#if anyone wants to see the REALLY old stuff let me know
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rangersoup · 2 days ago
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Thank you @emsprovisions @carlos-in-glasses @lemonlyman-dotcom @eclectic-sassycoweyes @paperstorm @nisbanisba @thisbuildinghasfeelings @heartstringsduet @annoyingcloudearthquake and @futures-tense for tagging me!! I’m really feeling the love today 🥰 here’s a snippet of my current wip Turn and Burn which can be read in Ao3.
Uh-oh, I know that face.”
“What face?” Carlos demands, looking up from the case file he is only pretending to look through.
“Your pouty face,” Campbell says, taking a long sip of his coffee as he sits down at the desk next to Carlos.
“I do not have a pouty face,” Carlos huffs.
Campbell chuckles and gives Carlos a pitying look. “Sure and I have two heads.”
Carlos glares at him and he only shrugs. “What's eating you on this fine Monday morning?”
“Oh nothing,” Carlos sighs and pretends to direct his attention back to the file sitting open in front of him. His mind couldn’t be farther away from work. He’s still thinking about the rambunctious medicine hat mare.
“I don’t know how I feel about you lying to me, partner,” Cambell says on a long exhale, leaning back in his chair to study Carlos. Carlos tries to ignore him, but he can feel him watching him.
“It’s nothing,” he insists.
Campbell keeps staring at him expectantly.
“Don’t you have better things to be doing than harassing me?”
Campbell checks his watch and shrugs. “Not really. I’ve got all day to get stuff done.”
“It’s stupid and doesn’t matter.”
Campbell sighs and hangs his hat on the divider between their desks. “Is it husband problems or kid problems?”
“Neither.” Saying this is a mistake because Campbell lifts an eyebrow. Now he really has his interest piqued.
“Hmm,” Campbell’s gaze gets a little more intense. “TK brought home another unwanted reptile?”
Carlos cracks a smile and laughs a little. “No, no more new pets. Yet.”
“Yet?” his partner prompts.
“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”
“Definitely not.”
“Fiiiine,” Carlos says, giving up on his attempt to be coy. “It's about a horse.”
“Oooh boy.”
“Yeah,” Carlos agrees. Oh boy is right.
“Well, let's hear it,” Campbell says, waving his hand.
“I gave TK a riding lesson over the weekend–”
“And he got dumped off and wants nothing to do with em’ anymore?”
“Would you let me finish?”
“Yes, sorry, continue.”
“No, while we were there someone came by returning a horse he bought, that’s apparently crazy and hasn’t been able to keep a owner longer than a couple months before being brought back…”
“And you want to try to train the crazy horse and your husband doesn’t want you to get your neck broken or your brains kicked in?” Campbell finishes for him.
Carlos purses his lips. “Something like that.”
“But he doesn’t know horses so you're not inclined to listen?”
“Also yes.”
Campbell nods his head thoughtfully. “How bad we talking?”
“People have been trying to work with her for two years and no one’s been able to sit on her.”
“It’s a mare? Boy, you really are in trouble,” Campbell chuckles.
“Yeahhh,” Carlos agrees with a deep sigh.
Campbell goes back to studying him for a few more moments before speaking again. “What’s special about her?”
“Who says there’s something special?”
“Your face and the fact that we’re having this conversation.”
Carlos lets out a little huff of air. He should know by now that his partner has the ability to read him like an open book. Hiding things isn’t ever going to work. “She’s the last horse my dad ever touched.”
“I see.”
“And she’s the last foal to come out of my old horse.”
Campbell rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I'm not gonna try to talk you out of trying to work with her. But I will say, I’m quite fond of you even if you’re a pain in my ass and I’d hate to see you get your brains kicked out.”
“It’s a stupid idea, isn’t it?”
Campbell shrugs. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen her for myself.”
Open tagging anyone who wants to participate!
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paxaz535 · 18 hours ago
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Brothers Best Friend
♡pairing ♡
paige x black!oc
chapter v
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series here
——————
When Makayla, Emma, Daveli, David and Paige all arrived to the very nice hotel, it was already four. They really didn’t expect anyone to be there because, let’s be honest, who’s really on time for real? if anything, Eli was quite relieved, she wanted to get herself situated before she had to greet anyone anyways.
“Who all did you really invite, David?” Paige asked her best friend as they all stood on the elevator. David chuckled nervously as everyone looked at him. “Oh you know.. just Derek, Lonzo, jayden and his homies.” Eli squinted her eyes. “That’s it?” She questioned. She had a feeling he had more people sliding. David waved her off, “Don’t worry about all that.. just know we gon be lit.” Emma, Makayla and Eli shared a look, they had a feeling something was gonna go down.
As the group of 5 made it to the 4th floor, they all stepped out the elevator. Eli looked down the hall to see pink decorations around her door. She squealed, already getting excited. Makayla and Emma giggled while David and Paige just grinned. “Guys..”
When they made it to the door, Makayla handed her the key card. Eli was cheesing, happily taking the card and unlocking the door. When she walked in, she let out a big gasp. It was pink and black balloons all around the living area, she picked one up and walked further in. She looked towards the kitchen to see a huge ass cake sitting on the counter with her picture on it. It was chips, candy and just a whole bunch of goodies sitting around. Eli couldn’t help but cover her mouth, she was getting emotional.
“Yall didn’t..” She spoke out of shock. Emma stood by the bed room door. “In here is all the good stuff.” She spoke as she opened it. Eli turned around and before she could even step inside, she saw a mini pile of presents. She quickly walked in to see a big pink sign in balloons on the window that said ‘Happy Birthday Daveli’ and more balloons on the ceiling. it was a number 18 right next to the bed with pink pebbles on the bed.
She saw a led light ball in a corner meaning when it got darker, they’d display it and make the room look pretty. It was heart balloons by the bathroom, she noticed mini portraits of her around the room, some with David, some with Paige and some with Makayla in it. It was one with her and Emma on the tv stand and she noticed every one of them.
She was crying by now, they put so much thought into the room and she couldn’t have ask for better friends. She quickly turned towards them and hugged everyone one by one. “Thank you, thank you. this is too cute. I love yall so much.” She spoke, tears still coming down. They all chuckled, seeing the girls reaction.
Paige then remembered, “I have one more thing for you.” She spoke and ran out the room. Daveli was confused and looked at David. He shrugged, “Imma go get myself situated in my room. my peoples should be here soon.” The girls just nodded, eli going back to gawking at the room.
She quickly took a picture and automatically posted it on her story.
daveli.lili added to their story !
(pretend it’s still light out)
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When Paige came back with the flowers, she stayed outside the door, texting Eli to come out. When Daveli got the message, she was even more confused. “Paige just texted me to come out.” She told the two girls in the room. Makayla and Emma looked at each other, then back at the 18 year old.
“Then go!” Eli widened her eyes and nodded, quickly leaving the bedroom. When she opened the door, she saw Paige with a huge bouquet of flowers. They were pink, just like her favorite color. Her eyes went wide again and a gasp left her. “Happy Birthday, Eli.” The blonde spoke softly as she gave the flowers to the girl.
“Paige..” Eli looked at them and back at the blonde. She quickly gave her a hug, squeezing the girl tightly. When Paige gave her a squeeze back, Eli smiled big. Hugging Paige has always been the best feeling Eli could endure, paige was always warm and smelled so good. “Thank you, p. I love you.” She spoke softly and leaned into her until she couldn’t.
“I love you too, D.” But not in the way she wanted her to. Hearing Paige say that was music to her ears, but she knew p didn’t mean it in the way she longed for. The girls were so busy wrapped around each other, they didn’t see Azzi, Carol and Jaida walk up. Jaida was the one to disturb the moment, clearing her throat.
The two separated, not knowing the three was standing there. “Hi there.” Azzi spoke in a teasing tone, making Paige blush out of embarrassment and Daveli look away, trying to hide her smile. “Wassup, yall.” Paige spoke as she gave Carol and Azzi a hug. She dapped up Jaida and smacked her back.
Azzi and Carol approached Eli, teasing smiles on their faces. “Hi, birthday girl.” Azzi spoke and gave her a hug. “Hey, Azzi.” She cheesed and turned towards Caroline. “You’re carol, right?” The brunette nodded, a shy smile on her face. “It’s nice to meet you, happy birthday!” The two went in for a hug, making Eli smile wider. She loves hugs, if you couldn’t tell.
“Thank you!” Paige and Jaida then walked up, looking at the 18 year old. “Eli, this is Jaida. I told you about her.” Eli nodded, giving the brownskin girl a quick look up and down. She had on baggie jeans with a pink hoodie. Her hair was in a slick back ponytail with a puff in the back. She had a grey and pink beanie on, the girl was screaming gay. She was a stud, Eli’s type.
“Nice to meet you, jaida.” She spoke as they hugged, “You too, eli. Happy birthday, pretty.” Daveli smiled, leading them towards the room. Paige gave Jaida a discreet look before turning towards Eli. “Oh, they showed out. It’s nice in here.” Azzi spoke as they all walked in the hotel room.
“Keep that door open!” Jaida turned around to see a light skin girl, she had stitch braids with a pink juicy couture outfit and a black travel bag. “Who’s that?” Paige whispered. Jaida shrugged, she was intrigued on who this girl was… until a man came jogging after her. Paige stilled a laugh, seeing Jaida’s face drop. The brown skin turned towards the blonde and flicked her forehead, Paige rubbed it and walked into the room fully.
“Thank you. Derek, hurry up.” She called as Derek was still two doors away from them. Derek just smacked his lips, speed walking towards his girlfriend. She let out a big sigh, keeping the door open for him, Jaida was already inside, going towards everyone else.
The couple walked in, taking in the environment. “You seem excited as fuck to be at your opp’s party.” Derek spoke as he and Nai sat on the couch. She turned towards him, “I only came here because of you, don’t piss me off.” She spoke as she smacked on her gum, leaning back and getting on her phone.
Inside the room everyone was chilling, Emma and Makayla already changed into their swim suits. “Yo.. it’s some light skin girl and her nigga out there.” Jaida spoke as she sat next to Azzi. Daveli froze, slowly turning towards Makayla. Makayla had the same look on her face, then they both looked at the rest of the girls.
“Woah.. what happened?” Carol asked as she noticed their whole demeanor’s changed. “That’s Nai.” Emma spoke. Daveli gagged just hearing her name, making Paige eyes go wide. “That was Nai?” She asked, she never really paid attention to the girl before but now putting a name on her face made her realize. Emma went on to explain what happened so the girls could be caught up.
Daveli just sighed, looking at Makayla. “Whatever, it’s my day. No bad energy.” Makayla nodded, a smile on her face. Daveli then went to the bathroom to change into her two piece, taking paige’s flowers with her. She took a picture before she changed and posted it.
Daveli added to their story !
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She then changed into her pink two piece and put a black cover up on. She came out and everyone was either getting their stuff out of their bags or just lounging around. “Yo!” David voice rung out. “What’s up, David?” Derek spoke, dabbing him up. “Hi, david.” Nai’s voice could be heard, making Eli make a mug look on her face. Emma and Azzi laughed and David heard, busting inside the room.
“Ayeeee, What’s up yall!?” Everyone spoke back, Jaida getting up to dap the curly head up. “This might not be my actual room but that still doesn’t give you a reason to bust in, David.” Eli spoke as she put her clothes away. David looked at her, a bored look on his face. Eli shot her eyes out at him, popping her neck.
There was a knock at the front. “I got it!” Derek spoke. When he opened the door, he saw Lonzo, Jayden, Mj, and 3 more girls. “Wassup?” He greeted and let them in. “Hey, Nai!!” A girl yelled as she ran towards her. She had strawberry blonde hair and hazel eyes. Nai shot up, seeing her friend. “Hey, Mia!!” They hugged and began talking. The other two girls were looking for Daveli, actually wanting to speak to her.
Derek lead them to the room to see everyone laughing at something Eli was talking about. “Is that Daveli Corjay Robertson?” Daveli eyes widen, looking at her two friends. “Yall are feds!” She smiled and walked towards them, hugging them tightly.
When they pulled away, Eli faced everyone. “This is Connie and Caniya. Yes, they are twins.” She spoke, the two sisters already had their swimsuits on so they just sat their bags down and waved at everyone.
“Yall are pretty as hell.” Carol complimented. The twins smiled, thanking the brunette and giving her a compliment as well. “Alright, I think everyone’s here, yea?” David spoke as he stood up. Eli looked around, nodding her head. As much as she disliked Nai, she didn’t want the girl to be clueless on what’s going on. She noticed the gift corner got bigger, making her internally smile.
“Yo, can you tell them to come by the door so I don’t have to repeat myself?” She asked as she wiped off her make up from earlier. Derek nodded and poked his head out. “Yall, come here.” Nai and Mia stopped mid conversation and stood up, standing by the door.
“Okay! First of all, I wanna say thank you for coming to this, i was lowkey stressing but we here.” Everyone cheered, the girl hearing happy birthday’s. She just smiled and continued. “Secondly, I just wanna let everyone know the plans, alright? I rented out the pool from 6 to 10 but you’re free to leave and come up to get comfortable whenever. I’mma probably leave early because dinner won’t be here till like 9. David has his own room so his peoples can stay with him.” Everyone nodded, understanding what was going on.
Eli looked at her phone. “Well, it’s almost 6 so whoever needs to get changed, go ahead. Where’s the speaker?” She asked as she slid on her slides. “I got it.” Jaida spoke as she picked it up. Eli smiled, winking at the girl. Daveli started to get everything she needed and she started making her way downstairs. Makayla, Emma, Paige, Azzi, Carol and Jaida was behind her, them already being ready.
When the girls were on the elevator, the blonde decided to talk. “Yo, who was that girl with Nai?” Paige asked. Eli side eyed her secretly, why is she worried about it? Emma, being the bright one she is, answered happily. “Oh, that’s Mia. They be attached to the hip.” Paige nodded her head, looking over at Jaida.
Jaida shook her head, smirking in the process. Daveli peeped the whole thing, looking over at Makayla to see her face. Makayla lips went into a straight line, knowing exactly what her best friend was thinking. Azzi and Carol also shared a look, silently watching the interaction. The two gays didn’t seem to notice the slight shift, going on their phones.
Daveli couldn’t— wouldn’t let that ruin her night, it’s her birthday. Fuck everything else. The elevator finally got to the first floor and everyone emptied out, walking towards the pool.
When they reached it, they were shocked to see how big it was, this hotel was expensive and the pool probably proved that. “Holy shit, eli.” Carol muttered, everyone was surprised. Daveli giggled, speed walking towards a lounging chair. “Well, come on let’s get wet.”
“Ayo?”
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next chapter will be based off a flash back
i’m excited for that
taglist - @melpthatsme @prettygirl-gabi @rebecca-woso @starfulani @avvwritesstufff @evry1luvzzae
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noc1818 · 2 days ago
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A Score to be Settled - Chrollo X Reader Fanfic
Hey everyone! I've had this idea for a Chrollo fic swirling around in my head for a while now, where Chrollo wrongs the reader, who's also from Meteor City, during their childhood. This event impacts them so deeply that they’re willing to go to any lengths to seek revenge and settle the score. This chapter is just the backstory leading up to the main plot. If you're interested in reading more, let me know—I’m really enjoying writing it and have a lot more I want to explore! Plus, it’s a fun project to help me get back into writing again. I truly appreciate any support!
Also, this is mostly unedited because I was too excited to share, so feel free to let me know if anything needs fixing!
A few warnings for this piece: Dark themes, death, angst, and intense struggles for survival.
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Chapter One: The Debt
Meteor City - Residential Area, 1984
Digging through the scrap was a common occurrence in Meteor City. It was the only way to survive. It always astonished you that people would just throw out and dump some of this stuff without a second thought. Had they never had to scavenge for food or clothes? The idea of having a roof over your head and some form of food security felt like a distant daydream. But that was not your reality. Even at such a young age, the harsh truth of Meteor City was ingrained in your very being.
This had always been the case, at least since you could remember. Your first true memory was when you were five years old, hiding in a broken refrigerator with your little sister, Sumi, who was only two at the time, from some less-than-favorable characters searching the area. That was the reality for all the kids in Meteor City—except for Sumi. She was always a ray of light. Even in the darkest moments, she could spin a positive outlook, which, while uplifting, was sometimes a bit overwhelming.
Recently, she’d been going on and on about a group of kids, she’d met who performed shows for anyone willing to watch. Every day, she came back excited, telling you all about the latest show and its colorful cast of characters. You had promised her that one day you’d go with her to check out the performances. But the reality was that most of your days—hell, your entire childhood—had been spent scavenging and trying to make the best shelter you could for Sumi and yourself.
Still, if you were honest with yourself, your efforts were starting to pay off. You had gathered enough food and non-perishable goods to start a stockpile for the coming winter.
Not only had you been gathering food, but you had been saving Jenny, hoping to accumulate enough to get you and your sister out of the city. At thriteen years old, hidden in your makeshift shack and buried deep within an old metal tea kettle, you had quite a bit saved up. The reality was that it wasn’t much, but to a child with nothing, a hundred Jenny could change a life. Soon, you and Sumi would leave this scrap heap behind and start a real life. You’d be able to give her a solid foundation and a secure future.
As if on cue, scrambling down the narrow paths between the trash heaps, Sumi appeared. She ran toward you in her oversized pink sweater, patched and worn where the fabric had torn over time. She wore frayed blue shorts and dirty old sneakers. As she approached, you noticed her shoes were untied again and made a note to try to teach her how to tie them properly.
Upon seeing you, Sumi immediately called out, “Big Sis!”
Looking up, you gave her a warm smile and a wave. “Sumi, be careful running like that! You might fall!”
Hearing your call, she slowed down and made her way to your makeshift shelter. You had found a space between two scrap heaps, covered with metal sheets that mostly kept the rain out during downpours. You’d draped a cloth over the outside to help keep out the cold and block prying eyes from seeing inside.
Sumi walked over with a big smile, immediately hugging you tightly. “Big Sis, the show today was so cool! They were doing a musical.”
You hummed in acknowledgment of her excited ramblings. Your focus was more on her worn shoes and thinking how you might be able to get her a new pair. But Sumi bright, attentive eyes and her soft call of your name brought your attention back to the present.
“Y/N, are you listening?” she asked, tilting her head with a playful smile.
You nodded, ruffling her hair as you gave her your full attention. “Yes, I’m listening. Tell me all about the play. You said it was a musical, right?”
Sumi’s face lit up as she started rambling in detail about the play, the songs they sang, and the performances. It made you happy to know she had found something that made her so happy and allowed her to still be a kid.
Sumi’s gaze then shifted to the bread rations you’d found and set out for the two of you. She eagerly sat down on the dirt, ready to eat.
“Also, Big Sis, my friend from the play... Can she come over to eat sometime?” she asked, her brown eyes filled with hope.
Typically, you would say no. It was hard enough to feed just the two of you. But this was another kid—another kid from Meteor City—and she made your little sister happier than anyone else could. So, with a reluctant sigh, you nodded, saying, “Sure, but just her, okay?”
Sumi’s eyes widened, and she beamed. “Oh, good! She’ll be so excited when she gets back!”
That last part caught your attention—when she gets back. You wondered what Sumi meant by that, but rather than ask, you focused on the task at hand: getting something to eat. Hunger was often your main drive, having never truly been full your entire life. The two of you ate your bread and chatted the night away until it was time to sleep. You shared a torn-up mattress you’d found one day.
As your sister fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, you found yourself wide awake as always. The night was especially cold, even with the cloth covering the sides of your shelter. The cold air still billowed in, leaving you shivering to your core. Unable to sleep, you quietly got up and made your way outside.
Despite the chill, it was a beautiful night. The full moon illuminated the ruins of the city, casting a soft light on the heaps of metal scrap. The sky was clear—a rare sight since the smog usually made it nearly impossible to see the stars. But tonight, they shone bright and radiant, lighting up the darkness.
Little did you know, that on such a peaceful night, your life would change forever because of one mistake.
The sound of scrap being knocked over in the distance caught your attention. Despite your maturity for your age, your curiosity got the better of you. You crept toward the sound, the noise growing louder with each step. Expecting to find an adult out to cause trouble, you peeked cautiously around a corner. To your surprise, there stood a boy, slightly older than you.
He had his back to you, but you could make out his raven-like hair, which ended just above his ears. He wore a yellow-striped shirt and grey shorts, his sneakers as worn out as those of the other kids in the city. You also noticed his pale complexion. But it wasn’t just his appearance that caught your attention—it was the palpable anger radiating from him.
The boy was frantically searching every crevice in the piles of trash, looking for something—or perhaps someone. When a spot didn’t reveal what he was searching for, he would kick and throw things, sending the scrap tumbling down. But it wasn’t just his actions that struck you. There was an energy about him, an intense, almost suffocating wave of anger and despair that filled the air, making it feel heavy and thick with emotion.
You stood frozen, unsure of what to do. You had never encountered such a crushing presence before. The weight of his emotions was almost too much to bear. It took him a while before he realized someone else was there.
He turned toward you, taking a moment to process your presence. Even at his young age, it seemed like he was studying you, trying to figure out who you were. His expression was unreadable, but your silence seemed to provoke him. Without a hint of fear or caution, he started walking toward you. You weren’t surprised—after all, what could a bone-thin girl like you possibly do to a boy older than you?
As he drew closer, you noticed something you would never forget—his eyes. Steely grey, cold as steel, eyes that no child should have. They held a depth of pain, rage, and fear. It was as though his gaze could pierce through you, reading your every thought. The emptiness in them was unsettling, yet beneath that emptiness was an ocean of raw, unspoken emotion.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze remained locked on yours, unflinching. Then, in a voice that matched the indifference in his expression, he asked, “Why are you out here?”
You hesitated for a moment, processing his question. Finally, you answered in your quiet, almost inaudible voice, “I couldn’t sleep... it’s freezing.”
He listened, his eyes still fixed on yours, and after a brief pause, he nodded slightly. His tone remained flat, as if unaffected by the cold, the silence, or even the raw emotions swirling between you. “I suppose it is quite cold tonight,” he said.
You ask him the same question in return. “Why are you out here?”
Without hesitation, he responds, “I’m looking for someone.”
You raise an eyebrow, puzzled. Why would he be out here, so late, searching for someone? And what’s more, he’s dressed lightly, yet he doesn’t seem bothered by the cold. Curiosity laces your voice as you ask, “Wouldn’t it be smarter to search in the morning, when there’s daylight?”
A flicker of annoyance crosses his face, as if that option simply isn’t available. “Not possible. I’ll find her tonight.”
Normally, you would’ve dismissed him, turned away, and continued with your own business. But he’s another Metor City kid, and something in the back of your mind nags at you. He’s not dressed appropriately for the cold, and if he stays out here like this, he’ll get sick. You remember finding a man’s jacket a while back, one that was too big for you or your sister, and you think maybe it’s time to put it to good use.
“You’re going to catch a cold out here like that,” you say, a note of concern in your voice. “Come with me for two seconds, and I can give you a spare coat we have.”
Your tone is free of malice, just genuine care, and that catches his attention. He gives you a curious glance, eyebrows furrowing as if trying to decipher your intentions. Every kid in this city knows that nothing comes without a price, that nothing is truly free. So when he speaks, his words are cautious.
“I don’t need the jacket.”
His dismissal stings more than you expect, and you sigh, visibly irked. You take a few steps toward him, frustration settling into your voice. “Just take it. We don’t need it.”
At the word “we,” he raises an eyebrow. He’s perceptive, you realize. He takes a step closer, and you suddenly feel the suspicion radiating off him. “You have others with you?”
The question catches you off guard for a moment, but you recover quickly. “Yeah, my little sister, Sum.”
He pauses, his face unreadable, before asking, “You’re Sumi’s older sister? You must be Y/N, then.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. How does he know your name? You raise an eyebrow, and he chuckles, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Ah, my apologies. Sumi talks about you a lot. She’s always at shows with me and the others.”
That explains it. He must be one of the performer kids Sumi has befriended. You smile, relieved to understand the connection. “Oh! You’re one of Sumi’s friends. She never stops talking about all the shows you all put on. I hear about it all the time.”
“I’m glad she enjoys them so much,” he says with a chuckle. “My name’s Chrollo, by the way. It’s nice to officially meet you, Y/N.”
You extend a hand to him, offering a handshake. “Nice to meet you too, Chrollo.”
As you both shake hands, the conversation continues, and you press him once more to take the spare jacket. He doesn’t seem to trust easily, but the fact that you’re Sumi’s sister seems to put him at ease enough to accept the offer. You can’t let one of your sister’s friends freeze, after all. In your world, you cherish the small acts of kindness, especially when life is so unforgiving.
When you lead Chrollo into your home, you notice his gaze lingering on Sumi, who’s still fast asleep despite the chilly draft in the room.
“She sleeps like a rock,” you say with a smile, reassuring him. “Don’t worry, we won’t wake her up.”
Chrollo raises an eyebrow, then shifts his attention back to you. “Really? She always seems so happy, so it’s not surprising.”
“She’s always been that way,” you reply, a fondness in your tone. “She’s able to find the bright side of things. I’ve always admired her for that.”
“That’s an admirable trait, but a bit naïve,” he remarks, his eyes scanning the room. “And you, Y/N? Which side do you find yourself on?” His intense gaze meets yours, as if he already knows the answer, as if he’s searching for something more.
You hesitate before answering, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. “While I’d like to see things in the best light, it’s not always something I can afford to do. Life is tough, especially in the city. I’m sure you know that. I guess, if anything, I’m just realistic.”
Your words hang in the air, and you meet his gaze. Life hasn’t been kind, not forgiving, and you’ve learned to take things as they are—even if that means accepting a certain darkness. It’s how you survive. It’s how you cope.
Chrollo watches you as you pull the coat from the cooler you’ve repurposed as a storage bin. You turn to hand it to him, but before you can react, he’s right there, standing so close that you nearly jump in surprise.
“Oh, my—” you start, startled. “You surprised me, Chrollo.”
He chuckles lightly. “My apologies. It wasn’t intentional.” He accepts the jacket with a graceful nod. “Thank you for this.”
You watch him pull the coat on. It’s a bit oversized now, but in a few years, it will fit him perfectly. The jacket is a unique shade of royal purple, with white fur lining the neck and sleeve ends—definitely a one-of-a-kind piece.
“Well, Y/N, I have a search to continue,” he says, turning to leave. But before he pulls the sheet up to shield himself from the cold, he pauses and looks back at you.
“I’m also a realist,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “But there’s something so lovely about dreaming, isn’t there? I look at this life from both spectrums. Sometimes, I even think those dreams we chase so desperately can become our reality—if we push hard enough. Just something to think about.”
With those final words, he leaves before you can respond, disappearing into the night.
You stand there, staring at the door as his words linger in your mind. At first, you feel a sharp irritation. He didn’t ask for your opinion, so why did he offer unsolicited advice? And as for his belief that dreams could be turned into reality with enough force—that seemed utterly delusional, especially for kids like you, or anyone from Metor City. Hell, you’d be lucky just to make it to eighteen.
But something about what he said sticks with you, curling into your thoughts like a stubborn seed. You don’t dwell on it for long. You curl up next to Sumi, trying to shake the thoughts away, and drift into sleep. But as you do, you can’t help but wonder… what if, just for once, he was right?
 The next morning, you wake up to the sound of Sumi’s sobs, her distress pulling you from sleep. Instantly, you pull her into a tight hug.
“Shh, Sumi, it’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt? What happened?” Your voice is steady and calm, a skill you’ve mastered over the years, both as her big sister and in moments of chaos. You’ve always had a knack for calming people in hysteria, and Sumi, in her younger days, gave you plenty of practice.
After a few minutes of reassurance and gentle prodding, she starts to calm down. She looks up at you, her eyes wide and teary, her lip trembling.
“Big sis, it’s… it’s all gone. Our food… our money… it’s all gone,” she says, before breaking into fresh sobs.
At those words, your heart drops. What does she mean? Gone? Your stomach twists with dread.
You pull away from Sumi for a moment, moving quickly to the cooler. There’s no way it could be empty. But when you lift the lid, your breath catches. The cooler is completely bare. All the food and supplies you had gathered for months—some even for years—are gone.
Frantically, you move the cooler aside, only to reveal an empty hole beneath it. The kettle where you kept all your jenny, your coins, your savings—also gone. There’s nothing left.
Panic rises in your chest. How could this happen? Who could have taken everything? Why didn’t you hear anything during the night? Your mind races with a hundred questions, each more frantic than the last. Beneath it all, though, a seething anger begins to bubble. How could anyone do this to kids who had nothing?
But then, Sumi’s sobs break through your clouded thoughts, pulling you back to reality. This is where you need to be the bigger sister. You need to calm her down, to give her the reassurance she needs, even if it means making false promises in the moment.
You pull her into another tight hug, patting her head in an attempt to soothe her. “Shh, Sumi. It’s going to be okay. I’ll figure it out. We’re going to be just fine, I promise.”
Your words, however, don’t seem to help. Sumi’s crying only intensifies, her distress deepening.
“No, Y/N, it’s not! It’s almost winter! I may be younger, but I’m not dumb. I knew it took you almost all year to gather what we had, and that was mostly lucky finds. This is my fault!” she says through ragged sobs, her nose sniffling.
“It’s no one’s fault, Sumi,” you reply, your own voice breaking slightly. You can feel the tears welling in your eyes, but you fight them back, continuing to hold it together. “We’re going to be okay. I’ll figure it out. Everything will be fine, I promise.”
But Sumi, seeing the tears in your eyes, crumbles further. “Big sis, you don’t understand. This is my fault! It was my friends at the play. They took our stuff. I shouldn’t have told Big Sis Sarasa where we live. She must’ve told the others. But I don’t know how—she’s been missing for a few days now!”
Your heart sinks, piecing together exactly what’s happened. It was Chrollo. He and his friends took everything. You allowed yourself to be blinded by the fact that he was another kid, someone you thought you could help. But instead, he took advantage of your kindness.
It takes everything in you to hide your shock. You can’t let Sumi see your own pain and disappointment. Instead, you swallow your anger and fear, and lie to her, thinking that protecting her from the truth is what’s best.
“Sumi,” you say, forcing a smile, trying to sound reassuring, “I bet your friends are just borrowing some food from us. Nothing to worry about. They’ll bring it back soon, okay?”
You can see the doubt in her eyes, but there’s a glimmer of hope there too. That spark—the same one she’s always had—begins to flicker. “Prove it, big sis. How do you know?”
You take a deep breath, hoping the lie doesn’t show in your eyes. “I just know, Sumi. I’ll make sure everything’s okay. I promise.”
Even though she doesn’t fully believe you, the fragile hope in her eyes is enough to make you cling to your own false reassurance. For her sake, you need to keep it together, even if it’s falling apart inside.
After Sumi had calmed down enough to be let go, you stood up, needing some space to think and to get some fresh air. You reached for the jacket you had thrown haphazardly over yourself the night before to stay warm, and as you put it on, a small white note fell from the pocket. Sumi, too absorbed in her tears, hadn’t noticed it before.
You hesitated for a moment, but your curiosity got the best of you. You unfolded the note, already knowing who it was from. It could only be one person—Chrollo.
The note read:
Y/N,I am sure you are angry, and rightfully so. It was nothing personal, of course—just my family needed it more than yours. Take this as a lesson and grow stronger from it. Never trust a stranger, no matter what they look like.Best of luck, and do take care of Sumi. Thanks again for your generosity.
As you read the words over again, the initial shock wore off, and a seething anger filled you. That bastard had taken everything—everything—because he could. And now he had the audacity to call it a lesson.
Your blood boiled. You would find him. You would make him pay.
In the midst of your fury, you didn’t notice Sumi, still sitting on the floor, glance over your shoulder and read the note with wide, curious eyes.
“Big sis? What does it say?” she asked, her head tilted, voice uncertain.
You froze for a moment, her question catching you off guard. Then, your mind raced. You knew Sumi couldn’t read—something that, under normal circumstances, would be a problem. But today, it was a relief. More than anything, you wanted to preserve that spark of joy in her eyes, to keep her from losing that innocence and hope.
With a forced smile, you turned to face her and lied through your teeth.
“Oh, it’s just a letter from your friends. They’re gathering more food and are going to bring it to share with us.”
At your words, Sumi’s face brightened. The sadness left her eyes, and joy returned to her expression as she beamed up at you. “Really, big sis? That’s great!”
You nodded, offering her a reassuring smile, though inside, your mind was still spinning with your plan for revenge. Sumi spent the rest of the day telling you about the shows and how amazing they were. You listened, but your thoughts were elsewhere, planning the next steps, knowing full well that your reality wasn’t one that relied on hopes and miracles. You would have to be ruthless to survive in this world—and you would.
Meteor City – Residential Area, 1995
Years later, you found yourself standing once again among the scraps of Meteor City, holding a small yellow daffodil. You gazed down at the modest grave, an unreadable expression on your face. Deep inside, though, the wound was still open and raw. The stone atop the grave was crudely carved with the name Sumi. Her grave was one of the few places in this wasteland where life seemed to thrive—a small patch of grass and flowers growing amidst the decay.
You offered a faint, sad smile, thinking that even in death, Sumi brought hope and life wherever she was.
Your mind wandered back to that brutal winter in 1984 when you lost your little sister. After the Phantom Troupe stole everything—your food, your money—you were left with nothing. For months, you scavenged, but it was never enough. The freezing nights and lack of food took a toll, and Sumi grew terribly ill. You searched high and low for medicine, anything that could save her, but the world wouldn’t help two poor kids from Meteor City. Every time you tried, you were chased away or kicked out.
As the weeks dragged on, one night Sumi’s fever spiked too high. You held her until she fell asleep, but then you heard it—those final, shallow breaths. That’s when you knew. Your sister was gone.
Now, standing over her grave, you reached into the satchel you carried and pulled out three items: a ticket to a masquerade ball, a key, and new identification papers. These were the tools you’d carefully acquired through a contact to forge a new identity—a whole new life in Yorknew City. They were your tickets to escape Meteor City, to avenge Sumi, and to strike at the heart of the Phantom Troupe. You couldn’t let them know who you truly were.
You had devoted your life to this, to rebuilding yourself and taking them down—especially Chrollo. He was the one responsible for her death. It was all for greed. But that was going to end now.
Looking once more at Sumi’s grave, you made a vow, your voice firm and steady.
“Sumi, I swear I’ll come back once the debt’s been repaid. After all, we’ve got a score to settle.”
With that, you turned away and walked towards the tinted car that waited to take you to the next step in your journey. The road ahead was long, but it was one you would walk with purpose. Chrollo Lucilfer—the leader of the Phantom Troupe—had no idea what was coming for him. You would make him pay, and you would not stop until you did.
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headfullof-ideas · 2 months ago
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Some older stuff of the Next-gen kids. This is nowhere near the oldest stuff of them I have, and it’s not even all of it. But, well, I haven’t revealed whose parent is whose, so I can’t show half the stuff I have
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abyssalpriest · 1 year ago
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unrelated to that lmfao
i love being not (insert religions based on the kings and their people as ''demons'') but being adjacent to the communities while knowing the kings on a personal level because oh boy
#like i wont get into the Chrxstian God And The Kings' ''Fall'' rumour i did the other day but things like that and like#posts being like ''oh they love everyone all of us each of us'' and talking about The Lore of down there thats like. so clearly#twisted to be pro-(kings) propaganda and im like oh my god. if you worship them BECAUSE of these details you think are right then#im so fucking sorry they are way more complex and grey-moral than this#- i have to be clear. i do not know anything anyone says is false if its their worldview. Im not sitting here laughing because i think othe#s are Dumbdumb and cant get across the kings as Flawlessly as me uwu or some shit im explicitly talking about people saying#definitively that the chrxstian god did xyz thing and the kings are poor little meow meows and love everyone while also saying they#dont love everyone bc they vehemently disagree with chrxstians and stuff like. ''('demons') are actually the Pure sacred race theyre all#old gods theyre all pro-human and would never hurt a practitioner'' that type of stuff im like. ahhhhhhhh. so youve heard the propaganda#bc lets be real here i do NOT doubt any of these people's abilities its not my place so i dont even do it quietly to myself. very rarely#yes but like 1% of the time and its only when a bunch of red flags pop up but like. there are so many people on the kings' plane that#are telling humans these things bc......... well look at the goetic demons. royalty and people in power. who do people mainly go#to for demonolatry? The people in their society we understand to be kings. princes. dukes and duchesses. are they all these things? no#like Duke Vepar isnt a Duke lmfao i know her personally like she'll present like that but. imagine if that race wanted to talk to people of#our plane but only spoke to the english king/queen and dukes and duchesses and marquis and war generals and stuff to ask about#their civilisations. do you think that theyd get an unbiased view of the monarchy and the english religion and whatnot........#edit: so like we're really clear. its like seeing people brainwashed by fucked up politics bc. it is that.#sometimes you just have to laugh bc like god youre in deep and im so sorry#insert my ex (a spirit) lying to me and convincing me he was a video game character for five years like what else can you do but laugh#~abyssal murmurs
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thoughtvoid · 23 days ago
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Now that my work schedule is drying up faster than a puddle in a desert, I have to say. Holiday retail is getting really weird now.
It might just be for the store I work for, because management is making some really weird decisions, but some part of it feels like the shoppers are just. Not doing things at the right time, too.
Like. My work has slashed hours to nothing, to the point that I wouldn't even say we have a skeleton crew 90% of the time. Unless we're a skeleton with a couple of missing limbs. But during holiday, we of course have seasonal workers. Possibly not as many as usual, but also enough to make things noticeably better for the months leading into the Big Sale time. And for the Big Sale time, we had all hands on deck on Friday and Sunday/Monday.
But, while we did have a lot of orders to deal with, the amount of people we had scheduled to work them were actually struggling to have a good consistent workload. There weren't enough orders to keep us all busy, and most of our work was from taking care of the orders made during the holiday when we were closed. But as far as dealing with what came in all day, it was just us juggling with taking whatever had come in during the past ten minutes. Orders started to build up a bit over the weekend, but nothing like what I've experienced in the past and came to expect. The 'peak' days were fine and manageable.
...The days after the Big Sale days were hell, though. Employees to process things slashed immediately back to one person per shift a day, two shifts total. The company advertised a pretty good coupon the day after the biggest online sale day of the year. One day use, so anyone interested would have to order that day. I wasn't originally scheduled for orders, we had freight coming in that I was scheduled to help with instead, but I wasn't at all surprised to get pulled off that to chip away at orders instead. We didn't get the numbers under control for a couple of weeks.
I blame most of the insane workload on our company. Us backroom people weren't given a single break, not one single day without a sale to let us catch up with the orders that the Sales left behind. And our hours for backroom were divvied out to other areas of the store. (Which, granted, the floor upkeep people are basically treated as so low of priority that most of the year we might have one person scheduled to keep up with the entire store. And during the holiday time, they might have been given a couple of extra people who were more expected to back up registers.)
However. The customers were also just making the most inane choices. There were so, so many orders coming in like crazy after the Big Sale days, up until a week before Christmas.
I get that the "Big Sales" are overhyped at this point and not always the real lowest price they ever get to. But I've been at this store long enough that the price they get to is pretty much the lowest things will be through the rest of the year. The sales can be lower, or the coupons higher, but they usually aren't as good or are only just as good as the Big Sale day price. During the year, the sales and coupons might match up to more savings, but during holiday season? Everything's getting roughly the same deals throughout the last month and a half. There's no real need to hold off during the days when stores are prepared for high workload. With all the cost cutting, the store only bolsters its workforce for those specific days. And immediately afterward, they leave all the workers to deal with the floods that came afterward, be it with pushing people to work harder, asking them to stay more hours, pulling people from other shifts, or ultimately calling in people who managed to get a day off.
When it's a one day 40% off one purchase, I get it. That's a company screwing us over problem, and they don't even tell us at the store level when they give those limited time deals. That's something we would prepare for, if the company gave a damn about us being prepared for it. But the one week 25% during subpar sales? I'm sorry, I will be calling everyone who ordered during that kind of sale stupid. There was no need to wait compared to the better sales and coupons earlier. There was no need to have the two people scheduled per day struggling to keep the order numbers under control. And the people ordering the week before Christmas to have things shipped to them? 1) I hope they weren't seriously ordering for Christmas, and were just ordering something for themselves because 2) I hope none of those packages got there in time. In previous years, the website used to have a countdown for when something ordered online would be guaranteed to arrive. They stopped doing that at some point, but the deadline used to be 14 or so days before Christmas. (And they may have stopped giving that countdown because they wanted people who don't plan things well to place more orders even if it might not arrive in time.) My patience is thin during holiday season, and I have no good vibes to send to people who didn't jump on the sales they should have and wait until functionally the last possible moment.
TLDR: Retail holiday season has gotten weird because the Sale days aren't a problem, but for various reasons, the time between those days up until Christmas were horrid.
#I went in most days this past month mentally wanting to punch anyone who talked to me#And also mentally cursing at least a third of the people placing orders#The former because I was always trying to focus on grabbing orders and trying to go from a to b as efficiently as possible#But because I work in an environment with customers that can see me when I'm on the floor; I got stopped. A lot#I try not to actually be rude if they stop me; but I do go out of my way to avoid eye contact; and discourage people from talking to me#It's. Very difficult to do that successfully when I work mornings and that's when our crew is the most skeleton#I was frequently the /only/ one out on the floor for people walking around to spot and flag down#The cursing orders was usually reserved for people who bought things that were just. Super annoying to pack.#I know it was Christmas season; but we don't have good boxes for wreaths. We have tiny to medium to giant boxes#And the giant boxes aren't /flat/; they're kinda proportionally large for big width/length#Most Christmas stuff is annoying to pack tbh; but wreaths were the worst#And there were so many orders for them. I don't remember them in years past; and I've worked at this place for a solid 6/7 years#My old grudge was against a certain snowglobe; and frankly they weren't even /bad/. Also literal cardboard village things#But speaking of the past; the whole 'less than a skeleton crew' is the actual problem I have with all of this#/Because/ I've worked here a while; I remember the workload of the past#We used to have more people. For /every/ position. We used to have enough people to unload and /put out/ freight in 2-3 days#We backroom people used to have /overnight/ shifts during the peak sale time. No customers or distractions#Now we're doing good to just unload a truck the day it comes in. We're /lucky/ if it gets worked out within a week#One person when there used to be two#Three people when there used to be /eight/#Four people /total/ for the first three hours we're open. And then /maybe/ three people come in#Some areas that used to /always/ have a person scheduled are cut to nothing most of the year. Literally. They force supervisors to cover it#(Which includes my main position. Dedicated backroom worker? Nah; let the leadership team do that+five other jobs we cut down)#I like being able able to mentally recover after holiday by barely working anymore; but I can still recognize that's it's super shitty#Just because it's better for me (compared to my hours not really lowering much and I felt like I never got a break) doesn't mean it's good
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teaboot · 21 days ago
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One time my mom took me to a hibachi grill with a bunch of her friends and if you've never been to a hibachi grill basically the draw is that theres a bunch of interactive performance stuff done by the cook who cooks for you at your table, and one of the tricks they did at this one was take a squeeze bottle full of liquor and shoot it into your mouth across the table (with permission)
And now at our table my mom explained this because it was my first time going, and she wanted to make sure to warn me it was liquor because she knows I don't drink- she just said "if he offers to shoot at your mouth, say no because it's alcohol".
And so the chef does his thing and it's all very impressive, but the time does come where he pulls out this squeeze bottle of booze and asks me if I wanna try
I of course say no, because I really don't do alcohol, so he moves on to someone else
And I watch, and slowly come to understand that this is some sort of game, because once someone is drinking from the continuous flow the chef starts counting "ONE! TWO! THREE!"
I realize that we're trying to see who can keep drinking the liquor from three feet away without choking or spilling, and its a bummer cause i kinda wanna try and I CAN'T
But he goes around the table with everyone there, and I think my mom makes it to three, one friend makes it to five, I think my brother got to three as well, and he comes back to me
And I'm REALLY bummed out now but I will not drink alcohol, so I sort of sadly repeat that I can't when he pulls out a SECOND BOTTLE and grins and goes "juice?"
And Im like FUCK YEAH LET'S GO and I'm a bit worried he's gonna spray it into my eye or something but he doesn't, it hits me right at the back of the throat, and I start drinking while the whole fucking table counts "ONE! TWO! THREE!"
And like
It just sorta
Kept going?
And Im looking at the chef and he starts freaking out by the time we get to six, and at around seven I kinda start looking around and my auntie is staring back in shock, my brother is laughing his ass off and my mom has her face in her hands
And then at like nine or ten it gets like. Super tense and quiet, and only the chef is still counting
And I guess it got too much for even him cause we're at eleven and I don't believe in quitting early and it is almost painful how awkward it's getting
So he cuts me off at twelve and raises his hands in the air and everyone else cheers and claps like a dumb movie
and I just sit back in my seat to look back at my mother staring at me surrounded by everyone she knows, bright fucking red in the face and choking with honest to god tears in her eyes and she puts her face back in her palms and starts chanting "I don't want to know. I don't want to know. I don't want to know"
So I give her the biggest, proudest grin and tell her, "I won."
So now every time something suggestive happens in a movie, or in conversation, or something shocking happens around us and she goes to jokingly cover my ears, I just ask her, "Remember when I won?" And she goes face-down and groans, because I know EXACTLY how she thinks I trained to develop that particular skill and she HATES knowing that about me
The truth is though, I'm a whole ass 28 year old virgin. I've never so much as kissed anyone in my life. I had no idea I could do that trick until that exact moment
But she doesn't know that, and I'm never gonna tell her
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joelsgoldrush · 6 months ago
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“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k
worst!logan howlett x f!reader
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SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.
WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.
A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.
** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.
*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)
**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)
special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever
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The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.
Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.
Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 
Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 
Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.
The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 
You:
cutie patootie alert
there’s this really handsome guy at the bar
i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before
i think i’m in love with him
my night just got a 100% better
Allison:
age
what does he look like
is he bald?
You:
he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here
brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 
i didn’t stare at him for too long
otherwise that would’ve been very weird
and no he’s not fucking bald
that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 
Allison:
so you’re dating retired now
get it grandma!
You:
oh fuck you allison 
Allison: 
it’s okay girl we all have our flaws
just make sure it’s nobody’s father
wait it’s not mine right?
You:
nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it
Allison:
bitch 
Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.
“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.
The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”
Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”
Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 
Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”
The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.
“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”
Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 
“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”
Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.
“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 
“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”
(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)
He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.
“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”
“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 
“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 
You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.
“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”
Yeah… that you knew.
It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.
As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.
“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.
“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”
“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”
For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”
“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.
“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”
His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”
“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”
“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”
“Look, Wolvie. I–”
“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”
“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”
You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.
Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”
The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”
“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”
“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”
“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”
A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”
“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”
“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”
“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”
Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”
“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”
“Me neither.”
“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”
You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”
Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”
But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”
The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.
(But you aren’t.)
His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”
“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”
Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”
“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”
“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”
As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.
What the fuck had just happened?
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“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”
She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”
You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”
After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.
Your savior complex strikes again!
It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 
Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”
Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.
“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”
“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”
“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”
“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”
You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”
“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”
“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.
Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.
“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 
“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”
“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?
“You sure?”
“Affirmative.”
“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”
“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”
“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.
“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”
“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”
Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”
Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.
“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”
Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”
“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”
“What? No.”
“Why not? She’s cute.”
Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.
Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”
“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.
After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”
You could die at peace.
“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”
“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”
“Now why would you think that?”
“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”
“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.
“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”
“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”
“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.
He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”
Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”
His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”
This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.
“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.
“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”
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You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.
Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.
Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”
You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”
“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 
Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”
“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”
“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”
Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”
“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”
“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”
“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”
When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”
“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 
Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”
“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”
From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”
“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”
“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”
“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”
“Go fuck yourself, will you?”
“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”
Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?
Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.
“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.
You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”
Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”
You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”
He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?
“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”
He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 
“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”
You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”
The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”
“I just... I want to understand you better.”
“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”
He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”
With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.
“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”
“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”
The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 
Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”
Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”
But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”
Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”
You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”
He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”
“Should I give you some space?”
That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”
“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”
“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”
“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”
“God, do you ever shut up?”
You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.
“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 
“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”
“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”
“Am I that easily replaced?”
“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”
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Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.
Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.
He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?
It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.
Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?
“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.
“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”
The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 
“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”
“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”
You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.
“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”
“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”
“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”
“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”
“Careful.”
“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”
You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”
His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”
“Get your hands off her.”
Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 
“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”
“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”
Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”
“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 
The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”
“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.
“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.
“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.
“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”
“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”
The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”
Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”
“Don’t. Now is not the time.”
“I was protecting you.”
“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.
Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”
You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”
“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”
“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”
His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”
“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”
You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 
“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.
“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”
In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.
“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”
“Right here? On the counter?”
“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”
“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”
“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.
“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”
Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”
“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”
“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”
“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”
His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”
“L-logan–”
“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”
You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”
With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 
“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”
He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 
“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”
“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”
Who had given him a damn script for this?
The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.
Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”
And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.
“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”
You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”
“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”
You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”
Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”
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part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”
dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)
12K notes · View notes
acid-ixx · 3 months ago
Text
ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)
directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1
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read until the end for an author's note.
tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.
"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"
not delivered.
"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"
he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.
"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."
not delivered.
"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"
dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.
dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.
nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.
you, just you.
every bits and pieces of you.
in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.
when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.
dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.
"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."
not delivered.
"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."
not delivered.
"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."
not delivered.
"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."
not delivered.
"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."
not delivered.
"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"
not delivered.
"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."
not delivered.
"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."
not delivered.
"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."
not delivered.
he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.
and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.
because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.
he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.
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what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?
how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?
what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?
what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?
what does it require?
everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.
it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.
lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.
but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?
how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?
just how?
you are a flower.
and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.
growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.
you are a flower.
who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.
not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.
and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.
you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.
you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.
you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.
your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.
she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.
you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.
how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?
what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?
how could you grow now?
and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—
you simply wilt.
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8:31PM.
your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...
god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.
you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.
you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.
the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.
and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.
your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.
when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.
you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.
whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.
you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...
because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.
yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.
you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.
"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.
she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.
your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.
you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.
yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.
"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"
"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"
when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.
she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.
you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.
"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."
and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.
you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.
she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.
it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.
it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.
the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.
if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.
you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.
it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.
split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.
even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.
no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.
dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.
you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.
you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.
you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.
your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.
you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!
your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.
"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."
in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.
he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.
how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?
you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.
because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.
you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.
every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.
you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.
your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.
fuck, fuck, fuck.
why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!
you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.
tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.
and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.
your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.
not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.
calm down.
you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—
something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.
yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.
even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.
with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?
would it be worth it if the people around you see you?
you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.
would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.
are you actually going to do this right now?
you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.
all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.
eyes, they may be everywhere.
eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.
you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.
ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.
as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.
all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.
but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.
hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.
you're scared, rightfully so.
you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.
you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.
you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.
even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.
you deserve this.
and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.
you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.
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you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.
you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.
and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.
it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.
the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.
everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.
all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.
god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.
you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.
you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.
or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.
fuck, you're so close to passing out.
you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.
as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.
you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh
and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.
all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing
you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.
he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.
he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.
you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.
maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.
despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:
"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.
"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"
"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.
"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.
"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.
at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.
you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.
the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.
it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.
"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.
as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!
god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.
pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—
and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.
when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.
"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"
he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.
this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.
it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.
sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.
and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.
the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.
but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.
"feel better now, hon?"
"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.
after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.
he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.
the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.
you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.
you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.
and he's grateful he's that stranger.
because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.
and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.
"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.
"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of
an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—
"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"
he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...
"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.
he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.
"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."
it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.
this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.
he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.
yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.
you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."
"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.
"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"
you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.
"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.
you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.
so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.
you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.
yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.
it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.
that makes you feel excited.
you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.
fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.
when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.
the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.
you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.
he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."
you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.
and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.
when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.
time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.
the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—
god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.
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this is it.
you're going to die today.
you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.
nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher
the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.
matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.
he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.
straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.
in the abdomen, spikes.
blood first, then curdling pain next.
no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.
pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.
tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.
six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.
the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.
your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.
but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.
when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.
gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.
"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"
hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.
you've nothing to defend yourself.
oh god, oh shit, fuck.
you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.
yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.
the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.
a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.
you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.
you're going to die.
bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.
you're going to die.
"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"
he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.
you're going to die.
alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.
you'll die like her—
what an honor.
the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.
this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.
i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year
but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.
so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.
this is not as bad as their neglect.
you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.
you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.
when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.
... you're finally going to die.
"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"
you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.
all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.
but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.
the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.
and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.
but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.
instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.
he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.
yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.
you'd rather die than this.
even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.
he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.
you feel cold.
this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.
"jason...?"
"angel..."
a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.
of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.
and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.
what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.
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reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.
otherwise, i can't add anymore to my taglist so taglist requests are closed!
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producedbysohyun · 24 days ago
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A Not So Secret Secret
Kang Dae-ho x pregnant! Reader
Summary: You and Dae-ho join the game to settle your debts, unaware at first that the other is also playing. However, there’s something Dae-ho is also unaware about.
Warnings: Reader is replacing number 222 but has no correlation with 333, Reader is pregnant, mentions of killing and stuff like that. might be slightly inaccurate I’ve only watched the show once. Not proofread.
wc: 3.2k
a/n: I’ve had this idea for awhile but wasn’t sure if anyone would read it so I’m just gonna put it out there!
Pt.2 masterlist
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You had just finished the first round in the squid games ,red light green light, and you were terrified as you sat in your bed. Why were people being shot? How are you gonna get out? What is happening? A thousand thoughts raced through your mind at once until you felt a hand on your shoulder.
You turn around and your met with the face of a worried old woman. It was Geum-Ja, the sweet woman you met during the first game.
“Are you ok?” She asked.
You nod, not exactly in the mood for talking.
Her eyes flickered down to your stomach before looking at you again. She smiled “if you need anything please let me know..”
You nod again, trying to hint at her you wanna be alone before you hear a man yelling, saying something about a vote.
The guards reply a bit after saying that there would be a vote after each game, and a vote soon commences.
“389…please cast your vote….. 388.. please cast your vote” The voice of the guard said.
You were so deep in thought that you didn’t even notice who was currently walking down the aisle to place there vote until the buzzer went off.
“Another person voted to stay…” you thought in your mind… Wait what??
You couldn’t see that well from where you were standing but you caught a glimpse of his face.
It was Dae-ho.
“No… there’s no way… why would he vote to stay.. it can’t be h-“ Your thoughts were soon cut off by the guards voice again.
“222.. please cast your vote”
Jeez how long were you thinking for… whatever it doesn’t matter… you walk down the aisle shyly, feeling everyone’s eyes on you as you press the red button with the X on it. You don’t dare to look behind you, knowing who’s face you’d immediately see.
The votes for O only kept going up and by the end of the vote, O had won.
You feel the anxiety really getting to you and retreat to your bed, trying to run away from your worries. When you get there you feel a hand grab your wrist.
“Y/n…” Dae-ho says, a slight bit of panic in his voice.
You don’t want to turn around but you force yourself to, looking up at him.
“What are you doing here???” He asks in a not so soft tone .
“I could ask you the same thing…” you reply with an attitude, still upset about him voting O.
“I came to settle our debt-“ He tries to explain.
You cut him off. “And you didn’t think of telling me??”
He sighs trying to reason with you. “Listen.. y/n… they said not to tell anyone… I couldn’t risk losing the opportunity at the time… And you can’t get upset at me when you’re literally here as well…”
You rub your face in frustration. “I’m not upset at you for being here I’m upset you didn’t tell me and even more upset you chose to stay!”
“I didn’t know you were here.. if I had known that I would’ve voted X in a heart beat… We need the money baby….” He reply’s, his tone softening.
“This money is not worth dying for…” you say as you start to walk away.
“Y/n stop….” He grabs your arm softly.
“What….” You reply.
“We aren’t done talking…” he says, pulling you back towards him.
You sigh. “What else is there to talk about”
“Why are you here..” He asks. He thinks he knows the answer but he just wants to hear it from you.
“For the same reason you are…” You half lie. Yes you are here to try and settle your debt but also to get a little extra money for the baby.
He sighs, not knowing what to say.
You just turn around and start walking away before he grabs you once again but this time pulling you into his arms.
You’re surprised but you hug him back, not realizing how much you needed it.
While hugging you, Dae-ho couldn’t help but realize that it felt different, the way your body’s pressed together wasn’t quite as comfortable as your stomach was blocking him from getting to close.
He pulled away looking down at you.
“Y/n..?”
You looked away, realizing he probably noticed.
Five months before you joined the squid game you found out you were pregnant. You hid it from Dae-ho, wearing sweaters when your bump started to get a little noticeable and just saying you were cold despite it being summer, he didn’t think much of it. It was quite easy to hide because he was rarely home as he was looking for jobs.
You didn’t want to hide this from him. But you did, in fear that something would happen with your relationship as you wanted to keep the baby. You didn’t have a plan, you didn’t know when you were gonna tell him, all you knew was that you were gonna hide it for as long as possible.
Dae-ho’s hand on your arm snapped you back into reality. You look up at his worried face and just start crying, the hormones getting to you.
“Hey…. What’s going on…” He asks softly.
“I- I’m sorry-“ You stutter.
“Talk to me baby…” He puts a hand on your waist.
You back up, not wanting to be reminded that he knows now.
He keeps his distance but it kills him to see you like this.
“I’m- I’m pregnant-…” you say softly as you continue crying.
“W-“ He struggles to find his words “For how long??-…”
“Five months….” You admit.
“Why didn’t you tell me baby??” He says, still in shock.
“I’m sorry…” you continue crying into your hands.
He walks over to you and hugs you tightly.
You cry into his chest. “I thought- you would be mad..”
“Mad? Why would I be mad at you….” He asks softly.
“I don’t know….” You say, starting to calm down a little.
He continues to hold you and comfort you, silently cursing at himself for voting O, now realizing how much harder this is gonna be.
Later that evening you and Dae-ho join a group of three other boys, Gi-hun, Young-il, and Jung-bae.
You sit with the boys, your arms resting around your stomach out of habit and Jung-bae can’t help but notice.
“I’m gonna go take a quick nap..” You say to the group, your exhaustion getting the best of you.
You distinctively hear Gi-hun say something about dinner soon but just brush it off, too tired to even listen.
“I’ll be fine..” you say as you walk to your nearby bed and collapse on it.
Once Jung-bae notices you’re gone he looks at Dae-ho. “Is she um.. yk..” He asks nosily.
Dae-ho just sighs and nods and the group looks a little shocked, Feeling a newfound protectiveness for you, their new group mate.
After the group gets over the initial shock of the situation they start making a plan on what to do for the next games and how they are gonna survive as a group.
The sound of a voice saying to line up for dinner interrupts their conversation and Dae-ho goes to wake you up. You groan, not wanting to get up and slowly get out of bed before following him into the line. (He lets you go first cause he’s a gentleman 😘)
You guys get your food and go back to the spot where you were previously sitting. Right when you sat down a wave of nausea hit you and you just didn’t want to eat at all.
Dae-ho notices this. “Hey are you ok?”
You whimper slightly. “I can’t eat…”
The group looks at you concerned and Dae-ho speaks up again. “Why what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know I just feel sick…” You reply, leaning on him.
He rubs your arm softly before young-il speaks up. “You should really try to eat… the next meal won’t be till tomorrow morning… that’s probably not safe considering-“
Dae-ho cuts him off, not wanting to have you be reminded of it and get more stressed right now. “He’s right… try to eat just a little hm?”
You pout at him. “fine..”
You take small bites of your food, it’s not terrible but it’s definitely not making your nausea any better. Nonetheless you push through, knowing that you need to eat for the baby.
Dae-ho looks at you happily, glad you decided to eat.
You try to eat as much as you can before you just set the food down and lean on Dae-ho again, his presence comforting you through your sickness.
You end up falling asleep on him as the group just talks and continues their plan.
Once again, the voice on the speaker starts talking saying it’s time for bed or something. You don’t really know as you’re half asleep.
You feel Dae-ho softly guiding you off of where you were sitting and the next thing you know you’re in your bed, Dae-ho softly putting the covers over you before kissing your forehead.
“Goodnight N/N, I love you..” He says softly.
You smile sleepily at the nickname and reply. “Goodnight Dae.. I love you too..”
The rest is a blur until you finally fall asleep.
The next morning starts the same as the first. Everyone lines up to get breakfast.
You get your food, actually hungry this time and open the tin container, immediately eating everything while sitting in your bed. Dae-ho is with the group but if you’re being honest you’re not in the mood to socialize this morning so he decided to give you some space. That is until the old woman, Geum-ja, came up to you again.
“How are you feeling?” She asked sweetly.
“Better…” You reply shortly.
She holds her tin of food in her hands as she looks down at your empty one before handing you hers.
“Oh- no no it’s fine really-“ you try to reason with her, not wanting to take food from her.
“Oh don’t be silly it’s ok… You need to eat more..” she smiles as she hands you her food.
You bow, very thankful because you’re really hungry. “Thank you- you really didn’t have too..”
“Don’t mention it” she gives you a smile before her son comes over telling her to not scare him like that.
You sit there awkwardly as they talk before the old woman waves goodbye to you and smiles. You wave back at her before eating the food she gave you.
Shortly after eating the speaker says that it’s time for the first game and to follow the guards. You remember what Gi-hun told your group last night, pick the triangle. Knowing what to do for this next game, you feel pretty confident but are still nervous.
You rejoin with your group as you guys walk towards the doors into the colorful room with stairs.
You all walk in silence before Dae-ho speaks up. “You feeling better?”
You nod and reply. “Ya… I was actually able to eat so I feel alot better”
Dae-ho smiles and keeps walking up the stairs.
Everyone gets to the door and when it opens, confusion fills the room.
“This is the dalgona game.. right?” you ask Gi-hun, really confused.
He sighs and looks at you. “I don’t know what this is..”
The familiar feeling of anxiety crept back up your body but you tried to keep it at shore as everyone walked into the room.
Everyone stayed by their group as the rules for the game came over the speaker. “This game is the six-legged pentathlon. A group of five will be connected by their ankles in the order of who is gonna play the first mini game to who is gonna play the last. The Mini games consist of the following: Dakji, flying stone, gonggi, spinning tops, and Jegi. The group will complete the five mini games within the time limit and cross the finish line or they will be eliminated.”
After the announcement everyone immediately started scrambling, trying to find groups but the five of you just stayed with each other, discussing who was gonna do what.
Since your the only girl in the group everyone excepted you to know how to play gonggi but you surprisingly didn’t. Luckily for you guys Dae-ho would play it with his sisters and he get really good at it. So that was settled. Now everyone else just had to figure out what they were gonna do.
“I can do Dakji…” you said softly, not really knowing what else to do.
Everyone agreed on it and the rest of the line up was decided. You do Dakji, Jung-bae does flying stone, Dae-ho does gonggi, Young-il does spinning tops, and Gi-hun does Jegi.
Your groups discussion was soon interrupted by the first two groups going up, who soon later both lost.
As the games went on the waiting players became more immersed in watching the other players play and started cheering them on, acting as an audience.
A group finally won and everyone started cheering and jumping but you felt a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t jump don’t jump” Dae-ho said softly, not wanting you to use your energy or stress your body out.
You listened to him but kept cheering along with everyone else. For a second, you forgot this was a game where you could die and you’re not here to have fun. That was until gun shots from the other side of the room interrupted everyone’s cheering and brought them back to the harsh reality.
After many games it was your teams turn. You were the second to last team to play therefore you had no audience which your group was sad about. You on the other hand had no room to be sad as you were internally freaking out.
Your group lined up and your ankles got chained together. Then. The game started.
Your group walks in sync to the first mini game, Dakji.
You grab square piece of paper and throw it as hard as possible at the one on the floor, and to your surprise, it flips over. The group cheered as the walked to the next mini game. Jung-bae grabbed the stone and threw it at the other one, hitting it perfectly. The group cheered again and continued walking to the next one. They all sat on the floor in-front of a small table as Dae-ho skillfully handled the gonggi. Everyone watches in amazement as they pass right away.
They get up and walk to the next mini game, spinning tops. Everything was going good until Young-il messed up. Over and over and over. At this point it just seemed like he was doing it on purpose cause how can you possibly throw it behind you?? (Bro was totally doing it on purpose 😭)
After some focusing and stressing he finally got it. But you guys had no time to spare. Everyone quickly made their way over to the next mini game. Gi-hun quickly kicked the Jegi four times before kicking it way in-front of him.
Your heart stopped. “This is it” you thought to yourself before you were yanked forward towards the finish line. Young-il had helped Gi-hun kick it last second.
You guys passed the finish line, all relieved until you saw the other team in-front of you get shot. Despite winning, this made your heart heavy, remembering the situation you’re still in.
After getting your ankles unchained all of you walked back into the room, getting stares from everyone and heating groans from people that wished more people would die.
You stayed silent the rest of the evening until the vote. Your group had collectively decided to vote for X this time. You were sure you were gonna make it out. Until you weren’t.
By the end of the vote, O won again. And even worse, Jung-bae voted for O. Your own team member!
After realizing you were gonna be stuck in this hell hole for another game you definitely didn’t feel like eating, you got up and went into the bathroom, getting sick thinking about what you saw today and just because of your pregnancy in general.
*knock knock* “are you ok y/n?” The old woman says from outside the stall door.
“Ya-“ you wipe your mouth off with toilet paper before flushing the toilet and coming out.
“Remember if you need anything don’t be afraid to ask me…” She says reassuringly.
“Thank you..” you give her a soft smile before going to wash your hands.
When you come out of the bathroom you go back over to your group and see Jung-bae sitting with them again. Dae-ho must’ve brought him back.
You sigh and sit with them.
Dae-ho looks at you concerned. “Are you ok did you eat”
“I can’t Dae…” you reply tiredly and lean on him once again.
“Cmon baby just a little…” he nudges you.
You force yourself to remember that you can’t be skipping meals now due to your baby, Before sighing. “Ok…”
You eat some of the food, the nausea surprisingly going away.
“Drink some water too..” Dae-ho reminds you.
You nod and drink your water, immediately feeling alot better, still leaning on him.
Your eyes become heavy and you distinctively hear the group talking about something to do with a fight but you don’t pay much attention and fall asleep on Dae-ho’s shoulder.
*time skip to night*
You wake up on a mattress on the floor, super confused, and look to your right and see Dae-ho sleeping under a bed on the mattress? 😭
You look to your left and see young-il and Jung-bae also under the beds on a mattress.
Confused, you sit up and see Gi-hun awake, just sitting there. You get up and walk over to him.
“I need to use the bathroom” you say quietly to him.
Gi-hun looks at you. “It’s too dangerous to go alone-“
“I’ll go with her” the old woman says from the bed above you.
You and the old woman go over to the bathroom, only to be refused entry by the guards. So the old woman being the baddie she is puts on a pretty convincing sob story before the guards finally let you guys in, another girl showing up behind you guys and asking if she should come too.
“Don’t worry she’s a woman” the old woman says and the other girl follows you guys into the bathroom.
You quickly go into a stall and just cry. You’re so scared and you just wanna go home. You wanna lay in your bed again. You don’t even care if you’re in debt you just wanna go home.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the old woman opening the door.
“Are you ok? Is your baby coming? Is it your stomach?” The old woman questions you worriedly.
“I’m so scared” you say crying more before she hugs you tightly.
“It’s ok..” she comforts you.
That’s the last thing that things feel like right now. “Ok”.
You calm down after a bit and she leads you back over to your bed.
You step in between Gi-hun and Jung-bae, who is now up, to get to your bed.
You notice the Dae-ho is literally half way on your bed so you just decide to use his arm as a pillow. He gets a little startled but immediately falls asleep after. You hold onto his arm in your sleep, him being the only way to comfort you in this hell. After a bit of thinking you slowly drift off to sleep, feeling a little better that you’re not alone in this.
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a/n: thank you for reading this took absolutely forever! I want to make a part two so let me know if you guys would be interested!!
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lady-lauren · 4 months ago
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❥ SHOTA AIZAWA X FEM!READER
❥ WORD COUNT: 2.3k
❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: cam girl!reader, former student/teacher relationship (but you're still his ~favorite~), praise, mutual masturbation, sex toys, use of "good girl", lots of dirty talk, aizawa is a pervert and we all know it
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→ Kinktober Masterlist ←
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“Look how far you’ve come.” Shota loves how you still tremble at his praise, fingers faltering on the screen. “Remember when you used to be so shy? And now you’re just spreading your pussy open for me.” 
His gaze follows every movement, breath in his throat as you part your labia and slide your fingers down your folds.
He really thought it was just a rumor that the young generation of heroes had taken to social media to make money. Less villains meant less pay, sure, but he never thought he’d find you on one of his favorite sites, using the body he trained to stuff yourself with toys.
“You were always one of my favorites. Always such a good girl.” 
“I’m still a good girl, Sensei. Promise.”
You prove your point by smearing your fingers over your clit, moaning as your hips buck.
“Yeah? Then show me your face, sweetheart. Wanna fist my cock to every inch of you.”
It’s so wrong. He feels like a dirty old fuck in his bedroom, sweats shoved down to his knees and his laptop screen glowing in the dark on the bed next to him. His camera faces the muscles of his chest, angled just perfectly so you can see the dark trail of hair that leads down to his cock. The frame captures the pump of his bicep as he strokes his dick, yet he leaves it up to your imagination to piece together what’s happening off screen. 
“Then you have to show me your face too, okay?” 
There’s the nervousness he’s used to hearing crackle in your sweet voice. Always so studious, so sweet, the most pleasant of all the brats to deal with. You only ever wanted to please. 
He knew it was you by your bedspread in the thumbnail to your page. You still have the same pillows you used to have at U.A., all plush and girly with a memorable stuffie tucked off to the side.
“Maybe next time,” he offers, watching your tits heave and nipples tighten as you debate fulfilling his request. 
Your camera lens is focused from the bottom of your bed, allowing him the perfect view from your spread thighs to your delicate collarbone. You never show your face, not to anyone, not even in one-on-one chat rooms. He read your rules, but he’s special—he’s no scary stranger, just a perverted sicko who wants to watch his former student fuck herself for him.
He shouldn’t be doing this. But god he can’t help himself. He’s seen you flourish as a pro hero, tight suits and bright smiles to the public, and all he’s ever thought about is how fucking pretty you must look naked. 
“Then at least show me your cock, Sensei.”
You have got to stop calling him that. Yet his cock throbs and leaks at the honorific. 
“Fine.”
His simple answer is enough to convince you. You sit up on your knees on the bed and lean forward, making his mouth water as your breasts fill his screen. 
Shota strangles his cock in his fist as all of you comes into view. You raise the camera high enough to show your whole bed from an upward angle, letting him leer at you from head to toe. 
“Atta girl.” He groans as you lean back against your pillows with one hand anxiously running a finger over your lips. You stare right at him through his laptop screen and it makes his balls swell. “I’ve missed your pretty face.”
He watches how his words make you press your already sticky thighs together, like his voice shot straight down to your cunt.
“Oh yeah? Have you missed me, too? Do you think about your old Sensei?”
Moaning, you’re unashamed to slide your hand down your stomach, spreading your thighs so you can relieve the ache he’s building between your legs. 
“Mhmm, I do. Right now I’m thinking about what your cock looks like.” 
He’d almost forgotten his promise. Shota looks down at his length, sucking in a deep breath at the sight of himself swollen and drooling for you. He pumps himself a few times just to feel the pleasure, to gain the courage to drag the laptop with his free hand just enough to bring his dick into the picture.
A sharp little gasp from you echoes into his room and he’s suddenly far too self-satisfied. He admires how you writhe on your bed, pulling your knees up so he can once again see the full image of your wet pussy. 
“You’re so big,” you whisper like you mean it, like you’re wishing you had his cock in your hand instead of his. 
“You think I’d fit inside you, hm?” 
You’re like a curious cat eyeing him across the screen, lashes fluttering as you glance him over from base to tip. You must have a screen set up right next to your camera because your gaze is still meeting his as your head bobs up and down with the way he strokes his cock. 
“I dunno,” you moan as you spread your legs wider, two fingers dipping to prod at your hole, “you’re bigger than my toys.”
“And I bet that little cunt is so tight. Put your fingers in and show me.”
You still listen so obediently, just like when you were his student. 
He thumbs the head of his cock as he watches you sink two fingers into yourself, the microphone picking up the wet squish of your cunt. Your belly tightens with pleasure as you start to pump the digits into your pussy, slow at first and then picking up pace as your bliss builds. 
“Tell me what you would want me to do to you if I was there.”
There’s no filter for him now, not with your messy cunt filling his screen and your hand now plucking at your nipple. 
You take a moment to think, pretty head falling back to the pillows as you moan for him.
“Always wanted to kiss you, Sensei. Want to feel your hands all over me, ah,” you press the palm of your hand against your clit as you talk, making you nearly whine between breaths, “and I’d want your cock in my mouth.”
“You like sucking dick, sweetheart?” 
He starts matching the pace of his fist to your fingers, picturing his cock sliding between your plush, parted lips.
“I like having my face fucked,” you admit and it makes him groan. 
His noise spurs you on, makes you grab your tit and squeeze as your fingers move faster. 
“I’d love to slide my cock past your sweet lips and into your throat. Want you to gag on it, spit running down your face as I take what I want.” 
“Yes, want you to take what you want from me. Want you to use me, fill me up and fuck me with that fat cock, Sensei.” 
He nearly chokes at your words, blushing at how filthy your mouth is. He pumps himself faster, picturing having your soft body in his lap, your sloppy cunt sinking down onto him. 
“How do you want me to fuck you?” 
The moan that sounds from his laptop is so lovely, the slick sound of your fingers in your pussy making him shiver. 
“I can show you?” you ask more than state, pausing to look straight into the camera feed. “With a toy, I mean. Y-you can pick.” 
God, you’re such a delightful little minx. Shota squeezes the base of his cock as the mental image of you fucking yourself on a toy nearly topples him over the edge. He doesn’t know how he will handle actually viewing it. 
“Get your biggest dildo. Let’s see how it compares to me.” 
Any ounce of guilt he feels fades when you return to your bed with a purple, silicone cock, long and thick but not nearly as fat as the throbbing flesh he holds in his hand. 
“Guess you weren’t lying, were you, sweetheart? I’ll be the biggest thing that little pussy has ever taken.” 
Shota doesn’t care if he’s stepping beyond the realm of hypotheticals—he’ll get his hands on you, one way or another, all in due time. 
“Wanna see how I want you to fuck me?” you ask with the cutest smile, like you’re hiding such a naughty secret. 
“Show me. Fuck yourself for me, tell me every little thing I’m doing to you.”
He props an arm behind his head to get comfortable, the muscles of his abs and lats rippling in the dim light of the screen. He threads his fingers through his long hair and tugs the moment he sees you turn and get on your knees, bending until you’re in the most sinful doggy position he’s ever seen. 
“You start slow,” your voice drops to a sensual note, thick like honey, “cause you want me to feel every inch go inside me.”
The hand wrapped around his cock is moving before he can even think to stop, squeezing hard as he watches you reach around your body and start pushing the dildo between your pussy lips. 
Shota gets too close to the screen, strands of black hair grazing the edge of the camera, face still out of sight. His gaze scans from corner to corner, watching as if he intends to commit every single detail to memory. 
Your pussy sucks in the tip of the dildo, making you mewl, and slowly, torturously, you shove the length of it into your hole. 
“How do I feel?” 
“So good, want you to move, want you to fuck me hard.” 
You take the initiative to start bouncing the dildo in your pussy, sliding it in and out, building speed. The sound is licentious, wet, all mixed together with the short, airy moans you let out with every push into your body. Slick is starting to build on the silicone, creamy and thick. 
“Do you always get so wet or is it just for me?”
“All for you, Sensei. Cause you feel so good, you fuck me like I’ve always wanted.” 
Shota smears his thumb through the pre-cum freshly leaking from his cock, using it as lubricant as he starts a brutal pace on himself. He can hear the repetitive slap of his wrist hitting his thigh echo into the laptop microphone.
“That right? You’re a dirty girl for wanting to fuck her teacher.” 
“You’re so good to me, you rub my clit just how I like it.” 
He examines how one of your hands reaches under your body, two dainty fingers swirling around your clit before kneading it quickly, like you’re just so desperate to cum for him. 
The strokes he gives his cock are furious, other hand now coming down to cup his balls and roll them in his palm. His stomach flexes at the pleasure, picturing how that perfect cunt of yours would be squeezing him so tightly. 
“You wanna cum for me? Wanna cum all over your Sensei’s cock?”
“Please,” you groan into the sheets, hips now bucking with the pace of the dildo slamming into you, “will you let me cum? You said I’m such a good girl? Ah, ah, one of your favorites?” 
“Always my favorite, sweetheart. Show me how you cum, let me see you make a mess of yourself.”
Your knuckles are tight against the base of the dildo, using all your strength to fuck into yourself. You’re so close to the edge, panting, whining, hole stretched and practically weeping around the purple silicone. 
“You know I’ll fuck you faster, right? Harder. Just wait until I get my hands on you.”
Your tongue falls loose, “Want your hands on my hips, want you to spank me, oh god, pull my hair, kiss me and fuck me and tell me I’m all yours.” 
“You’re gonna cum for me, scream for me, all for me, got it?” 
He can see the way your head shakes on the bed, mascara dripping down the side of your face that he can see. Tears are in your lashes, your lip caught between your teeth, and even still you’re looking back for him, watching him tug and pull his cock with your name in his mouth. 
“God you’re so hot, your cock’s so big—”
A beautiful, strangled noise comes out of you as you finally come apart, your cunt clamping down around the dildo and your motions stilling. You scream into the mattress, all high-pitched and fucked out. Slick squelches from your stuffed hole, dripping down your thighs. 
With the scene before him, it only takes a few more pumps before he’s unloading, cum spurting out over his knuckles and up onto his stomach, rope after rope spilling out for you.
His room goes quiet, his pants and your whiny breaths the only sound he hears over the pounding of his heart. 
Finally, you shift on your bed, and he does his best not to look at the mess he’s made in his hand.
“Um,” you awkwardly clear your throat, looking away from him as you slide the dildo from your cunt. He can’t help but watch the way your pussy lips drag along the length. 
The post-nut clarity hits him like a steam roller. His clean hand grabs his laptop, ready to shut the screen and pretend none of this ever transpired except in the guilty pit of his daydreams—
“Shota,” you mumble, sitting on your knees and holding your body, “this was, uh, well really…hot. I…I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”
His ears perk, unsure if he’s ever heard you call him by his first name. 
Before he changes his mind, he drags the laptop on his bed until the camera catches his face. You blink so prettily at the sight of him, dropping one of your hands from your breast like you’re just so comfortable seeing him. 
“Next time will be in person.” 
You give him the most genuine little smile, “Promise?”
3K notes · View notes
solelifauna · 3 months ago
Note
So this NOT to imply the writing is bad
But so far the Batfam fic as me genuinely shaking in anger , the fact that dick is convinced that y/n as to prove herself to be "worthy" genuinely got to me to the point I need a pallete cleanser
Could we please get a small drabble of reader growing close with one of the "outside" batfam members?
Like maybe Kate(batwoman) and Luke (batwing) because they are under used
Or hell, maybe to really grind the family gears, reader gets close to azrael
(you know Bruce would've able to do shit if reader got close with Kate, she would fucking eat him alive)
Hey, You're all good bro! I also just want to put out that my fic is based on an au! The portrayals of any characters in my fic are based off of their canon and fanon counterparts, just with my own twist. Since this is a darker universe/au, the Bats along with other heroes are going to be a lot more brutal and jaded.
Also love your idea bro. But, I'll do you one better. Constantine. Bruce absolutely can't stand him and the reader being friends with/getting along with him? Oh, that's bound to grind Bruce's gears. It would also be easier to meet Constantine too.
Let's just say one day the reader gets caught up in some Justice League Dark stuff that Constantine is trying to solve. She gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to use her as a sacrifice. I mean, she is a pretty huge target, being the daughter of a Billionaire after all. Anyways, shes kidnapped, nobody is coming to get her, not from her family at least. Long story short, Constantine arrives too late to stop the ritual, but things don't go according to plan for the cultists anyway. Turns out that the person sacrificed wouldn't be killed, but would instead become a vessel.
Great, now you have some old, eldrich being living rent-free in your mind. The being is old, donning the title "Keeper of Hell", but you'll just call it (they? him? her?), Adam. Yeah, Adam wasn't too happy with the name. When Constantine arrives, however, hes pleasantly surprised to find you alive. When he realizes that you, a 15-year-old, now carry the presence and power of an eldritch being older than Gotham itself, he groans while lighting up a cigarette. Looks like he'd have to deal with you now.
He checks over you making sure you have no internal and external injuries before explaining your situation. He feels a little sorry for you, but he is in no condition to train you. He asks around to other JL dark members, hoping to see if anyone is willing to help you control your new powers. He sighs again when nobody steps up to the plate, too busy with their own sidekicks and quests.
Reluctantly, he tells you he'd help you figure stuff out. And there begins the blossoming of the amazing "Grumpy old man and kid they didn't ask for" troupe. When you tell Constantine your name, he blanks, because of course he gets stuck with one of the bat's kids. However, based on your tone of voice when discussing your family (and the way you begged him not to let Bruce/Batman know of your predicament), he's guessing things aren't all too great between you all. Well, thats not his problem, his only job was to train you and make sure you don't end up accidentally killing someone.
Yeah...like that thought process is going to last. Training sessions start out bleak and professional, he's only doing a job. Then as time continues, he finds himself enjoying your company, your enthusiasm to learn and your rambunctious/sarcastic comebacks always have him fighting off a smile. It's been a while since he's had company like this. Soon, you're both going out on missions, and then ice cream breaks afterward. He lets you fall asleep on his shoulder, drooling all over his trench coat after particularly difficult missions and he can't bring himself to mind.
He's fond of you, although he never admits it out loud. It's okay though, because even though he's never said it out loud, his actions speak louder than words. You could feel his love and pride for you. Although he wasn't exactly your dad per se, he was still something to you, maybe the wine uncle? You don't know, and you don't particularly care to put a label on what Constantine was to you, you're just glad that he's there.
Shit hits the fan, however, when one day you decide to go on a solo mission. It's nothing crazy, just getting rid of some poltergeists and low-level demons and shades. Now, were you given permission to go on this mission alone? No, but in a normal teenage manner, you decide to go anyway. Everything was fine, you got rid of all the poltergeists in the area and even some of the shades too! It's all going well until you realize that the demon mentioned before was not as weak as you were told. You gulped when its blood red eyes turned to you.
"Well shit." Constantine was going to kill you.
It immediately lunges at you, you barely rolling out of its sharp claws. You hit it with a couple of spells, causing the demon to roar out in pain, burn marks now littering its side. Its tail whips at you, colliding with your stomach as you fly into a wall with a loud thud. You groan as you pick yourself up, clutching your ribs, each breath a jagged pain that ripples through your chest. Your arm is slick with blood, the gashes from the demon's claws burning as if its very essence were trying to sear your flesh. You grit your teeth and weave another spell, calling on Adam’s power to knock the demon back. This time, a burst of raw energy slams into it, shattering its leg with a sickening crack.
For a brief moment, you think it's over, ready to strike the final blow. But the demon’s leg snaps back into place, bone and flesh knitting together as if the injury had never happened.
“Of course,” you mutter under your breath. “Why would this be easy?”
The demon lunges again, and you’re just a split second too slow. Burning pain flares through your right arm as its claws tear into you, ripping through your flesh like paper. You scream, the sound involuntary, but you push through the pain, refusing to go down without a fight.
Drawing back, you unleash another spell, a sharp projectile of energy aimed at its neck. The demon flinches, letting out a low growl. That reaction—panic—gives you the first glimmer of hope. Its neck. That's its weak spot.
With renewed determination, you gather every ounce of strength you have left. The cuts across your body throb, and your arm feels like it’s on fire, but you push it all aside. You can do this. You have to do this.
You unleash a volley of cutting spells, each one aimed at the demon’s throat. It fights back viciously, throwing you around the room with a strength that makes your vision blur. Every hit you take feels like your bones are splintering, but you keep going. You keep attacking.
Finally, one of your spells strikes true.
The demon lets out a gurgling screech as your spell cuts deep into its neck. Blood—thick and dark—pours from the wound, and it claws at its own throat, choking. Its body spasms violently, and then, as if collapsing in on itself, it begins to disintegrate. In a few seconds, all that’s left is dust.
You stand there, panting, barely able to process the fact that you did it. You won. A grin spreads across your face, and despite the pain radiating from every part of your body, you let out a weak cheer.
But the celebration is short-lived.
Pain cuts through you like a knife, sharp and sudden, reminding you of just how battered you are. Blood is still oozing from the various gashes across your body, and your arm feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You stumble, nearly falling, but catch yourself at the last second.
“Crap… I’m bleeding out,” you mumble, wincing. “Whoops.”
With what little energy you have left, you remember the spell Constantine taught you, the one that would tether you to him no matter where you were. He warned you not to use it unless it was an emergency—and bleeding out from demon-inflicted wounds definitely qualifies.
You lift your shaking hand and cast the spell, a sluggish flick of your wrist sending out a ripple of energy. A portal forms, shimmering and unstable, but functional enough. Without much grace, you stumble through it, disappearing from the demon’s lair.
What you didn’t know, however, was that Constantine was currently in a Justice League meeting.
The first thing you feel is a sudden drop, like the ground beneath you has vanished. You barely register the sensation of falling before you crash, hard, onto something solid. Groaning, you blink through the haze of pain and find yourself sprawled across a massive table.
You can hear voices—muffled, alarmed—but the world is spinning too much for you to focus. All you know is that you're lying on something cold and hard, and you’re absolutely drenched in blood.
Forcing your eyes open, you see several figures standing around you, staring in shock. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out Superman’s cape and Wonder Woman’s armor. You try to process what's happening, but the pain in your arm and ribs keeps pulling you under.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow. Fuckkkk." You cry out.
Suddenly, the scent of smoke fills the air. You don't even have to look to know who it is. Constantine’s familiar trench coat brushes against your arm as he crouches beside you, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His eyes flicker with a dangerous mix of exasperation and barely concealed anger.
“What in the bloody fuck, kid?” he snaps, his tone harsher than usual, but the concern underlies his words.
You wince, the situation hitting you all at once. Crap. Now I've got to deal with this.
You muster a weak, sheepish grin, wincing as you turn your head to face him. “Heyyy Constantine, how are ya?”
His brow furrows deeper, and he’s clearly not amused. “What did you do?”
You swallow hard, trying to think of how to explain yourself without getting ripped to shreds—verbally or otherwise. “I—well, promise you won’t get mad?”
“Too late for that, kid. I’m already halfway there,” he growls, his eyes narrowing as he looks over your wounds. “Now get to it.”
You bite your lip, trying to find the least disastrous way to explain. “So… I sorta… mighta… gone on a solo demon-hunting mission,” you blurt out quickly, hoping he’d just move past it.
The way Constantine’s eyes widen, and the immediate twitch in his jaw tell you that he’s definitely not going to move past it.
“You did what?!” His voice rises as he stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh bloody— I thought I specifically told you not to go by yourself! And this is what happens!”
“Hey, well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” you say, grinning nervously, trying to play it off.
“That’s besides the point!” He throws his arms up, pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Bloody hell, I should’ve known better with you kids. I swear, this is why I never—”
Just then, a dark, grim voice cuts through the chaos, and your heart nearly stops.
“Constantine,” Batman’s tone is low, authoritative. “Why is my daughter bleeding on our table?”
Oh no. No, no, no. Not now.
You freeze, your mind going blank as you feel the weight of Batman’s presence at the end of the table. You slowly, painfully turn your head to see him standing there, cape draped over his shoulders, his gaze icy and locked onto you. His usual stoic expression somehow looks even more intense.
“Ah… shit,” you mutter under your breath, groaning inwardly as you realize you’ve just landed yourself in the absolute worst situation imaginable. “I completely forgot he was still here.” Wait, did you say that out loud?
Constantine gives you a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, kid, you did. And now we’ve got more than just your wounds to worry about, don’t we?” He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the fallout.
Batman’s eyes narrow, arms crossed as he takes a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. “Care to explain yourself?”
You’re still bleeding, your head is pounding, and you’re pretty sure at least a few bones are broken, but none of that compares to the fear creeping up your spine as you look up at your father. Your mind races for an answer, but every excuse you can think of feels flimsy at best.
Constantine clears his throat, sensing the rising tension in the room. “Right. Let’s get her fixed up before this turns into an interrogation, yeah? Kid’s bleeding all over the place, and she’s already taken a beating. We’ll save the lecture for later.” He waves his hand, muttering something under his breath as he kneels beside you again.
The tension between Constantine and Batman lingers in the air, thick and heavy, but Batman finally relents. His eyes soften—slightly—as he watches Constantine work to stabilize your injuries with magic.
You can feel yourself growing weaker, the adrenaline finally wearing off as the pain becomes unbearable. Constantine mutters a healing spell, one that slows the bleeding and knits some of the less serious cuts together. It's not perfect, but it’s enough for now.
“I think it’s time to get you all fixed up, huh?” Constantine says softly, his earlier anger tempered by concern as he helps you sit up, his hand firm on your back to support you.
You nod weakly, not daring to meet Batman’s eyes again. You’re in deep trouble, but for now, at least, you’re still breathing. As Constantine gets ready to teleport you to a safer place to heal, you hear Batman’s voice, calm but steely.
“We’re not done here.”
And with that ominous promise hanging in the air, Constantine picks you up, and the world around you shifts once again.
Constantine gently carries you through the halls toward the Justice League’s med bay, muttering curses under his breath with every step. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, and now, in the quiet aftermath of the fight, guilt begins to settle in your chest. The adrenaline from the battle has worn off, and now you're left with the consequences of your reckless actions.
“Hey, Constantine… I—I’m sorry for not listening to you. I really am,” you say, your voice soft and heavy with regret.
He sighs, not looking at you, but his tone is stern. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not mad at you, kid. You didn’t just ignore my warnings—you put yourself in danger. There are rules for a reason. What if you got seriously hurt and couldn’t cast a spell back to me? Even worse, what if you died or got possessed?”
His words hit you hard, and you wither under the weight of them. You know he’s right. All those rules and restrictions aren’t just him being overprotective or controlling, they’re because he cares. He’s seen the kind of darkness that can swallow people whole, and the thought of that happening to you terrifies him, even if he’ll never say it out loud.
By the time you reach the med bay, the guilt feels like it’s pressing down on you as much as the pain in your ribs. Constantine lowers you onto a cot, tucking you in with a gruff gentleness that only he could pull off. He sits down on the side of the bed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick of his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.
“What I’m trying to say, kid,” he starts, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “is that I care. I care about you, I care about what happens to you. I don’t want—” He pauses, his voice softening. “I don’t want to ever have to find your body one day. So please, from now on, let me know before you do something stupid like this.”
His words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered. You nod, trying to process it all, and then something clicks in your mind. Wait… did he just say let him know?
“Let you know? Does this mean—” Your eyes widen as realization hits you. “Does this mean I can go on solo missions?”
Constantine lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, yes, you can start going on solo missions—”
“Hell yeah!” you exclaim, sitting up a little too quickly. Pain shoots through your ribs, but you can’t help the excitement bubbling inside you.
“—but, only the ones I sanction and authorize,” Constantine finishes, cutting through your excitement with a stern look. You deflate a little at his words, but it’s still a victory in your book.
Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, ignoring the sharp pain it causes in your ribs. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I won’t let you down!”
He chuckles, patting your back awkwardly before pulling away. “Yeah, yeah, I know you won’t. Now, lay back down and get some rest. You still have dark and brooding to deal with.” He gestures toward the direction of the meeting room, clearly dreading the inevitable confrontation with Batman. “And by extension, I do too,” he adds with a heavy sigh.
You groan, sinking back into the cot, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. “I don’t know why he even cares. If he did, he would’ve figured this out ages ago.”
Constantine glances at you, his expression softening for a moment. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “He cares, kid. He just… doesn’t always show it the way you want him to. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”
You scoff, though part of you knows he’s right. “Yeah, well, doesn’t feel like it.”
Constantine stands, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into a nearby ashtray. “Doesn’t matter how it feels right now. The Bat’s going to want answers, and if I know him, he’s going to want to have a very long talk with you. You’re not out of the woods yet.”
You wince at the thought of the upcoming conversation, knowing that Batman’s interrogation will be thorough and far less forgiving than Constantine’s.
“Great,” you mutter, closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the cot. “Just what I need.”
Constantine gives you a small, almost affectionate smile before turning to leave. “Get some rest, kid. You’ve earned it. I’ll deal with the big bad Bat for now.”
And with that, he walks out, leaving you alone in the med bay. As much as you’re dreading what’s to come, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the pain and the mistakes you made, you know that Constantine’s got your back. And, maybe, just maybe, Batman does too, even if it’s buried under a mountain of brooding and silence.
For now, though, you let the exhaustion pull you under, trusting that everything else can wait until tomorrow.
-
As you rest, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion, your breathing evens out and your mind drifts into sleep. The med bay is quiet, sterile, but the tension in the air lingers, waiting for the inevitable. Eventually, a dark, caped figure glides into the room silently, his form casting long shadows across the walls.
Batman—no, Bruce—stands over you, his sharp eyes tracing every bruise, every cut that mars your face. His jaw clenches as a million thoughts swirl in his head, none of them offering any comfort.
What the hell happened to you? Why are you and Constantine so close? How did you even know Constantine? How much had he missed—how little attention had he been paying—to not notice any of this?
Bruce sighs, a deep and frustrated sound. He removes his cowl, setting it on the side table with a weary hand. Without it, he seems less intimidating, less imposing. He stares down at you, seeing the cuts and bruises marking your skin, but what hits him harder is the way your face, in sleep, is still so achingly young. You're his daughter, and yet it feels like you're a stranger to him now.
How did you get so far away?
He knows the answer. The fault lies with him, with the choices he made, the excuses he repeated to himself—telling himself he was too busy, telling himself he would check in later. Later never came, though, and the space between you widened, until it wasn't just him you were drifting away from, but your brothers too.
Bruce noticed the way your brothers treated you, the harsh words, the cold shoulders. He saw the distance, but he justified it, telling himself it was sibling rivalry or something that would pass. He didn't step in. And now, as he looks at you lying there, bruised and battered from a fight he wasn’t even aware of, the reality sinks in: he has no excuse.
With a heavy sigh, Bruce reaches out, his rough but careful hand carding gently through your hair. The gesture is tender, hesitant, as if he's not sure whether he has the right to touch you like this anymore. But as his fingers comb through your hair, you stir in your sleep, a quiet murmur escaping your lips as you unconsciously lean into his touch. It's such a sweet, innocent moment, and for a brief second, Bruce allows himself to feel the warmth of it.
But the moment is fleeting.
He feels the presence before he sees it, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke filling the room. His jaw tightens as his hand stills. He doesn’t turn right away, but his voice cuts through the silence.
“Constantine,” Bruce says, his tone gruff even without the cowl to disguise it.
Constantine steps into the room more fully, leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. He regards Bruce with that same nonchalance he carries everywhere, though there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something more cautious.
"Thought you’d still be brooding over in the corner," Constantine says, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes drift to you, lying peacefully on the cot. “Didn’t expect to see this version of you.”
Bruce doesn’t respond right away. He pulls his hand back from your hair, his gaze hardening. "What happened?" The question is direct, but underneath it, Constantine can hear the concern, the frustration Bruce doesn't voice aloud.
"She went off on her own," Constantine mutters, taking another drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Went after a demon. Got roughed up pretty bad, but she handled it in the end. Strong kid. Stubborn too. Wonder where she gets that from, eh?"
Bruce's eyes narrow. "And you let her?"
"Let her?" Constantine laughs, a short, sharp sound. "Mate, I didn’t let her. She went behind my back, just like she’s gone behind yours for who knows how long. Difference is, I’m the one she actually came back to.”
That lands like a punch to Bruce's gut. He doesn’t react visibly, but Constantine can see the tension in his posture.
"I didn't know she was…" Bruce starts, then stops, shaking his head. The words feel inadequate. "I didn't know she was involved with this stuff, i didn't even know she was a meta. Or that she knew you."
"Yeah, well, she found her way to me," Constantine says with a shrug, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. “And she's not a meta by the way, she's a vessel for some eldritch being"
A vague expression of surprise appears on Bruce's face.
"I don't blame you, mate. I was surprised to find her alive afterwards. Not just anyone survives that kind of transformation, she's strong.”
Bruce crosses his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Constantine. “I know she’s strong.”
“Do you?” Constantine raises an eyebrow, the challenge clear in his tone. “Because she’s been running herself ragged trying to prove it. To you. To herself. And, hell, maybe to me too, but at least I see it.”
There’s silence for a moment. Bruce clenches his jaw, turning to look at you again, sleeping soundly despite the tension in the room. He knew Constantine was right. You'd been pushing yourself, fighting to show that you didn’t need them—that you were strong enough on your own. And he had let you. He'd let you because he didn't even care to notice.
Constantine sighs, sensing the weight of the silence. “Look, I didn’t come here to throw stones. But you’ve got to get your shit together with her. She’s tough, but she’s still a kid, and she’s your kid. She needs you.”
Bruce doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. He watches you, the soft rise and fall of your chest, and feels the regret gnawing at him.
“I’ll handle it,” Bruce finally says, though the words feel hollow.
Constantine gives him a long look, then nods. “You better. Because if you don’t, she’ll be right back with me..”
With that, Constantine pushes off the wall, flicking away the last of his cigarette. “I’ll check in on her later. Try not to fuck this up, mate.” And with one last glance at you, Constantine leaves, the tension in the room ebbing with him.
Bruce remains, standing over you, his mind a whirlwind of regret, guilt, and the desire to fix what’s been broken for far too long. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead—something he hasn’t done in what feels like years—before stepping back, pulling the chair beside your bed to sit vigil over you.
He’s still not sure how to bridge the gap, but for now, he stays. It’s a start.
Well, thats all folks! I really enjoyed writing this au, so thanks for the idea! Maybe ill even make a pt. 2 to this? Who knows? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it.
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coco-loco-nut · 7 months ago
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Father’s Day
pairing: max verstappen x reader
summary: max is dating an international star
a/n: i literally had this idea last night and had to write a short blurb, i promise i am writing other stuff tho 🫶
masterlist
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y/username happy father’s day, daddy. i love you and your big…
maxverstappen1 anything to share with me?
y/username not pregnant, just letting everyone know how turned on you get me
maxverstappen1 love you too, schat
user12 anyone else not getting it, like she is so hot and he is 😬
y/username you know that one barbie scene with the rock? that’s my maxie. also if you think he’s ugly, that’s fine, more of him for me 😍
user98 Y/N BARBIE FAN CONFIRMED
y/username priority 1: old barbie movies priority 2: max
user3 ON THE MAIN?
user33 PR monster got her, I really wanna know what she was about to say
recordlabel we don’t… we actually want bleach for our eyes
redbullracing we will share our bleach if you send us demos of her next album 👀
charlesleclerc Go on, finish the sentence, I dare you.
y/username his big heart, ego, ass, trophy case, therapy bill from childhood trauma, i could keep going on but i don’t want to make you feel emasculated
user62 okay, but like how did he bag her?
y/username he has incredible rizz, and look at him🤤
“Happy Father’s Day, Maxie,” you grin as Max lays on you lap, looking up at you with his beautiful blue eyes.
“You aren’t pregnant, Schat,” he laughs, your fingertips gently scratching his scalp.
“We could change that, get some practice in for after the wedding?” you watch his eyes widen as he quickly sits up.
“Practice makes perfect, why don’t we practice now?” Max suggests, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom.
Your wedding is small, only some close friends and family in attendance. The ceremony takes place in your backyard, no reception beyond a dinner afterwards.
Despite both your respective fame levels, you didn’t want anyone knowing of the marriage. Fans still thought you were dating, so when you got a positive pregnancy test, you were extra careful.
Max was grateful that you had a private recording studio in the house, for when you needed to drop the album. You didn’t mean to choose the surprise drop date to be at the end of your pregnancy, nor Father’s Day, but life worked in funny ways.
“Happy Father’s Day, Maxie,” you softly say, handing the little bundle off to Max.
“This is the best present, he’s beautiful,” Max hold back tears as he holds his son close to his chest.
“I’m not sure if I will be able to top this next year,” you laugh a little, your tiredness making an apparent after a long labor.
“You should take a nap, I’ll be okay with him,” Max runs a hand though your sweaty hair. To him, you’ve never looked more perfect.
“I have one thing to do first,” you yawn, pulling out your phone. Max slides into the hospital bed beside you, you immediately nestle into him, his warmth enveloping you.
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y/username SURPRISE! midnight rain is out now! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it for the past four years. There is so much in my life that happened, so enjoy my journey through heartbreak, love, and growth. I want to quickly thank Max and my team for making this possible 💙
user1 AHHH this is so good, but didn’t she and Max break up? Why is she thanking him?
user3 dude, i think they are married, did you listen to everything else
user4 yeah, she had some songs about marriage, but she hasn’t been at any races since last year
user10 did y’all see the statement saying there won’t be a tour for the album?? crying in the club
user11 Okay, but Robin?? secret child??
maxverstappen1 endlessly proud of you, schatje
user5 we get it bro, she wrote Dress and The Alchemy about you
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maxverstappen1 our little robin decided to hatch 💙
danielricciardo So happy for you and Y/n, mate. Big day for the Verstappen family, can’t wait to hold the little guy!
y/username he will love his Uncle Danny
y/username he’s perfect, just like his daddy
redbullracing what a gift for father’s day! sending our gift to you 💙
user42 guys, y/n’s song credits changed…
user21 OMG MAX AND Y/N ARE MARRIED AND THEY HAVE A KID???
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moonstruckme · 5 months ago
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hi maeee!! would you ever write reader x doctor! remus where they dated but then had a nasty break up? maybe reader shows up at the hospital and remus has to treat her and is all concerned and shocked? if not it’s okayyy i hope you’re well!! 🫶🫶
Thank you for your request sweetheart, hope you're well too!
cw: stitches, mention of blood
doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 780 words
Remus opens your door with an apology on his lips. 
“Sorry about the wait, I had—” He freezes. 
You grin at him. It’s half grimace. “Hi.” 
“What…” Remus stares at you while his hand finds the wall as if on autopilot, picking up your chart. “You…you…” He skims it, but it feels like only half of his brain is working. “You hit your head?” 
You shrug, sheepish. You look unnervingly casual with dried blood caked on half of your face. “Sort of.” 
“What do you mean, sort of?” His voice pitches before he can stop it, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to master himself. 
“I mean, it wasn’t on purpose,” you hedge. “I fainted first.” 
He pushes out a breath. Walks towards you. “Alright, let’s see.” 
The cut is above your eyebrow, and Remus places his hands carefully on your forehead and your jaw, lifting the gauze up to see it. Gentle, professional touches. 
“Are you experiencing any dizziness?” 
“They’ve already said I have a concussion, if that’s why you’re asking.” 
“Oh.” That was probably on the chart. He picks it up again, reading more thoroughly. “And you’ve already had anesthetic, too?” 
“That’s what they tell me.” 
Remus doesn’t mistake your buoyant tone for nonchalance. You’ve always shrouded your anxiety in smiles and good humor. To someone who knows you, it only gives you away. 
“Alright,” he says, making a conscious effort to banish his own worry from his voice. He pulls up a stool beside your bed and starts gathering his tools. “I’m just going to get set up, and then we can start. You shouldn’t feel anything at all.” He glances at you, seeing you bring your bottom lip between your teeth. “Do you know why you fainted?” 
You sigh, and it comes loose. “Yeah. Dehydration.” 
Remus looks at you sideways. “How did that happen?”
“Okay, you can put away your judgy tone,” you say, lips quirking up slightly. “I was helping a friend move into her new apartment. It’s hot out. It’s hard to tell dehydration from exhaustion when you’re carrying that much heavy stuff, you know?” 
He makes a noncommittal humming sound, but you roll your eyes like you can hear his critical thoughts anyway. “Why didn’t you take a break?” he asks. 
“I didn’t want to complain.” 
Remus huffs out a breath, amused despite himself. “You always were terrible at that.” 
“Hey.” You sound on the brink of laughter. “Terrible at what?” 
“At asking for the things you need. You’re always so worried about inconveniencing anyone you forget about yourself.” 
He lifts the gauze from your wound, wiping the area clean before readying the suture needle. You tilt your head up at his touch, a cautious, sweet sort of smile playing on your lips. When your gaze finds his, it’s like the world softens. 
“Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he tells you. The endearment aches in his throat, tender and familiar and far too intimate for whatever you are now, but if you notice you don’t show it. You close your eyes obediently. 
Remus likes to think he gives his best effort to all his patients, but he knows as he works slowly on your stitches that he’s being extra careful with you. His eyes stay on his work with laser focus, one hand splayed across your hairline to steady him. 
“Alright?” he asks you softly. 
You loose a breath, somewhat shaky. “Yeah,” you say. “You’re right, I can’t really feel anything. It’s weird.” 
“It might leave a bit of a scar,” he apologizes. “I’m trying to be as neat as I can, though.” 
Your eyes open, seeking his, but you close them again when he tsks at you. 
“That’s fine,” you say in a quiet voice. “I don’t mind if it does.” 
Remus’ breath sticks in his lungs a bit, an old memory suddenly coming to him crystal clear. You in bed, lit by moonlight coming in through the open window, tracing his scars with your fingers and your mouth. Exceedingly gentle, not because you thought you’d break him but because you wanted to be, whispering sweet words that etched themselves into his heart and never left. 
“It wouldn’t look bad on you,” he agrees. 
“Right by my eyebrow, yeah?” Even with your eyes closed, your face is still expressive, your other eyebrow lifting with the corners of your mouth. “I think it’d look pretty badass.” 
Remus has the terrible, fervent urge to kiss the skin beside that forming scar. He doesn’t know what he’s allowed, but he might just be desperate enough not to care. Maybe he’ll indulge after the stitches are done. 
“Yeah,” he says, lovelorn. “It probably would.”
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celtrist · 4 months ago
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This was the piece that I had started before my extensive vacation (of coughing). Once again, Alastor is consistently the bane of my existence with his... well everything.
No matter! Anyway, this is something I like to call the Obsession AU. To sum it up real fast: Everyone is yandere for Alastor. I think it would just be apart of his punishment in Hell, being consistently forced into or desired in romantic/sex which he's never had much interest in. I would describe it as a dark comedy thing, but it can be as comedic or as dark as you want here. With that said, please be on guard with any mentions of darker content that treds towards a certain dead bird territory when I get a bit into how I imagine some of the characters. Again, it doesn't have to go that far if you're interested in this premise of an au and wanna focus on the more light hearted stuff, feel free.
This au is just poking a bit of fun at how everyone in the fandom wants to put Alastor in romantic situations constantly (whether it be with themselves or the other characters) despite Alastor probably being the least interested in the subject in the whole show. This is by no means a hate train or making fun of people who do enjoy shipping Alastor, it just more of a funny thing I think comes off as pretty ironic for his character and hopefully, others can enjoy that too. In this au he leans pretty much on the clear-cut side of aromantic and asexual with no interest in romantic affections at all. With that said, if you want to explore Alastor genuinely being interested in one of the other characters romantically or something similar, feel free to explore that! I can see some interesting dichotomies there. It's just within the actual "canon" of this au, he's not at all interested with that sort of thing. And just with a last final reminder to get into some character things I have in mind, some of the content mentioned does get pretty dark, particularly with Valentino but I don't think anyone's surprised there. But there might be some triggering content of the following mentioned here with characters but no crazy details really: Manipulation/Gaslighting, forced feminization, Non-con, Munchausen syndrome, Poisoning, Possessive, Drugging, Love bombing And I will be sure to give a quick warning to each character it might apply to, please feel free to let me know if I missed anything!
Rosie (Munchausen syndrome, Poisoning): Rosie has 100% poisoned Alastor before to make sure he relies on her. They started off as good friends but at some point Alastor began getting ill and Rosie offered to take care of him. This leads to Alastor staying in bed for full days, only really seeing Rosie who took care of his every need from food, clothing, washing, and so on. At some point, Alastor caught on that Rosie was putting something in his food to make him sick and he managed to escape with their friendship tarnished much to his dismay. He's often uneasy around Rosie but is upfront about his knowledge of Rosie's deeds. Rosie, in turn, acts like it is a lighthearted situation and often offers Alastor over for lunch, which he often denies. Any food he gets at his doorstep from a secret admirer or a lunchbox he finds at his seat in an overlord meeting goes straight into the trash. Alastor will still use Rosie's assets to his benefit of course, but is always careful as to what she might try to get in exchange. He has had more awkward lunches with her with his homemade meal versus the buffet she catered for the occasion, with the two gossiping like old times. Alastor is still uneasy during these times, but he also revels in the false pleasantries due to not having many others he's able to associate himself with due to the curse.
Lucifer (Controlling, Possessive, Manipulation): So I'm not 100% clear how I wanted to approach Lucifer. He and Charlie are probably the most similar I suppose? He wants Alastor as his queen (either alongside him and Lilith or only with him, he doesn't mind either way). He doesn't force him into dresses or anything, but Lucifer does consistently make doting moves and talks about how Alastor would make a good father to their children. Marriage is one of the mind and Lucifer probably gets a bit possessive with him. He also tries to guilt trip Alastor a lot, or manipulate situations in one of their arguments to get Alastor to say something he doesn't mean.
Charlie (Controlling, Possessive): Probably the most tame of everyone quite honestly. Charlie can be a bit controlling but does step off when Alastor expresses his dislike of her doing so, even if it takes a couple times. She likes doing things for him, is super affectionate, and daydreams about her, Vaggie, and Alastor all getting married. She can get pretty possessive with him, not being pleased when anybody does anything against Alastor's will or hurt him. The only exception to this rule is Vaggie, to which Charlie sees it like two cats getting along and finds it very endearing.
Vaggie (Forced Feminization, Controlling, Murder): Depending on how you look at it, Vaggie's one of the more fucked up obsessions or one of the more funnier ones. Because she's automatically inclined to like Alastor quite a bit with the curse thing but her personality doesn't jive with his for her own taste (in terms of their first meeting), she both hates and loves the guy. She's obsessed with trying to murder Alastor with traps around the hotel or outright standing over him with her spear. The hatred comes primarily from not wanting to feel the way she does about him, I guess like a fucked up tsundere if you wanna go that route. At the same token, however, she does want Alastor to be involved with both her and Charlie romantically. There's just one little problem: Vaggie has about the same amount of interest in men as she does in canon. So to sort of "fix" Alastor, she consistently tries to force him to be more feminine in clothing, offering different feminine names, and even trying to force him to get a sex change. Alastor is pretty slippery though, so it never quite works out in Vaggie's favor aside from the occasional dress or skirt being worn, which solidifies her attraction to him. Then he takes it off and looks more like a man again, and it solidifies her frustration/hatred for him.
Angel Dust (Drugging): To start, while I think Angel would love to have sex with Alastor, he 100% would not force it. Wouldn't even do touches or anything. Potentially he could just like as a coping (to be in a situation where HE'S the one in control), but that is a darker route that I don't think will be exactly true for this AU. However, he very much enjoys drugging Alastor similar to Rosie. Not only just as a bonding thing since Angel would also do the drugs WITH him, but just to get the not-quite-lucid compliments from Alastor and maybe a snuggle then and there. He wants to dote on Alastor with him drugged out in his bed saying nice things to Angel. Admittedly this one's a bit of a workshop as I just knew I didn't want Angel to be focused on sex like somebody, but wasn't sure what to do here.
Valentino(Non-con, LoveBombing): I mean... it is Valentino, what did you THINK he'd be trying to do with Alastor? There's really not much to say here, Valentino essentially tries pulling all the stops trying to get Alastor in bed while also love-bombing the hell out of him. Which really doesn't work. Valentino is pretty open with sharing Alastor, but again, does this surprise anyone? As long as he's participating in some way, he really doesn't mind.
Vox (ALL warnings): Pretty much the worst version of himself that people make him be sometimes for those darker stories in the fandom. While more interested in having an enthusiastic partner, I don't think Vox would be opposed to forcing himself onto Alastor. He consistently tries to manipulate and gaslight, while enjoying both the suffering and pleasure of Alastor. Much like Vaggie, Vox is obsessed both being in love with Alastor while also downright hating him to the core. He's possessive and likes the idea of being both sweet and heinous with Alastor. He pretty much is every other character wrapped up in one fucked up TV man. Vox acts the most well-adjusted of the characters here, but he's probably got the obsession the worst.
And of course, pretty much every other conceivable ship is up for grabs here. I did think about maybe unfallen angels are able to resist the obsession curse, which would possibly make a funny team-up of Alastor, Adam, Lute, and Emily. Alternatively, I thought maybe the other canonically asexual characters in the show wouldn't be affected instead, meaning another oddball team-up of Alastor, Octavia, and Mammon. Then there is of course the "nope, there's no escape for deer man". Not sure yet, maybe I'll workshop it. I have more normal things in the works rather than this messed up little au, but darker content is a guilty pleasure of mine.
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mingis-orangejuice · 6 months ago
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Asking the L&Ds boys "What are we?" Part 4: Sylus
Summary: MC and her boy have been in a sort of situation-ship but MC wants to know why they haven't officially called her their girlfriend
a/n: This ended up being much longer than I thought so I'm making it into 4 parts (one for each boy) Here's Sylus' part its the longest part, but also my favourite. hope you like it. also, I probably mixed up Luke and Kieran multiple times so just ignore it lol.
Genres/Warnings: lots of Luke and Kieran shenanigans, a bit of angst, fluff, kinda slow burn
Word count: 1936
Previous Parts 1 2 3
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You were spending the day with Luke and Kieran, it was supposed to be with sylus but something came up. He didn’t want you to waste your day off so he arranged for them to escort you around Linkon and basically do whatever you want for the whole day. While you were happy to have a chill day with your bodyguards/friends Luke and Keiran you were really looking forward to spending a whole day with Sylus. But recently lots of things have come up and he kept rescheduling all your dates. Was he trying to tell you something, is this his way of saying he’s not actually interested in you romantically but he’s too chicken to tell you? No, he wouldn’t do that, Sylus is one of the most direct people you know, if he didn’t like you, he’d just say so. So then why does it feel like he’s just stringing you along, when is he going to make you two official?
“MC?...MC?...” Luke’s voice snapped you out of your train of thought. 
“What? sorry I was a little spaced out.” you turn to the twins standing above you while you sit at one of the tables of the Linkon Mall foodcourt.
“I said where do you want to go for lunch? There's so many choices” Luke gestured to the row of different restaurants among the foodcourt.
“We could always have the boss’s favourite, ever since you let him try your instant ramen that's all he asks the chefs to make for him when you’re away,” Kieran suggested as both boys took a seat next to you on the other side of the table. “There's a ramen place right over there”
“Umm… I’m not sure… I’m not really hungry right now” You looked vacantly across the mall foodcourt starting to space out again
“The boss said there's no limit to how much we can spend today so we don’t have to eat here. Or if you can’t decide on what to eat we can buy a bit of everything and you can taste them all” Kieran suggests while taking out Sylus’ black credit card from his pocket.
“You have to eat something, the boss doesn’t want you to skip meals he told us to make sure you eat something or else” Luke warned in a fake threatening voice.
“Well, I guess if I have to in order to save you two from Sylus’ wrath, then I want something homemade, not this cheap generic stuff, so let’s go back to the base and see what we can cook up, what do you say?” 
“Anything for the Boss’s girlfriend,” Kieran said with a smile, he stood up and put out his arm for him to escort you to the car.
“Huh… what did you say?” You stopped reaching for Kieran’s arm at the word girlfriend.
“Anything for the boss’s …girlfriend…. I’m confused, are you not his girlfriend” Kieran looked embarrassed like he might have misread the situation.
“Well yeah…but .. he’s never said it before…so I didn’t think he thought of me as his girlfriend.” you stood awkwardly looking at the floor and playing with your hands.
“Of course he thinks of you that way he gets all smiley when he or anyone else mentions you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the boss smile so much before you came along” Luke grabbed your bags as you guys started to head to the car. “The boss just has a hard time expressing his emotions. ”  he mentioned brightly
“Yeah for the first year of us working for him he pretended not to remember our names cuz he didn’t want to seem soft, even tho he could already tell us apart after the first day even with our masks on.” Kieran said as he looked up to the sky like he was reminiscing on the Good-old-days 
“But he always calls you his girlfriend around us” 
“Right, he even calls you his girlfriend in the task memos he sends us” Luke shows you his phone with all the tasks set out by sylus. He clicks play and a voice recording of Sylus starts. 
“1. As I’ll be away for the day take my girlfriend to the mall and get her anything she wants, to keep her happy
2. Make sure she eats something for lunch, she tends to skip meals and gets really tired halfway through the day because of it. If she doesn’t eat anything, a punishment will be waiting for you upon your return.
3. Carry everything for her no matter how much she buys, rent a truck if you have to, I don’t want her straining herself before tonight’s special event…”
“Wait” you click pause on Luke’s phone. “what event, he never told me about that.” 
“Uhh…oops” Luke quickly puts away his phone “You weren’t supposed to hear that. Just pretend it didn’t happen”
Kieran slaps Luke’s arm “You idiot, that was supposed to be a surprise, the boss is gonna kill us”
“Just what is he planning?” you interrogate the twins. Both of them looked at each other as they opened the car door and helped you in.
“our lips are sealed.” they both said in unison while placing their fingers in an X over their lips
You guys were now in the car on the way back to the base. You’ve fallen silent thinking about this special event. just what kind of event was this? It couldn't be something bad, right? Was he breaking up with you? Is that why he let you use his card with no limit, to give you one final good day then he’d cut you off??? You couldn’t take the suspense anymore, you had to know. You took your phone out of your purse and called Sylus. Your phone was connected to the car’s speakers and Kieran saw that you were calling him and got a little nervous. Sylus picked up almost immediately. 
“Yes, Sweetie? What's wrong, are Luke and Kieran not treating You well, do you need me to get rid of them for you? I’ve been looking for some new Henchmen anyway” He said with a chuckle
“Hey, we’re right here you know?” Kieran said in a hurt voice
“I know, that's why I said it” “Sylus joked
“And you wouldn’t get rid of us, right boss?” Luke asked, “We’re your favourite henchmen, right?”
Sylus completely ignores Luke's question “...So why did you call sweetie? Remember when I said I was very busy today and that we’d see each other later tonight?”
You didn’t want to beat around the bush so you got straight to the point.“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to ask about, what exactly is happening tonight? What's the Special event and why didn’t you tell me earlier?” 
There was silence on the other end and then an annoyed groan. “Did you two tell her?” Sylus sounded like he was about to jump through the phone and punch both of them in the face.
“No boss we promise all she knows is that there’s an event tonight she doesn’t know anything else,” Kieran said frantically “Please don’t get rid of us”
Ignoring them again he sighed. “Where are you right now babe?”
“We were on our way to the base for lunch.” You informed him
“at least those two can do something right” he sighs. “Ok then I’ll be waiting for you at the base and I’ll explain everything.” *Click* he hangs up
Now you were even more curious, what was sylus planning?
“Do you think the boss is really gonna get rid of us?” Luke asked you in a scared voice.
“I doubt it, you guys mess up all the time and he hasn’t gotten rid of you yet, what's one more mess up” you say in a joking tone “Plus if he’s as nice as you say he is, then you don’t have anything to worry about.”
Later back at the base you all walk into the living room to see Sylus sitting on the couch reading a book. “Oh, you’re back.” Sylus puts down his book and pats the space next to him for you to join him on the couch. “Come, sit. Let’s talk.” as you sit he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer. He then looked up to where the twins were standing. “You two, I’ll deal with you later. Leave us be for now.”
“Yes boss.” they both say and hurriedly walk out of the room.
On the way to the base after the phone call you just couldn’t stop thinking about what this event could be and mixed with your thoughts from earlier you were only coming up with every bad result it could be. All those thoughts and emotions were boiling inside and before Sylus could say anything they overflowed “What are we?” 
“Huh?” Sylus looked confused “Sweetie, what do you mean?”
“Why do you keep avoiding me and why won't you call me your girlfriend? Apparently, you’ll say it in front of everyone else but me.” You moved back so you were out of his grip 
“Those two, I’ll fire them for sure this time,” He says under his breath.
“And what is this event? Why didn’t you tell me about it, is it about me? Did I do something wrong?” Your voice slightly cracked on the last word and your eyes started to get misty.
“Woah, slow down, if I knew it would make you feel like this I would have explained sooner.” He pulls you close again, holds your face in his palms and wipes your tears with his thumbs  “First, We are Sylus and MC the strongest and most feared couple in the N109 Zone.” He chuckled. “Second, I’m sorry that I made you feel this way. I knew you were curious but I didn’t know the curiosity would get to you this much. I wasn’t avoiding you, I’ve been setting up the special event that I’ll tell you more about in due time. But, as for your third question…” Sylus pulls your head in closer and places a soft kiss on your lips that nearly takes your breath away. He pulls away and looks at you with a smirk “You’ve also never called me your boyfriend so I guess we’re even” 
“Yeah well…I didn’t want to assume… I” You start to stutter both from the kiss and his accusation.
He stops you and places another kiss on your lips “I guess we both felt that way” 
“So then what about the event?” you’re now sitting closer to him his hands on your waist to keep you close.
“Oh yeah, the event… I was gonna let you watch while I fire Luke and Kieran. I set up events every time I want to fire one of my men, why do you think I had you keep them out of the house the whole day?” He joked.
You softly slapped his chest and rolled your eyes “ I know you’re joking those two might be idiots but you’d never fire them. Come on seriously what is it really?”
“Ok, I'll tell you, if you can tell me something first, what day is it today? He asks, hoping you’ll know the answer.
“Uh, Sunday?” you say confused as to why this day of the week had any significance.
“You can’t even remember yet you want me to call you my girlfriend,” Sylus said pretending to be offended “It’s the anniversary of when a little kitten first wandered into the N109 Zone and…” he pulls you into a hug “ into my life”
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