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sophiethewitch1 · 9 months ago

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What We Want - Chpt. 5 - Meet The Adams Family

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The first thing you’d done when you woke up, still somehow in the Wayne manor, was pull out not-your phone and check the date. When it tells you that you are not, in fact, in some weird version of a time loop, you feel some measure of relief. The second thing you do is look your own damn name up on Google. There were over 3 million results. You have a Wikipedia page. If that hadn’t made you want to gag, the press from last night had you bumbling your way into the ensuite bathroom and puking into the toilet.

It’s still sitting on the bathroom floor, nauseous and achy and sweaty, your mouth washed out but still tasting foul, that you continue your research.

It’s just as you had suspected, your family was dead. Still dead. Well, shit. In the light of day, you supposed that made more sense. That there was no real reason to assume otherwise. You hadn’t for most of yesterday, but as soon as you’d thought that maybe there was a chance, your hopes had been dashed. Which was good, rip the bandaid off and all.

It was good. Things were good. They were fine, you were fine. You really wish you were a better liar.

Again you wash your mouth out. Root around the cabinets for some medical-grade mouthwash, do it again, and then you throw yourself into the shower. Again. You notice the soap smells like whoever’s clothes you stole. Refreshing and awakening, that mint and earth again. You think you can detect something floral in it too. It’s still masculine, but…

Wow, you are such a freak! You put down the fucking soap and manage to resist the urge to slam your head into the tiles. Your headache was bad enough already.

When you leave the bathroom, you glance at the door, and then down at your towel. Guess you’re stealing some more apparel. You find a Superman shirt, give it a judging glance, and then pick out a black T-shirt with ‘The Beatles’ across the front, and some sweatpants. You have to roll up the pant legs so you don’t trip and fall flat on your face.

One hand scrolling through Twitter and TikTok and Reddit and every single piece of social media you could find, getting the people’s source of news and you get the high overlords’ one when you turn on the huge TV attached to the wall. The remote kind of confuses you at first, but you manage to find the good ol’ Gotham news channel.

Immediately, you’re greeted by your miserable mascara-streaked face. You turn the TV off. You take a deep breath. Turn it back on. Luckily it’s not just you getting your private moment of trauma blasted open in the media. Your party had been filled with Gotham’s elite, after all. You weren’t the only rich idiot left crying by the side of the road.

You weren’t the only one who had to suffer. There had been twenty-eight casualties, in total. A small amount, considering the man behind the deaths. The Joker wasn’t known for his cleanliness. You tell yourself that, and yet still, you can’t make them just numbers. They’d been standing right next to you, after all. All in the same boat, all waiting for the axe to swing, secretly hoping you’re the one who lives to the next day. Only one of the party guests had been shot, and that’s because you think they’d personally pissed off the Joker. That’s what Twitter says, anyway. There were multiple video recordings of the altercation, and it didn’t look like he’d been the smartest banana in the bunch. The TV is a lot sweeter on the dead soul.

You feel sorry for all the dead. You still don’t think this rich heir should be the face you see, though. When you check his name, you find several forgotten assault cases. Assault, rape, just like that disappearing bastard had tried to do to you. That female janitor you’d seen shot had done more for this city than that guy ever had.

Did her family know? Did she have a family? Someone to mourn her? You’d never thought about that before. How many people out there wouldn’t have anyone to even remember them?

It’s none of your business, in the end.

After a whiles more research, you switch the TV off and tuck your cracked phone into the sweatpants. You know where your mother’s grave is, on the west side of the estate. Wikipedia knew all, which was now kind of creepy to you as it knew all about you as well. Really, you couldn’t believe it. Your mother, buried with the Waynes? You’d always thought she should find someone new, someone who’d appreciate her, unlike your father who had dipped as soon as Sam was born.

You couldn’t even remember the guy. Still, you remembered that he’d smelled bad and made your Mum do everything, and was just generally all around the worst choice for a husband.

But, Jesus Christ, Bruce Wayne? Absolute insanity. You had no idea how the two of them would’ve even met. Let alone fall in love and get married. Your mother was one of the loveliest women on earth but… they had absolutely nothing in common, other than having troublesome kids. And you hadn’t seen her getting lovey-dovey with the other PTA mums.

You walk out of the room you’ve borrowed and into the hallway. In the light of day, the Wayne manor is much less creepy, and you can find it in yourself to appreciate the antique space. Warm sunlight falls over dark oak furniture, illuminating your bare feet as you walk along the Persian rug. Your fingers trail along all the tiny little decorations, some annoying part of you demanding you leave traces of yourself behind. Your fingerprints dirty an old clock, a golden candelabra, a lamp and a tiny spinning globe.

You might’ve gotten lost in a place this huge if you couldn’t hear people’s voices floating down the halls. They were too far away for you to be able to tell what they were saying, but you could still hear them. They’re to the west, so you’re definitely going to have to go past them.

You follow the voices and eventually come to a stop in a hallway. You can smell food. Good, real food. The type that makes your instant-ramen-powered body salivate. The people are in the kitchen, right around the corner. You duck your head and quickly sneak past the mostly closed doorway. On the other side, you pause, your curious self unable to leave just yet.

“She needs help,” Bruce says, and you mentally curse. Balls. You didn’t want to hear this. You guess this was instant karma for snooping. Maybe they weren’t talking about you?

Why did that sound very unlikely…

“She went through a lot last night,” he continues, which, well, yes, you did go through a lot, “And he said that she saw a woman get shot right in front of her. It makes sense if she doesn’t want to talk yet.”

He? Who’s he? Who ratted you out? Wait, dumb question, the four other witnesses who saw the janitor get shot. You were still pretty sure the Waynes weren’t supposed to know that, but everybody knew those GCPD pigs were always just a dollar away from whatever you wanted them to do. It’s not surprising that the Waynes know details only the police should know at the moment.

…It is a bit disappointing, though. You chose to have hope in them, that they’d gotten that information legally. Your fatal obsession with the Waynes wasn’t going to disappear after one miserable party. You wished it would.

“She was acting strange before that,” Timothy Jackson Drake’s smooth voice drifts from the kitchen. You were still a little starry-eyed over him, which was… bad, you think. It’d definitely make whatever relationship the two of you had been forced into a whole lot more difficult. It did not need to be any more difficult.

“Are you accusing her of something?” Bruce Thomas Wayne’s voice is gravelly in comparison, angry, maybe. Also, ‘accusing’? What could he even be accusing you of? It was pretty obvious you weren’t capable of anything nefarious, you were far too stupid for that. You were a plastic bag drifting along the Gotham river, barely able to affect which direction you flowed in.

“God no. And I definitely wouldn’t do it with her listening, that’d be rude.”

Your breath hitches, and you push off from the wall. Busted, damn. Your face feels unbelievably hot. As you leave, you can hear Mr Wayne scolding his adopted son. You walk until you can’t hear their voices anymore, and then a little further, finding an exit door.

You stumble out onto a stone staircase, probably a servants’ one in the olden days. You move down it, hand gripping the railing. You’re barely conscious of where you’re going. There’s a path that leads away from the stone manor and further into the estate, and you follow it. When you spot a small gated area, with stone obelisks and angel statues, you veer off the path and onto the grass.

Hissing out a breath, it’s only now you realise you went outside without any shoes on. Your toes curl in the cold, wet grass. It’s a miserable feeling, and you want to walk right back inside. And then you think about the awkward conversation waiting for you, take a breath and keep going. The gates swing open easily under your hand, the golden embossed ‘W’ glinting in the light.

A guardian angel stands before you. Its stone face is disapproving, glaring down at you from above. ‘Interloper,’ it calls you, but you move past it without pausing. It’s pretty obvious which graves are the new ones and which are the old ones. They’re all clean and well-kept, but the ones to the left have dates going back hundreds of years, and the ones to the right only decades. Your eyes follow the rows of graves. Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne…

Your breath whistles out of you, nearly muffled by the grey morning wind.

And your mother. She has a different last name, now another Wayne. Your siblings don’t, which makes sense. You’re surprised to find many of your extended family also in this graveyard. Your grandmother. Your uncle and aunt. A few of your cousins.

It’s cold this morning, and you’re out here with only a thin T-shirt on. Shivering, you rub your palms against your bare arms. It doesn’t do much. Still, you don’t want to go inside yet. Instead, you crouch in front of Sam’s grave, eyes reading the tiny epitaph. It’s not the one you wrote.

‘Beloved Son and Brother.’

Simple, clean-cut, formal… unfamiliar, you suppose. Yours had been much more flowery, ‘All the colour in the world is gone without you’. It was a bit silly, but you’d never said you were a poet. You’d just known you’d wanted something that represented them, if poorly.

Sam was a beloved son and brother. But that wasn’t who he chose to be. He liked colours. He’d change his favourite every other day, so he liked everything rainbow. It made it easier to choose which one he’d like next, he said. You were always buying him more and more coloured pencils because he’d wear them all down to the tips, he dyed the cat a bright red headache, much to your mother’s horror, and considered it his personal job to make every single birthday, christmas, and easter card. He’d paint on the walls in washable markers, and you’d often been the one to volunteer to help him get it all down. In school, he always had the best art project out of the entire class, even if you were slightly biased.

He was a colourful kid. He wasn’t… a plain grey tombstone. Nothing to help remember him, because you were always losing more and more of their precious memories.

The others had similarly impersonal graves. Just what they were, not who. Mother, sister. Nothing that spoke of how they’d lived their lives, what the world had lost when they’d died. It was… you didn’t think it was right. It was a disaster, really. Even when you’d had to rely on the Wanye Foundation donations, you’d managed a better resting place than this.

You suppose you’d never gotten them into the Wayne family’s personal graveyard, though. That was a bit of an upgrade, you guess.

“You need to come back inside. You’re worrying my father.”

“Jesus Christ!” you shriek, leaping backward. Your foot catches on one of the cobblestones, and you end up tipping back farther than you mean to, your ass bruising against the ground. You bump another gravestone, and there’s a horrible moment where it gives a little and you think it’s going to knock over.

It doesn’t. A shining miracle on your day.

From your slightly wet seat on the ground, you look up, finding one such Damian Al Ghul-Wayne. His towering height is the first thing you notice, second his stunning emerald green eyes. Both were incredibly shocking in their own ways, but his height really was almost dizzying. Perfect brown skin and a stylish 'long on the top, short on the sides’ black haircut, paired with the sort of face some European model might have, all come together to make sure you feel as pathetic as possible. His posh-looking outfit doesn’t help.

Neither does the fact he just watches you. He doesn’t even pretend to bend over to help you up. Which you’re sort of grateful for, honestly. It’d just make you more embarrassed. You didn’t know if you could hold the hand of your celebrity crush and… well, be normal. Pretend to be normal. You weren’t doing a very good job of it anyway.

You have to wonder, which was the worst introduction? The drunk, the bloody, or the one where you fell on your ass? God, you really are screwing this all the way up. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to make it even worse. There’s a part of you that desperately doesn’t want to meet any of the other Waynes, even as another part of you is screaming that it needs to.

If they knew they had a fangirl in their graveyard, you’re sure they’d kick you out. That was why you were lying about everything, not because you had intimacy issues.

Stop thinking, you idiot! You’re only making things more difficult for yourself with all your worrying and fretting. And maybe you should get off the ground, you looked stupid. You push to your feet, wiping your dirtied hands on the sweats.

He still doesn’t say anything when you stand, still just staring at you. His open staring is far too intimidating, so you scrounge for something to say.

“Your father? You- Is he alright?” you stammer over your words, giving Damian Wayne an awkward smile. He doesn’t return it, instead canting his head towards one of the windows.

You look toward where Damian Wayne gestured to, find nothing but an empty window frame, and then back to the ridiculously tall man. You swear, the guy had grown like a bean pole. He had to be something ridiculous, like 6’5, or maybe more. You were fairly certain you’d been taller than him at twelve, or thirteen, whenever it was he was first introduced to the world as Damian Wayne. Now, now… not so much.

“There’s nobody in there?” you ask, like you’re questioning your sanity. You are.

“My father’s shy,” He says, coolly shrugging one shoulder.

What. Bruce Wayne? Shy? Was he joking or something?

Damian Wayne stares down at you with narrowed green eyes, and dark brows in a harsh frown. His arms are crossed over his rich kid sweater, shiny black shoes tapping against the cobbles. That’s not the face of someone who makes jokes, you think.

You swallow, mind whirring as you try desperately to fix this conversation, “Right. Okay. I’ll… I’ll come back inside, then. Sorry for bothering you guys.”

He keeps staring at you. He doesn’t seem bothered.

“Sorry for bothering him?” you correct.

Damian gives one slow, cat-like blink of his eyes, and then turns with a tsk and walks away. It takes you a moment to realise you’re meant to follow him. It takes you even longer to actually catch up with him because he’s so fucking tall.

On TV he didn’t look this tall. You feel kind of betrayed, which is weird.

As you’re walking along, getting closer back to the manor, a stick or something pokes you in the foot. You curse, grabbing your foot. Thankfully you don’t start bleeding or something. You’d already be tracking dirt all over the inside of the impeccable space, you didn’t want to bring blood in as well. It takes a moment for you to realise the sound of Damian’s footsteps crunching in the grass has stopped, and you glance up.

He’s staring right at you again. He looks even less impressed with you, raising an eyebrow and mouth ticking downward. You put your foot down and tuck your hands behind your back in a very obvious anxious display.

“You went outside not wearing any shoes?” Damian Wayne asks, incredulous.

“I was… yeah, I forgot to,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Not your best moment, but you weren’t really having any of those today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Maybe you should stop thinking about that, actually.

“That’s disgusting,” The young Wayne sneers, and then turns and gives you his shoulder.

You think your heart maybe cracks a little. Well, they do say to never meet your idols. Maybe whoever wrote that quote had you in mind specifically, because now you were in… this situation. Ex-step-sister. If that was a thing. Your Wikipedia page said that you said that a lot, very insistent that you had absolutely nothing to do with the Waynes.

…It didn’t really look like you had nothing to do with the Waynes, from an outsider's perspective. Which obviously didn’t make any sense, since you were… you. You were not an outsider, not anymore.

This was too complicated. You needed a coffee. With like, so much sugar it’ll make you bounce from the walls.

Damian strides up the side entrance’s staircase and through the door, leaving it open for you to follow through. You hesitate at the doorway, looking over your shoulder to the graveyard. The statue calls you names in the distance, and although you feel like a stranger who doesn’t belong here, you manage to step back into the house.

You force yourself to walk through the hallway and into the kitchen, fists clenched tight at your side and your shoulders bunched up to your ears. Bruce Thomas Wayne, Timothy Jackson Drake, and the butler from earlier. Damian Al Ghul Wayne steps around the trio, picking some drink from the counter and moving to sit at the dining table at the edge of the room. There’s an open book on the table that he starts flicking through, and well, apparently that’s the end of your first conversation with the youngest Wayne.

You did… well, alright might be pushing it. You're still going to say you did alright.

Tim Drake gives you a sweet smile, catching your attention. The silky raven hair of his heart-shaped fringe falls over his beautiful, pale face, and for a moment there you totally forget that he’d called you out earlier like that. Which was just, such an odd thing to do. His hand lifts to scratch at the buzz cut under the floppy strands of hair. The movement mesmerises you. You look away from his sky blue eyes, very quickly realising they’re robbing you of the few remaining brain cells you have. And you need those, damn it. Especially because you’d already made the decision to hide from all your problems like a baby. Negative, negative…

“How’re you doing today?” Tim asks you, giving you a friendly greeting. It’s a welcome olive branch.

“I’m good,” you lie like you breathe, eyes glancing around the space. Bruce Wayne has his phone out and a mug of coffee in his hands. He sips from the cup, his focus swallowed by the tiny screen. You glance back over to Damian Wayne. Huh, it really does run in the family.

Your neck prickles, and you glance back at Tim again. You get a brief vision of his tired, unsmiling expression, and then it’s back to the angelic and gentle smile. You smile back at him, a wretched, awful twisting of the lips that you hope doesn’t look like a grimace.

Tim’s smile turns into a grin. It’s really too pretty and makes you shift in your seat uncomfortably. Damn it all, look away!

“Would you like some breakfast, young miss? I’m afraid we’ve run out of pancakes, but I’d be happy to make some more for you,” the butler says in an awfully familiar British accent. You think you know this person, but you can not remember from where. Shit. Your memory was bad on the best of days, much less after… after an event like last night.

Anyway, the food from earlier had been pancakes. Despite the delicious scent, you really didn’t want to make him make any more food for you. You felt like you were intruding as it was.

“Do you have any toast, or… cereal?” you suggest instead, wondering if rich people even bother with cereal. The butler chuckles, and you think, ‘Oh, yeah, probably not’.

“We have both, miss. Master Grayson has a particular fondness for cereal, in fact,” he informs you, which, oh, cool. You did in fact know that, you stalker you. You’d totally forgotten about that weird fact or the weird fact that you knew that weird fact. Dick Grayson has an Instagram where he posts reviews of different cereals, which of course you have notifications on for.

“It’s more of an obsession,” Tim says, resting his palm in his hand as he… continues to stare at you. Nobody else thinks his ogling is strange, so you try to ignore it as well. Try is the choice word.

“I like cereal too. It’s normal,” you say in defence of Dick, a natural and instinctual urge.

And apparently, the fact that you like cereal is fucking shocking, judging from the open-mouth looks the group gives you. Oh no, you’re supposed to hate him, right? You’re supposed to hate them all, actually. What had you called him on your phone? Something about being annoying and a dickhead?

Swallowing your inner scream, you move around the counter and towards the cupboards. Whatever, they’ll have to deal with this new and improved version of you, which didn’t despise everyone in the room. Along with being a terrible liar, you were also pretty bad at keeping secrets.

You don’t want to think about that, so instead you turn to Alfred.

“So,” you start, “Can I see your cereal collection?” you ask, like a totally normal person. Man, this cupboard’s looking pretty head-smashable right now.

This family has more tact than yours did, because they all manage to put their eyes back to what they were doing and pretend you weren’t acting really, really out of character. Rich people. They’re good at overlooking the crazy.

“Of course,” the butler clears his throat, “In here, you’ll find Master Dick’s collection-” score! Not another fan can claim this right, “-and in the fridge a carton of milk. Are you sure I couldn’t serve it for you, miss? I understand you might still be a little…”

His voice trails off. Little what?

He glances at the others and then leans in close like he’s going to tell you a secret. Behind a hand, he whispers, “Hungover.”

Ah. Well, yes, but you were a big girl who could make her cereal, even on hangover days. Kind of embarrassing it was that obvious, though. You were usually better at hiding how much of a mess you were.

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” you say, and the butler nods and backs off. You’re pretty sure at this point that he was the one who called you yesterday morning, but you still couldn’t quite recall his name. When you were out of sight, you’d check your phone for his contact information.

See? You could do this. Stealthy.

As you start perusing through the cereal options, Tim gets up from his spot by the counter and comes to stand next to you at the breakfast bar. He heads straight to the coffee machine, and you glance at it longingly.

It’s one of those cafe-quality fancy espresso makers, with an Italian name embossed in silver on the top. Tim manipulates the machine like a master, which you’re very jealous of because it might as well be alien technology to you. You miss your shitty drip coffee, at least that dingy little machine was loyal to you. Better than George.

“Coffee?” Tim Drake offers, glancing at you. Ah, the starry eyes are back. While Damian Wayne had been a mildly disappointing introduction, Mr. Drake was just reinforcing your celebrity worship. And of course, because your brain works against you, his offer reminds you of the daydreams you’d had on your first twenty-first birthday. Coffee shop au real person fiction- a new low, even for you.

Flustered, you look up at the ceiling. The old mansion is decorated in every single available corner, the plaster above spreading across the entire surface with delicate filigree and pretty curling patterns. It’s gorgeous, absolutely entrancing. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

“Please,” you say, your voice just the slightest bit too quiet. He hears you anyway.

It’s surprisingly domestic. Of course, you don’t know any of these people past face value and Wired YouTube interviews, but… it’s quite indulgent. This is sort of your dream, isn’t it? A full house of people enjoying their morning together. Peaceful bird song drifting in through open windows. The comfort of being around people you trust, not having to perform or put on a show. Well, you are very much putting on a show right now. It’s the thought that counts, or whatever.

“What would you like in it? We have sugar, milk, oat milk, and I like having a few syrups on hand,” Tim chatters excitedly, listing off the different ingredients he has on offer. Your poor ass stares at his rich one, and you are very rudely reminded these people live in different tax brackets than you.

Who the fuck had coffee syrups in their house? You could barely afford the little treats of caramel syrup you get every couple of months. The disappearance of the middle class was one you had witnessed personally.

You rattle off a very basic, bland order. Tim looks sort of disappointed in you which… well, you could be a coffee snob. You just didn’t have the time, usually. A flat white kept you going through the day, you didn’t need anything else. And so, Tim hands you a very bland coffee, and it is god sent. You can’t imagine how good it would be if you had mustered up your courage and asked for some caramel syrup.

Huh, you could be a coffee snob. You could be anything you wanted, really. And your first thought is being a coffee snob. Good God.

“Are you going to be staying?“ Bruce Wayne asks, immediately putting you on the spot. You weren’t ready for this, you were thinking about the coffees you could buy. Oh no, you really aren’t ready for this.

“At least for now, right?” Tim Drake says, just making it all the more stressful. You let out an awkward chuckle, fingers tight around your drink.

“Oh, I don’t want to be an inconvenience-”

Damian Wayne slams his mug down on the table, so hard a crack splinters up its side. He picks the cup up, strides across the kitchen, narrowed green eyes meeting yours for a second, and then he dumps the cup in a secret rubbish can. He murmurs an apology to the butler and then is out of the room.

Okay, well, you certainly feel like an inconvenience.

The butler clears his throat, and says, “Please forgive young master Damian. He’s been having a difficult time recently, I hope you can understand.”

And you think, ‘bitch, a difficult time?! He’s not the one who almost died last night!’ but what you say is, “Of course, I completely understand. I don’t want to bother him anymore so I’d really like to leave today.”

Mr. Wayne laces his fingers together, blue eyes giving you an assessing look.

“Stay for the day, and you can leave tonight. I want to make sure you’re truly alright,” he eventually says, and the mere presence of the man has you yielding to his commands. Didn’t really matter you were an adult who’d managed to survive this long on your own, you were listening to the big scary guy when he told you what to do.

Well, that’s that! You make your cereal and have a very quiet breakfast. You can’t tell if they’re being quiet because you’re here, or if mornings are usually like this. You hope they’re usually like this. Once you’ve finished your very nice cereal (one of the highest rated on Dick’s Instagram) you place the bowl by the sink. You want to wash it, but when you ask Alfred he gives you a look like you kicked his dog. Okay, you’ll just go then.

You’re about to sneak away, when you realise Tim’s staring at you… again…? But this time he seems quite focused on your clothing. His eyes follow the double lines on the side of your sweatpants, before settling on the Beatles logo on your shirt. He hums at it. Raises his brows.

“I’m sorry, I borrowed this because I didn’t have any other clothes. Is there something wrong with me wearing this?” you ask, and then experience a moment of horror, “This doesn’t belong to you, does it?”

“Hmm?” Tim chirps, “Oh, no, don’t worry. It’s not mine.”

And then he turns away from you in a very clear dismissal. Nice, you really wanted to go hide for an hour or two. With one last awkward wave to Bruce Thomas Wayne, you scurry out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom you’d started thinking of as yours. You need to figure out how you're going to handle all this, and you're going to do it alone. Maybe with some dessert, if you can find it. You wouldn't say you think better with sugar running in your veins, but it definitely makes you more willing to deal with the bullshit that is your life. Hopefully it'd work in your new one, too.

Tim listens to your retreating footsteps, waiting till you’re far enough away to begin talking to Bruce. Humans were creatures of habit, so you’d probably be going back to the same room you slept in last night. He thinks Damian and him were the only ones who noticed whose shirt you were wearing, B’s off his game today. You’ve really managed to mess him up, to Tim’s delight.

“See? Dames was totally fine with her being here,” Tim says, cheerily enjoying his youngest sibling’s suffering. Bruce sighs, witheringly, lifting his hand to rub against the headache he always has. He’s probably noticed the excited, slightly fanatic gleam that’s entered into Tim’s eyes.

It was sort of obvious. This was all so exciting! You’d come back, sporting absolutely none of the defensive vitriol you usually have, and ate breakfast together. You took a coffee out of Tim’s hands. You’d willingly spoken to the devil, who everybody in the family knew hated you as much as you hated him, and even more than that-

You’d spoken to Bruce. Tim was sporting the idea that you’d gotten head trauma, at this point in time.

“Okay, fine. You get the mission, but-” Tim has to resist the urge to clap his hands together like a gleeful child “-but no extra cameras. I’m serious, Tim, if I find out you’ve invaded her privacy just after she’s starting to warm up to us again-”

“She wouldn’t know,” Tim complains, cutting the Bat off with a roll of his eyes.

“She’s smarter than you’d think,” Bruce shakes his head. Tim has to disagree, after the catastrophe that was last night. Unless of course, you were just playing with them all. So many options, it’s dizzying.

“We’ll shelve that argument for later. So, I want full control of the case, and in turn, I’ll do another two weeks as CEO,” Tim waves off Bruce’s complaints, going straight into haggling. The CEO position was tossed between the two of them like a hot potato, and it was one of Tim’s favourite bargaining tools.

“I am absolutely not agreeing to that, a month and nothing less.”

“This is why half your children don’t talk to you, but sure, whatever. Chase away your last, loyal loving son-”

“My God, Tim. Three fucking weeks, and if I hear another word I will hand this matter over to Grayson,” Bruce sighs, sounding a bit defeated.

Tim gives an offended gasp, placing his hand against his chest. And then he realises Bruce might actually be serious, and freaks out a bit.

“He’d be bad for it. Far too personally involved. You definitely don’t want to do that,” he says, leg bouncing under the table. Of course, the Bat notices, but he doesn’t mention it. He wouldn’t take this from Tim, they both knew he was getting too frazzled around the edges. He needed something to focus on, to ground him.

You were the perfect project. He loved his projects.

“I am aware. But the girls are out of town, and uncontactable. And I think if I gave Damian this assignment the two of them would kill each other.”

“No Jason option, sir?” Tim says because he’s a shit-stirrer and wants to get to work.

Tim succeeds in chasing Bruce away. He’s left to have his coffee in peace as the old man quickly flees the room at the mention of the son he's on the worst terms with. For the next few hours, Tim taps away on his computer, enjoying his time.

And when the front doors open, his ears prick, and a decidedly evil grin spreads on his face.

“I’m home!” Dick calls out, words travelling through the grand manor.

Tim gets up from his seat and wanders leisurely to the main hall, where Dick stands. He’s got a suitcase by his side, filled with all the things he’s brought up from the Blud. When he spots Tim, Dick’s face spreads in a familiar sunny smile. He quickly rushes to Tim’s side, swallowing the younger brother in a hug. Tim groans at the tight squeezing.

Despite his clinginess, it was good to see him. His tanned skin glowed healthily, and his curly black hair was messy over his brow. Sapphire blue eyes sparkled. He was happy to be home, despite everything that was going on. Dick always looked like he’d just gotten back from a run because he usually had. It was hard to get the guy to sit still for even a minute, much less stop parkouring over every imaginable surface.

“Tim! How’s it been? Ah, it’s so good to be home,” Dick starts, and again, Tim groans. When Dick starts yammering he never stops.

“I’m good, man. We can talk later, you should go put your things away before Alfred does,” Tim reminds Dick, and Dick pouts. It was a general rule that unless it was cooking, the family wasn’t supposed to rely on Alfred for everything.

“Alright, alright. I’ll be down in a minute! I have so much to tell you,” Dick relents, hand lifting to mess with his hair. Tim pushes him off, glaring at the man, and Dick laughs.

Tim gives Dick a tired wave as the gymnast bounds up the stairs to his bedroom. Tim watches him disappear down the hallways, and thinks, ‘I wish I could see this happen.’ He sighs, guess he’ll just have to hear Dick retell the story later. The distant sound of your shrieking voice has him chuckling. Yeah, he’ll hear about it later, he’s sure.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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ainywanie · 5 months ago

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૮₍˶Ó﹏Ò ⑅₎ა OF LOVE AND DREAMS

synopsis: or, in which a stressed out and overwhelmed kenji sato eats takeout with you and slow burn occurs.

requested by; anon / requests are open!

*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(⁠^⁠O⁠^⁠)⁠↝ read this as well in ao3

Baseball. Fatherhood. Ultraman.

What did those three things have in common? Absolutely none. That was the problem. Neither of those three things had any correlation which made it hell to learn how to split them all evenly. Had Kenji Sato found out earlier that his life would involve tons of juggling things around he would've signed up to be a clown instead of a celebrity.

“There ya go.” Kenji whispers, him in his Ultraman form cradled the adorable Emi who chirped and cried and did everything else but fall asleep in his arms. He's been having a long day and truthfully all he wants is to be less miserable than he was now.

He taps the girl’s back, the small Kaiju looking up at him with — which he swears he can practically see— literal stars in her eyes. “Daddy's here.”

Despite how normally he'd find some sense of contentment and probably even relief or satisfaction from finally soothing Emi from her distress, right now all his mind could try to even focus on was baseball and the fact the KDF were after Emi.

And, for a horrible moment, his heart clenches at the very thought of everything in his life just going away. He's already beating himself up with the recent games, he didn't need anything else adding onto that ever growing giant pile of lists on why Kenji Sato wasn't all that he said to be.

So, here he was, ready to just drown himself (and his sorrows) away with a can of unfortunately healthy coconut water. Couldn't a man drink and get drunk? A nice bottle of alcohol and wine would definitely hit just right for him at this moment.

“God damnit— Mina!” He exclaims, sighing and running his hand through his hair while he examines the drink in his hand, placing it down with a rather miserable expression. ‘This thing’s going to kill me before anything else’ He mutters to himself.

“It is best to incorporate a healthy lifestyle, especially with your many responsibilities lately.” Mina appears with her typical monotone and robotic voice.

“I'm as healthy as you can get.” He argues, walking around the rather huge kitchen he's got. Stardom tends to give out a whole heap of money, and that wasn't anything Kenji could just decline.

Mina stares at him —at least— he's sure if she were a real person with an actual human body she'd probably be staring at him with an unimpressed look. And then his mind flashes to his mother who'd also most likely be doing the same.

“I work out,” Kenji starts, deciding to defend his case. “I wake up early,” He adds, looking around the cupboards and making a mental note to get groceries soon. Soon would be way too far in the future. Soon is barely a day close to tomorrow considering he's already got a lot going on.

“I'm a professional athlete.” Kenji scoffs, leaning against the counter.

“Indeed you are. That is why I contacted—”

Just in time, the front door rings. He doesn't hesitate staring at the robot in disbelief and anger at the sudden visitor. As sudden as the visitor came, Mina promptly went away. “You've gotta be kidding,” He mutters, sighing as his hand rubs his temple while he walks over to the front door to see you at the other side.

His face falls, eyes widening in surprise as he didn't expect this whole thing. “What's up?” He asks, doing a 180 and attempting to be his typical suave self, though, internally he's already hitting himself for being so panicked.

What kind of greeting was ‘what’s up’?

“I bought take out.” You say with a smile, bringing up the paper bag filled with food and drinks and instantly it's almost like Kenji was a teenage girl. Nodding his head and promptly moving aside to let you in, he shuts the door behind you and follows after you into the kitchen.

“So,”

“So?”

He stares at you, watching as you take out plates and utensils for the two of you. “Seems like you've got this whole place down. I would've thought you owned the place instead.”

“I wish I owned this.” You only laugh, shrugging your shoulders, watching him stare at you and you swore he could melt things with how intense he's looking at you. “Seriously, when are you giving me the ownership of this house?”

He only rolls his eyes, walking over to you and nudging you lightly by the shoulder, helping you set the whole thing before he recognises the familiar look of the meal. It was from that one restaurant he'd promised to bring you but never got to.

“Thank you, by the way,” Kenji says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye with a soft smile. It was really the only thing he can say considering it was his mistake to have put all else before you.

“For the food?”

“For everything.” He corrects just before wincing at how absolutely lame and cheesy it sounded. “It sounded better in my head.” He quickly adds, watching you laugh.

“I'll take it.” You reply, enjoying how sweet he was being at the moment. It wasn't even a rare sight for him to treat you so nicely —he always did— but somehow something about the way he talked and looked at you just felt like something was up.

Kenji clears his throat, insisting you sit down on a chair next to him as you two dig into the food you bought from a restaurant that just opened up that you and him always talked about going to. “Wow, it's really good.” He says, glancing at you with a smile.

“Here, taste.” He holds up his chopsticks, the tempura in between as his other free hand is at the bottom opened up to catch any crumb that falls.

“Tastes good, right?” He asks without letting you get another word out as he eats more. “I should've brought you there— the restaurant. I think it would've been a nice experience for us.” He laments without another thought.

“It's fine. Eating takeout with you right now is the same as eating inside the place.” You assure, taking more bites of the meal. “Anyway, what's up with you lately?”

He raises a brow, turning a bit to the side to look at you as his hand stops midway before he takes another bite of his food. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I really?” He shrugs his shoulders, attempting to push and change the topic. Kenji feels his brows furrow as he pushes the rice in his bowl around with a clear frown.

“Ken.”

And god does it drive him crazy when you call him by just that: Ken. Not Sato, Kenji, nor Ultraman. Ken. Which was weird considering you weren't the first nor the only one calling him by that nickname, but all he knew was that the way it rolled off your tongue just melted him and made him feel good in a way.

Ken sighs, groaning somewhat. He knows there's no escaping you when you set your mind full onto something.

“Okay, I've been busy with other things.” He admits.

“You mean baseball?”

He almost corrected you. Almost. Unfortunately he remembered you weren't aware he was Ultraman or that he was technically the father of a huge 20-foot Kaiju that lives in his basement.

Ken sighs, looking at you with a rather sad and clearly exasperated look. It's clear that he's really tired with whatever he's been busy with. And truthfully, you didn't want him to feel like he was being forced to tell you the truth.

“You don't have to tell me.” You whisper, taking a hold of his hand and squeezing it as you look up at him with a smile. “You'll tell me about it anyway in the future. Eventually, at least I hope.”

He smiles, letting out a small chuckle as he looks at you with a certain gleam in his eye, his hand squeezing yours back. “Yeah. I probably will.”

“See? And whatever those ‘other’ things are,” You bring up, attempting to cheer him up. Your fist connects with his shoulder playfully before your hand just naturally rests there. “I'm sure you'll handle them just fine no matter what.”

“Besides, I'm here if you need help.”

“I know.” Ken looked over at you, his hand coming up to hold the one you had on his shoulder. He can't exactly find the words to explain things: whatever he's feeling, whatever this moment meant, or whatever you and him were. Why would he need to ponder on your relationship?

You both just sat there, looking at each other expecting something yet also nothing at the same time. Would he? Would you? Neither one of you had any idea on what to do.

“I could kiss you right now.”

Now it was your turn to look at him in astonishment at his blunt words. You could practically feel your eyes leaving your socket and your jaw falling open. “Excuse me?”

“Platonically.” Ken adds in a panic. He sounds surprised and shocked at what he said as if it wasn't him who literally said it out loud. “Like on the mouth— cheek. On the cheek.” He clears his throat, completely looking away from you now with both shame and horror evident in his expression as his fingers begin to drum on top of the table.

The air is tense. The place was now quiet save for the sound his fingers make as they tap. “I appreciate it,” You awkwardly reply, looking away and it's clear both of you are extremely flustered. “The kiss on the cheek.” You said but was that really all you wanted?

“You would?” Ken raises a brow, managing to find some strength in facing you despite the way his heart started to beat in his chest furiously. “Great. I guess we could.. Do that?” He clears his throat, once more already imagining himself hitting his head from the back with a bat. Why did he have to keep talking?

“Deal.”

Despite the tension, whether it be because of the awkwardness or something else entirely neither of you cared as you laughed and ate the food. He told you stories, about his childhood, his work, or whatever he's just been up to in general; and in turn, you told him hilarious and rather stupendous jokes you often hear from your coworkers, but it always makes him laugh so you suppose it does the job.

“— and then I accidentally hit her on the head so you can bet it wasn't nice afterwards.” He told you the story of him teaching Emi baseball, disguising Emi as a girl he babysits ‘on the side’ often whom he also grew pretty fond of watching over. “She's a sweet girl. Needy. But sweet.”

You laugh, enjoying his stories which were never dull and always filled with a sense of amazement every time he tells you one. “Well, what else did you expect from a kid?” You reply with an amused smile.

“I knew what to expect, okay?” He chuckles, shaking his head as his thoughts drift to his times of being with Emi and spending time with her who he practically saw as a daughter. “I just didn't expect things to be hard.”

You send him a raised brow and a playful smile. “If I didn't know any better, I would've thought this Emi was your daughter.” You comment. It wasn't really that hard for you to notice how proud he looked when he told you about this Emi. And frankly, this was even the first time he brought her up so it was a surprise for you to learn he even did babysitting as a side job.

Ken nearly chokes on his food at your words. He couldn't be that terrible at keeping his facts straight and making up a whole cover-up story, could he? He turns to you with a forced chuckle leaving his lips. “That just shows how she means to me now, yeah?” He attempts to reply.

“Guess so,”

Eventually, it was getting late, and not wanting you to travel alone back to your home, Ken had insisted you sleep in his room on his bed which surprises you.

“You've got two beds?” You ask, surprised but you follow him to his room nonetheless. In it, you're not surprised with how minimalistic the whole place is. Though you'd probably also be concerned if it was uncharacteristically decorated and done.

Ken raises a brow at you, gesturing to his single bed in the room. “Just that.” He answers, fixing up the bed for you before grabbing some extra blankets and bedsheets from his closet where he neatly places them on the floor.

“Don't sleep on the floor.” You say, stopping him before he can pull some of the pillows down. “I don't mind sharing.”

And so, now, here you both were. Laying down side by side and staring up at the ceiling as silence is present. You're both beneath the sheets, still somewhat wide awake.

“I really appreciate you coming over.” Ken whispers, shifting a bit so he's on his side and looking at you. “You were just what I needed.”

You smile, shifting as well to face him and so you're both staring at each other with wide grins yet shy looks. He was also what you needed. You could tell both your moods improved with just one dinner despite how uneventful it sounded, it meant a lot.

“Thanks, Ken.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

Baseball. Fatherhood. Ultraman.

Maybe he should seriously start wondering if he should also add love onto the list. But for now, with a quick kiss to your cheek (which takes you by surprise), Ken turns around and closes his eyes and feels himself start to dream.

#「 ♡ 」 ULTRAMAN: RISING #⊹₊ ⋆ kenji sato #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #ken sato x you #ken sato x y/n #kenji sato x you #kenji sato x y/n #ultraman rising x reader #ultraman rising x you #ultraman rising x y/n

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corpsekiller · 24 days ago

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i saw your halloween headcanon post from earlier and i just had to to drop this here — bakugou dressed up as ghostface from scream. that's it, this is the only thing going through my head😩

girl, you're so real for this. i've already read so many fics with this trope, but katsuki would definitely also dress up as ghostface on halloween. thank you so much for sending this ask, my love <3 i loved writing this dkksjsksla

PAIRING. ghostface!katsuki bakugou x genderneutral!reader

WARNINGS. a lot sexual tension, that's it

MASTERLIST

It's strangely quiet.

Your kitchen is dimly lit, the only source of light are the candles flickering auspiciously on your bedside table and the occasional colorful strobe of your decorations you've placed on your windowsill next to a carved pumpkin and some skeleton figurines you've found in a neat little store a while ago.

You're not sure where Katsuki is — he was supposed to pick you up for the party Mina is throwing at her place, but one glance at the clock steadily ticking on the wall above your bed tells you that he's already fifteen minutes late. It's odd, really, because he's always on time, considers punctuality almost as important as strength and victory during battle and yet, here you are, waiting for him as you stuff candy into your bag in preparation for this evening.

There's a faint memory of him mentioning that he wouldn't dress up, ignoring your pleads to wear matching costumes with a dismissive wave of his hand and a typical frown, muttering something about over my dead body and dressing up is only for kids, dumbass, so it doesn't make much sense to justify his unlike tardiness with the lame excuse of him just struggling with his costume.

"Where's that idiot?" You mutter with an exasperated sigh, gently tugging on the hem of your flimsy costume to readjust the fabric before reaching for your phone to text your boyfriend. Just as you're about to open your chats and type your message, a gloved hand snakes around your waist and pulls you back against someone standing behind you.

For a fleeting moment, your heart skips a beat. Then it begins to pound against your ribs — hectical and painful like a small frightened animal caught in the sharp canines of a predator — and your mouth falls open to cry out for help, but no sound dares to leave your trembling lips.

"Did I scare you?" His voice is low, a rough whisper that reverberates in his chest as he pulls you flush against his body, slowly leaning down until the smooth surface of his mask is pressed against your heated cheeks before he continues to speak. "Thought you'd just get away without giving me something sweet and call it a night, huh?"

Carefully, you turn your head and look up at him — hollow eyes and a distorted mouth locked in a permanent scream glare back at you, though the tension finally leaves your limbs and you sigh in relief, almost burst into laughter at your stupidly terrified reaction to his costume. You really must've watched too many horror movies over the span of the last few weeks if you're unable to recognize your own boyfriend.

Because now that you pay attention to the way he grabs your waist, almost possessive in a certain way, you just know his touch — strong, confident, so unmistakably Katsuki.

You squirm in his grip, meekly attempting to fully turn around to face him, but his grasp on your waist only tightens. A whimper leaves your lips, a quiet sound that causes him to chuckle as his hand trails up to tilt your chin, turning your head so you can look at him again.

"No, I don't think so. You're stayin' right here, got it?" His thumb brushes along your jaw, slow and almost tender. Even with the mask on, you can feel his smirk, can imagine the devilish grin that pulls on the corners of his mouth as he keeps you trapped between the kitchen counter and his body without a chance to escape

Though you're not sure you really want to.

"You like it, don't you?" He drawls, tilting his head to get a better look at you — although you can't see his eyes, his gaze seems to burn on your skin and you can't help the violent blush that tints your cheek in a shade of pink. There's a certain edge to his voice too, taunting and dangerous, almost sadistic if you listen close enough, as if he's enjoying the anticipation etched into the soft furrow of your brows, the sheer power he has over you and your body. "You like that I've got you cornered... nowhere to run?"

Oh, this is just a game for him and you've fallen right into his trap.

"Maybe," you reply, barely above a whisper, though you can't help but smile just a little.

"Maybe, huh?" He murmurs, a soft laugh escaping him as he lets his gloved hand wander from your cheek to your neck, lingering there for just a moment before his fingers slowly close around your throat. He doesn't squeeze, not yet, only lets you feel the weight of his hand, but it's enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Better be sure about it. Because now that I've got my hands on you, I won’t let you go.”

With one smooth motion, he pulls the mask up just enough to reveal his face—- the crimson of his eyes has darkened, pupils blown with something you can only describe as hunger and his lips are pulled into a sinister smile that bares all his teeth. There's a moment of silence, then he pulls you into a bruising kiss that punches the air out of your lungs and causes your knees to buckle under the weight of your body until the only thing that is holding you on your own two feet is none other than your boyfriend.

After what feels like half an eternity, Katsuki pulls away. Your head spins with the lack of oxygen, your legs are shaking and yet you can't help but reach out to dig your fingers into the fabric of his costume, roughly yanking him back for another kiss that leaves you just as breathless as the first one.

“Do you really think I'm done with you yet?" He whispers, voice a low rumble, before slipping the mask back down. "You have no idea what I've planned for you...Happy Halloween, babe."

#katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #mha imagines #mha x reader #bnha x you #ghostface!katsuki

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suuuupernovaaa · 2 years ago

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seze

seze [ˈsɛ.zɛ] n. blue flower

Anonymous Request: Reader confesses her feelings to Ao'nung and he rejects her pretty harshly, and Neteyam comforts her and eventually confesses to her and she realizes her feelings for Neteyam. When it comes time for them to mate before Eywa, Ao’nung regrets rejecting her, but it’s too late.

1,708 words

He looked me right in the eyes as he said it, with no shame, holding back nothing.

"I could never love someone like you."

He didn't yell it, he didn't even use a particularly harsh tone... he said it as if he was commenting that it looked like it might rain. It was a simple fact, and he seemed surprised that it wasn't something I'd considered.

I knew what he meant by 'someone like me'. Someone of little consequence. Someone with no particular or special skills. Someone on the outskirts of the clan, someone no one had ever really noticed.

Someone unimportant.

Though the words knocked the wind out of me, drained the blood from my face and made me feel light headed, all I could do was nod, turn, and walk slowly away.

It had taken weeks to work up the courage to tell Ao'nung how I felt. He had been so kind to me lately... I thought maybe, he felt the way I felt. Now I realized, that was foolish.

I left the beach for the protection of the treelined, and once I was out of sight, I sank to the ground, and let out a painful, low-pitched wail that I felt through my entire body.

The disappointment was hard, but the embarrassment was almost worse. Of course Ao'nung wouldn't be interested in someone like me; he would take a high-born mate, not a fisherman's daughter.

I cried myself to sleep, slumped against a tree, trying to accept my fate.

Neteyam noticed a change in Y/N right away. Though she mostly kept to herself, she was always cheerful and happy. He knew Kiri had a particular interest in Y/N, they had become sort of friends, and so she was around his family sometimes.

Something had happened to Y/N about three days ago, but Neteyam didn't know what. Though she was still around, she didn't speak, or smile, or engage hardly at all.

Neteyam asked Kiri what it was, but Kiri just shrugged and told him Y/N hadn't said anything to her.

He thought that was obtuse of Kiri. Hadn't he noticed the change in her friend? She was quiet before - not absolutely silent.

After another day of this, Neteyam could no longer hold his tongue, and when the opportunity presented itself and he found himself alone on the beach with Y/N, who was braiding a fishing net, he decided he had to speak up.

Neteyam sat next to me, lifting the net I was working on into his hands. It was small yet, but would be quite large when I was finished.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked.

I glanced over at him and nodded.

"Actually, I wanted to ask... if you're okay?"

My hands, once busy, settled into my lap, gripping the netting tightly. I was not okay, but I couldn't imagine why Neteyam would care. He had never shown any particular interest in me. In fact, no one had, save his sister, but even she hadn't noticed what was going on with me.

Ao'nung was right - I was not lovable.

A tear slipped from my eye, and I brushed it away, hoping Neteyam hadn't noticed.

"I'm fine," I replied.

Neteyam shook his head. "You are crying."

I turned away from him, pulling my knees to my chest. "It doesn't matter, Neteyam. Don't trouble yourself with me."

His warm, strong hand gripped my shoulder, and without thinking, I leaned over, pressing my cheek to his hand. The contact felt so good, and I tried to remember the last time someone had touched me like this... or at all.

"Tell me."

He pulled gently, and I turned to face him. The look on his face was so genuine, so earnest, and so full of concern. For a second, I wondered if he was teasing me. Maybe Ao'nung had told him what happened already, and Neteyam wanted to make fun of me.

That didn't make sense, though. Ao'nung and Neteyam weren't even close to being friends.

So maybe the concern was genuine.

The words spilled out of me then, like vomit, and I couldn't stop them. I told Neteyam about my years-long crush on Ao'nung, how I had pined for him, imagined a life with him, took his kindness to mean something it hadn't meant, and how when I'd told Ao'nung how I'd felt, he made it clear that I was too unimportant for someone like him to ever care about or notice.

I was crying by the end, fat tears rolling down my cheeks and splashing hot onto my lap, but it felt so good to finally tell someone that I didn't care, I couldn't feel embarrassed anymore. I had suffered enough embarrassment to last a lifetime over the past few days; I wanted to be done with that.

When I finished, I furiously wiped the tears from my eyes, and waited for Neteyam's response.

His expression was... angry. His brows furrowed, his mouth pursed, his eyes focused.

"I will kill that moron," he whispered.

I sighed and shook my head. "He doesn't have to love me."

"But he could at least be kind!"

I didn't reply, because I couldn't exactly argue with him.

Neteyam reached out unexpectedly, pulling me to him, wrapping me in a tight hug. Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around him, scooting closer, our bodies pressed together.

It felt so comforting, so intimate, so nice to be treated like this and cared about, I would've started crying again if I'd had any tears left.

"Neteyam, thank you," I whispered.

He pulled back, looking me in the eyes. "You are important, Y/N. I have watched you. You are kind and thoughtful. You watch Tuk carefully to ensure she doesn't ever get hurt, you treat Kiri with thoughtfulness and protect her when others treat her like she's different, you even tolerate Lo'ak. I have never met anyone so gentle or caring. That someone could hurt you... it makes me want to kill him, Y/N. He had no right to speak to you that way. You are like... you are like a flower, with soft petals. You should be protected, given water and sun, not stomped on."

A flower. This is was nicest thing anyone had ever said to me, and Neteyam was staring into my eyes, so intently. How could someone like him, the son of Taruk Makto, have noticed and felt these things about me?

"Neteyam, I..." I searched my mind for a perfect reply, but could only come up with: "I see you, Neteyam."

"I see you, Y/N."

My lips spread wide in a smile - my first in many days - and Neteyam smiles in return.

After that day, Neteyam and I were scarcely ever apart. He became at first, a best friend, my closest confidant, and then naturally, it turned into something more.

There wasn't a moment when I realized it had happened. He just began holding my hand nearly all of the time, guiding me by the small of my back, touching his forehead to mine when we part and finally, one night, he kissed me.

It didn't even shock me. It felt natural, that Neteyam would kiss me. It felt really almost overdue. Neteyam should have been kissing me since the moment we met.

We were completely in step, in sync, together always. Neteyam was meant to be my mate, and I was meant to be his.

He didn't really ask me, formally, to be his mate. He just mentioned once, something about, "when we're mated..." and I agreed.

And the date was set... but we told almost no one, outside of his family and mine. It felt special, secret, just for us.

"Kiri says they're very happy," Tsireya told her mother while she chopped fruit. "I think it's nice, that Y/N has found someone. She's always seemed so lonely."

Ronal nodded. "That's good. Good for Y/N. She's a nice girl."

Ao'nung sat across from them, his jaw set in anger. Y/N had done him a kindness by telling no one about his harsh rejection, and he had since realized that.

It wasn't that he didn't like Y/N. He had always thought she was beautiful, and kind, and there was something interesting about her, a quality he hadn't seen in other women in the clan... but no one really knew her, or cared about her. Her parents weren't particularly important to the clan, and neither was she, and Ao'nung thought, as future Ole'eyktan, he should have someone better.

He had come to realize that he had been stupid. Better wasn't more well-known, more talented, more superficial... better was kind, and caring, and someone his mother thought was a 'nice girl'.

"They are to be mated before Ewya," Tsireya said with a blush. "They don't plan to make a ceremony of it, just the two of them."

Ronal smiled. "Beautiful."

Ao'nung sat, simmering in anger at the chance he had lost, thinking of how Neteyam had almost beat him senseless when he found out how Ao'nung had treated Y/N.

He knew now, he deserved it, and he'd missed his chance.

When Ao'nung had told me he could never love me, it had seemed like the end of my life. It made me feel stupid, and worthless, and ugly. I hadn't thought I'd ever recover.

Then, Neteyam breathed new life into me. He didn't have to, but he did, and he kept doing it, every single day since then.

We emerged from the water, Neteyam breathless, chest heaving, my mate before Ewya.

He pulled me into his arms once more, pressing a desperate kiss to my lips, holding my face in his hands, then wrapping his arms around my waist.

"I love you," he whispered over and over between kisses, and I thought I could cry with gratefulness and joy.

"I love you, Ma Neteyam," I replied. I pulled away, just for a moment, to smile at him. "Thank you."

He pushed the wet hair from my face. "My flower," he said with a soft smile, as he so often did.

The sting of rejection was long behind me, replaced by enough joy to last a lifetime.

#neteyam #neteyam x reader #ao'nung #ao'nung x reader #neteyam fic #avatar 2 #avatar twow

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envy-of-the-apple · 9 months ago

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Okay,, you have to let us know are the eggs any characters Specifically like megumi or itadori? I bet they would be clingy mommas boys.

Love you crumbs you give us and happy late birthday 🫶🏻

awww ty bestie okay okay okay holdonholdon

You'd name the hatchlings. Idk if I mentioned this or not but in the excerpt, the reader names Suguru and Satoru cuz they didn't have a concept of language yet. I think once they had a general concept of human language, they'd use their human names for each other just like you do.

When Nobara, Yuji and Megumi hatch, they'd definitely hang onto you the most. It's mostly because you are the most caring out of the throuple you were forced into. It makes sense for you to care about them, right? After all, human babies are pretty helpless and that's how far your knowledge extends. And they're adorable, with big round eyes, making cute little chitters. You get a tiny bit protective of them, especially considering the other two nagas don't carry the same sentiment. Suguru is clearly a believer of tough love and you've caught Satoru trying to put one of the eggs in his mouth (you're pretty sure he was joking...but you arent risking it when they're this tiny). They're small right now, but naga hatchlings grow up fast. They're practically your height in just a couple of years.

I feel personally, Yuji would be the (most outwardly) clingiest. He's affectionate, more dog than snake, sometimes. He's the largest of his siblings. When he was smaller, his favorite thing to do was wrap himself around your shoulders and you'd carry him around. He can't do that now, but he has other ways of spending time with you. He 'hunts' with you the most, assisting you with collecting berries and fruit. Apart from you, he'd bond with Satoru more. They share a similar personality, both are easily amused.

Megumi would be the shyest, but he loves you just as much as his siblings do. Much like his fathers, he enjoys the warmth you provide and would love cuddling with you in the languid hours of the evening. He doesn't do that much when he's older, but he's still interested in spending time with you! He likes quality time, the most. Eventually, during your time on the island, you'd have set up a tiny garden. He'd help with that. He and Suguru would have lots of similarities, so you'd often catch them together. They'd both help with your garden, helping cultivate the seeds and soil. It's not natural for them, but they understand you're different from nagafolk

But I think Nobara would be the one you're the closest to. She hatched the first. She's also different from her brothers. Again, in the naga species, the females become something akin to sirens. Slowly, you'd notice how different she is compared to her brothers, how much she enjoys the water, how dry her skin gets when she stays on land for too long. She'd evolve differently. Webbed hands, her tail would be more lithe, finned.

Because she's so different, Satoru and Suguru don't have much of an interest in her. Again, much like reptiles, nagas are fairly independent at a young age. Satoru and Suguru allow the hatchlings to stick around because you'd pitch a fit otherwise and they try to keep their mate happy. Once it becomes clear Nobara is aquatically gifted, you'd be terrified of the thought of her being out alone at sea, so you'd often go out with her, not caring how pruny your fingers get. Because of how much time you spend with her, I think she'd be the most interested in humans. She'd ask you about human culture, human customs. Every once in a while, she'd go out and collect remnants of humanity, clothes, trinkets, jewelry, anything she can find off the ocean floor. She'd sit on the rocky shore, holding out each one, demanding you to explain them to her.

You wouldn't dare mention how much you fear her fathers, but I feel Nobara would be the first to realize that you don't want to be here. She can see it in your eyes, the longing whenever you're explaining another human trinket. She wants you to be happy, but if you go back to the humans....would you still have time for her? Would you still braid her hair? Take care of her? Love her?

In the end, Nobara is the most similar to her fathers. She'd keep you on the island too.

ughhhhhh i should just write that chaptered naga fic already this is getting ridiculous.

#yandere #x reader #dark content #yandere jjk #dark gojo satoru #dark jjk #dark geto suguru #naga au #naga satosugu #naga gojo satoru #naga geto suguru #naga fushiguro megumi #naga itadori yuuji #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto suguru #yandere satosugu #siren nobara kugisaki #Top of the Food Chain

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steventhusiast · 1 year ago

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STWG daily prompt 7/12/23 (i'm late to this)

prompt: black eye

pairing/character(s): steddie

this is part 2, read part 1 here

"Yeah, I'm here. I got you, sweetheart."

Eddie's words bring about a lopsided smile to Steve's face, and then his eyes drift back to being closed. He doesn't look like he's asleep, but he's definitely not all there. Distantly, Eddie wonders what good shit they've got Steve on for him to not be sobbing in pain at every movement right now. His black eye is.. difficult to look at.

Once again, Eddie wonders what the fuck happened in the past forty eight hours. He turns to Buckley.

"What happened?" He asks, and Robin narrows her eyes and looks ready to attempt to interrogate him again, so he's quick to continue, "I- I know you have questions, but for now can you just accept that I'm here because I care about him?"

He hopes she ignores the way he's still absently rubbing his thumb in a back-and-forth motion over Steve's arm. Hopes that for now she can dismiss the casual intimacy, and not question why Eddie's one of Steve's emergency contacts. Not while Steve lacks the therewithal to make a decision about coming out or not.

Still looking suspicious, she nods once, and casts a glance to the other side of the room, where the two younger kids are sat together. Eddie follows her gaze to see the young girl is asleep, head resting on Dustin's arm, and Dustin has his eyes resolutely on the door, like he's waiting for a monster to burst through it. He doesn't look fully there.

"We were just finishing the closing duties at work and," Robin starts, and then pauses like she's going over the details in her head, "and there was a late shipment we had to put away in the freezers, but then a fire broke out and we got trapped."

Buckley is a lot of things, but a good liar isn't one of them. Even if she was a good liar, Eddie knows things that make that one sound implausible. Steve hasn't been missing for just one night. It's been two nights. What the fuck happened before the fire? And that's not even considering the logistics of Steve's injuries and how they happened.

"Don't bullshit me." Eddie says quietly, looking down at Steve again, "That makes no sense and you know it. Are you seriously telling me a fire give Steve a black eye and a concussion? These kids just happened to be there?"

His words have Robin looking incredibly nervous, and Dustin straightens a little where he's sat, looking to be actively listening for the first time since Eddie entered the room.

"You have to shut up, man. I don't know who you are, but it. Was. Just. A. Fire." Dustin says, eyes determined, but scared.

"I'm Eddie." Eddie pauses, considering a new possibility that frightens him even more than Steve's injuries, "Did you guys.. Did you get threatened? Whoever did this," he gestures at Steve's face, "are they making you stay quiet? I can help you. I know people."

Dustin sighs and goes back to watching the door, the frightened look in his eyes becoming something haunted. Robin bites her lip, and Steve cracks open his good eye to look at Eddie, tears welling up.

"They w're- Eds, you gotta j'st- leave it be." He tells him, and a tear slips out and down his face, no doubt causing the scratches on his face to sting.

"Stevie. Please. Who hurt you?" Eddie whispers, tears blurring his vision now as he truly takes in his boyfriend. He feels helpless, and he can't even provide comfort the way he wants to because it might not be safe. He doesn't know Robin, not truly. And he doesn't know the kids at all.

Steve makes the decision for him, lifting one shaking, weak hand to clumsily wipe away a tear that's escaped.

"'s okay, Teddy. L've you." He says, and Eddie hates himself a bit. Because Steve's trying to comfort him while he's laying in a hospital bed. Eddie raises his hand to cover Steve's where it still rests on his cheek, supporting and holding it there.

"I love you too." He whispers back after a harsh sniffle, and hears Robin beside him making a noise of understanding.

"Oh, you're his- right." She mumbles to herself, shooting Steve a look to which he gives her a slight smile of confirmation. Eddie raises his eyebrows at the implication. Steve had come out to her?

"Yeah. And if you have a problem with it, well. Like I said, I know people." He tells her, putting on his best bitchy smile as he slowly puts Steve's hand back to rest on the bed. He ignores Steve's noise of complaint to keep eye contact with Robin. He hopes he's being intimidating.

"No need for all that. I know Dorothy too." Robin replies, and Eddie just nods. Feels a bit of the fear inside him deflate.

And then Dustin asks a question, and the little girl at his side rouses from her sleep.

"Who the fuck's Dorothy?"

"Mutual friend." Robin answers, tone clipped.

"Okay. I don't know what I've just woken up to. Who's this wannabe-goth nerd?" The little girl asks, voice full of sass as she raises an eyebrow at Eddie.

How she went from dead asleep to awake-enough-to-roast-him in five seconds, Eddie doesn't know. He narrows his eyes at the insult anyway.

"Eddie Munson. Metalhead extraordinaire, for your information. And you? What's an eight year old doing here?"

"Erica Sinclair. And I'm eleven, you long haired freak."

Eddie gapes at her, and distantly hears Steve giggle. For now, cautiously, he thinks that maybe things will be okay. Eventually.

some people asked to be tagged or replied about wanting a part two so i'm tagging: @djohawke @imyelenasexual @y4r3luv @disrespectedgoatman @starxlark @f1inl3ey

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #stwgdailyprompt #dailydrabble #mywriting

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katyusha454 · 7 months ago

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I think I've found the most tragic ship in BG3 and I need to rant about it

I've seen a decent number of people discuss and write about Dark Justiciar Shadowheart, but they always focus on what she's like post-game when she's fully committed to Shar. Which is a fine thing to focus on! Especially when you're writing smut where she's a mean domme. Post-game DJ Shadowheart is a fascinating character. But I feel like people neglect to consider what she's like during the transition phase of Act 3, where she's become Shar's Chosen but hasn't yet Done The Thing that caps off her personal questline. And there is SO MUCH potential for angst and drama during that time frame.

IMO the most important aspect of this stage of her development is that she is not evil yet. She simply made a single bad decision and now she feels like she's in too deep to do anything but double down on it. She's spent her whole life trying to "fake it 'till you make it" and she's only just now starting to transition out of that and into sincere belief. All the misgivings and insecurities she's shared with you are still there, just buried deeper. That desire to love others and do good hasn't yet been completely stamped out. In my Dark Justiciar Origin run, I try to do good things whenever possible as long as I can find a way to rationalize it as benefiting Shar. (but I still ended up saying enough evil-sounding things to make Minthara incredibly horny for me)

So where does Karlach fit in?

Well, turns out when you play as Origin Shadowheart, Shar doesn't make you break up with your partner. In fact, Shar says absolutely nothing to you about your romantic situation. This is really weird if you're romancing anyone other than Karlach, but I think it makes perfect sense for Shar to tolerate a relationship with Karlach for the time being. It's the ideal opportunity for Shar to prove a point. Karlach is dying, and no matter what Shadowheart does, this relationship is going to end in painful loss. Shar wants Shadowheart to fall in love with Karlach only to have that love abruptly ripped away from her. It perfectly demonstrates everything Shar believes about love: that it's fleeting and will always hurt you in the long run. Better to just avoid it entirely so you don't get hurt.

And Shadowheart knows all this. She's studied Sharran scripture extensively, after all. She knows that Shar is trying to teach her a lesson, she knows that the longer the relationship lasts and the more emotionally intimate it gets, the more the end is going to hurt. So why doesn't she break it off? Partly it's because she loves Karlach and doesn't want to end things; she's probably in denial at least a little bit. But I think it's also partly because she's a bit of a masochist. She thinks she deserves to suffer because she knows, at least subconsciously, that she's still not a very good Sharran. She can see the loss coming and she hopes the experience will bring her closer to Shar.

You'd think Karlach would be unwilling to put up with DJ Shadowheart's fanatical bullshit, but personally I think Karlach would stick it out for a whole mess of reasons. Number one, she can still see the good in Shadowheart and she refuses to give up on her partner. She's clinging tightly to the hope that Shadowheart can still be redeemed, even though she probably understands that it's a long shot at best.

Number two, she blames herself. When you play as Tav/Durge or another Origin, Shadowheart will have a conversation with you before deciding what to do in the Shadowfell. But if you play as Shadowheart, none of your companions says a word to you. In the context of this ship, I choose to interpret that as Karlach being too trusting. She's seen the good in Shadowheart, after all. She's so certain Shadowheart will do the right thing that she doesn't think she needs to speak up. It's not until too late that she realizes what Shadowheart needed was for someone to say "hey, are you sure about this?" So now she feels she needs to make up for that failure somehow by continuing to try and nudge Shadowheart in the right direction even though it seems impossible.

And number three, Karlach's just plain lonely. As fucked-up as this relationship is, she's still getting companionship and intimacy, and she doesn't think she has time to cultivate a new relationship if she breaks up with Shadowheart. She wants someone to be with her and hold her hand at the end, even if that someone is a brainwashed cultist.

In sum, both of them know that their relationship is extremely unhealthy; that it's hurting them now and will hurt them more in the future. But they both refuse to end it for their own reasons. And good gods, the ANGST. ARE YOU FEELING IT NOW, MISTER KRABS?

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #shadowheart #karlach #shadowlach #dark justiciar shadowheart

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raayllum · 4 months ago

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scene of all time. to me

I'm gonna be circling back to Rayla and Callum's argument/talk over the dark magic use over and over again in the next 6ish months (if not years) so this is not all of it, but everything I feel ready to articulate right now. Let's go

First off we have Rayla's concern being at the forefront of her mind — dark magic almost seemingly killed him the first time, "it puts [his] life in terrible danger," she wants to protect him and doesn't want him to be hurt, etc. Callum tries to put moral qualms onto her (and we'll get to his in a second) and see if that's her reasoning, but Rayla doesn't take it cause she hit that turning point way back in 2x08 / 2x09.

I also think the framing of "Because it makes you vulnerable to the thing you're most afraid of" is interesting, because I don't really believe Callum when he agrees.

Between "I think deep down I knew, I just hoped if I didn't think about it" and "When you were under the ice I was so scared, I thought I was going to lose you like we lost her" and "I'm afraid that he'll use me [...] and hurt people I care about," I think what Callum is most afraid of is Ezran or Rayla dying. Full stop. After all, he was more unwilling to live in that reality than he was in one where Aaravos took him over.

Gonna talk about her asking why in a bit, wanna talk about Callum's outburst and dismissal first.

C: It doesn't matter. I did it, I'm ruined, it's too late for me, who cares?

He spirals hard with his anger and upset over everything, and you can tell by her face how worried she is. Even the fact that Callum looks away from her repeatedly in this scene, similar to how he avoided looking at her when she first came in 4x03, to have those emotional walls and distance up. It likewise makes me think of Callum insisting "There has to be a way to make it right" in 1x02 only for Harrow to inform him "No, it's too late for that". There's also some semblance of "well I made my choice so I'm just Like This now" that we saw/see from Viren (and Aaravos) as well, which of course isn't true, but that's how it feels. Why Callum is so adamant about this is another thing I'll get to in a minute.

But contrast the "I'm ruined" with Rayla's "you're a good person Callum, maybe the goodest" in a couple of episodes, and the "who cares?" when Rayla is right there, caring about him as he pulls a, well, her of sorts.

Then we have Rayla reaffirming for the 4th time that she wants to know why Callum would keep doing something that's dangerous, that hurts him, that puts him in terrible danger (almost like how she Leaves to protect him or uses herself as a shield constantly or something).

What is his 'good reason' (5x01) because the only thing that makes sense to her is that he'd have one? What could Possibly be worth that cost and level of risk to him, of the thing she believes he's scared the most of?

Wasn't the one she was expecting, we can say that much.

C: Finnegrin was going to kill you. I didn't have a choice, because... I would do anything for you.

Now, there's two ways to read the above line. You can read it as Callum trailing off in "I didn't have a choice, because..." his love for her compelled him to act, and there was no other option he was willing to consider. This best fits with the condensed/cut lines from Finnegrin's Wake of "It seems to me like love has a tighter grip on you than those chains around your wrists, so I'll do you a favour and set you free" where Callum could either lose Rayla but 'be free' or keep loving her and stay 'chained'. Then, "I would do anything for you" is a reaffirmation of how he feels and his vow of sorts to her. This is the one I lean towards if I had to pick definitively between them.

The second way we can read the line is "I didn't have a choice because I would do anything for you," which is that his capacity for the 'anything' removes his agency. This is definitely the one that's in line with the mindset of dark magic creates, which is that if I can do something, if I can save/help/protect/cure someone, then how can I not, no matter the cost or sacrifice?

Rayla processes the reevaluation of the vow and its boundaries.

He did it for her, risked all of that and himself for her, in order to save her life. "Am I supposed to thank you?" And I think again we see the parallels between her leaving to protect him, and how she would've rather died than have Callum use dark magic again (as she's about to say in a minute) but this really stood out to me in comparison to Viren and Claudia and Viren and Soren later this season.

Claudia mandates "You have to stay! You have to [do what I want]! I saved you! You owe me your life!" in 6x01. We learn in 6x06 what, precisely, Viren did to save Soren's life, and Soren then offers up his heart to Viren for Katolis in 6x08, something in Claudia's vein of logic (though not to her herself) Viren would be entitled to. But Viren, and Callum, make it clear that Soren and Rayla don't owe them anything just because the two mages saved their lives with dark magic.

Then Rayla switches gears and gets to the heart of the matter.

Now this was really exciting to me for a few reasons. The first is that I always wanted the "Make the sacrifice" angle from Viren-Aaravos in 5x09 to come back around for Rayla and Callum in a future season since I love that fourway foils dynamic a lot. Rayla refusing to kill him, and Callum refusing to let her be killed/sacrificed in some other manner. You don't have characters say shit like this (nor have this be what causes Callum to stumble and the ship starts breaking) unless you plan on going there for both of them, which is likewise what I've always wanted since even before S4 came out. The fact that this is also spearheading us to talk about Rayla's ideas of sacrifice and of herself ("Cause I know you Rayla, you never do anything for yourself") is especially beautiful and exciting.

Ergo, this argument is the scene of all time. To Me.

#rayllum #tdp meta #tdp spoilers #tdp #the dragon prince #giveusthesaga #analysis series #analysis #s6 #6x03 #arc 2 #s6 spoilers #parallels

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robbinghisdick · 2 months ago

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"Good afternoon, baby boy!" Wade cheerily greets, swinging himself over the back of the couch and dropping himself hard into Logan's lap. The older man grunts slightly, but doesn't push Wade off as the man pulls up his mask just enough to plant an exaggerated kiss on his cheek. "Where have you been all day?"

Now that he had gotten a good look at Logan's face... something was off.

Logan was quiet for a moment, considering. "Well, you know how I've been feeling sick lately?" He asked. Pain was nothing new for him. The weight of his bones and poison from the adamantium made sure to keep his body in some level of pain. One thing his healing factor prevented was illness. If he managed to get sick, he didn't stay sick for very long.

"Yeah and I said, "you should get that checked out" and you grumbled and whined like a dog being taken to the vet?"

Logan rolled his eyes and continued, "Well, turns out I'm pregnant."

It was one of those rare times Wade was rendered silent. The mask also made it annoyingly impossible to get a good read on his face.

Wade, meanwhile, was trying to gauge whether or not this was a good thing. Logan didn't seem particularly happy.

"How the fuck did we manage that?" Wade asked. "I mean, it's not like my cancer ridden body makes healthy little swimmers and you said the adamantium poisoning rendered you infertile."

"According to the doc, unless I literally don't have a uterus, there's always a freak chance," Logan sighed, leaning heavily back into the couch and running his hands over his face. "It doesn't matter either way. We can't have a baby."

Logan waited to see if Wade would agree or disagree with him. He found himself half tempted to rip the mask off so he could get a better read on him.

Who's to say the baby would even make it to term, and what then if it did? Have two dads who's lives were marked by death and tragedy? Two guys with a list of enemies a mile long and would target a kid without thinking twice? Their lives were messy and dangerous, they couldn't bring a kid into that.

There were a million reasons why they shouldn't bring a baby into the world, but that was all too much weight for Wade. "I mean, you're right, but like, what if it develops the wolverine claws in the womb and bursts out of your stomach alien-style? That'd be kinda cool."

Logan's nose crinkled in disgust, nearly shuddering at that mental image. "That's horrific, thanks."

Wade just grinned, cupping Logan's face with both hands and kissing him.

"But seriously, whatever you think is best."

...

Later that night, Logan stared up at the ceiling fan, the blade whirling at full blast because Wade insisted on snuggling despite how hot both of them ran. He was splayed out like the world's most clingy starfish, head on Logan's chest. It was clear he was still awake too as one of his fingers idly tracing over Logan's arm. This quiet, domestic routine had become the norm.

When Logan thought about it, they were truly in a better place than they had ever been before. Logan had a home and family. The mansion was a home, but this one was his. One he chose to share with Wade. He had friends who loved him, a partner that stuck with him no matter how grumpy he got. Hell, he wasn't even drinking or smoking as much as he used to.

There were still battles and hardships, but never before had there been such a strong sense of support and community.

Logan was... happy.

"Wade?"

"Hm?"

"I..." he trailed off, unsure. "I think I actually want to have the baby." He couldn't particularly explain it. For years he fought against being put in a fatherly role when it came to all the young mutants he had met and looked after. Somehow, though, the thought of going on that journey of parenthood with Wade actually seemed kind of exciting. He loved that man more than he'd ever be able to put into words.

Wade sat up so fast it made Logan flinch.

"Oh thank FUCK!" He exclaimed, reaching over and turning on the bedside lamp while he straddled Logan's lap. His eyes pratically sparkled as he looked down at Logan. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Logan stared back up, surprised. "Wait, you wanted to keep the baby?"

"Of COURSE I want to have a little baby wolverine with you!" Wade waved his hands as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Like, yeah I think we're probably not the best parent material in the world and Jesus the CHRIST is it terrifying, but I wanna be dad."

"Why the fuck did you not say anything earlier?!"

"I'm not the one carrying it!" Wade shot back. "Besides, I never thought I'd have kids anyways, so not exactly a deal breaker, sweetheart." He patted Logan on the cheek. "Also, you know how many orphaned and abandoned mutants we run into? We always had a chance. If only Laura were younger, coulda started there."

Laura was an adult by the time Wade came into Logan's as a romantic partner. She was still young, but not a kid that needed parents to look after her.

"So... we're gonna have a baby?" Wade asked, a grin on his face.

"We're gonna have a baby."

Wade surged forward to kiss Logan, enthusiasm rubbing off on him as he smiled against Wade's lips. His face was peppered with more kisses and whispered "God I love you so much."

When Wade calmed down a fraction, Logan had to bring him down a bit more. "I'm only a few months along, we don't know if the baby will even make it," he reminded him. So many things could go wrong it was terrifying.

"Nope! This little guy--gender neutral--is a little fighter!" Wade insisted, hand splaying over Logan's stomach. They're gonna make it and be beautiful, and then we get to name them something cool!"

Logan scoffed but couldn't keep the smile off his face. "We're not naming the baby after any of your cartoons."

"You are absolutely no fun," Wade pouted. "I'll sneak something by ya."

Logan just pulled Wade down into another kiss to shut him up.

...

((They name her Allura, from Voltron lmao.

Writing this has made me incredibly sad for reasons I'll say if asked, but decided not to say so y'all don't just get randomly sucker punched.

This is NOT movieverse, exactly, but just a vague timeline. Movieverse poolverine end up with the kid tho. Which you can read here.

ALSO YES I KNOW THIS IS THE 3RD BABY AU ON THIS ACCOUNT. I have problem. I don't even want kids 😭))

#deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #deadclaws #my fic #logan howlett #x men #marvel #allura wilson #trans logan

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watatsumiis · 1 year ago

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Being A Part of the Sumeru Squad!

I've been thinking a lot recently about being a part of the ‘in’ group in Sumeru - the ones shown to be good friends on screen already (Tighnari, Cyno, Al Haitham and Kaveh!) I feel like there's lots of ways one could slot themselves into the dynamic and it's just very pleasant and fun to think about.

(Rambles below the cut. Platonic stuff, reader is referred to as ‘you’ and is entirely gender neutral)

Though the squad is almost constantly making playful little jabs at one another, bickering back and forth and whatnot, they're overall a pretty supportive and kind group and accept you into their midst without too much fuss.

You soon find yourself invited to a myriad of small, casual get-togethers where the group catches up with one another. It's kind of weirdly formal at first, with so many of them holding such high and important statuses.

Luckily, Kaveh also ends up feeling pretty left out during these discussions, so you'll have someone to chat with or ask questions when you've lost track of the topic at hand. Plus, he's often got some very funny (and surprisingly astute) commentary to add on, even when the subject is painfully dull.

Once all the politics are out of the way, the conversation tends to ease right up for a little while. Regardless of whether you're at some restaurant or cafe, or just hanging out at someone's house, there's usually snacks available and things will remain super lighthearted for a bit, all jokes and talks of recently released books or occasional infodumps about hyperfixations and special interests.

On that subject, whenever the stars align and two or more group members have the same special interest or hyperfixation, hoo boy, you can expect them to monopolise the conversation and somehow always drag it back to whatever niche fascinations that they may have accrued lately.

If you have something you want to talk about, you can rest assured that at least one person in the room will be able to engage. Everybody has their own collection of equally specific and obscure knowledge - with the occasional kind of hilarious overlap. Kaveh and Cyno’s shared fascination with Fontanian machinery, or Tighnari and Al-Haitham’s in-depth discussions of insectoid languages and their potential overlap with human ones are some of the first to come to mind.

Of course, disagreements do break out every now and then - but everyone is fairly civil for the most part, if a little bit overdramatic and occasionally loud. It's interesting to see how everyone the group tends to take sides almost as soon as a hint of a possible disagreement rears its head. Al-Haitham once questioned Cyno's sense of humour, querying whether it could really be considered comedy if nobody was laughing, and pretty soon, Tighnari and Kaveh were arguing along as passionately as if they'd been personally insulted.

You tend to be the tiebreaker more often than not - with such an evenly split group, there often tends to be an even balance between whatever arguments. It doesn't help that Al-Haitham likes to break it all down and give pros and cons for both sides (while still keeping his own stance firm), which may make it impossible for you to decide.

Luckily, it's easy enough for you to guide the group's attention elsewhere. Just offer to make them some hot drinks or ask if someone wants to play a round of Genius Invocation, and it's like the argument never happened at all.

It's easy to wind up feeling a little out of place in a group of such highly ranking people, but it's like your friends develop a sixth sense for when you're starting to get a little confused or feeling out of your depth. Instead of poking fun at you (like they do for Kaveh), they'll find a way to rope you into the conversation that doesn't put too much pressure on you. Cyno and Tighnari, especially, seem to have a way of relating things to subjects that are in your area of expertise to help you parse them better so you can find your footing and be debating back and forth with the rest of them.

Game nights tend to get really intense. It's not a case of if someone will flip their lid, it's simply a case of when. Alliances and subsequent betrayals are all too common, and you'll often find yourself being bribed to help someone one-up another person.

They even have a ‘trophy’ for winning each week's game night. It's a tiny crown, carved out of wood and painted gold. Collei made it and donated it to the group. Whoever possesses the crown also possesses the ultimate bragging rights until the next gaming night (or until they accidentally sit on it and squash it with their big clumsy butt. Kaveh ).

Though the group is chaotic, noisy, and constantly teasing one another, they're all so supportive of one another and will stick together through thick and thin. As the conversations slow down, sometimes some pretty serious subjects get brought up, heavy venting and other such similar things.

Though, they're all very understanding if someone isn't in the correct headspace for that sort of talk, and will happily postpone it or talk about it elsewhere if needed. They're also very used to multiple conversations happening at once, so it's easy enough for someone to dodge around the heavy topics if they need to.

The squad can be almost violently supportive at times. Sometimes you worry that Cyno may be one hundred percent genuine about abusing his status as the General Mahamatra to threaten somebody who mildly inconvenienced you one time in the market last week.

Overall, the vibes of the friend group are super fun (if a little intense at times). They may not say it directly, but everyone is super glad to have you around, hanging out with them and getting in on all the goofs they make and shaking up their dynamic a little bit.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagiarise my writing! I do not consent for my works to be translated and posted elsewhere, or copy - pasted into bot or AI technology.

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xjulixred45x · 8 months ago

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I hope I am not too late to make a request. Can I please get a Yandere Toji Drabble where he is obsessed with a Sorcerer darling and their CT is based on divination so they are one step ahead of Toji whoever one day they end up corning their darling and it leads to a scary game of hide and seek

YEAH BABY!! Finnally some content for this man! I was wondering when Someone was going to Request him(finnally something that is NOT SATOSUGU THANK GOD!)

Yandere Toji Fushiguro x Reader: a Step ahead.

(reader) knew from the beginning that something was wrong.

They noticed very quickly when He began to follow them, thanks to their ritual technique they felt safe, because they would always be one step ahead of any weirdo who tried something with them. They didn't consider it something important, just a strange day.

Even when he came back.

Which was kind of strange, it's not like it wasn't possible, but normally these types of people gave up quickly, right? Why was he still behind them?

No, it doesn't matter, they could handle it, they always have been able to.

And they did it, they got rid of the stranger for the second time, already calm that he would probably not see them again, he was always one step ahead of things, they would make sure of it.

They even took the trouble to try to remember if they had seen him at any other time, his intimidating presence was familiar to them, his appearance... but they really didn't think it was that important. They could handle it.

It was like that for a while, the encounters with this person became simply a bad moment or in any case a horrible coincidence that had happened. They were calm knowing that they could avoid him and his bad intentions. It became simply an anecdote of a bad time. They could continue with their normal lives.

But then why did they feel so uneasy?

It didn't matter where they went, what time or who they went with, there would always be that feeling that something could be happening, that something was happening, but there was nothing nearby to indicate otherwise, and with their ritual technique this tipi of things should be a piece of cake.

Thanks to this, (reader) they began to try to spend as little time alone, that way they felt that this feeling was not so difficult to handle. It worked for a while.they would find a way to get rid of this problem.

but then they started to feel it again...he was stalking them...the same guy...again.

Their ritual technique, divination, had saved their live many times, sometimes giving subtle clues and other times concrete information, but with this man, Toji Fushiguro, they didn't understand why it didn't work the same way. It was as if there was some kind of interference with their ritual.

They finally realized where they had seen Toji from. in the files of the high command...one of the deadliest Sorcerer alive...

the sorcerer-killer was after them.

He blended into the background, disappeared and appeared, they couldn't feel his cursed energy. How did he do it? How did he avoid his ritual technique twice?

It all made sense when they met him in person...

They had been using their ritual technique constantly to avoid Touji as much as possible. but it had left them tired and without desire. Fortunately it seemed that he had temporarily withdrawn from his "position" so they were calm.

To be honest, they were kind of hoping. Could it be that Toji finally stopped following them? Did he finally leave them alone?

And then, in less than a second, that Hope was shattered.

-"You are very lucky to be so adorable"-

They were breathing hard trying to calm down and remain silent, now hiding from Toji. Everything went so fast...

-"If any other target was giving me the problems and fights that you give, I would have already killed them"-

They tried to ignore his words and move slowly towards another hiding place, but they couldn't help but tremble after hearing the last sentence. which made their movements faster and clumsier. They feel so scared and so tired...

-" But don't ya worry, You're reciving the Special treating, i would't put a hand over You.."-

They continued to crawl in their footsteps, increasingly tired and weaker from using their ritual technique, there had to be a way out of that, THERE HAD TO BE A WAY...

-"..well, unless you're liking all this sweetheart"-

Finally they saw what seemed like their last hope, now that they had no cursed energy left, they had to get to where the people were.

Move, ignore it, move...

-"because, personally--"-

(reader) came out of his hiding place and with the little strength he had left they went towards the public area, without stopping, without looking towards where Touji's voice was coming from, they just ran.

They ran, they turned the corner, they kept running, they crossed the streets, they ignored all the pros of running away from this man-sorcerer--monster--whatever he was.

and again it was there, the feeling of hope when they were less than a block from the public area, maybe they didn't get rid of it this time, but at least they could try again, they could run away--

With a single blow with something hard, (reader) collapsed, being caught in the air by a strong arm...

They began to shake compulsively, breathe heavily, and felt fear take over them as they looked up to see him.

-"I always enjoy a good game of hunting from time to time."-

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Thanks for the Request ❤️

I didn't really LOVE IT, but i like it, it was fun to write for Toji, if you are going to order from JJK, ask him more and not SatoSugu please (those two already have me rotten)

#headcanons #neutral reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu no kaisen #yandere #yandere jjk #yandere toji #yandere toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji x reader #tw yandere #tw stalking

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 2 months ago

Text

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 19

Lena gives Kara the right of way, and lets herself be led into the kitchen. When they enter the room, Kelly and Alex straighten at the sight of them, while Esme remains focused on pawing thru the fridge for the elusive cider.

Kelly's gaze remains gentle and perceptive-- Kara sees her focus dip to their joined hands before sliding to her wife. Alex, meanwhile, is scrutiny incarnate, her gaze hard as she scans Lena imperiously.

"Hi," Lena says quietly.

"Hi Lena," Kelly returns easily. "I'm glad you could come."

Lena relaxes a little. "Me too. Thank you for having me. You have a lovely home."

"Probably not what you're used to," Alex says, her tone carefully neutral. Kara spots Kelly's grip tightening in warning around Alex's hand.

"It's been a while since I've been home," Lena allows. "So this is a nice change of pace, for sure."

"Oh? Where do you live?"

"I split my time between Metropolis and Star City when I'm not on tour," Lena replies easily enough. "But of the two I consider Metropolis more my home. I grew up there."

"I didn't know that," Kara says.

"Mhmmm," Lena hums. "We in the city most of the year because of my brother's band. When they weren't performing, they were auditioning, so it was just easier to live there full time."

"You have a brother?" Esme says, perking up.

Kara feels Lena tense a little, suddenly realizing she might have shared too much. But it's too late to back pedal.

"We're not in touch anymore."

Sensing Lena's discomfort, Esme thankfully doesn't pry any further. Kelly keeps the silence from stretching too far.

"Well, we happy to have you. We figured you could share the guest room with Kara--"

"Or you can take the couch," Alex inserts. She studies Lena for a reaction, but Kara comes to her rescue.

"With me is fine," she says. "Unless you all fall asleep to the witchy thing--"

"Hexed! Mom, Lena watches Hexed!"

Finally, Alex relents, her posture sagging a little as she lets her guard down. "Then she's got good taste."

"She's got a crush on Samantha Arias," Kelly whispers theatrically.

Kara barks a laugh as Alex splutters indignantly. "I do not!"

"Do too!" Esme joins in the teasing.

"Don't worry, baby," Kelly assures her wife playfully. "She's on my hall pass too."

That makes Alex stop. "She is?"

Kara opens her mouth to mention having met Sam, but Lena nudges her sharply. She looks over and clicks her mouth shut when Lena gives her a look that says 'not now'.

"Well," Kelly says, even as Alex still gawks at her, "looks like we need to stock up on cider and spooky snacks, so why don't we head to the store while you two settle in?"

It's not the most subtle segue, but Kara is grateful for a chance to talk with Lena privately. Once Esme is shuttled off into the car, Alex gives them one last hard look before closing and locking the front door behind her.

Lena sighs. "Well, that went better than I expected."

"It helps that Esme's your biggest fan," Kara offers with a wry grin. Then she sighs. "Let's sit."

Lena nods, and they sit on opposite ends of the couch, orienting themselves to face each other. Lena looks nervous, and though Kara's first instinct is to ease that, she holds back. What was it that Kelly had said? Growing pains.

"Those pictures sucked to see, Lena," Kara says carefully. "I understand they were outside your control, but... it still hurt."

"I know. I just-- don't know how I can fix it. Like I said... it comes with the job. I signed up for it... but you didn't. I get that."

Lena sounds miserable, and looks it too. But Kara doesnt have any more ideas than Lena does.

"Maybe being with you means signing up for it," Kara allows, thinking out loud. "But what happens when I start being part of the scandal. What happens to Esme?"

Swallowing thickly, Lena lifts a helpless shoulder. "I don't know."

"Me neither. But it's something I have to consider." Kara slumps further into the cushion. "Also, I-- I don't know where I stand with you."

Concern flashed across Lena's features. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, but... I'm in your court, Lena. I'm... an intruder. And I care enough about you that when I see something concerning, I want to ask about you, but.... I don't know if I'm allowed to."

"You can ask me anything," Lena says.

"Okay." Kara meets her gaze and holds her. "Why didn't you want to meet with Morgan Edge alone?"

Lena's cheeks lose all color in an instant. Her entire body seems too lock, her hands clasped in a white knuckled grip.

"I don't expect an answer," Kara says quietly. "But that's what I mean. I don't feel like I have the right to ask about this. And I suspect plenty of other subjects will make me feel the same way."

Lena stares at her, eyes wide. Kara reaches out to clasp her wrist, but Lena pulls away. Hurt lances through Kara's chest, but the tight sound of Lena's breathing concerns her more.

"Lena--?"

"What else," Lena croaks.

Kara hesitates. "Lena..."

"What. Else."

Taking a deep breath, Kara carefully forges ahead. "We started this content to simply see where it goes. Do you still feel that way?"

Lena doesn't respond.

"Because it doesn't feel casual anymore. Joining you on tour was certainly impulsive, but it wasn't casual. I thrust myself into your life, and you invited me to, but... I can't really bring you into mine, can I?"

"I'm here now," Lena says, voice tight.

Kara nods. "And I'm grateful for that. But... you wouldn't be able to go to the store with Esme to get cider. Or even take a walk around the block."

Lena releases a short breath. "No. Not without putting her in danger."

"I know you would welcome Esme into your world as warmly as you welcomed me. But for her it would be temporary. For me, if I choose this, it would be permanent, and complete."

She watches Lena inhale again as though to speak, but she doesn't.

"I don't think we'll find a solution before the others get back," Kara continues. "But I wanted you to know where I'm at. What I have to think about."

Lena nods. "I understand. Thank you."

Finally, she meets Kara's gaze. A small smile, but it and the glint in her eyes are sad. She swallows several times before she's able to speak again.

"Can I... do you mind if I take a minute before the others get back?"

Kara nods readily. "Of course."

Lena rises stiffly, then retreats to the powder room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Tears burn at Kara's own eyes, but relief overwhelms them. Relief that the unspoken burden of worry and uncertainty that has been weighing on her, has now lifted in the speaking of it. Perhaps it's selfish of her to now make her concerns now Lena's burden as well, but... would it have been fair to either of them to keep it to herself?

By the time Alex's car pulls back into the driveway a few minutes later, Kara's hands stop trembling, and Lena re-emerges with clear eyes. Their eyes catch as the front door opens, and Lena offers a reassuring nod: whatever happens next, it won't affect tonight.

True to Lena's unspoken promise, the evening proceeds without a hitch. She gamely weathers Esme's velcro presence, listening with interest as she rambles about school gossip and the boy she likes in her history class. And after dinner, they watch Sam bewitch and enchant on screen while munching on sweet snacks and sipping cider out of mugs shaped like skulls and cats and candy corn.

That night, however, the air grows taut between them the moment the guest room door shuts.

"I can take the couch," Lena murmurs.

Kara pauses. "Do you want to?"

Lena shrugs. "No. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable--"

"Hey," Kara interrupts softly. She closes the space between them. "What we talked about today came from a place of love. It hasn't made me uncomfortable." She hesitates. "Has it made you uncomfortable?"

"I mean... a little. I don't like uncertainty, much. And with us in a gray area, I don't know what's... appropriate."

Kara smiles. "Sharing a bed can be as appropriate as we want it to be."

"Kara..."

"I plan to sleep on the right side, fully pajama'd. I don't figure we need to make things any less certain than that."

Lena chuckles in spite of herself, but isn't quite convinced. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Kara assures her.

Finally, she gets a small sigh of resignation. "Okay."

Kara's efforts are enough to banish the tension for a few minutes, but it comes back in full force once they crawl under the blankets. They face away from each other, but Kara can feel the stiffness in Lena's frame, a tension that takes root in her own limbs.

It lasts for several long silent minutes before Kara speaks up.

"You know I wouldn't have said anything, if I didn't care. Right?"

Lena sniffles. "I know."

---

The next morning, Lena lingers long enough to have breakfast with Esme and see her off to school. Once she clears her dishes, Lena collects her overnight bag and offers Kelly and Alex a soft smile.

"Thank you for having me," she says.

"Our pleasure," Kelly returns. "Thank you for coming. I know it was a long trip, and it meant the world to Esme."

"She's wonderful, truly. You've raised an amazing person."

Kara escorts Lena to the driveway. Once Lena stows her bag in the back seat, she turns back to Kara with soft, sad eyes.

"You're not coming back, are you."

Somehow, Lena saying it first makes it easier for Kara to concede. She shakes her head. "No. I don't think so."

"And us?"

Kara takes Lena's hand in hers, and Lena twines their fingers together.

"I care about you too much," Kara says, "to do this halfway."

Lena anxiously rocks on the balls of her feet, lips pulling against burgeoning tears. "Yeah." She manages to meet Kara's gaze. "So, back to normal life?"

"Ehhhhh...." Kara hedges. "The fact I dropped my job the first chance I got is a clue I might not like it very much. Maybe I'll look for something I'm more passionate about."

That brings beaming smile to Lena's face. "That sounds like a great idea. You deserve to find... whatever you're looking for."

Kara lifts her hand, cupping Lena's cheek. "And you, Lena Luthor, are stronger than you think. You deserve to work with people you trust."

She hopes Lena understands her meaning, and from the stunned half-open set of her mouth, Kara suspects she does.

Kara leans in one last time, kissing the corner of Lena's mouth. "Thank you, Lena. For everything."

Lena nods against her. "You too, Kara."

And then Kara watches Lena climb behind the wheel and carefully drive away. As she stares at the winking tail lights, even though her chest aches and her eyes burn, she can't help but feel as though a brand new life is just waiting to unfold.

#supercorp #musician age gap au #angst angst angst #*this is not the end*#please please trust

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luveline · 1 year ago

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hey jade!! i love kisses before dinner and was wondering (if you like the idea) maybe you could write something about avery realising how scary giving birth can be and starts worry about it before the new baby arrives? <3<3<3

thank you for your request! kisses before dinner —mom!you and dad!steve comfort avery when she has concerns for your health. fem!reader, 3k

cw discussed maternal mortality and death

Steve Harrington looks out over the kitchen table that night with a great sense of success. You're sitting at the other end with Dove on your knee, feeding her bites of macaroni cheese between feigned spoonfuls given to her rainbow teddy bear. Bethie sits to his left eating without complaint (a victory considering her pickiness). Avery sits to his right, trying to pour her own glass from the juice jug. It's awesome.

Steve quickly swallows the drink he'd been sipping on and offers to help her, hand extended, "Here. I got it."

"I can do it," Avery insists, her long arms shaking under the weight.

He doesn't mind her being independent, nor her improving capabilities, but the last thing he wants to do tonight is clean up a huge juice spill. Steve takes the juice gently and refills her plastic cup.

"Dad," she whines.

"Avery," he whines back.

She huffs and grabs her fork, ignoring her fresh cup of juice to shovel in bites of broccoli and macaroni instead.

"I think I'm done," Bethie says. Steve must have jinxed it.

He attempts to do the impossible —convince Bethie to finish dinner. He takes up station by the side of her chair, having tried everything now, and only this works.

"Beth," he says, putting his hand behind her back, "Are you sure there's no room left? I don't want you to be hungry again before we go to bed 'cos you won't tell me, will you?"

"I'm full," she insists, reaching for her drink bottle.

"Is there something wrong with it?" he asks, rubbing up and down her back.

"No, daddy, it's nice," she says. She isn't quite convincing, but she tries.

Steve looks at her. She looks like Steve sometimes, like neither of you other times, but mostly he looks at her and he sees you. Your smile, your frown, Bethie's tell is the same as yours when she lies. Steve can read you both like a book.

"Is it cold?" he asks, sticking his pinky finger in the corner of her macaroni. "A little. If I heat it back up for you, would that make it better?"

"No, please," she says.

He sighs. "Make you something else? Sandwiches?"

"I'm not hungry, daddy."

Steve plasters a smile over his worries and kisses her cheek. "Okie smokie. Well done, honey, you ate lots and lots. Let's try even more for breakfast, yeah?"

"Yes!" she agrees, sliding off of her chair.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"Need to pee!" she yells, running to the stairs. She opens the baby gate (which she’s known how to do for too many years, way before supposed to know how to —thanks so much, Avery) and Steve listens to her sprint up the stairs with a wince.

"Call me if you need help!" he yells after her.

"Okay!"

"You think that's why she didn't want to eat?" you ask, wiping the corners of Dove's mouth with her bib.

Steve stands up and stretches his arms behind his head. "I don't know," he says, rolling his neck around in a circle.

"Is it gross if I eat her leftovers?" you ask.

"I'll make you another pot, if you want it," Steve offers, arms dropping down to his side. He's been trying to get back into shape lately. It's not working out. "You having cravings?"

"I'm just hungry all the time," you say, your voice melding into a sing song as you finish wiping Dove's face. "All done! Good girl, Dovey! You're my good girl." You plaster her forehead with a layer of kisses before putting her down on the floor. She wobbles, hands on your thighs. "Okay? You want another drink?"

"Dotty Dolly," she says, taking your hand. "Please. Please, Dolly."

"Yeah, my love. I'm coming." You groan as you stand up, not quite pregnant enough to worry about popping soon but more than enough to feel exhaustion to the marrow.

"Just me and you then," Steve says to Avery, tucking in chairs and piling plates at the table.

"Me and you, sir," she agrees in a funny voice.

"Still mad at me?"

She remembers to glare at him. "Yes!" She takes another bite of macaroni. "Okay, no."

"If you're not gonna chew with your mouth closed, put your hand over your mouth. I don't wanna see your chewed up dinner." Avery pokes her tongue out, laughing when Steve says, "Ewww."

He sets the leftovers aside for you rather than waste Bethie's largely untouched pasta in the trash, stacking the dishes in the sink and wetting a cloth to wipe down the table. He cleans around Avery, squeezing her neck, shoulders and arms to make her squirm as he goes.

"You want seconds?" he asks, returning to the sink.

"I want dessert."

"Good idea. You know Mom's so pregnant all she does lately is wake me up for ice cream."

"She wakes you up?" Avery asks.

"By accident trying to put her socks on at the end of the bed. Baby's getting too big now, she can't see her toes."

"It's a good thing she has you, dad."

"Yeah, but you'd help mommy, wouldn't you? Help her put her shoes on if she couldn't reach?"

Avery hops off of her chair and passes him her plate, completely clean of food. She grows like a bamboo shoot and eats like a rabid dog. He loves it. She's evidence that he's a good cook.

"Thank you. What did you want for dessert?" he asks.

"I have something to ask you."

"Oh." Steve hates the sound of that, theorising that she wants a new something or other he'll have to say no to. He grabs her by the waist, wet hands and all, hoisting her up onto the counter by the dish rack. He puts a rag in her hands. "You dry and I'll answer."

"It's a weird question," Avery warns.

"Avery, you wouldn't believe how weird some of the questions I've asked are. Don't worry about it."

He scrunches dirty water out of the dish sponge and squirts soap onto a dirty plate. The hot water burns his fingertips. Avery dries a plastic plate diligently, her question coming out slow as running wax.

"Mom's gonna be okay, right?" she asks quietly.

Steve fights to keep his eyebrows down. They bob anyways. "Okay from what?"

"When she has the baby. She's not going to get hurt?"

"Well, having a baby really hurts. But there's medicine for her to take, and I'll be there to hold her hand."

"No," Avery says, frowning, "that's not…"

"Sorry, Ave. Ask me again, try a different word."

She puts the dried plate down to her left and picks another to dry. "Will mom die?"

"No," he says. Doesn't miss a beat, though his pulse capers. He knows that childbirth is hard, that lots of things can go wrong, but if he truly thought you might die he wouldn't have asked for another baby. And even if he did think it were going to happen, it's not a thought Avery needs to have. "She won't die, I promise you. Where'd you get that idea, honey?"

"Jordan's mom died having a baby."

Steve nods and tries to recalibrate the conversation. He knew of Jordan's mom passing away, he made a couple of trays of food for Jordan's dad and put money in the collection plate for her memorial, but he didn't know Avery knew precisely how it happened.

"Right, she did," he says gently. "And that's scary, huh?"

"Why can't it happen to mommy if it happened to her?" Avery asks.

Steve shuts off the water. Hand still wet, he rubs his forehead roughly. "Can I have that?" he asks Avery, gesturing for the dish cloth. She gives it to him, putting down her last plate, and Steve wipes his fingers dry to pick her up without getting her wet a second time.

"Let's have a talk," he says, tilting his head to the side. He sees his eyes looking back at him, smaller and softer, longer lashes but the same honeyed brown. "Me, you, and mommy. Okay?"

"Dad," she says, startled.

"It's okay, It'll be better if you talk to mom, too, because it's mom that's already had babies, not me. I think I know everything because my brain is so big and stuff, but I can't tell you what your mom is thinking."

"I don't want mommy to get upset," she says.

It's partially his fault for asking her to tell him if there's a problem rather than you a few weeks ago. He didn't want you walking up and down the stairs unnecessarily, and your blood pressure is something they've been keeping an eye on. He didn't mean for Avery to bottle things up. Every time Steve thinks he's doing something right it finds a way to bite him in the ass.

"I meant if Bethie's turned the faucet on and flooded the bathroom, or if you want to change your bed or something, not that you can't ask her things that are worrying you," he says, readjusting her weight. Her knees dig into his sides as he carries her to the living room doorway from the kitchen.

"Hey, mom?" he asks.

Your head jumps up. You're sitting on the edge of the couch with Dove's face in your knee, a dribble patch dampening your pants. Bethie has her hand in yours sitting next to you. You're still in your work clothes, your bump straining against everything now, but yet to drop. He'll have to wash your pants tonight.

"Hey?" you say, a guilty smile tugging up your pretty mouth. "I'm coming to do the dishes, I swear. My girls caught me in their net."

"Can we talk to you? For a minute," Steve says.

Your eyes widen. You stand up with a funny noise like someone's stepped on your toes, lifting Dove by the armpits to sit next to Bethie. You kiss the girls goodbye and they're too distracted by Dotty Dolly playing on the TV to mind.

"What's wrong?" you ask, following Steve back into the kitchen.

"Want me to explain?" Steve asks Avery. She nods. "Avery's a little worried about you."

"About me?" You put your hands under your face and beam at her. "What's worrying you? I've never been better."

"She's worried about when you have the baby."

"'Cos of Jordan's mom," Avery whispers.

You hear it despite her small voice, your smile sobering. "I see… I see. You know… you're a big girl, Avery. You're my big girl, and I wish I could keep you this young forever sometimes, but I know that you know that people don't get to stay with us forever, so I don't want to scare you, but I'll tell you what I think, yeah?"

Avery swallows around nothing.

Steve gives her back a sympathetic pat. "It's okay," he says to her, enthusing his voice with some pep to calm her down.

"Jordan's mommy was sick when she passed away," you say, your hand resting on your bump now, inching closer to Steve and Avery where they've paused under the kitchen light. "She knew things were going to be hard. When you have a baby, you know things won't be easy, but it's not fair. It's very sad. She," —you look at Steve with a parent familiar fear that says, Am I saying the right things?— "said goodbye before anyone wanted her too, but Avery." Steve knows what you're going to say. It's a promise he made only minutes ago, one that you have no control over keeping, but a necessary one nonetheless to make. You could very well have complications down the line, things could spin out of control, but Avery doesn't need the stress of that hanging over her. "I promise you here and now that I'm not going anywhere. Daddy won't let me."

He laughs a little breathlessly. "Damn straight."

"But daddy isn't a doctor," Avery says, holding out her arm.

You walk into Avery's reach, letting her climb from Steve's arms to yours without complaint. "He didn't have time to be a doctor, he was too busy being the best dad ever."

"Are you flirting with me?" Steve asks.

"Duh, Stevie." You turn your attention to Avery, struggling to hold her and stroke a hair from her face. "Don't worry about me. Promise me you won't, Ave."

"I just don't want you to go away," Avery says with a frown.

Steve feels an unexpected heat behind his eyes. You smile softly, your thumb on Avery's cheek. "Then I won't. I'll stay. I can't go anywhere without you, gorgeous."

Steve strokes the back of Avery's head. "And I can't be without either of you, so mom doesn't have a choice."

He wishes things were that simple. Steve has no idea what the future holds, but he chooses to believe it'll be a good one, where every one of his girls gets to grow old. But the future isn't something he can predict nor change by wishing alone.

"Did that make much sense to you, sweetheart?" you ask Avery.

"It makes sense. Sorry."

You and Steve make twin sounds of loving disbelief.

"Sorry for what?" you ask, as Steve says, "No, God, don't be sorry!"

"It's okay to ask me stuff," you say.

"That's what we're here for."

Avery wraps her arms around your neck. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" she whispers, near imperceptibly, Steve's ears straining to hear her under the sounds of the water heater and the television.

"I'm sure. I've done it three times already."

"Are you scared?"

You shake your head resolutely. "No. You know why?"

"Why?"

"'Cos I know, at the end of it I might get another little girl who's just like you. Or like Beth, or Dove. Maybe I'll get one who's nothing like any of you, but I know with such a great big sister she's going to be amazing."

Avery rests her cheek on your shoulder. "You think so?"

"I know so."

"Thank you," she says.

You laugh again. "For what?" you ask, nails raking up and down the length of her back. "Only telling you what's true. Me and daddy think you're the bestest."

Steve rubs his face with both hands rather than cry. Crying makes his eyes sore and he has to wake up at six AM tomorrow to take the girls to swimming lessons at seven thirty. (He also doesn't want Avery to see him crying and get the wrong idea, what with the previous conversation.)

"Mom?" Bethie asks in the doorway.

"Yes?" you murmur, resting your head atop Avery's gently.

"Excuse me."

You laugh a charmed laugh and scoot out of the way, resting your weight on the door jam. Bethie looks incredibly small idling at his feet, even though Dove is much smaller. She smiles nervously.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He pretends to be nonchalant, while inside he's thinking about lots of things. Avery's huge heart and all her worries. Bethie's emerging cheekiness after years of quiet. Dove's roaring giggle when you squeeze her just right. And you, your bump, your devotion to him and the girls, but more than that —your voice and how you talk with all the good you possess. How you're talking now to Avery in dulcet tones.

Bethie takes his hand. "Can I have the rest of my mac and cheese, please?"

"Yeah, babe. Unless you want dessert instead?"

His hand sways in her grip. "I want mac and cheese if that's okay."

Steve picks her up with a typical dad groan. He'll check on Dove first, but he has no qualms with warming her mac and cheese. He'd offer to make you another helping if you weren't distracted entirely, nose bridge nuzzling into Avery's neck.

He doesn't know what the future holds, but he hopes for more of this.

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