn’t look up from where she was returning some videos to the shelves. “He ate bagels in class and dropped crumbs all over the floor.”

“Okay but who was he?” Mike repeated the question as if it was a demand.

“The guy most girls had crushes on.” She quipped, looking over now as if wondering what the point of asking was, “Honestly even after you guys arrived he was the main crush once the new kid fever died down.”

Max huffed at her, folding her arms. “That’s not who he was. Who was he?”

“Not a clue. I was not popular and tried not to pay attention to them at all.” Robin narrowed her eyes at them all, somewhere between concerned and curious over their focus. “What’s with all the Steve questions?”

“We want to know. All we know is that he wasn’t as bad as Billy.” Lucas explained with a shrug, showing he was actually interested and not just following his girlfriend and friend on the quest for answers.

Robin leant back, looking them over before suggesting, “Try asking Nancy. She dated him while he was King of the school, right?”

Steve knew people had forgotten he wasn’t Billy. The kids were not enjoying finding that out.

“Nancy, what was it like to date Steve?” Max had dragged Lucas upstairs while their friends were setting up a game night in the Wheelers basement

Looking through a crack in her door, Nancy rolled her eyes. “Max, it’s cute you have a crush, but you’re not meant to ask that when your boyfriend is next to you.”

Lucas leant forward to stop the door being shut on them, “Oh no, I’m curious about your answer too.”

“Not the kid I thought would ask me about that. Why?” Nancy narrowed her eyes, before turning away, clearly deciding to avoid asking him about a possible crush.

“No reason.” When trying to decide if they actually should ask Nancy, Mike had made it clear they shouldn’t mention why they were asking, “Who did you think would ask?”

“None of you.” With that the door was shut on them and neither kid was ready to keep bugging Nancy over it just yet.

Will had heard from Jonathan about the fight with Steve, and the apology that turned into fighting the demogorgon. He knew Steve was never Billy.

“You want me to ask Nancy what it was like to date Steve so you can find out what Steve was like when he was king of the school?” He looked at his three friends dubiously, shaking his head when they remained serious in their request. “You’re making this more convoluted than the puzzles I tried to create for campaigns.”

“We need to know!” Mike insisted.

Deciding not to question that again he decided to say what had come up with Jonathan while they were in California one of the times talking about dealing with high school. “Brash, quick with the easy insults and overly aware of how people around him got insulted so the people latched onto him to be popular too wouldn’t turn against him. Quick to try and apologise too when he went too far but kept apologies private as too many being known about apparently damages popularity. That’s what Jonathan said anyway.”

“Jonathan!” Max, Lucas and Mike yelled together, looking between themselves before turning as if to hurry out the door just as they heard someone approaching.

The kids were going to learn who Steve Harrington used to be, somehow.

“What’s with the shouting? Everything okay?” Jonathan asked, leaning around the door.

“Tell us who Steve used to be!” Max insisted, tugging him through.

“Nancy said a couple of you had a crush on him but this doesn’t seem like that.” Jonathanblinked at them, and made an amused noise when Will made a gesture as if saying he had no clue, “I’ll tell you what I remember but why?”

“Because Max insists he’s never been like Billy but all I know is that he was king of the high school too and everyone says he was a bully.” Mike rushed to get the words out.

Jonathan nodded at the explanation, moving to sit on Will’s bed, “Nah, the bullies were the people clamouring to be his friend. Let’s see…”

Dustin heard what his friends were saying about Steve and he was going to get the best answers he could.

Thankfully a lot of college kids were in Hawkins to help their families rebuild and he recognised one face from lots of photos Steve pretended he no longer had.

“You’re Tommy Hagan?” He asked, squinting at the boy cleaning a car outside the address he was sure was correct. He couldn’t remember ever having met Tommy before so wasn’t sure if this was or was not the right person.

Tommy looked him over, gesturing down the road. “And you’re a twerp I don’t know. Move on, I’m busy.”

Dustin shook his head, moving closer. “No. You’re going to tell me about Steve Harrington.”

“Don’t know him any more. We lost touch. Go away.” The words were accompanied with an eyeroll hidden mostly as he leant over the car to wash the windscreen.

“Then tell me who he was when you did know him.” Dustin pushed, certain that it would work sooner than later.

“Why would I?” Tommy huffed, still focusing mostly on washing the car. “You’re a brat that didn’t even introduce yourself before demanding my attention.”

“I could get my friends to come and ask you questions with me or you can just tell me. I’m Dustin Henderson and I will do that.” Dustin offered, dropping his backpack to get his radio out.

“You carry a walkie talkie to call your little friends with?” Tommy said disbelieving. “Why is a nerd asking about Steve?”

Dustin didn’t move to radio anyone, just watching Tommy again, “Tell me about him and then I’ll tell you.”

Steve wasn’t Billy and Tommy knew it. That why he didn’t panic at the sight of his car pulling up while he was still being interrogated by the kid.

“Henderson, we’ve been looking for you all over. What are you doing?” Steve called, walking around the car and only realising who Dustin was with after getting closer, “Tommy?”

“Hey Harrington, the twerp has been asking all about you. Still don’t know why.” He explained, pointing a thumb back at the kid and trying to sound annoyed by it. It was actually one of the more amusing things to happen since getting back from college so he wasn’t being as much of a dick as he would once have been.

Steve nodded, standing with his hands on his hips and looking to the kid expectantly. “Dustin, care to share?”

“Mike and Max had an argument and realised all they know about who you were is that you aren’t Billy. Them, Lucas and now Will and me decided we need to know.”He pulled a notebook out of the backpack, flicking through it as if checking notes.

“So you looked through my stuff and decided to find Tommy.” Steve surmised.

“Clearly.” Dustin had no shame about admitting that and Tommy was curious over what Steve would have kept that showed them together. “Everyone else wasn’t getting anywhere. Jonathan was the one who had the best information that shared it and I know he barely knew you.”

“He really had friends to call to increase how many were asking me questions?” Tommy muttered rounding the car to wash the other side as well as better watch his old friend and the weird kid. “Steve your kid is weird.”

“Tell me about it.” Steve agreed, before focusing on Dustin again, “Who else had they asked?”

“Robin and Nancy. Robin knew barely anything and apparently Nancy decided they were asking because of crushes on you.” Dustin promptly replied.

“What? Why? How…” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, “You know what, thank you Tommy for entertaining this shithead. I’ll stop him giving you any more of a headache. Please tell Carol to call if he tries asking her about me next.” He started pushing Dustin to his car while calling over his shoulder.

Tommy laughed at the comment, “You don’t think I’ve given him enough details to stop this?”

“With these brats I’m not sure there is such a thing unless the subject they’re asking about tries to kill them. See ya.” Steve sounded like an exhausted parent as he spoke, fond but frustrated by his kids.

“See you around Harrington.”

Carol had scales in high school over how rumours and views of the popular kids went and she could tell you with facts and figures how Steve was better or worse than Billy Hargrove over all of them. She could not however explain two girls inviting themselves into her home to ask about him.

“This is breaking in and I’m calling the police.” Carol stated, immediately going to her phone.

“Tell Hopper to pick us up in twenty and you can tell us about Steve until then.” The girl with red hair demanded, “I’m Max. That’s Hopper’s daughter El.”

Carol raised an eyebrow, turning to them in challenge, “The chief has a daughter since when?”

“We’re asking the questions.” Max insisted.

“Since 1983. He gives me waffles.” El added, “Steve does too. You can tell us about Steve.”

The subject the girls were pushing didn’t seem enough to break into her home over but Carol couldn’t see any cause that would be; either way she leant against the door and shook her head. “Not currently. You could do better since I’ve not spoken to him in a few years.”

“High school Steve.” Max snapped, “Who was he?”

Thinking for a moment, Carol let out a heavy breath and turned to leave the room, “I’ll get the scales, if it will make you leave.”

While she was upstairs she heard Tommy calling, “Hey Carol, you left your door- Why are there two kids here?”

“To ask about Harrington apparently.” She yelled back.

“I’ll call him.” The certainty in that decision made her pause, moving back to the top of the stairs curiously.

“Why?”

“Just had the same thing happen and he interrupted the kid that found me. Said to tell you to call if that kid came here, but I guess any kid counts.” Tommy half shook his head before glancing behind him, “Names?”

Carol blinked twice, “They said they’re Max and El.”

“Thanks, what are you doing?” Tommy finished dialling the number neither of them would forget, but carried on chatting with Carol as if the kids weren’t watching them.

“Digging out the scales.” Tommy laughed at the comment, remembering when Carol had decided to make them and how she argued they were better than guys making similar scales because they weren’t frivilously given or constantly used to hurt.

As she finished finding the scales and gathered only the relevant ones to Steve together she could hear Tommy’s side of the call happening. “Hey Steve, sorry, but a Max and El are at Carol’s. Yes, that’s why. No, I don’t know that. Fine, see you soon.”

“Did you have to call him? He’s going to lecture us again.” Max complained, just as Carol started bringing things downstairs.

“Seems like you need that.” Carol remarked, debating if it was worth the annoyance of the chief to call the police on his daughter.

El had a stare that seemed to dissect Tommy when she directed it at him before asking, “You are Steve’s friend?”

“Sure, or I was once.” He agreed easily.

She nodded as if that explained everything. “Friends don’t lie. Of course he called.”

“Er, yeah,” Max frowned a little, glaring at Carol and Tommy’s scoffing, “We’re going to have to go over how things really are for most people at some point.”

“What’s this all over anyway?” Carol asked, placing the things she’d fetched on the coffee table.

Max went straight to looking through the folders. “Steve isn’t Billy but everyone seems to remember him acting just like him. I want to know who Steve was.”

Tommy laughed then, grabbing one folder right out of Max’s hand, “Came to the right place for facts then.”

“And to attack you.” She continued, vehemently glaring at him and snatching the folder back.

He took a step back, sharing a startled glance with Carol over the threat. “Um, what? Kid, I was Steve friend remember.”

“And Billy’s.” She countered, “You came round enough I know it.”

“Read this.” Carol quickly opened a folder and flicked through a notebook to shove it at Max, “Tommy shut up before she tries to. I won’t stop her.”

“Carol!” He protested.

Eddie had known Steve wasn’t Billy.

He really wasn’t happy that the kids decided to learn who Steve actually used to be the weekend he’d finally got the courage to ask for a date.

“Am I TPK-ing the party or cancelling movie nights?” He yelled through the house, not caring that everyone that could be directed to were in the front room and easily seen, “Hi Perkins, I got out before Steve parked. He’ll be yelling to himself for a few minutes.”

“You can’t cancel movie nights!” Max yelled back.

“I can, Mayfield. You interrupted when I told all of you not to.” Eddie insisted, meeting her glare with one of his own. “Did you really worry about Steve’s lecture but not me?”

El stepped between them, “We want to know.”

“El, going behind someone’s back and doing your shit to track down their old friends is not how you learn this shit.” Eddie countered, eyes narrow and only turning to look over the room after finishing that sentence. They he burst out laughing at the scales Carol had out, “Although, Perkins, how did you make popularity nerdy? Is this an insult dictionary attached to it too? Professional Ice Queen turns people into maths. Not something I expected.”

Carol scoffed, tossing her hair back, “Why are you here, Freak?”

“Because we had a date and I decided not to leave El unsupervised. She’s reacted without thinking too many times.” Steve came in saying, grinning as he saw what was out, “Hey Carol, you kept all that stuff?”

“Yes, when did you figure out you could date guys too? There are bets that need settling.” She began, only to notice Eddie had somehow got the notebook detailing those bets in his hands now.

He glanced over at Steve shaking his head. “Don’t answer that. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Who?” Steve leant over his shoulder to see who would win if he answered truthfully, “Oh yeah, um who do we think does? Tommy, thoughts?”

“Any of the cheerleaders updated their bet to be within reason?” Tommy mused, looking the pair over, “Guessing since Munson is here you don’t want the basketball team to win.”

Eddie tapped a name in the book, “Robin is on the list, Steve.”

“She is? Bitch, when did she place that?” Steve burst out laughing and taking the notebook from Eddie, “And why hasn’t she mentioned it like ever?”

Carol took it from him almost immediately, “After the Halloween break-up and another band kid placed it for her. Apparently Buckley mentioned her guess when complaining about bagels or something and he thought getting her to win would get him a date.”

“Thanks Carol, so we’re saying she got it right.” Steve decided, nodding to Eddie and Tommy.

“How?” Tommy asked finally able to see when Robin’s bet was placed for. “Weren’t you working in the mall then?”

El and Max had moved to the door while the older teens had been distracted talking about the bet, “Hey Steve. We’re just going to go. Let you two head back to your date, stop asking these two our questions. That’s what you want right?”

“No movie night for two weeks like Eddie said-” He began.

Max was quick to protest, “He didn’t say two weeks!”

“But after that, Carol, Tommy, Eddie, Jonathan and I will recount the time of King Steve. Then you will all drop it.” Steve finished stating what would happen over their and Dustin’s meddling with his old friends. “Also what the hell did you say to Nancy? Dustin just said she wouldn’t tell you anything.”

“Asked what it was like to date you.” She admitted uncaring, “Thought that would be what she remembers most so she’d answer it.”

If Steve had been drinking something he would have choked but as it it is he just coughed once and pointed insistently at the girl, “Okay and after that, Max, you specifically need to get to know Nance cause that says you know barely anything about her currently.”

El started pulling Max out straight away, “Bye Steve. We’ll go see the Wheelers now.”

“El!” Max fought to remain and argue.

“Bye El, Don’t scream at her on the street Max!” Steve waved after his kids, before turning back to the conversation they’d begun, “Now yes, Robin’s bet is for when we worked at Scoops so her incessant teasing over striking out made me try flirting with some guy that came in and I found that was just as much fun and easier given how horrible that hat was.”

Carol raised an eyebrow at him, “And when is she meant to get her winnings?”

“That gathering to satisfy the shitheads curiosity.” He decided, “I’ll tell her it’s a bribe to not go off on a rant about bagels or you’ll tell the guy who placed a bet for her that she won.”

“Do I need to update the dictionary over that?” The question was asked while she picked up said book.

Steve pushed her hand back to the coffee table. “I really don’t want you to so am not going to explain it. And if she offers to, I’m telling that guy she won.”

“Harsh.” Tommy snickered.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Like I wouldn’t also be threatening him for being such a prick at the same time.”

“Kids have stopped, you’ve decided who won the Steve likes guys too bet, can we go back to our movie date at yours now?” Eddie asked, looking around the group.

Carol nodded, waving towards the door. “Yes do. Harrington, get out and take Munson with you.”

“Bye, I’ll call you both about when that evening’s happening.” Steve waved over his shoulder as he was tugged out of Carol’s house now.

Steve made one small error in letting the kids investigate how who he’d been early in high school differed from Billy Hargrove. He let Carol and Tommy get to his house early to talk with him Robin and Eddie. Now there was a whiteboard stood in his living room, giant paper hung over it and his four friends were dissecting not just who he’d been but who he was today.

None of them were actually being flattering at all, even if he could see the positive attributes getting written down.

#stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #dustin henderson #steddie #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #tommy hagan #carol perkins

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byslantedlight · 1 year ago

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Hello OFMD Tumblr thingie, and all the amazing people who are out there, and especially the ones who've been making all the posts that have made me so happy over the last few months. 💖💖💖 First and most importantly, thank you, thank you, thank you, to anyone who sees this!

This is my first post to Tumblr (probably pretty obvious from my huge lack of Tumblr sophistication! And the length of this post...) If you don't count reblogging things that I wanted to be able to find again. I've braved up to comment thank you to people a couple of times, but that's been it so far. I must admit it all looks a bit scary from this side of the glass, even though I can also see how friendly people mostly are.

But OFMD fandom is big! And you've been here a long time! I loved Series 1 when I watched it, and knew I wanted to watch out for Series 2, but it wasn't until I re-watched it when the Series 2 trailer came out on BBC iPlayer that I fell veeeery in love with it! And by then you were already here, and there was a language and debates about things I'd barely even noticed, and it's mostly me staring with big eyes thinking wow, and sometimes huh? and... well, you know. Plus there's trying to work out Tumblr, which I definitely haven't actually managed to do yet, and possibly never will, so... I decided to just jump in and post summat. Even just rambling, which is a bit of a specialty of mine... I mean - what's the worst that can happen, right? 😬

So... how come now? Well, I can't make art or gorgeous screenshots or gifs. I do write, but I'm still hanging out to get the right voices in my keyboard... I know them when I hear them, but you've gotta get the right rhythm going, and I'm not quite there yet, I don't think. Although really, I should probably just sit down and try (and stop waiting for work to shut up and give me time - I should be a pirate and take it!)

Anyway (told you about the rambling...) what I'm mostly doing apart from rewatching the eps on a constant loop is reading the fic. I'm picking it according to kudos on AO3, and according to recs that I see on Tumblr, and it's occured to me that alot of the stories I'm loving must have been recced looong ago, and that newbies like me totally missed them, and so maybe I could do my own recs, even if they are of older stories, and someone might find them useful. You know, if I work out how anyone else might ever see my posts. 😁 And if people aren't put off by my probably age-revealing use of emojis. (But I am entirely age-appropriate for Ed and Stede, and if I had to look up what zaddy meant too, well, that just means I matched Rhys Darby's expression in the bts, right? 🤨)

So it's not much, but I'd like to contribute even just a tiny bit to OFMD fandom in return for everything it gives me, so... yeah. That's my plan. I'll start in a bit, but this post is probably already too long since it's just rambling. And kind of dull. I should probably have said tl:dr at the top, shouldn't I, but then maybe anyone who actually saw this wouldn't, so... See, I kind of live in hope. 😊

Okay. Tags next, right? ... ack ... why won't it let me create new tags instead of just using ones from the drop down...? Well, those will have to do for now... maybe someone who sees this will have mercy and tell me how? I'll just be over here being a slight failure at Tumblr... And if you've made it this far (how long is an acceptable post over here?! Not this long, I don't think...) - thank you hugely for just that, and may your dreams be OFMD and joyous!

#ofmd #ofmd fanfic

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ninja-go-to-therapy · 2 months ago

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Hello friends so Ik I said I didn’t have anything to post for my bday but I wanted to give you something (a birthday gift for me from me also for u if u will), so I present a sneak peak of my upcoming Sonic fic! Considering the poll I put out had the winner of “break his legs” that’s what we’ve got here :)

To be notified when this fic actually comes out, subscribe to my ao3 @ sodaschemes!

Trigger Warnings: kidnapping, torture, implied stalking/obsession

Lastly, if you want this fic to ever come out for realsies, you should engage with this post and my blog! Ask questions, express excitement, anything to know I’m not screaming into the void… pls… as a birthday present for little old me?

Consciousness found him slowly. It was the kind of sleep where you woke up totally disoriented, unsure of where you even were. Like when you woke from a nice mid-afternoon nap.

Sonic wasn’t so sure he was taking a mid-afternoon nap.

He groaned, his head aching with something sharp. He blinked the sleep from his eyes as he sat up. It took him a moment too long to notice that he wasn’t alone.

There was a figure above him, watching. Waiting.

“Ever heard of personal space?” he snapped, reflexively kicking a leg out to shoo them away (or at least get them out of his personal bubble). He regretted the action immediately, choking on his own spit as waves of agony radiated from his legs, which very well looked to be broken. “FUCK!” he shouted, head knocking against the wall and doing nothing to help the horrible pounding in his skull.

The figure — a honey badger, he thought… though it was hard to tell in the dim lighting of… wherever he was — didn’t seem to get the hint, instead moving even closer, until he was practically right on top of him.

Usually, Sonic had a bit more patience with people when they were probably evil villains with a plot to kill him, or something. But the piercing headache and the nauseating mess of his legs that he was trying not to think about were adding up to make one very cranky hedgehog.

“Get the fuck off me!” he snarled, trying to appear as intimidating as could be when his body was in as much pain as it was. He wondered how Shadow did this all the time. He wasn’t entirely sure the guy even knew how to smile.

No doubt because Sonic was just that good at imitating his rival, the guy backed off a touch. Still far closer than he’d like, but at least he wasn’t nearly in his lap now.

“Well, that’s not a very nice way to ask for something,” he said, the slightest furrow to his brows.

“Yeah, I don’t tend to treat people who kidnap me with manners, sorry,” he said. “Who even are you? One of Egghead’s new goons?”

“That psychopath? Hardly,” he scoffed, as if the very idea was ridiculous. As if Sonic waking up in — what, some kind of basement, maybe? — wasn’t the exact sort of thing Eggman would pull.

Granted, Eggman had also never landed a hit on him like this before. It made Sonic’s stomach roll unpleasantly.

He tried to shift his upper body in a way that wouldn’t jostle his injuries, but failed spectacularly, only barely managing to keep his shout at a low hiss, instead. This was so bad. But his friends were definitely already looking for him, so he’d probably be out of here in like, an hour or two. He’d get his legs fixed up, and mope around a bit while he waited for them to properly heal, and then this would all be some odd memory that he would look back on and laugh.

Hopefully.

“Well?” the badger prompted with a lopsided smile, “aren’t you going to ask my name?”

Beyond the fact that Sonic really just… didn’t care, he also hesitated to do so considering the weird way in which that was said. Because… what the hell did that lilt of his tone even mean?

“Doesn’t really seem relevant, honestly,” he shrugged, “I mean, I’ll be outta here before I could ever make the space to remember it, anyway.”

Rather than annoyance or frustration at his cocky attitude, the badger actually laughed. And not like a creepy evil villain laugh, but an actual laugh. Which, while normally Sonic would be incredibly pleased that someone was actually appreciating his humor, he really… wasn’t being all that funny, this time. Was he being serious? Definitely not. But it wasn’t like he’d made a joke, either.

It was just kind of… a weird reaction, from some random guy he’d never met and/or fought before. Speaking of which, now he definitely wasn’t asking his name, because he was worried it would only somehow make this interaction stranger.

He was pretty content to just kind of sit here by himself until he was rescued, thanks.

The badger shook his head with an amused grin. “Come on,” he prompted, “I think you’ll really like it.”

Yeah, unless his name was something-something-chili-dog, he doubted that. Man, what he’d give for a chili dog right now.

Not that he had much to give. His legs were fucking broken, after all, but he was trying not to think about that.

He wasn’t given that luxury for much longer. A pair of soft, smooth hands clasped around his thigh, and Sonic yelped in shock, just about to lash out, injuries be damned… but then they were sliding down, until they reached just below the knee, practically only a ghost of a touch. He didn’t have the time to wonder what he was doing. He’d find out in mere seconds, heart lurching into his throat when thick fingers grasped his leg and crushed.

He shrieked, waves of raw, unfiltered agony pulsing from the site of his broken bone, where harsh hands were probably pushing it even farther out of place.

He could feel it shifting where it stuck out of his skin.

“FUCK!” He wailed, nearly convulsing. His mind was a screaming wall of sound and little else, like a dial-up computer from the 90s or something.

“Be nice and ask my fucking name.”

“Fine — CHAOS—!” He sobbed, mortified to find tears squeezing their way out of his eyes. Nonono, Sonic the Hedgehog didn’t cry, he didn’t show this kind of weakness. He didn’t let people know when they were actually getting to him. “What’s your — name?” He spit out hoarsely, hardly able to breathe through the never-ending pain.

The pressure dissipated just as soon as it first appeared. Soft hands pet along his shin, mournful and apologetic. Sonic was certain he was going to throw up.

“I’m so glad you asked,” the badger all but purred, a delighted grin replacing the stark rage on his face just moments before. “It’s Maurice.”

#seriously I would love to talk abt this fic so pls send asks and such!#iliwybiam #<- fic tag #sonic the hedgehog #fic #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #sonic fandom #tw torture #tw kidnapping #Sonic angst

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lesbicosmos · 9 months ago

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day 6 of @painlandweek !!

day 6 prompt: free day!!

summary:

after edwin's confession, charles has a lot to think about. he finds himself watching edwin even closer than usual, and realisations happen. or a series of moments post-s1 that gave charles rowland a bit of a crisis

notes:

title from not a lot, just forever by adrianne lenker

this fic was also a collaboration with the amazing @every-moment-a-different-sound !! they made these gorgeous gifs based on my fic <33

also on ao3!!

through your eyes i see a smile you bring to me

He’d been thinking. A lot. Charles Rowland didn’t do that. He was more of a ‘do first, think later’ kind of guy. He said what was on his mind, about most things at least. He made most decisions in a spur of the moment. He wouldn’t think twice before jumping in front of danger for someone he cared about – usually Edwin. And Edwin Payne was exactly the catalyst for Charles’s current intense thinking.

There were four facts he definitely knew:

Edwin was the person he loved most in the entire world.

Edwin was in love with him.

Charles’s instincts were, and had been for years, to make Edwin happy no matter what.

Charles didn’t want to do anything that might eventually hurt him if he was wrong.

Perhaps the third fact ought to have started some conversation about his own self-worth issues, but Charles decided to file that away for later. All he knew now was that he had to think this through. He had to be sure before he made a decision that could end up being stupid in the long run.

All this thinking had led Charles to focus on Edwin somehow even more than he had before. If he was in the room while Charles was supposed to be doing something, he would be distracted. If Charles was alone while he was supposed to be doing something, he would be distracted. It seemed that if Charles wanted to think through this as much as he should, he’d have to sacrifice his productivity in the agency. And as long as no one noticed or mentioned it, he was more than willing to do so.

In his staring, Charles had come to realise some tiny things about Edwin that he may have perhaps noticed before, but never really noticed. Like the way he would tap his notebook with the pencil while thinking about what to write; the way he would run his hands through his perfectly slicked hair whenever he was confused, or stressed, or embarrassed; the way his eyes would light up whenever Niko suggested they watch another episode of Scooby Doo. The one thing that wouldn’t leave Charles’s mind, however, is something he had noticed Edwin did around him.

He'd noticed it after the Night Nurse’s most recent visit. She was still bitter that she was being forced to oversee the agency in the first place, so had been her usual snarky self.

“I don’t know why I even agreed to help you two insolent boys. Oh wait, I didn’t agree to this! Please deal with this yourselves, I have a lot of paperwork to do!” she had said before she left the office.

She hadn’t physically used the door, but the annoyed way in which she disappeared from sight gave the implication of slamming it in their faces.

Immediately after she’d left, Charles had turned to look at Edwin, pursing his lips and looking down his nose at him in an attempt to recreate her bitchy expression.

“You two insolent boys,” he said imitating her high-pitched voice. “I have a lot of paperwork!”

And Edwin laughed. A real, genuine, from-the-chest laugh. And he smiled. It was exactly that smile that flicked some switch inside Charles’s brain.

Whenever he smiled around most people, it would be visible more in his eyes than anywhere else, his mouth only curling up slightly, his lips pressed tightly shut. Sometimes however, oh how his face brightened. Occasionally he would smile with his eyes and his mouth, showing his teeth in a glowing grin. It was beautiful.

It hit Charles that the only times he’d ever seen Edwin smile like that was when he was around him and him alone. It was as though that beaming grin was reserved just for him, and Charles savoured it every single time. He made it his death’s mission to make Edwin smile as often as physically possible. Every time he managed it, he felt like he had won.

Was it normal to think that way about your best mate’s smile? Was it normal to be elated to discover he seemingly has a smile especially for you? These were the thoughts that were currently doing laps around Charles’s brain.

The next time Charles found himself in crisis mode over Edwin was a few weeks later. They’d had a walk-in potential client, a young woman whose family had kept meeting unfortunate accidents in their house, who, after dying of a fall on their staircase, had discovered the house was actually haunted by a creature she suspected to be a poltergeist. They had heard her case, and were just onto the topic of payment when she pulled out an amulet, offering it with the explanation that it glowed in the presence of anything that had been in the presence of a demon. Notably, it was not glowing in the presence of either of the boys.

“Danielle,” Edwin began, in the tone Charles recognised as the way he always spoke when he was about to make a point and prove himself right. “You brought your case to us and we listened and agreed to take it, so clearly you trust us and our reputation. Hence, you should also have assumed that we, as supernatural detectives, have come into contact with demonic forces before. And if you hadn’t noticed, there is no glow in that amulet. It is clearly a fake. You really should have thought about that before bringing it to us as payment.”

Charles just stared at him, in awe. Edwin had done this many times, caught tricky clients in their lies as easy as anything. He’d done it with Emma when she’d brought Crystal’s case to them, claiming not to have any form of payment at all. Charles had always admired him when he did that, but now he really thought about it, the way he mesmerised him might have been for a reason deeper than simply ‘my best friend is so cool’.

“What?” the client gasped.

“The amulet is just a piece of jewellery. You knew that, didn’t you?”

“No?” she said, tearing up.

“Oh,” Edwin immediately softened. “Well, let me apologise for the last thirty seconds. It has happened a surprising amount of times over the last thirty-three years that we’ve had clients con us with claims they have a magical item to give as payment.”

“I didn’t know, I swear. It was the only thing I could think of to give because it was a family heirloom and my grandma had always told me it was magic. I’m just trying to help my family, please, my twins, they’re only four, they get into enough accidents as it is, I couldn’t bear for them to go through what I did because of that thing-”

“Danielle,” Edwin’s voice was so different from how it had been previously, no longer sharp and quick-witted but now soft and comforting. “I promise we will do everything we can to rid your home of whatever spirit it is that is lurking there.”

“But I don’t have anything else to give you-”

“We do occasionally take cases without payment, if the situation is dire. This counts. Do not worry about it.”

“Really? Thank you so much!”

“We are happy to help.”

Charles would have said something too, reassured her that they’d do the best job they could, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Edwin. Somehow, the switch to his comforting, encouraging voice had even more of an effect on him.

When Edwin turned to Charles after Danielle left and asked if everything was okay since he’d been oddly quiet throughout the interview, he just smiled, claiming he was aces. Technically, it wasn’t a complete lie, just perhaps not the entire truth. He didn’t really know how to say ‘yeah, I’m fine, I just can’t seem to stop staring at you lately no matter what you’re doing,’ without it sounding at least a little strange.

The staring thing didn’t go away.

It had been a very warm day – not that the boys could actually tell, obviously. They’d only assumed since Niko had sauntered into the office in a flowy pink and orange summer dress with her bright pink heart sunglasses perched on her head, closely followed by Crystal in a purple mesh top and brown shorts. Their assumption had then been confirmed by the hour of complaining that followed.

While Edwin insisted on staying at the office to finish researching about demonic fungi, Charles tagged along with the girls when they eventually got too tired of the heat and decided to go and get ice-cream. He knew he couldn’t eat any himself, but he liked going into town with them, it made him feel a tiny bit like a normal living teenager for a little while. He’d gone into town to the cinema or to the arcade with his friends often when he was alive – even if those memories now left a sour taste in his mouth despite the fact taste was one of the senses he’d lost years ago.

The girls had nearly finished their ice-creams by the time they returned, Crystal giggling quietly when she noticed Niko had gotten some on the tip of her nose. Charles was just thinking about how much he loved seeing Crystal so happy as they re-entered the office.

Charles immediately noticed the change in Edwin’s outfit. When they’d left, he’d been wearing his matching pinstripe blue-grey blazer and trousers, his bow-tie perfectly tied and straight. Now, he’d lost the blazer, and his bow-tie was nowhere to be seen, the top few buttons of his shirt undone just enough to reveal his collarbones. The shirt, Charles also noted, had short sleeves. He’d never known Edwin to wear a short-sleeved shirt. He’d roll the sleeves up occasionally when they were working in the office, but it was always the same white long-sleeve.

Edwin had been more experimental with his clothing choices since his change of outfit in Port Townsend had gained him compliments from both Niko and Charles, but it had still always been some variation of his usual get-up – only slight changes to the colour scheme, or the fabric, or exchanging his blazer for a jumper. Charles had never seen him dressed this casually.

“Cool shirt, mate,” he said, unable to keep the smile off his face. Perhaps it was a strange thing to say about a plain white shirt, but he didn’t know how else to mention it nonchalantly. He was already using enough of his brainpower to focus on stopping himself staring at Edwin’s arms.

"Thank you, Charles,” Edwin said, looking down momentarily in that awkward yet endearing way he did whenever anyone complimented him.

“Oh, good,” Crystal said, halfway through retying her hair in a bun. “I know you guys don’t feel the heat but just seeing you in that jacket was making me sweat buckets.”

“Yes, well, I figured I might as well dress for the occasion, as it were.”

“It looks great!” Niko said excitedly.

Edwin smiled at her. It was different to the smile he gave most people, his eyes brightening even more than usual, like they always did around Niko. It still wasn’t the beaming grin he reserved just for Charles, though.

“How’s the research going?” Charles asked, trying to change the subject.

“Well. I believe I have all the information we need to identify which type of infernal fungus it is that is plaguing our client."

“Brills!”

With that, Edwin stood up from the desk, walking around it to put the book back in its very specific spot on the shelf. It was only then that Charles noticed it wasn’t only his shirt Edwin had changed – he was now wearing shorts, too. They were still the same blue-grey pinstripe, still the same formal style as his usual trousers, only now they ended just above his knee. He walked around the room as confidently as always, and Charles desperately tried to tear his eyes away from Edwin’s legs. But it seemed something had short-circuited in his brain, because he couldn’t think about anything else.

“Hey,” Crystal nudged him. “You good there?”

Charles snapped his head around to look at her.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Crystal just raised her eyebrows at him, then turned back to Niko.

He’d been thinking his love for Edwin might not be entirely platonic for a while, but the realisation well and truly hit him after they’d just wrapped up a particularly hard-hitting case.

A 14-year-old boy had come to the office. He’d recently died but had no idea how, his only memory being coming home from a friend’s house, walking into the living room to find his mother sitting on the sofa watching TV, then feeling a sharp pain on the back of his head. When he woke up, he was in an ambulance, and was now detached from his physical form.

After some investigation of the boy’s house, they’d found a metal rod in the back of the shed in the garden. And they’d caught someone going there once every couple of days to check it was still hidden. It had been the boy’s father.

Edwin had felt horrible having to drag Charles away from hugging the sobbing boy as Death arrived for him.

Charles had been quiet ever since. Edwin hadn’t asked if he was okay – he already knew the answer. He’d dropped onto the sofa as soon as they got back to the office, his head in his hands. Edwin had given him a moment, before he slowly sat beside him, giving him as much space as possible.

“Charles?” he asked quietly, tapping his shoulder so gently it was barely even a touch.

Rather than push him away like he had back near the lighthouse in Port Townsend, Charles leaned into the touch. Edwin tentatively shuffled closer to him until Charles barely had to move to lean further into his space. Edwin just pulled him close.

“Whatever you need, I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m always here.”

Charles let out a sob into Edwin’s chest, and he only held him closer.

And in amongst all the anger, all the pain, all the tears, the love he felt was overwhelming. He was breaking down, sobbing, finally letting out emotions he felt like he’d been locking away for years, and instead of turning away from him, instead of judging him or telling him to ‘man-up’ like his friends or his father would have, Edwin Payne just held him. And Charles couldn’t contain the intense love he felt for him. He’d do anything for this to never end, for Edwin to always be there for him and for him to always be there for Edwin in return. He wanted to stay in Edwin’s arms forever. And luckily for him, they had just that. They had forever, eternity.

They held each other until the sun rose, and talked about it in the morning.

Charles was reeling after his realisation. He was confident now. He just had to find a way to tell him.

The four of them were walking down the street together, finally just hanging out as a group outside of a case. He’d zoned out watching Edwin once again, his mouth slightly agape, this time imagining different scenarios where he confessed that he was wrong on that staircase while Edwin was several paces ahead, having been dragged towards a Scooby-Doo themed shop window display by Niko.

Crystal nudged him in the side from her spot beside him.

“You sure you’re okay? You’ve been weirdly…spacey recently,” she said, a concerned look on her face.

Charles turned to her, voicing the only coherent thought he had.

“I think I’m in love with Edwin.”

#i cant believe payneland week is nearly over woah :((#ive been busy this week so i still need to actually write tomorrows oops #dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #payneland #painland week #painlandweek #my dbda posts

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ritzylate · 1 year ago

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@saradika-graphics made the lovely dividers and also taught me what dividers were.

This is from a huge fic I'm writing and I'm posting entirely out of order. I plan on posting the whole thing on a different AO3 eventually. this is just the start of just one part of the story. I cut out the worst of the NSFW content. I'm saving that for AO3. Kinda wanna feel out the crowd to see if my writing is something people would enjoy reading.

"Caught" A Harvey x reader fic - NSFW

NSFW 18+ MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI I literally cannot say this enough. This is not for you.

Super dialog heavy.

Content warnings: Past relationship trauma, trauma and sadness in general, established relationship, adult entertainment, getting off. You get the idea.

AFAB!reader.

Word count: 3200 ish

I have trouble with tenses so I'm sorry if this is ass to read. I tried.

“So you're staying at Harvey’s then?” Robin asked.

“Yeah,” you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“That's great,” she says with a smile. “How are things going between you two? Good then?”

“Yeah,” you say with a little more conviction. “It's going really well, actually.”

You feel a smile spread across your face.

You hide your embarrassment by staring intently down at the pebble under the toe of your boot.

“That's so great!” Robin cheers. “Harvey is such a great guy, and he's not too bad to look at either,” she says with a wink.

You let yourself get lost in the thought of him for a moment before clearing your throat.

“I best be off,” you say. “I don’t want to get there too late. I don’t want to keep him from opening shop too late.”

Robin laughs to herself.

“Of course. Well, have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Robin, you're too young to lecture me on what to do,” you joke.

Robin throws her head back in a laugh and waves goodbye.

The short drive to Harvey’s place allows you time enough to think of how you want to thank him. A few obvious ideas cross your mind, but you shake them free, wanting to offer something special and more thoughtful than just that.

“Hey!” Harvey stands out front of his office, the morning sun bright and beaming.

You hop out and sling your arms around his shoulders.

“How are you doing darling?” he asks, holding you in a tight warm hug. The fall air smells of sweet leaves and honey.

“I’m good,” you smile. “Robin’s started on the renovations. Should be done in a few days. It really means a lot to me that you wanted me to stay.”

Harvey chuckles.

“Are you kidding? Of course I want you to stay. I’ve been waiting for today all week.”

Harvey leads you inside and up the stairs to his flat.

“You can put your bag anywhere. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll make us some coffee.”

As nice as a good breakfast or coffee sounded, you had to get back to work.

“You’re so sweet,” you say. “But I need to get to work, I have a long day ahead of me.”

“You need to eat,” Harvey said, flatly. “You can’t work if you don’t have enough energy. So sit. I have some pancake mix. I bought it just for today so if you don’t have any I’ll be sad.”

Harvey tosses you a sarcastic smile as he reaches into the cupboard.

“Okay, okay,” you say reluctantly, sliding onto the bar stool at the counter.

“So,” Harvey starts. “What do you have planned today?”

You sigh.

“A lot. I have some weeding to do, probably cut some trees down. Could use the firewood.”

Harvey nods as he listens to you spell out your mundane day.

“What about you?” you ask him over the rim of your coffee mug.

“Not much, honestly,” he says. “I have a few patients. But nothing big.”

A timer dings signifying the pancakes are ready.

“Here you are, dear,” he said, sliding the pancakes onto a plate.

“Thank you, Harvey,” you say earnestly. Your stomach rumbles at the idea of a pancake breakfast.

Harvey takes your plate and throws it in the sink as you finish your last bite.

“I’ll get to it later,” he says with a shrug.

“That was really kind of you,” you say shyly. It was hard for you to accept such kindness.

“Happy to do it.” Harvey watches you for a moment before drawing his attention to the clock.

“I better get down there,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Or Maru is going to tear me to shreds.”

You wipe the syrup off your lips with the back of your hand.

“Breakfast was lovely, Harvey, thank you,” you say again. You feel like there isn’t enough thanks in the world to express how much his gestures meant to you.

Harvey places his hand on the small of your back.

“Don’t work too hard today,” he says as he nudges you, giving you a kiss on your cheek.

When you arrive back at the farm, Robin is knee deep in her project. It’d only take three days, she said, but you have trouble imagining how such work could be done so quick.

You set to work at the farm. Your cows needed milking, your chickens needed feeding, there were new fruits found in the cave. But your mind wandered.

Wonder what Harvey is doing right now?

If Robin was paying any attention to you, she’d laugh at how blissfully unaware you were of your surroundings.

The sun sits high in the sky when you lean down to start plucking at the weeds biting at the base of your crops.

You yank at the greenery when you feel a tightening in your calf, followed by a sharp, sudden pain.

The pain catches you off guard, and you reach down to grasp at your leg.

You fight to stay on your feet, but before you know it you fall to the dirt.

“Are you okay??” Robin calls out. You hear her boots hitting the metal on her ladder.

“Oh what happened?”

“I don't know,” you say honestly. “I think I pulled something. I stood wrong or something. I'm fine.”

“Well. It's a good thing you're fucking the doctor, huh?”

You try to laugh, but the grimaced pain on your face won't go away.

Robin rubs your back.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't joke. When a farmer stops working because of pain, you know it's serious.”

“It's not serious,” you say. “I'm fine. But…maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to stop early.”

Robin wraps an arm under you and lifts you up. You hobble to your car, Robin helping you open the door to shuffle you in.

“I can drive you,” she offers.

“No no, I'm fine, I can make it. It's all good.”

Robin looks after you with a worried, motherly look on her face as you wave to her through your open window.

You pull up to Harvey’s clinic. The windows darkened except for a distant light shining through the hallway door leading to the stairs. .

The pain comes and goes, but either way, you really weren't getting that much work done. And you’re already here. No sense in returning only to have the pain spike again. You might as well call it a night.

You push the front door open into a near silent office. The only sound being a slight hum from the heater.

“Harvey?” But no one answers.

You close the door quietly, locking it behind you.

There are slight sounds emanating from beyond the stairs but nothing too distinct. Just enough to let you know he's home.

You climb the stairs, holding onto the wall for extra support.

The handle to Harvey’s flat sticks slightly, but gives way to a click with enough force.

“Harvey?” you ask again.

You move to peer round the door, not wanting to spook him. You press your knuckle to the door to give it a knock, but take pause when your brain catches up to what you're hearing.

Heavy breathing, soft moaning, the creak of Harvey’s leather chair.

You peek your head around the door just long enough to see Harvey at his desk. His laptop opened, the screen obscured by his bare chest.

Harvey’s head rests on the back of his chair, knees barely visible on either side of him.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes.

Your eyes widen from the shock. From this angle, you can't see much, but you still feel your cheeks flush.

You can see enough to watch him bring a hand to his forehead, running his fingers through his hair. He grabs a fistfull of his auburn locks, tightening them into a fist.

You shut your eyes, turning from the door. But the sounds of Harvey still wash over you like a wave.

You feel breathless yourself. What do you do? Do you say something? Interrupt? Do you turn and leave? And even then, what next? Wait a few minutes, then come back? Do you pretend you only just arrived, give him a shout up the stairs to give him warning? Do you lie and pretend you didn't see anything?

You decide that leaving would offer the most ideal situation for him. Leave, wait downstairs for a little bit, then come back up. He doesn’t have to know you were here. You pull the door towards you to slowly shut the door. As it swings shut, your boot catches the edge, causing the door to bounce off the rubber. The hollow squeak sounded louder than church bells in the current situation.

Harvey’s head whips around, his eyes widening in horror.

“Oh Yoba!” Harvey shouts, fumbling with his laptop screen. His hurried, frightened movements cause him to trip over himself, nearly knocking over the bookcase and all of its contents.

“I- it- oh my- I can't believe, I-” Harvey’s panicked voice rushing over his words.

“Hey, hey, it's okay!! Harvey, it's fine!” Your race to issue as much reassurance as you can through the half closed door.

“I wasn't, I mean, I was but, shit this is so embarrassing oh Yoba I don’t know what to say.”

You close the door over and hide even further behind it, teetering on the edge of the stairs.

You can barely make out Harvey's figure as he fumbles to pull his pants up around his hips before the door shuts completely. You hold onto the handle with one hand, your knuckles turning white from sheer panic.

“Harvey, really, you're fine! It's okay!!” you call through the door. “I'm so sorry I didn't mean to walk in on you, this is my fault, I'm so sorry.”

“You're just here earlier than I expected, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe-” Harvey pulls the door open, looking at you with a beet red face. You stumble over your feet to catch your footing.

Harvey narrows his eyes.

“Are you okay?” The panic in his voice fading immediately.

You don't say anything, feeling your own embarrassment sneak in.

“Your leg? What happened?” Harvey's voice shifts from anxious to concerned medical professional immediately.

You didn't realize you were still rubbing your calf.

“What?” You almost forgot. “No, I'm fine, I think I just strained it or maybe a charley horse, I'm fine. I thought maybe it was my sign to come back a little early. I should have texted you, I'm sorry.”

“Yes you should have!”

You feel a wash of shame at his voice being raised. This was all your fault, none of this had to happen if you had just been responsible and texted him first.

“You shouldn't have walked on it, I could have come and gotten you. That's what I'm here for. To help you.”

His words softened and by the end his voice was soft like satin.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have just let myself in. There’s nothing wrong really. I can go,” you offer.

You stand up straight, putting your weight mostly on the other leg.

The pain fades into a dull ache that feels more like a memory of an injury.

Harvey walks to you, placing a finger under your chin. He pulls your eyes to meet his.

“Hey, no, stay here. You don't have to leave. Let's get you off your feet.”

Reluctantly you follow Harvey into his flat, feeling a flush of panic and shame for having created such an uncomfortable situation.

“You don't have to do everything yourself, you know,” Harvey said.

You laugh to yourself, thinking of all the times you were really injured, and probably should have called upon him for help, but didn't. Of all injuries this was hardly the one you'd bother him with.

“I've been through so much worse,” you say, before realizing that was probably the last thing Harvey wanted to hear you say.

“It's just a muscle cramp. Really.”

You try your best to assure him, but the worry still sticks to his face.

Harvey runs his hand down your arm.

“Why don't we get you some water, sit down, relax a bit. If you're getting Charley horses you might be dehydrated. Or you're overworking yourself, but either way, water isn't a bad idea.”

You feel yourself blushing at how Harvey rushes to take care of you.

You don't say anything out loud at first; you just take a seat on your favorite stool.

“It seems we're both not used to having someone else fuss over us.”

Harvey reaches for a glass, his pj's riding down on his hip slightly.

“Whatever would give you that idea?” Harvey jokes.

Harvey’s voice returned to normal, but his eyes still held worry. His brows stitched together in concern. Concern for which one of tonight's events was a toss up. Probably both, realistically speaking.

As much as you hated to admit it, taking a load off felt nice.

The two of you fixate your gazes on the tap filling the glass. You wondered which one of you would break the silence first.

Harvey turns the tap off and leans over the counter to slide you your drink.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You take a modest sip trying to draw out the silence until one of you finds the strength to speak.

To your surprise, it’s Harvey.

“Listen,” Harvey starts. “I-I would feel better if we just…forgot about what you saw. I honestly-I can honestly say I have never been more embarrassed by anything in my entire life.”

Harvey fixes his gaze on the floor, wearing away at an already thread barren towel sitting on the sink.

“Harvey.” You try to soften your voice as much as you can without sounding like you're patronizing him. You want to tell him you’ll forget all about it. You want to tell him there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but you know that won’t help the situation.

“I've always felt this weird, I don't know, shame? About that." Harvey makes a wide motion with his hands towards the corner of his room with his desk.

“I know all the facts, I know it's not weird and it’s common for a lot of people. I hear the shame and fear from patients myself, all the time! And I reassure them that, scientifically, it's not only safe but healthy. And if that doesn’t help and they still have concerns, I’ll suggest a therapist I know out of town, and they’ll come back to me telling me how much it’s helped them. I know all that. But…” Harvey trails off, tracing a finger along the edge of the counter.

“I find myself feeling weird about it too. Like, I don't…” Harvey shifts from foot to foot.

“Like you don't what?” You reach out, taking his hand in yours.

“I feel like I don't deserve it. I feel like, okay, sex, at least someone else is getting something. I'm serving a purpose. But by myself it's just me, and I struggle with the idea that I deserve it.”

You sit in silence, letting Harvey take his time and say whatever he feels comfortable saying.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I don't know why I'm telling you all this. This just made this even more embarrassing.”

You take a beat before speaking again.

“Thank you for telling me. You can always tell me whatever you want, and I want you to know how much I appreciate you sharing that with me. I know it can be hard.”

You reach a hand towards him, inviting him to your touch. He obliges, leaning into your cupped hand. You gently stroke his cheek, feeling the flush of his skin.

“But we don't have to ever talk about this again if you don’t want to. You have my word. I will speak of it no more.”

Harvey went quiet for several minutes. The only sounds coming from the ticking grandfather clock and the hum from the radiator.

You don't look away, keeping a soft gaze on his face.

“You don't think I'm weird for it?” Harvey’s voice was small, almost weak.

“Yoba no!” You exclaim. “I'd be a hypocrite if I did. My vibrator gets more use than my farm tools. My bottom drawer is as colorful as a rainbow.”

You offer him a lighthearted smile as your eyes search his face.

Harvey closed his eyes and nervously tapped his foot against the linoleum floor.

“That's really a relief to hear,” he says with a nervous chuckle. “My biggest fear was that you’d be upset.”

“Upset?” You tilted your head to the side. Upset? Upset about what? The very idea would never have crossed your mind.

“Yeah,” Harvey drawls. “One of my past partners felt a certain way about it. Certainly didn't help me with my own hang ups.”

“I'm really sorry to hear that.”

“Eh,” Harvey shrugged. “We were young. I wasn't exactly the most reasonable person either. It was just a bad time.”

You nod. We've all been there you want to say.

But instead you say, “just know that I’m here to listen. And if you want to stop, we stop. But I’m here to listen for as long as you want.”

This time Harvey is the one to nod. You can practically see his thoughts racing behind his eyes.

“It’s okay. We can keep talking. This is good.”

You settle into your seat and take a breath in. You open your mouth to speak, but just offer a smile, a nod, and a small squeeze of his hand instead.

“So you don’t think it’s weird?” he asks again, continuing to nervously shift around.

“I think it's hot,” you say with a shrug.

“Really?” Harvey’s surprise both visible and audible.

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “I would have been open to watching if that had been something you wanted. I panicked, and I didn't know whether to say something, leave and come back, pretend I didn't see anything and call out like I had only just arrived…”

“I would have picked the last one if you gave me the option,” Harvey said, putting his head down laughing.

“I'm so sorry,” you plead. “I was turning to leave, but I made too much noise. I’m truly sorry, I wasn't there for more than 5 seconds, I swear. I wasn't even sure what I was seeing at first, it was that quick a glace. If that helps.”

Harvey inhaled deeply.

“That actually does help,” Harvey chuckled.

“But-” he stuttered. “I'm kinda glad you didn't. Leave, that is. I'm kinda glad we're talking about this. Really glad, actually. Not just to clear the air, but because this feels like a really good conversation for us to have.”

Your heart beats out of your chest, you feel so warm and fuzzy.

“I really like you,” he says softly. Harvey looks up at you over the rim of his glasses.

“I like you a lot, so, this feels like something I should share with someone who I really, really like.”

“Oh Harvey,” you say, placing your hand over your heart. You had a million things you would have liked to say. But all you could do was sit there, staring at the man you were falling in love with, thinking about all the ways you wanted to kiss him.

“This is, I guess, my first real, mature, established relationship since college. And even then, I don't know if I can call any of those relationships mature or real.”

“I'm really honored to hear you say that,” you say in a voice closer to a whisper. You can barely hear him over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.

Harvey closed his eyes and took in another deep breath.

“I guess that's the plus side of dating in your 30s, huh? We're all a little experienced.”

“A little traumatized,” you add. You sound like you're joking, and even though you both throw your heads back in a laugh, you both know you're right.

There's some more silence between you, but the air feels lighter.

Harvey rounds the corner of the counter and wraps his arms around you. He holds you in a tight hug. His heart sounded like a war drum.

“Thank you,” he says. His voice deep and echoing in his chest.

“You deserve to be happy, Harvey.” you say, absentmindedly running your fingertips down his back.

“I’m starting to believe that, now,” he said, pressing his lips to your forehead.

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