#just saying that the cowl didn’t feel like him anymore

[notrobinsomethingworse]

The real reason Tim took the cowl out of his costume was because he almost died of heatstroke when Bruce very clearly told him to “use a more breathable fabric chum” with Tim replying “nah, I’ll be alright.”

[nxtaliaistyping]

Thinking about Bruce Wayne fucking the disobedience out of you

18+ nsfw, fem reader, spanking, rough sex

Knowing that Bruce Wayne was Batman was a luxury that few people had, and he reminded you of it daily. How it’s a risk for you to know, it’s a risk for him to be dating you in the first place. So the one thing he asks of you, is to listen to him. All he wants is for you to be safe, and he knows what’s best for you.

So when you’re standing there in your stupidly attractive outfit, having followed Bruce…no, followed Batman, into the warehouse he’d thought a rising drug gang was utilizing, he was pissed beyond belief.

Jaw clenched, visible at the cut-off of his cowl, he grabs your arm and pulls you over to some nearby wooden crates, throwing you over them so your ass is practically hanging out the short skirt.

“I told you. I told you never to follow me. And you didn’t fucking listen.” He growls, the voice he usually saves for criminals he needs to scare a confession out of now being directed at you.

No matter how much you whimper that you’re sorry, clearly it’s falling on deaf ears as he pulls your skirt up and spanks you. Hard.

“Maybe this’ll teach you a lesson. A lesson to actually listen.”

He strikes again and again, hard ones too. Your ass feels bruised and aching, as your frame jolts with each spank. Clenching your thighs together offers you little relief, all that’s left is to cling to the crate for dear life and hope to god some criminal doesn’t wander in to see the bat spanking you like a naughty child.

The truth is, Bruce had found evidence that the gang had moved their base of operations, meaning this area was truly abandoned. But he figures you don’t need to know that, maybe the fear and anxiety at being seen will further drive home the lesson he’s attempting to teach.

Just when you’re about to cry out that you can’t take anymore, he rips your underwear off with sheer brute strength right before fiddling with the crotch of his suit. You don’t dare turn to try and see what he’s doing, fearing more punishment.

But the feeling of his cock tapping against your ass tells you what is about to happen, as you arch your back wantonly.

“This isn’t a reward, do you hear me?” He grunts out, before sliding into you quickly, setting a rough pace without giving you time to adjust. You grip the crate tighter, eyes rolling back at the harsh rhythm.

Little moans and whines are fucked out of you with each thrust. All of them are music to Bruce’s ears, despite his annoyance at your behaviour. Still he keeps railing you like he hates you, forcing his cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your stomach. The heat rushes to your core, clenching around him.

“I’m gonna cum in this pussy…gonna take you home leaking and wanting.” He states, speeding up to clearly chase his release. “If you’d have just been a good girl like I wanted, I’d have ate you out when I got back. I’d have made you gush around my tongue like I always do. But no. You had to pull a stunt like this.”

When he cums, he does so with an almost animalistic growl, marking you from the inside with his hot seed. You feel it fill you up, but you also feel the burning need that comes with not being able to orgasm. Whimpering as he pulls out, he picks you up bridal style before walking you to the batmobile and placing you in the passenger side. At least he didn’t place you in the back, restrained where the criminals usually go.

As he drives back, you feel his release seep out of your used cunt, surely staining the seats. But you don’t say anything, just trying to keep your thighs tightly pressed together. The whole time, it's silent, until he eventually cracks once he gets you home safe. Telling you how worried he was, how you're the best, purest thing in his life, how he needs to protect you no matter what.

And if he goes back on his word and makes you cum all over his thick callous fingers...well he just can't resist <3

[nikovraskol]

this is gonna be very long winded so apologies in advance!

I’ve noticed that the readers ages of 16, 18 and 21 feel more important since they’re like a checkpoint for important parts of their lives. 18 is when they butted heads with their family more often, 21 is when they died and 16, well that’s the age that the returned to.

what would it have been say at 16 they were on autopilot so they went to breakfast and Alfred (and by extension the rest of the family ) didn’t realise something was off about them until later?

what if they returned at 18 instead of 16 when their relationships were more volatile with the bat fam?

or heck maybe at 21 a month, week, day or hour before getting shot- say if they were able to contact the police beforehand or at least call Alfred for help if they were shot but the last timeline warned them enough that they avoided lethal wounds?

(bonus: Bruce or the others - I’d expect Jason to pop up from a seedy alley- finds them after being shot and on the verge of dying, but they’re saved just in the nick of time)

(bonus bonus: they get greedy and kidnap surprise adopt multiple different versions of reader and their batfams go nuts because they “went missing”)

GRR come over here and kiss me on my hot mouth i'm feeling romantical also i will carress you for picking up on the age thing.. like damn u actually read my shi

masterlist

at sixteen, if you were to go to breakfast and act on autopilot! then congrats! you'd be able to leave (for a month). it'd be difficult because bruce wouldn't check on you so you couldn't ask him for funds. but if you were to ask alfred maybeee he'd give it to you, so long as you don't say what it's for, of course.

so then, you're living happily, peacefully even. for two months, you live your life like a normal person! until one fateful evening when you're casually lounging about -- someone knocks on your door. weird, but okay.

you open the door, and there stands fucking batman and robin just. standing there.

"we're here to--"

you slam the door on their face. now, because you've acted on auto-pilot, they didn't interact with you in the same way they did in the og story, so you're understandably confuddled. because? why the FLIP is your estranged family at your door?

over the course of the next few days, strange events occur. you go to the diner down the road to get some food and red hood slides into your booth wordlessy. you're walking home after going to the store and nightwing literally APPEARS and offers to carry your groceries. your phone's battery is mysteriously depleting fast, flipping orphan and spoiler show up at your school, hanging around.

worst of all, no matter where you go -- there's that bat-shaped shadow following you. if you look up, you'll see the outline of his cowl, and if you lock eyes he will swoop in, to save you -- of course! so keep your head down, savour your freedom for as long as possible but don't ever get too comfortable.

at eighteen? ooh i feel like a fly mischeviously rubbing it's hands together.

twenty-one year old you waking up eighteen, well, dare i say, it's better than waking up sixteen.

eighteen you had preemptively distanced yourself from the family for you. you're a legal adult, so you can work -- and best of all? (you can smoke ciggerattes) you have actual friends.

up until your eighteenth birthday, your every waking thought was on how to be better, to get better -- so with you becoming a legal adult -- well you understood that there isn't much for you to do anymore, you began to focus less on yourself and more on you. despite that, there was still the nagging feeling heavy in your chest that you'll never be accepted, never be apart of them -- there was a part that yearned for that acceptance, however late it maybe.

so your sudden disinterest wasn't alarming, not really. until you've finally found a good place, in a nice area. you're packing your stuff casually when bruce walks into your room for the first time in fuuck knows how long (because alfred asked him to).

"where are you going?" he is flabbergasted, but keeps a cool expression on his face as you give him the most diabolic side glare ever.

"i'm... leaving?"

lmao, no you're not! all of a sudden this calm procedure turns into a whole thing. give bruce the name of your landlord, he wants to see if they're good -- in fact, he can buy the house off of them so you don't have to pay a thing!

dick and jason are literally scanning every part of your new apartment, top to bottom, every single thing.

"this is not safe, these windows don't even have locks." jason sighs, analysing your windows with such scrutiny it makes you uncomfortable.

"this chain is broken! tut, tut, you can't live here!" dick adds on, ignoring the fact that the chain on your door is fine and that one chip on it won't get you killed.

tim begins to talk to you about finances, but he overexplains it using words you can't even begin to comprehend -- you're pretty sure he's doing it on purpose, what with the smug grin on his face.

"didn't bruce buy the building?" you ask, your eyes narrowed as you watch him scribble down numbers and whatnot.

"..no comment."

while those buffoons are doing that, you're being pressured by damian to stay.

"why must you leave? to live in a crappy old shack? just stay in the manor, it's safer for you." he's literally DOWN your neck with these types of comments. meanwhile, you're reeling 'cause what the fuck is going on?!

whether you give in or not is up to you -- just know, you will one way or another return to the manor.

as for the last one, let's say you get transported back five minutes before getting shock. which pisses you off 'cause what're you supposed to do in five minutes!?

nonetheless, you manage to get away with being shot once instead of five times, so you have enough energy to limp away -- and then you bump into red hood.

oh damn, oh damn, wow, so he's going to shoot you to -- or that's what you think, what you don't expect is for him to pick you up and literally shoot your offenders.

wow, okay.

you get taken back to the manor and you're literally reeling as they fuss over you, "how could you be out so late!?" this or "why do you need a job!?" that.

it's a shortcut to being locked in the manor, they take care of you like you're incapable, dick spoonfeeding you despite your protests, tim sitting silently besides you which makes you stress because he's so unnerving, cass hovering around you -- bringing you everything you need, sometimes you don't even realise you need it until she brings you a glass of water because you 'looked thirsty' (???).

this isn't just restricted to when you're recovering. you nearly died because of their negligence! so they pay extra attention to you, just so you don't get any silly ideas about walking gotham alone at night. honestly? what were you thinking, it's a good thing they're here to protect you.

(also side note ; the idea of jason being NEAR (name) when they died, but not knowing is so eghsudg to me, like he'll learn about where they died after finding the crime scene and he falls into a pit of despair because if he had taken the right route, if he had followed his instincts, he could have saved you.)

as for the last, last one. let's say you're a random variant of (name) from another universe and you've gotten transported without knowing it, you walk home morosely.

as you open the door, you are greeted with countless different versions of you -- all of them wearing the same expression of confusion. you don't know how to react when dick spots you and shouts, "we got another one"

guys if u sent an ask or request I WILL get them done.. i'm just being a lazy bum, thank u for the kind words tho everyone <3

[daddychi-01]

Batman Headcanon

Give me a 9 or 10-year-old Dick Grayson who has been Robin for a little bit but is still figuring out his relationship with Bruce Wayne. They are more than a guardian and his ward but not quite yet father and son. They both want that but neither of them have gotten up the courage to say it.

Now give me a hostage situation, during some kind of gala or charity event for the school. One where a lot of rich people and their rich kids are present so it’s very important for Bruce and Dick to be selling the whole secret ID thing, so they have to looking just as pathetic and scared as the other people around them.

The bad guys immediately recognize Bruce Wayne and his brat, and they pull Dick away from Bruce. They threaten Dick’s life, saying that Bruce better cooperate or he’ll have to find a new orphan to to take care of, not like it would be a problem since Gotham has so many.

Dick thinks the fear in Bruce’s eyes is an act. That’s not just Bruce after all, it’s Batman. The Dark Knight. He’s literally not allowed to be afraid, so that look can’t be real.

But it is.

Bruce hasn’t been this terrified since the night he lost his parents. His heart is racing and he has to physically push down a panic attack because that isn’t going to save Dick right now. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t fight these people, not when he is Bruce Wayne. Without the cape and cowl, he has to be a helpless playboy.

So he does the only thing he can think of: he begs.

Bruce Wayne drops to his knees and he pleads with the masked goons to spare Dick’s life. He’s just a boy. A boy who has already lived through enough trauma. Bruce understands if these people hate him and if they want to hurt him instead, that’s fine. But he begs them not to hurt Dick.

He promises to give them anything. They can have his fortune, his life, whatever they want. Just spare Dick. That’s all he asks.

And a masked woman steps forward, leaning down in front of Bruce with what he knows is a sick smirk. The air around them thins and Dick feels himself shiver fifteen feet away. He hadn’t been expecting Bruce to say any of those things. Sure they were close, they had to be as the Dynamic Duo. But he thought after his parents died, there wouldn’t be another adult who would speak about him like that.

That would care enough to swallow their pride and beg, just for him.

Dick’s ears perk up when he hears the woman speak.

“Anything?” She asks. She sounds delighted, almost like she had won some sort of bet at a bar and not that she was leading a hostage situation.

“Anything.” Bruce confirms.

“Okay.” She stands, pointing her gun in Dick’s general direction. “I want your Mommy’s pearls.”

Bruce’s body freezes in shock.

Dick closes his eyes now resigned. Bruce may have been willing to say he would give anything but those were just words. It was one thing to say it, it was entirely different to actually do it. And Martha Wayne’s pearls were too high a price.

Dick can’t blame Bruce either. He imagined being asked to give up his mother’s wedding ring and felt his stomach turn. No, he wouldn’t begrudge Bruce for changing his mind—

“Done.”

Dick’s head shoots up, eyes wide with surprise. He had to have misheard. Bruce didn’t. He wouldn’t…

“Give me a phone. I’ll call my Butler and he will bring them here.”

And Dick cries. Not because someone is holding him hostage, he doesn’t care about that, but because a wave of realization crashes down onto him with an unforgiving strength.

He isn’t an orphan anymore. He has a dad. Bruce loves him.

Bruce ends up calling Alfred and Alfred, being the badass that he is, gives the Gotham PD a heads up but drives there anyway just so he can sucker punch the woman who demanded his late mistress’s pearls just to psychologically torture his son while holding his grandson hostage.

He then takes the pair home. There’s a small tin of cookies in the back for them to share on the drive back.

[snaileer]

The Messenger is Already Dead - 4

Part 1 &2 Part 3

“Talia fell in love with Bruce Wayne!?” Danny says, whipping around to the man in question.

Everything starts piecing together like the worst Fruitloop themed puzzle ever. Danny had seen his face when Batman had removed his cowl of course, and it’d looked familiar, but that could have been anything, he never thought- Bruce Wayne!? His biological father, a man who hadn’t even known he existed, who Danny had never known, was Bruce Wayne? The richest man in America?

“You didn’t know?” Tim asks and Danny wants to scream.

He doesn’t, because that would be unassassiny-like and he’s not 100% sure it wouldn’t come out as a wail- but the desire is very much there. It feels like half of his life-view is crumbling before him.

“No, I didn’t know,” Danny starts tersely, “Talia never told us who Batman- who our father was, not until we could beat her in a fight. I… never got the chance.” He winces at the last statement, feeling the way the room goes colder at the reminder.

“Tt, clearly you would not have been able to anyways.”

Danny feels his eyes flare in frustration as he looks back to Damian, “I was a better fighter than you were, it’s not like you were finishing her challenge any earlier than I was, Damian.”

“The tutors may have favored you but it was not the tutors who bested you was it?” Damian snarled back.

“Whoa Damian-“

Memories flickered through Danny’s mind.

A fight. A snowy cliff. Red. Pain. Cold. Darkness. Green-

“Danny, you good there?”

Danny jerked his head up, not realizing he’d curled in on himself, “I’m .. fine.”

“You sure? You kind of… flickered,” Nightwing said, motioning vaguely with his hands, “Like a lightbulb.”

Danny cringed, “It’s one of the side effects of being like, this,” he motioned to himself, “I’m not exactly meant to exist on this plane of existence so sometimes I.. don’t? I guess? I don’t know, ghostly stuff is always pretty hard to explain.”

A “Hn.” Is all that comes from Bruce.

Danny practically feels their stares close in on him like walls.

“Whatever! The ghost stuff doesn’t matter!” He says, throwing his hands up and rising slightly off the ground, “What matters is that Talia is after me and is probably coming after Damian, so you need to figure out how to stop her. I didn’t come to talk, I came for protection.”

Danny takes a second, mimicking a breath and collecting himself. He couldn’t blow up like Danny, not when he had to make them see him as Danyal.

An Al-Ghul shows no weakness. An Al-Ghul shows no weakness.

“Tt. There is no reason to continue to refuse to call her Mother.”

Danny feels his eyes flare as turns back to where Damian stands, still scowling. Just like he always was.

“I’ve already told you, Damian,” He says, restraining the urge to yell that Maddie was his mom not Talia, “She was not a mother to me and I will not pretend she was when she is the reason I am being hunted.”

“She raised us,” Damian says with a scowl.

Danny feels old anger spark in him, “She trained us.”

He remembers cold nights and hard floors, cruel orders and harsher whips.

“She made us stronger,” Damian says with stone in his voice. Danny hates it, hates it because it’s exactly what they were always told. ‘It made them stronger’ but that didn’t save him so what did it matter? Damian and him never did anything but fight, they never saw each other except to fight, so much so that the first time Jazz invited him to dinner he’d thought she’d poisoned it and tried to burn down the kitchen.

Danny hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it.

He forces himself to let it go. This isn’t him. Not anymore.

Danny turns away from Damian completely, fists still tightly clenched as he looks Bruce- not his father, never his father- in the eye, “Now that you have proof I am who I say, how do we stop Talia?”

Back to business. Just finish this and you can go home.

Bruce turns back to the console, “First, we need to figure out her goals, and where….”

Danny steels himself as Bruce- as Batman-continues. He could do this.

He could pretend to be a ghost of himself for however long it took.

Pretend that he really had died -stayed dead- that day with Damian.

Pretend that he remembered more about his life in the league than he did.

Pretend he wasn’t an entirely different person now.

Pretend like he still knew who he was.

Pretend like every word from Damian’s mouth didn’t pull him back to a time when he was small, too small, but never weak, and-

Yeah, he could totally absolutely do this.

Definitely.

Danny cringes as the butler tells them all that a meal is ready and everyone starts to move away from the darkness of the cave. With every step into the warmly lit lights of the manor above the cave, Danny feels his hackles rise more.

It feels exposed, making him feel like his lies are muddying just by being there, the warmth of the atmosphere, tones of family, grief, growth, loss, suffocating him as he goes deeper. Knowing that he’s part of that, he’s not going to stay, he’s lying to Damian, he’s hurting him, he’s-

Danny gets one step in the dining room before he sees the family dining table sitting there, an ornate chandelier illuminating the plates laid out at each spot, favorite foods in the middle… and two slightly elder ghosts at the head of the table with love in their eyes as they watch the family sit.

He doesn’t belong here.

Danny takes a staggering step back.

He doesn’t belong here.

Damian notices his retreat, mouth opening to speak-

He doesn’t belong here.

Danny turns tail and vanishes, throwing himself back through the ground with intangibility until he reaches the cave. From there he pauses at the entrance they’d come through, turning back instead of running.

The seconds pause is enough time for someone else to notice him.

“Running already?”

Danny lurches, nearly squeaking as he startles and his visibility flickers. He follows the voice to a figure leaning against a slightly dim doorway on the side. An illuminated locker room sits behind him.

“You’re… Jay, right? The Red Hood?”

The man hums and walks closer, “It’s Jason. You’re the new kid. Talia’s huh?”

Danny wants to shrink in on himself, his muscles tightening as he gets closer, “I’m- yeah.”

Jason scoffs, looking up the stairs like he can see straight to the dining room, “God, B and this fucking family…” He turns a critical eye to Danny without moving his head, “What’s got you fleeing so soon? It didn’t look like you were causing any sort of trouble-“

“I just-“ Danny sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I don’t belong here okay? As far as you all know, I’m not even supposed to exist anymore. I doubt you want a dead kid messing up your family, right?”

Something in Jason’s face twitches, his shoulders shifting, “Take it from me, kid… they haven’t even considered that.”

Danny tilts his head, really looking at Jason for the first time, something tickling at the back of his senses.

Jason doesn’t hesitate to meet his eyes.

He looks back through the exit tunnel, turning back a second time, “Tell ‘em I’ll be back okay? Just… not now, alright? But I’ll be back.”

And Jason nods, a silent guarantee.

Danny returns it, finally turning and flying full speed through the tunnels until he meets open air.

It feels slightly sticky compared to the coolness of the cave, but Danny simply looks around to get his bearings before turning into the distance with determination.

He doesn’t stop until he sees the shine of a golden globe pass under him. He enters the hotel straight through the walls of the elevator shaft, dropping his ghost from the second he hits carpeted halls.

And then he pauses…

Which room were they in again?

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long, as one of the doors gets thrown open moments later by the lumbering figure which can only be his dad.

“Ghost!” Dad says as he bends through the doorway, ghost-finder in his hands as he looks around until finally spotting Danny, “Danno! You’re back!”

The incessant droning of the ghost-finder is overshadowed as Danny struggles to breath around his Dad’s hug, “He..y.., Da..d” He wheezes.

He sees Jazz come bursting out of the hotel room next. She gives him a hard look before they’re both swept into Dad’s arms and practically carried back into the room.

His mom is there, tinkering on a tool Danny himself had helped design a few weeks ago.

His dad, of course, goes straight for the fudge in the mini fridge. Danny steals the remote from Jazz and plops himself down on the bed free of machine scraps.

Even as he has to keep Jazz from smothering him with a hotel pillow, Danny smiles. He feels his shoulders loosen for the first time all night.

This. This is where he belongs.

—

The demon brat’s twin was… something. They hadn’t really had the time to start forming real expectations, but most of them didn’t expect.. a ghost.

Tim can see the way Bruce’s eyes linger on the wafts of snowy hair, aching guilt lining his body whenever Danny’s back is turned even just slightly.

It doesn’t go away as they all file up to a late dinner. By Alfred’s order, they all go, pair by pair trickling up to the dining room like the most awkward yellow brick road ever.

Somewhere in the stilted chaos, Jason manages to slip out from the group, probably the first time he’s left the manor without fighting with Bruce in months.

Of course that hardly matters when the moment they step into the dining room, Danny freezes by the door, flickering again.

Tim watches as his eyes jump across them all, the table, the room, the chairs- Danny steps back and-

Vanishes.

Damian is lurching towards the door, “Danyal!”

But it’s empty. All of them had felt his presence leave, even if they hadn’t realized that’s what it was, suddenly the room is a few degrees warmer and just a bit emptier than before.

Tim looks to Bruce.

They don’t know what that was, why Danny left. Was he just scared? Or could something have happened to him? They didn’t know enough about ghosts, and what they did know said they weren’t very strong. Boston Brand couldn’t interact with the physical world without possessing someone- Danny had already said he wasn’t meant to exist on this plane, had he run out of strength?

Dick approaches Damian still brooding in the doorway, setting a hand on his shoulder- Damian throws it off immediately.

“I am fine,” he snaps, “Danyal is a coward.”

Bruce stands, “Damian, don’t say that-“

“Why shouldn’t I!? What does he have to fear!? He ran away like a coward and left me behind!”

Silence settles in the room.

Tim decides to break it, “Any chance you’re not just talking about him not staying for dinner?”

A knife pierces the wall behind him.

“I will end you, Drake.”

“Master Damian! I do not have enough portraits to continue covering holes in the paneling!” Alfred scolds, standing at the doorway.

Damian stops, glaring at them all before turning to Alfred, “I’ll take my dinner in my room please, Pennyworth.” Then he turns on his heel and strides from the room. It is too fast to be anything but fleeing.

Steph slumps into the chair beside Tim, “Boys are weird.”

Tim scowls, “Oi.”

“I stand by my statement.”

Tags:

@craftgremlin @karlyanalora @theeclecticenquirer @undead-essence @mattybook1987-blog @emergentpanda-blog @nedwec @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair @serasvictoria02 @itsloveleo @yjfk @mygood-bitch99 @wolfjackle @xysidhequeen @seraphinedemort @catnek-writing-things @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @tinybrie @raginblastocyst @cyber-geist @icedbluesoul @rosesandsailboats @craftybookworms @dragonimpal67 @capricedshusara @ghostreblogging @treepainting @valiantsuitcaseskellington

Also btw, I’ve added this to my Drabble/oneshot collection on Ao3. It’s under my same Username(snaileer) with work name ‘Things That Could Exist’

Hope you enjoyed!

[after-witch]

Indulgence [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Title: Indulgence [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Synopsis: Just Feitan wanting to touch your nyloned feet.

Word count: 774

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, forced footplay, brief tickling

Feitan's grip on your nylon-clad ankle is not especially tight. His fingers do not press into your flesh, ensuring small printed bruises that will last for days.

Instead, he holds your ankle like it’s something precious and sentimental. Like you held your grandmother’s porcelain figurines when you were little, and she’d told you again and again that she loved those figurines so much that if you were to crack a single one, it would break her heart.

But, taking in the look in his eyes, perhaps sentimental is the wrong word. He looks more fascinated than anything else.

“Feitan?” You ask, shifting yourself on the worn cushions of the sofa. You don’t dare pull your foot away--he’d stop you, if you were stupid enough to try.You’re not that stupid anymore.

He doesn’t acknowledge you at first.

You curl your toes, unused to the stretch of the thin nylon material over them--and his eyebrows actually lift up. Seeing any expression on him that wasn’t irritation or disgusted glee while he tortured people was almost astonishing enough to make your own eyebrows raise.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice low, almost husky.

It’s the question you wanted to ask him.

“Nothing,” you say. Right? You’re just sitting here. He’s the one acting odd.

“You curled your toes.” His answer is short. Factual.

Because well, you did curl your toes. But… you didn’t mean anything by it. They were stiff, you’ve been sitting here so awfully long, and Feitan hasn’t explained a thing.

He didn’t respond this morning when you asked why there were nylons on the bed with the outfit he’d picked out--a short white nightgown that you’ve had for ages, worn in the armpits, with a lace trim that needed a good bleaching--or where your socks had gone.

He didn’t give you a reason when you told you to sit on the sofa, or when he grabbed your legs and yanked them up, forcing you to pivot around to avoid an uncomfortable twist in your hips.

Nor did he offer up any explanation when he’d taken your ankle in his hands and placed your foot on his thigh and simply… held it there--is still holding it there.

“I… I didn’t mean to?” You lick dry lips. “I mean, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just going to ask you why you’re…” You trail off as his eyebrows go from high to furrowed. 

Slowly, his other hand moves from its spot on his thigh and hovers above your foot. Your heart begins to beat faster--you weren’t disobedient lately, or at least he hadn’t said so.

He wouldn’t break your foot without telling you the reason, surely. The lecture he’d given after he broke a few of your fingers the first (and last) time you’d ever slapped him was a testament to that.

His fingers descend--one, two, three, four, five--but he doesn’t break your foot. Instead he begins to massage it.

That should make your heart slow down, but instead it only speeds up, even as his fingers begin to press down harder, a firm pressure down the length of your arch, then up your sole, ending just underneath your toes.

The nylon material shifts under his fingers. It feels strange, like some kind of thin second skin that heightens the sensation of being touched. It feels warm from the rubbing, despite the vague undercurrent of ticklishness that makes you want to yank your ankle away.

His fingers begin to lightly massage your toes, which stretch and curl instinctively. It’s too light, too ticklish.

Your breath hitches.

So does his.

“Ticklish?” He asks.

You nod. Lying had been trained out of you long before this.

He hums. There’s a pit in your stomach that begins to eat itself as you watch emotions play out on his face. It’s harder with the cowl up, but his eyes can give enough away, if you know how to look. You’ve had lots of practice.

He’s delighted by something.

Which is rarely a good sign.

Still, you know better than to try to yank your foot away, even as his fingers return to your toes, pressing down harder. It still tickles, but there’s more to it, now. The warmth is back, an unexpected, unwanted pleasurable feeling.

He stares at you the whole time, gauging your reaction.

Your fingernails dig into the sofa, digging into the already frayed threads. You bite your lip. You don’t want to give him anything. But he’ll just take it anyway, won’t he?

It’s going to be a long evening, you think. And judging by the expression on Feitan’s face--he thinks so, too.

[saintvainglorious]

Fics I Enjoyed in January - DC Comics Fic Rec List Part 2

I am still neck-deep in DC fandom this month and the fics have been so so good. Unlike last time, I am too tired to write mini summaries/reviews, so I'm going to feature my favorite quote from each fic instead.

My first DC Comics fic rec list is here!

Floor Plans by @oh-mother-of-darkness (Teen & Up, 1k, 2016) “I really didn’t want to die,” he finished. “I was kind of hoping if I laid here long enough, I would remember what that felt like.”

Losing two brothers in six months takes an emotional toll.

almost right by @bitimdrake (Teen & Up, 3k, 2020) He desperately wishes that he didn’t know what Dick’s cheekbone feels like under a gauntleted fist.

Bruce sucks in a breath, hand raising to fix the cowl. Dick flinches back.

but more with love by @danishsweethearts (Teen & Up, 3k, 2022) Dick wakes up one morning, groggy from a dream that he thinks might’ve been about the circus and also about his favourite car and also about how lonely he is, and realizes that he can’t remember what his mother’s voice sounds like anymore.

O Robin, Robin, wherefore art thou Robin?

The Mechanics of a Hug by @sohotthateveryonedied (General Audiences, 4k, 2017) “You know… that crushing sense of depression? Like,” Dick chews his lip. “It’s. A physical weight. Makes it hard to breathe?” “Yeah,” Tim says, soft. He smiles, wryly. “I sort of hoped you didn’t, though.”

“So,” Tim ventures. “It's… what, a cuddle pollen?” Bruce just shrugs. “Something like that.”

No Pain, All Gain by @sohotthateveryonedied (General Audiences, 1k, 2020) Tim’s eyes go even wider. “You stole my organs?” “Technically,” Jason chimes in, “the doctors stole your organs. We just gave them permission.”

Bruce checks Tim’s IV. “Are you in any pain? Do you need more morphine?” Tim’s pupils are so wide that only the faintest ring of blue can be seen. He watches Bruce the way a five-year-old watches cartoons. “I’m all good, B-dog. All Gucci, like we cool teens say." His words are slurred almost beyond recognition, but Tim doesn’t seem to notice or care. "I could fight Superman right now.”

The Wind Sits in the Shoulder of Your Sail by @birdchildsnest (Teen & Up, 7k, 2020) “Oh my god. Bruce. I can’t even tell if you’re serious. When everybody finally eats the rich—they’re going to eat you first.”

At least, back then, Tim had barely been a teenager. He could almost forgive his own volatility. And he’d been smart enough (scared enough?) not to tell Jack that he didn’t need him. What was his excuse now? Bruce was his dad (at least, in the legal sense), but (surprise, surprise) it turned out that Tim wasn’t any better at being a son. Or Tim and Bruce still have some things to sort through after the adoption.

I Left My Conscience On Your Front Doorstep by @dustorange (Teen & Up, 21k, 2022) He doesn’t want to be loved if being loved is like this.

"I think I'm leaving," Dick whispers. "I think I'm not coming back."

bad boys bad boys (whatcha gonna do) ♫ by @drakefeathers (Teen & Up, 20k, 2014) "They live their lives thinking they can charge through the city with the right to hurt and kill and destroy as many lives as they want. And they do it all without a shred of remorse." “But—” Damian begins, brow furrowed in confusion. “Isn’t that like you?”

a Jason and Damian as Batman and Robin AU!! featuring a bunch of graffiti, a rival dynamic duo, and Cat Jason (a cat named Jason).

The Biggest Mistake by @oh-mother-of-darkness (General Audiences, 1k, 2016) “I could ground him anyway, if it would make you feel better.” “He only said it because I called him ‘a garbage can so ineffective it actually became garbage.’”

"You know what really needs to be addressed? Bruce's truly terrible treatment of Damian." -Me, on a daily basis

been a number and a name by @wynterstars (Teen & Up, 35k, 2023) “Turns out if you just say ‘spacetime’ until people’s eyes glaze over they don’t really question anything you say. Also, somehow nobody expects me to be able to actually do enough math to explain it.”

On a field trip, Robin has a close encounter with the newest super in Metropolis, only to discover the hard way that Superboy secretly works for Lex Luthor. They agree to work together on a plan to free Superboy from Luthor’s hold, but Robin isn’t sure how far he can trust him—and his developing feelings only make things more complicated.

clean it like you mean it by @wynterstars (Teen & Up, 70k, 2024) "Wait, ugh, you're not my dead dad, right? If I'm getting a dying vision of my dead dad I want a do-over because he suuuuucked."

When Gotham's crooks have to scrub down their lairs, who do they call? Jason Todd, Gotham's first and only underworld crime scene cleaning specialist. He's spent his life dodging the Bat, but after a chance encounter he saves Robin's life. Tim Drake finds himself drawn to the conflicted rogue, and soon Jason becomes Robin's street informant. But they can only stay on opposite sides of the law for so long before something breaks.

3:16 by @wufflesvetinari (Teen & Up, 70k (WIP), 2023) “Try to decouple one thing from the other. I’m proud of you, but ice cream isn’t my grand statement about whether you’ve been good or bad today. Good things are good. Happiness is precious. Sometimes you just want caramel chocolate chip.”

The knife pushes thin along Dick’s carotid artery, cupping the indent between neck and jawline—forcing him to angle his chin. The metal is warm, pulled with execution speed from under Damian’s pillow. “Okay,” Dick says quietly, tracking the intricacies of his own heartbeat—counting the space between breaths. “Guess I did need a shave.” (With faltering steps, Dick and Damian become Batman and Robin.)

wolf-king of rome by @mysterycitrus (Not Rated, 25k, 2024) “You go after Joker, but you don’t kill him, because it’s not about the Joker dying, it’s about Bruce breaking his code for you. It’s about Bruce loving you enough to change himself for the worse. It’s about your idea of grieving.”

Jason doesn’t fear Dick Grayson. Fear itself has changed shape for him, since his return from the Pit - it tastes of dirt in his mouth, of drowning, of fire and blood and laughter, more than a tangible face. Still, he’d be stupid not to be cautious. Dick liked playing on an uneven field, and would do anything to keep him off balance, so he just had to stay focused. That’s the nature of the armistice, both waiting for the other to make a move. It’s like balancing on the head of a pin.

Declensions by @dustorange (Teen & Up, 13k, 2018) “Do not tell them your name. Do as I did to survive. I lied. I have always lied. Make one up. Do not let them have you. Say your name is…is…is…Richard Grayson. Or something. They are going to steal you; do not give them anything to steal.”

“My father,” Dick says, “worked the rope. It cut him. His hands were never clean.”

Passiontide by @bigdvmnhero (Teen & Up, 5k, 2025) Despite its faults, the day had tried to be good. He felt young, like someone's son.

On the 96th day Bruce didn't call, Dick remembered their old game. Three things he knew: 1) In three months, it would be Dick's death anniversary; 2) Bruce was still missing his check-ins; 3) Here Dick was, persisting. Imagine the things I'd survive, Dick thought distantly, if I loved Bruce less. Or: Agent 37 and his various crises of faith, on Day 277 at Spyral, Day 150, and Day -0.

the time you won your town the race by @silverwhittlingknife (Teen & Up, 4k (WIP), 2022) Tim. Tim is Dick’s. Death sharpens, clarifies these things. Who will receive the body, decide on the funeral, receive condolences, make all the decisions that matter. No one has questioned it, not even Tim’s friends. There’s a terrible clarity about death. If Dick said, let’s burn everything he owned, Alfred would do it.

He doesn’t know exactly what Tim would say. But he knows what Tim would do. Tim dies. Dick doesn’t take death for an answer. A Red Robin 12 AU.

door, opening by @cowboysorceror (Mature, 70k (WIP), 2024) Dick, with the keys to every locked door Jason has ever tried to open, tucked inside the cradle of his skull; all of that, snuffed out like a candle.

It’s barely audible, but he knows what he heard. A short, four-note whistle, chirping down – E, C#, then jumping up to A, F#, a little trill on the finish. He waits a moment, head turned slightly towards the dim shapes of storage containers between him and the ramp, eyes straining against the blackness. Long, stretching seconds. There it is again. His gloved hand, prickling with cold, closes into a fist. It’s a wood thrush. A small North American songbird that doesn’t sing at night, doesn’t live in the city. He knows what it means. It means hold, steady, not yet. It means wait for me, I’m behind you.

[carf-writes]

“Robin, don’t,” he growled, digging his heels in on the linoleum floor. 

The rubber soles of his boots squeaked and his chair stopped moving. He dug them in harder, comically stomping his feet to drag himself forward. Damian was fighting him but luckily he had well over a hundred pounds on the kid.

“I have more room,” Damian grunted. 

“I don’t care.” The neck brace was digging into his exposed chin even beneath the duct tape preventing him from turning his head. He wiggled his fingers, trying to get circulation back into them with the ropes tied so tightly.

The drill whirred, inching ever closer, aimed at the center of his forehead.

“When I let you move the chairs, I hoped you would try to sacrifice the other to save yourselves,” a woman’s voice said over the speakers. She sounded like she was pouting. “Not fight over who gets to kill themselves first. It’s a few seconds difference anyway. You’re both dying.”

“Fuck you,” Damian snapped, sinking into a stream of elaborate curses in Arabic, most of which where anatomically impossible.

Dick grimaced as he dislocated his thumb. If he could just get Damian’s hands free…

The drill was getting closer, held by a robotic arm stolen from the Wayne Enterprises factory. The drill came from there too, designed for boring holes through titanium alloy. He suspected the sliding rail their chairs were mounted on back to back was also a Wayne souvenir. 

With Damian distracted, though still struggling against his own binds, Dick was able to drag himself forward again. Until the drill bit hovered millimeters above the cowl. He hoped the reinforced kevlar would spare him a few seconds. 

And he suspected that he would still be able to detangle the knots until the drill had fully penetrated his brain. Not a pleasant thought but a necessary one if he was going to get Damian out alive.

“Damn you to hell,” Damian snarled and something about his tone told Dick he wasn’t talking to their captor anymore. “I’m supposed to get Batman home.”

“It’s alright, Robin, there will always be a Batman.”

Dick was close now even as the drill touched the surface of the cowl, sending a painful vibration through his skull. Just a prelude to the main event.

“That’s the problem,” the woman calling herself The Hole in Things said . “No one needed Batman in the first place. Let alone hundreds of him. Doesn’t that make you feel awful, being expendable like this? That oh-so benevolent Bruce Wayne can’t be bothered to rescue you?”

“Actually,” Dick said with a smile as he felt the rope around Damian’s wrists snap. “Expendable is just fine with me.”

Damian rolled out of the chair, ducking under the drill aimed at his head.

The Hole in Things yelped. There was a clatter and the speaker went dead. She was running. Damian would have to give chase.

A birdarang snapped the drill bit above Dick’s head in half. Another fouled up the works. The drill sputtered and sparked, a trail of black smoke rising as it ground to a halt.

A moment later, Damian was at his side, shoving the apparatus aside, cutting Dick loose and dragging him from the chair.

They collapsed onto the floor. All of Dick’s weight fell on top of Damian. He grunted as the air was knocked out of him.

His whole body still ached from the beating a baker’s dozen of fanatical goons had given him that morning and the paralytic poison he’d been stabbed with to get him into position for that death trap. He groaned, trying to push himself off the boy.

Damian grabbed his head instead. “You’re bleeding.”

Dick pushed his hands aside, flopping onto his back. The ceiling was spinning. He snapped his thumbs back into place with a grunt.

“Just a scratch,” he muttered.

Damian’s face swam into his vision. His mouth was twisted into a tense frown.

“You had brain surgery a month ago. I was told the surgeon was the best in the world but now I have serious doubts.”

“Is this your way of calling me an idiot?”

“This is my way of saying I didn’t think you used to be so imbecilic.”

“You let her get away.”

“I saved your life, you ungrateful rube.”

Dick laughed and leveraged himself to his feet. He had to hold onto the wall to keep steady. He noticed that Damian was still not chasing their would-be murderer. Instead he was looking at Dick with something like concern.

“Are you alright?” He asked. Maybe Damian was more injured than he looked.

Damian’s face went red all the way up to his forehead when he was angry, just like his father.

“You said you were expendable,” he snapped.

“Yeah, that’s the idea of Batman International. No more one Batman to handle everything. I’ve got Gotham for now but I’m sure a certain Black Bat wouldn’t mind filling in.” Dick shrugged. “Actually, I think she’d probably do a much better job.” She wouldn’t have stumbled into that ambush, for starters.

Damian grabbed his arm. “We’re returning to HQ. You have sustained a serious brain injury.”

Dick touched the point on his forehead where the drill had bitten in. There was a small circular hole now in the cowl and when he looked down at his glove it was spotted with blood.

“I wouldn’t call it serious. My skull’s still more or less intact,” he joked.

Damian just clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in annoyance. “Tt.” He tugged on Dick’s arm. “Come.”

They really should be going after the woman who tried to murder them and clearly had it out for Bruce but if Damian wanted to go home, Dick wasn’t going to oppose. That must have been a harrowing experience for the kid and he was so reluctant to show vulnerability, Dick had no choice but to encourage it.

[jasonsbruce]

jason doesn't remember for the wip game pls???

i gave up on this fic so fast because i didn't like it 🤠😩 now it's in the WIP graveyard, rip...

Ever since Jason had returned, Gotham had felt both familiar and foreign at the same time. Everything was different. Twisted and disorienting. His anger hadn’t gone away; it lay dormant beneath the surface, quietly simmering. It had evolved and mutated into a sickening bitterness. And Bruce was still at the center of it. Jason didn’t trust him anymore. He tried to keep their interactions as few and far between as possible, but sometimes circumstances forced them together. It almost felt like Bruce had the same idea, because he certainly made no efforts to mend the festering wounds either. And whenever they had to interact with each other, there was an underlying tension that lingered around them like a thick fog. And now, their paths had collided once more. They stood on separate rooftops, a wide gap between them and the buildings, mirroring their current relationship. No words had been exchanged, just a silent acknowledgement of their presence. A dead body laid beneath them in the narrow alleyway. Bruce was the first to drop down, his long cape hissing in the wind. He began investigating the crime scene immediately and Jason stayed perched on the edge of the rooftop, taking a moment to watch him work. His movements were calm, methodical—like always, completely focused on the task at hand and not breaking concentration once. A part of him wanted to aid Bruce, like muscle memory from the time before, but he stayed rooted. That wasn’t him anymore and he didn’t work for Bruce now, or with him. Jason had his own agenda. This dead man had links to a crime he was currently looking into. Whatever Bruce would find, Jason would take advantage of it, letting him do all the groundwork. Each time he saw Bruce, he would dream about him the next time he fell asleep. If he could fall asleep. Bruce's hands would be everywhere on Jason’s body. He would always wake up with his heart racing and sweat clinging to his burning skin. Nightmares were a frequent thing for him, he was used to those. But the dreams felt more real than the nightmares ever did. They left him feeling uneasy, almost ashamed over his own mind for making up such scenarios and imaginations. Dreams meant nothing, he knew that. He couldn’t control them. But knowing that did little to calm him. Bruce straightened after crouching next to the body, his fingers tapping on the wrist computer. It seemed like he had found something. Jason moved toward the fire escape and slid down in one fluid motion. He landed softly on the harsh pavement, Bruce didn’t look up from the glowing screen. “What’d you find?” Jason asked impatiently. Bruce tapped a few more times onto the device before responding. “Don’t know yet. I need to analyze a few more samples before I can say for sure. I need the Batcomputer for that.” Jason gritted his teeth. He couldn’t let Bruce vanish with the evidence and all of the information. He didn’t trust Bruce to relay whatever he would find to him if they parted ways. “I’m coming with you,” he said. Bruce finally glanced up at him. His face was hidden by the cowl but Jason could still sense the reluctance. “That’s not necessary.” The rejection stung, and Jason hated it. He shouldn’t care, shouldn’t let it bother him. Yet, when Bruce dismissed him like this, something inside him twisted ”I’m not asking,” he shot back. “I need to know what you find. I’m not letting you walk off with the only lead.” For a moment, neither of them moved, and the tension seemed to thicken for each passing second. He felt the familiar waves of frustration rising from Bruce’s stubbornness. But he couldn’t back down and knowing Bruce, he wouldn’t have time for an argument when lives were on the line. “Fine.”

[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

Trick or treat! Something with omega Barry :3

Here, let me drop this in your little pumpkin bucket!

Read here, or on AO3

“What’s the matter, Flash?” 

Barry just wanted to go home. 

“You’re lookin’ a little warm.” 

He wanted to be home, curled up in his nest with a case of blue Gatorade (The blue always made him feel better than any other colour. He had no idea why.) and his phone turned off for the horrible three days he had ahead of him while his heat took hold. He wasn’t even supposed to be getting his heats as frequently anymore, with the suppressants Wayne Pharmaceuticals had developed specifically for his new metabolism. To be entirely fair to the scientists there, it hadn’t been their fault. They didn’t take into account Barry’s complete inability to actually remember to take the damn things with any regularity. 

So there he was, tense, uncomfortable, overheated, and facing down an Alpha who was radiating strength and power and dominance. 

And spouting stupid fucking puns at him. 

“Maybe I should cool you down?” 

The whine of the Cold Gun powering up almost masked Barry’s own pitiful sound when Len raised his arm and it lifted the hem of his sweater up just enough to expose a stretch of skin over his belt. Barry had suspected he would have a little trail of hair on his lower belly, but seeing the proof in the flesh made him worried he might end up vibrating right through the marble floor of the bank vault. 

Len pulled the gun to the side just as he squeezed the trigger when he noticed that Barry was making no move to dodge it. The beam struck the wall just behind him, missing his shoulder by a fraction of an inch. 

“No, see, you’re supposed to say ‘I’m just getting warmed up’ or something,” Len scolded. It wasn’t as fun if Flash didn’t play along. And if he just stood there and let himself get shot? It took all the fun out of it completely and made him feel that uncomfortable twinge of guilt that always sprang up whenever Barry looked at him with those big Bambi eyes of his. Like he was doing now. 

He dropped the sack of diamonds he had been holding and took a step forward. Barry was swaying in place and looked like he was going to take a header into the cash piled in the middle of the vault for transport. “Shit, Red. You really do look warm. What’s wrong?” Len pushed his goggles onto the top of his head and used his teeth to pull his glove off. There was sweat beading around Barry’s lips and his cheeks, just under the edge of his cowl, were rosy. He set the inside of his wrist against his jaw, feeling the warmth rolling off him. “Do you have a fever?” 

Barry mumbled a weak protest as Len slid his fingers under his cowl and pushed it back. “Not a fever,” he said, turning his head to chase the hands that were stroking his hair away from his forehead to test his temperature. With the cowl down, the scent blockers were peeled from his neck and Barry could see Len’s eyes dilate almost black when he caught the aroma of Omega in the beginnings of a heat. 

Single, unbonded Omega. In what was practically head to toe tight leather that just ramped up his warmth and held his scent. 

And Leonard Snart, always worried about the well being of his Speedster, reacted with a speed that would have impressed Barry if he’d been feeling a bit less detached and not currently being picked up in the air by deceptively strong hands. 

“Wait! Wait, Snart!” Barry batted at him as he was thrust up against the wall next to the vault door. Len had his face pressed into the side of his neck and was nosing at the leather collar below his ear. 

“Wait for what?” Len growled -genuinely growled and if he hadn’t already been in the throes of full blown heat, that would have dragged him down into it without fail- and pulled away from his exploration of Barry’s throat. 

Barry braced one hand on Len’s shoulder and tightened the grip his legs had around his waist so he could point out into the lobby where the other Rogue’s were moving the first half of their score. 

“Ah.” Len cooled enough to step away, still holding Barry on his hip, and grabbed the vault wheel. He grunted with the effort to pull it closed and when it clanged shut, it muffled out the shouts from his team on the other side. “There. Privacy.” 

“How long did it take you to open it in the first place?” Barry asked, reaching over Len’s shoulders to grip the back of his sweater so he could pull it up. It got tangled between them and Barry ended up half wearing it because he was too busy learning that his nemesis was a tender kisser to get it out of the way. 

“Ah,” Len said again when he broke for air and glanced at the door. “Okay, privacy for at least four hours.” He pulled the sweater from Barry’s neck and tossed it aside so he could focus his attention on the straps and zips that held that ridiculous red suit together. Spinning away from the door, he sank to his knees in front of the cash and lowered Barry onto it. 

“This is probably one of your fantasies, isn’t it?” Barry squirmed on the money and yanked open his suit. In the close confines of the vault, his scent was overwhelming even to him, and the open want on Len’s face had his legs falling open for him. 

“About thirteen different fantasies rolled into one,” Len corrected and struggled with his belt and boots at the same time. He managed the belt, gave up on the boots, and shoved his jeans down just enough to reveal his cock. “Fourteen, if there’s a natural disaster by the time we make it outta here that I have to rescue you from.” 

Barry had never laughed during a heat before. Len was chatty and teasing and playful in a way that put Barry completely at ease, as if they were home in his nest surrounded by a stockpile of supplies, rather than on a pile of money with a security camera that he really hoped had been disabled. He made Barry laugh. 

And when he sank in to the hilt and began to thrust, deep and slow, with his lips against Barry’s ear to whisper encouragement to him, he made him gasp. 

And when his knot formed, tying them together with his teeth breaking the skin of his throat to mark him as his, he made him scream out his name. 

[rafecameronsslxt]

How Come

Polo Benavent x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: Smut and hair pulling

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Does anyone even watch Elite anymore? This was really short also, should've been working on my obx fan fictions, but didn't. oops.

Honestly don't expect much from this either, but like I'm in love with this man.

His bright blue eyes laid on my vibrant hazel ones like I was the only thing in the world despite Polo always seeming to hate me, but it went both ways. I don’t think I could ever hate someone like Polo, a caring and dependable person. It wasn’t always like this; Tension and heartache lingered between each other, which made our friends uncomfortable at moments.

   At one point, this beautiful man stood beside me. Not in front of me or across while his eyes wandered over my body. The memories of that awful night start to taint this evening, full of laughs and all of us being humane to one another for once. 

   I was dancing with Marina, our bodies swaying to the beat, while Guzmán, our brother, was having drinks with Ander and Polo. Sometimes I didn’t understand how Polo or Guzmán had still been friends after Guzman decided Polo needed a good beating for hurting me. Polo had a swollen eye and approached a broken nose after going to a doctor forced by his parents. My parents had a fit, blaming the fight on me and lecturing me about how this fight could ruin our reputation when no one besides Sam had been there. 

   Marina noticed my energy shift. “A, this is our night, not his to ruin, come on. lighten up.” My sister's radiant smile could cheer anyone up, and it did. She gave me hope with her bright red hair, which was different from any other in our family, and occasionally concerned me. I nodded my head as she took my hands, spun me around and had me giggling again. It never took much to cheer me up when it came to my sister. She just knew the right buttons to push.

   After an hour of chatting and dancing with my friends, I decided to freshen up in my bathroom, away from everyone as I started feeling suffocated. 

   I adorned my face with powder and stared at myself for a minute. I wore a champagne satin silk dress with a cowl neckline, which fit perfectly and cost hundreds, yet I didn’t feel happy. As an elite teenager, drama surrounded me, couldn’t stay away. He wouldn’t stay away, either.

   “How come you always run away?” Polo’s voice rings throughout my room as if the timing couldn’t be worse. “Maybe you shouldn’t follow me. It gets creepy after a while, Polo.” My tone is cold, like his stare. Polo always had a callous gaze that scared me, but after knowing him, I stopped caring.

  He analyzes me for a moment. His eyes landed on my lips and then on me in general. 

   “What will it take? I miss you, I love you, and I’m sorry.” Polo is pleading with me yet again. “You have said sorry so many times, Polo. Just stop it.” I couldn’t look into his eyes with my hands in his. His lips delicately pressed to my hands and jawline, too close to my lips. I push him away. 

   A loud knock comes from the locked door. “Are you coming out anytime soon? Ander needs you.” Guzmán loudly says while trying to open the door. “Yes, I’ll be out in a minute.” With that answer, the other side goes quiet. 

   I look at Polo, but he quickly picks me up and lays me on the bed. His body hovers over mine. Polo kisses me. I can’t help but miss him, us. “I can’t do this.” I put my hands on his chest, stopping him. Polo sighs. His forehead presses to mine. “Just give me another chance, baby. I promise I’ll be different this time.” Polo flips us over so that I’m directly sitting on his crotch. I can feel how hard he is. A calculated move considering he knows I won’t leave, not this time. “Do anything you want to me. Fuck me until you're not sad.” His voice is raspy and a seductive whisper. 

   I start rolling my hips on his slowly. “Take your shirt off,” I order, and he obliges. I glide my hands over his stomach, missing his body that was supposed to be mine. I lean down and kiss him softly while his dick rubs against my clit, making me moan away from the kiss. 

   Right now, I didn’t want any more foreplay. I wanted only Polo. I unbuttoned his pants and threw his boxer briefs onto the hardwood floor. “Undress me.” Oh, how I've desired this moment.

   His soft hands slid down the silk straps, exposing my perky nipples. A little smirk falls onto his mouth as my dress slides off and pools to the ground.  His hands find their way, grabbing my breasts and rubbing my nipples between his fingers. I slide his dick inside me, fitting perfectly like we never broke up. 

   “You like this. Taking control, having me all to yourself.” Polo mumbles, sucking on my neck, leaving purple marks to show I’ll forever be his. I nod fucking myself onto him, and feel his hands grab my hips, helping me go quicker. Moans fall from my lips as Polo starts doing all the work, thrusting into me mercilessly. 

   I run my hands through his black hair and pull hard at the roots. A smile forms on his lips, and he starts grunting. “Oh my god, don’t stop!” My eyes rolled to the back of my head, and I could feel euphoria washing over me. Polo’s thrusts get sloppier, and ropes of his cum cover my velvety walls. 

   I untangle my fingers from his hair, my lips part, and breathing heavily. Just before I get off Polo, he pulls me in for a long passionate kiss. I smile into the kiss, feeling like things might turn out well this time. 

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight - 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E

Chapter Warnings/Tags: violence, injury, fighting, religious cults/religious trauma, past arranged/forced marriage, past emotional & physical abuse

Chapter Length: 6k

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist & Info | Full Masterlist

notes: second to last one - i'm not ready. hope you enjoy <3

you’ve got to step into the daylight

You’re woken up by a gentle beeping noise. 

It takes you a moment to realise that you were asleep in the first place. You’re not in bed, instead sitting up, sitting…on something both hard and soft? 

You blink fully awake just in time to see a beskar-covered arm reach out from behind you and press a button on the control panel. Everything comes back into focus. 

You’re in the cockpit, and you’re in Din’s lap. You’ve got your shoulder pressed into his chest plate, one of his arms around your back and supporting your weight, while your legs are tucked up as far as they will go onto his lap; your boots must be digging into his thighs even with the armour there to protect him. Your head is tucked under his neck, pushed into the scratchy fabric of his cowl.

“Incoming transmission from Fett,” Din’s modulated voice, carefully quiet, fills your ears. 

You frown and look to the panel. It’s daylight still. “How long was I asleep?” Vaguely, you remember climbing into his lap late morning, opting to curl up there as you felt tiredness overtake you. He’d been going over some maps and navigational charts, and the kid was playing in the co-pilot’s seat. You didn’t want to take a proper nap, and honestly, you just wanted Din to hold you. But didn’t want to distract him from his work. 

So, here you are.

“Not long,” Din answers.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to like, hold you down in the chair.” 

He chuckles softly. “Figured you needed the sleep.” A message appears in blue Aurubesh before you, hovering in the air. You don’t bother reading it, opting instead to settle back against his shoulder. 

“What’s he say?” You ask sleepily. 

Din sighs. Oh, great. 

Reluctantly, you lift your head again. “What is it? Is something wrong?” 

His arm tightens around you. “No. Well, depends how you look at it. They’ve…set up a meeting.” 

“Oh,” something sharp stabs in your stomach. “Oh. That’s…that’s good, right?” 

“Yeah,” he says in a tone that sound suspiciously like another sigh, “yeah, it is. Maybe this thing can finally be over.” 

That something sharp turns into something…nicer. Maybe excitement. Maybe just hope. Either way, it’s a feeling you never thought you’d have and, honestly, a feeling that scares you just a little.

You hold tight to Din’s cape over his shoulders, staring at the message on the panel. “Maybe,” you whisper. “Where are we going? I assume it’s we, since they want proof that I’m loved, and all that.” 

He sighs. Again. His fist clenches on your thigh. “We’re meeting them on Scarif. Neutral territory, not far from here. Two days’ time.” 

“Scarif? Isn’t that a tropical planet? Pretty small, right?” 

“Relatively, yes. It’s largely unoccupied since the Empire fell. Not a lot of settlements, a lot of places to have a confrontation.” 

“So that’s what it’s going to be? A confrontation?” 

The helmet tilts to look at you. He pauses for a second, as if considering not your question, but you. “We’re going to be okay,” he says. “I promise.” 

You nod. Because you know you are. You’ve got Din. “I know,” you say truthfully, despite the fear that stirs in your gut. “It’s just…a lot. But I’m excited to prove my family wrong about the being loved thing.” 

“Me, too.” 

“I don’t want to call them that anymore.” 

“What, your family?” 

“Yeah. They’re not my family.” You duck your head, averting your eyes, though his remain on you. Your fingers play with the fabric of his cape, your other hand scratching nervously at your trousers. “You’re my family. You and the kid.” 

Din nods. “We are. And that’s why we’re going to be okay.” 

You nuzzle your face into his neck. You’ve felt your nose against his bare skin enough, now, to be able to imagine what it feels like, even when it’s covered. His arms wrap around you as you settle into him again, one arm sliding around your legs to hold them up and the other around your body, meeting his hand on the other side. He’s cradling you, holding you so close and so firm that there’s nothing else to feel except safe. 

“I’m taking the kid to Peli while we do this,” Din announces as you’re setting up the ship for take off. “Are you okay with that?”

He’s���asking you for your opinion about parenting his kid.

“If you think it’s best,” you say, smiling and hoping it hides the heat that is rising in your chest and on your cheeks, “You know that’s all I want.” 

“I know. I don’t want you to think I’m doing it because I think we’re in danger, I just…”

“We are in danger,” you say with a shrug. “Technically. Maybe not mortal danger, but if they know we have a kid, they could use it against us. Besides, if he’s safe off-world, our minds will be focused on just getting shit done.” 

He nods. “That’s what I thought, too.”

-

You’d tried not to think about how it would feel to see Them again. 

When you did think about it, you imagined you’d have a lot to say. That you’d want to shout and scream, to tell them that they were wrong about you, that you have found a life outside of them, that the Galaxy isn’t inherently evil outside of the cult. That you’ve found people who love you. Who will fight for you. That you’re worthy of that. That you’re still beautiful, and always will be, no matter how much they tried. 

You thought you’d want to tell them how much you hate them. 

But, now that you’re faced with them, you don’t find any words coming. More than that: you don’t find yourself wanting to say anything to them. 

Because they don’t deserve your breath. They don’t deserve a thought. Even a moment. 

You, Din, Boba, and a dozen of Boba’s men stand on an isolated beach on Scarif. It’s hot, the sun beating down on your covered skin.

Din is behind you, blocking off and watching the rear. Fett takes up the same position at your front, facing Them. You’re surrounded by beskar, and Fett’s men are all around, guarding. 

The cult brought an army, too. Though they’re not visibly armed. (They never are. Apparently it’s part of maintaining the image. Even here, when they’re having a confrontation with a Daimyo from Tatooine where their literal daughter is the bargaining chip. Such an image of purity and wholeness.) 

“As you can see,” Fett says across the No-Man’s-Land between the two groups of people, “we have her, safe and protected. And our threat to cut off all supply routes and payment chains, if her freedom is not granted, still stands.” 

He grins. He still looks the same. Not your father, or even your brother. No, it’s Him. The man you were supposed to marry. Because, of course they sent him. They probably thought he could manipulate you into leaving with him. 

He’s looking right at you, all lopsided grin and eyes that you can still see the blue of, even from a few metres away. “The way I hear it, darling, you’ve found yourself a new man.” He steps closer. Fett goes tense in front of you, raising his rifle just a little.  “Tell me, does the Mandalorian know what you really look like under there?” 

Despite yourself, despite the fact that you know his words are pointless, that they hold no weight, something painful stabs at your stomach. You force it away and grit your teeth, not gratifying him with a response. 

“We are not here for personal taunts and threats,” Fett says surely. “This is a business meeting.” 

“Yeah, so I’m told. Thing is, though, Fett…” he steps closer again, but Shand, who’s standing beside Fett, raises her rifle and tells him that’s close enough. His eyes fall to her for a second, then back to Fett, unbothered. “See, we don’t exactly believe your threats. You might be powerful, but we know that you had to fight for that power, and that you know perfectly well that taking charge of supply and trade routes like this would almost definitely guarantee your downfall as Daimyo.” 

Din tenses behind you. Dread curls in your gut. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

They know. They know it’s a bluff. 

You want to reach back and take Din’s hand. Feel his fingers curl around yours, feel his reassurance. 

But he’s got his blaster in one hand, the other reaching for something in the pack around his hips. Readying himself for a battle. 

Shit. Your heart is racing now.

And He is still grinning, looking right at you, like Fett isn’t even there anymore. “So, tell me, my betrothed. The deal we propose is this: you come quietly with me, no heroics from your over-glorified Mandalorians, and we don’t tell the all-important businessmen in Fett’s town that he used their businesses as bargaining chips. How does that sound?” 

You keep your mouth glued shut. He doesn’t deserve your answer. Even though he’s looking at you and only you, even though he’s made it so that, somehow, the fate of Fett’s entire empire is now on your shoulders.

You feel Din’s hand brush against yours. It’s subtle enough that no one will see it, but you know what he’s saying. He’s showing you reassurance, solidarity. 

“I think this meeting is over,” Fett says into the tense quiet. He’s still so calm, even though his entire rule has just been threatened. 

“You aren’t worried what will happen when the suppliers find out what you’ve done?” 

Fett is already backing away and you’re following, still sandwiched between the two walls of beskar. “I don’t respond to threats and ultimatums. Do what you will with our meeting.” His voice is final, very clearly indicating that the conversation is done, that he is done here. 

But He’s not having it.

“Sorry,” He says, “I didn’t say we were done.” 

Then, it all happens very quickly. 

You’re not sure which you notice first: whether you first see the cult’s army pulling their weapons, or if you first hear blaster bolts against beskar, and grunts and bodies falling to the ground.

Either way, the shooting has started. Blasters are firing out into the air, the beskar on either side of you clinking with each hit. You’re being jostled between Fett and Din, finding yourself turning to face Din’s back, hiding your head in the cape where it’s draped there to the side of his jet pack. 

“Stay behind me,” Din says, as if you were planning on moving. There are screams and shouts all around you, a mix of the cult and Fett’s army’s voices. You don’t know who’s winning. Your heart is racing, pounding in your ears so fast you can barely hear the battle, and your shaking hands are grabbing at the flight suit around Din’s waist, desperate to anchor yourself to something. To him. 

Despite the armour at your front and back, you feel exposed. Your sides are still out in the open, there are people shooting all around you, you keep getting knocked all around the sand by Din and Fett’s quick movements, your back hurts so much as your adrenaline spikes, and all you want to do is run run run—

“Get back to the ship!” Fett calls to Din. 

Din turns to you, then, blaster bolts still hitting against his back. He looks down at you, encases you in his arms. “Hold on to me,” he tells you, “arms around me. I’m flying us out of here. Come on.” 

You do as he says, but you’re shaking. It takes you a second, your knees threatening to give out at any moment now that your hands aren’t grabbing his suit anymore. 

As you wrap your arms around his neck, and he bends down to hook his arm beneath your knees, something happens. 

Fett gets shot, and Din gets shot at the same time. Not with simple blasters; with something bigger. Two bigger things. Thankfully the armour catches the heat of them, the bolts that would have killed them both, but the impact of it sends Fett flying into your back and shoves Din forward over you. He stumbles from his half-crouched position and all but falls on top of you, and you’re on the ground, suddenly, sand flying up into the air around you and getting in your mouth. All you can hear is your heart and the shouting. Din is trying to grab hold of you and stand up at the same time, but the bigger thing that’s shooting hits again, and again, and again, he’s stumbling—

There are other hands grabbing you. Harder, violent. Dragging you across the sand, away from Din, who is running after you with his blaster pointed at whoever is currently hauling you up from the ground and using you as a human shield—

You’re kicking and screaming, flailing to try and hit the person. It’s no use. They grab your hands, pin them behind your back. With their other hand, they hold a blaster right up to your head. 

Din stops in his tracks. Freezes. 

Tears fill your eyes as you feel the muzzle pressed into your temple. You realise that it’s Him when you hear his voice, right in your ear. 

“I’m taking you home,” he says, loud enough for Din to hear even above the sounds of battle, “And there’s nothing your precious Mandalorian can do about it.” You expect him to start to drag you away, to move out of Din’s blaster sight as quickly as possible. But, true to himself, he stands there, using you like a tease. A taunt. 

“Let her go,” Din demands. 

He laughs. Gleeful. It makes you feel sick. “I have a blaster pointed at her head. I don’t take demands from you. I just wanted you to see this, Mando. To see that all your efforts mean nothing. You can’t protect her—you never could. No one can, not like I can.” 

“Din,” you whimper, “it’s okay. Let me go.” 

“Not happening.” 

“She’s not yours, Mando, don’t you see that? She belongs to us. To me. She always did. It’s her destiny to be with me, with her family; you took her away from that one too many times, and look where it’s landed you.” 

The battle is still raging on. Behind Din, there are bodies littering the sand, some too injured to fight, some dead. Fett is fucking flying in the sky, his jet pack burning fiercely beneath him as he fires at those on the ground. It’s chaos, complete chaos, all because of you. 

And yet, over here by the tree line, it’s just Din, your ex-fiancé, and you. Somehow, all seems quiet beneath the pounding of your heart, the rushing of blood in your ears.

There’s nothing Din can do. You both know that, despite His taunts, despite him thinking he has some kind of a claim on you—he won’t hesitate to fire the blaster. He won’t fire it in your skull; he won’t kill you. But he will hurt you. 

You look at Din. Plead with him with your eyes. If he leaves now, he can make it back to Tatooine, get Grogu, and get to safety. Then one day, he can come to rescue you. You know he will. You know he can. 

That’s how this ends. It has to be. That’s all you can do.

Except, when you really look at Din, you don’t see desperation in his body language. In fact, he drops his blaster. Your heart skips a beat; you’re not sure if it’s because you’re glad he’s standing down and that you or him isn’t going to get hurt again, or if it’s actually just terror, because suddenly it’s like he’s giving up.

He’s reaching into his belt. Into some hidden pack or holster you’ve not seen before. “Let her go,” he threatens, low and terrifying, “let her go, or you’ll regret it.” He steps closer. 

The monster’s arms tighten around you. “Don’t come any closer,” he says, just a hint of fear behind his determined and taunting voice. “I will hurt her. I promise you that. And it will be on your hands.” 

Din sighs. Long-suffering and unexpected. 

Then. 

Well, then. 

He pulls something from the holster. Something long, square, silver. Like the hilt of a sword; a sword without a blade. Your brow twists, confusion breaking through the fear racing in your veins. 

“You think a blade-less sword scares me?” The monster laughs like it’s the most entertaining thing in the Galaxy. And, as much as you hate to admit it, you kind of agree with him. You’ve never seen whatever this is before, and you don’t get it. Is it some kind of…detonator? A strangely designed blaster? Is he supposed to attach the blade, or something?

Your question is answered. But it only brings more questions. 

He pushes on the hilt, and a blade extends from it. Not a blade of metal, stone, nor even of something trivial like wood. It’s some kind of energy, a black so deep that somehow it shines in its own right, surrounded by shimmering white all around the edges. It’s square, flat, glowing bright even beneath the intense sunlight of this planet, tapering off at the tip in a sharp diagonal line. 

It’s…it’s a fucking lightsaber. 

It’s not a lightsaber. 

But it is. 

The confusion is evident in the air in an instant. So much so that His grip loosens on you, and he’s distracted enough in his bafflement for the blaster to drop from your head. You take the opportunity to elbow him in the ribs, sending him stumbling backwards. 

“Get back,” Din says to you, so simply, offering no explanation as he stalks towards Him, swiping at him with the sword, a strange sort of humming sound accompanying it—

A grunt, a cry, then the thud of a body falling to the sand. You turn on the spot and see Him, still alive, a burning hole seared into his thigh. He’s screaming, writhing in pain, watching as Mando turns away from him like he no longer matters, the blade still in his hand, running over to you on his way to the still-fighting crowd—

You don’t have chance to ask. 

“Stay here. No one’s going to touch you.” 

After that, all you can do is watch. 

The sword is like an extension of him. You couldn’t explain the sound that it makes if you tried, but after a while, you don’t notice it. It becomes part of his arsenal, of his armour, more than his blaster has ever been—you didn’t think that was possible. He flows with it and it flows with him. It sounds heavy, clumsy, but he’s using it like it’s anything but. 

And, oh, is he using it. 

And it’s fucking terrifying everyone. 

He cuts through every single one of the cult army with a fury that you’ve never seen before, with such concentrated and practiced competence—and sheer anger—that you can only stand there and watch, baffled and fucking impressed. It only takes a moment for people to start running from him, screaming, begging for mercy. No one saw this coming; the confusion has caught them off guard and left them nothing but vulnerable. They’re stumbling on the sand and screaming before he stabs them, slices them, cuts right through them. 

Some manage to fight through their fear and try to shoot at him, but he either ducks, or deflects the blaster bolts back at them with his blade. 

The whole thing is taken care of in minutes. Din moves through all of them with ease. With red-hot, unbridled rage, so fierce that he is in complete control.

You hadn’t realised you’d fallen to the sand. You’d even forgotten that He was behind you, still making pained noises and trying to crawl backwards into the forest. It’s no use; his leg has stopped working. 

Once every cult member except for Him is down, burning and smoking in the sand, Din turns back to you. He runs over, crouches down in front of you. 

His hand comes to your face. He’s still holding the sword in his other hand, the blade humming and buzzing out at his side. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asks, and his voice is so soft, such a stark contrast to what he’s just done. 

You shake your head. “I’m okay,” you pant, “Din, I…what just…what just happened, I—?”

“I’ll explain later,” he says. Then, “I love you.” 

The breath in your lungs isn’t strong enough to ask him more, or even to say it back. He walks past you, and you spin on your butt in the sand, watching as he goes over to Him. 

He’s not bold and taunting anymore. 

He’s cowering. Covering his face. 

“Please,” he begs, “please, I—you don’t have to kill me, I—I saw what you did, I—”

“Good,” Din says. He’s so calm. Collected. He crouches down, leaning his elbow on one of his knees. His other hand takes the sword and holds it up in the space between them. “So you know what I’m capable of.” 

“Yes! I—yes, I—”

“You don’t have to talk,” Din assures him. Gods, if this wasn’t so fucking intense, you’d find that tone of voice so fucking hot. 

“No, I—I promise—she’s free, she—”

“I could have killed you,” he says, “I could have tortured you to death with this blade alone, just for everything you said earlier, if nothing else. You feel how much that blade hurts? Just one stab from it?” 

“Please—”

“If anyone ever comes for her again,” Din says lowly, sliding the edge of his blade right up to His neck. The heat of it sends smoke billowing up, only just burning at his skin—“If anyone ever even thinks about coming for her, for me, for any of us…I promise you worse than this. I will make you hurt, and I will kill everyone you know and love. If you ever touch her again, if you ever try to contact her again, try to take her again, there is nowhere in the Galaxy that you or your people could hide from me. Do you understand?” 

He’s nodding frantically, sweat and tears pouring down his sand-covered cheeks. “Yes! I understand, I—”

“Tell me it’s a deal.” 

“It’s a deal!” 

“A deal made in blood. Don’t break it.” 

“Yes! I promise! I swear, she’s free, I—”

Din punches him so hard it sends his head flopping about on his neck. 

He falls to the floor. Goes quiet. 

You’re breathless. Panting for air. Terrified, relieved, and aroused all at once. 

Din stands up. Staring down at the unconscious mess of your ex-fiancé, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths, he presses a button on the hilt, and the blade retracts once more. The sound is gone, leaving just the flow of the waves, the noises of battle aftermath behind you. 

“Din,” you whisper.

He turns around to you in an instant. “Are you okay?” He asks you again, putting the hilt back in its holster and coming back to you. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” His hand finds your face, and he’s checking you all over, making sure you’re okay. 

“I’m alright. A little bruised up, but I’m fine. Din…” you catch his wrist, call his eyes back to you. “Din, what…what was that?” 

His thumb strokes at your cheek. “I’ll explain later, I promise,” he says. “For now, we need to help Fett and his men.” 

The reality of your surroundings is suddenly at the forefront of your mind again, slamming into you like a rock. “Yeah,” you pant, “yeah. Is—is everyone—?”

“I don’t know. Fett and Shand are still alive and well. I don’t know how many we lost.” 

The tears that rise in your eyes are painful, aching. Guilt settles in your throat. 

Like he’s reading your mind, he shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says, “this isn’t your fault.” 

“It…it is, Din, I…I’m so sorry…” 

“Don’t,” he says again. “Not now. Come on, we have a job to do, okay? I’ve got you. You’re safe. Let’s make sure everyone else is.” 

-

“So, just to clarify, you’re not a Jedi.” 

He chuckles. “No, I’m not a Jedi, Cyar’ika.” 

“But the kid is, and you’re the one with a lightsaber?” 

“We balance each other out.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. He’s dabbing a cleaning wipe over a small scratch on your eyebrow. It stings, but it’s hardly the worst pain you’ve felt recently. “How’s that feel?” He asks. 

“It’s fine. Just a scratch.” 

Din nods. He gets a tiny bandage and sticks it over the cut, then runs his fingertip over it, making sure it’s secure. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

You shake your head. “I’m fine. Are you hurt?” 

“No.” 

There are footsteps on the ramp, and both of you turn to find Boba and Fennec standing in the ship’s doorway.

“Everything okay?” Fett asks. 

Something like guilt twists in your stomach at the sight of him; knowing that he’s lost men here today, because of Them. 

“We’re alright,” Din tells him with a nod. “I’m sorry about how things played out back there.” 

Fett nods. His helmet is under his arm, and there’s a cut on his cheek, but he seems otherwise unscathed. Shand looks just as calm and collected as always; like she’s not even been in a fight at all. “It was not your fault.” 

“It was my plan,” Din says, and you realise, then, that his voice sounds just as heavy with guilt as your chest usually feels. It hurts to hear it. It’s not his fault. None of this is. 

But, you think, it’s not really yours, either. 

And that feels weird to think. 

“It was a good plan,” Fett says. “And it worked out in the end. I am just glad you have your freedom,” he looks over to Din’s shoulder to you. 

“Thank you,” you find yourself saying in a croaky voice, trying to hold back tears. Your freedom. “I don’t know how I could possibly express…” 

Fett holds up a hand to stop you. “There’s no need. You’re Mando’s partner, and that makes you a friend of mine.” 

Something warm hits your chest, spreads through it like liquid sunshine. You swallow back your tears and nod respectfully. “Thank you. And…I’m sorry. About…your men.” 

“Their deaths have been avenged,” Fett says, then looks back to Din, “thank you.” 

Din nods once. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Next time you’re on Tatooine, come and find me for a drink. You’re always welcome to stay. We’d be happy to have you,” he looks at you again, “all of you.” 

You smile and nod, just a little shy all of a sudden. 

“Until next time, my friend,” he and Din shake hands, and then the doorway is empty again, Fett and Shand heading back out onto the beach and into the sun. 

Din turns to you. You look at him and frown. “You know it’s not your fault,” you say, “right?” 

Softly, he sighs. “Do you know it’s not yours?” 

You’re surprised by your answer. Even more surprised by how quickly it comes; how easily it falls from your tongue. “Actually, yes, I do,” you reply, your voice cracking just a little over the tears in your throat. “I think, finally, I do.” 

Din steps closer. He reaches out, places his gloved hands on your cheeks. 

“I can’t promise I’ll always remember that,” you say, “but, right now, yeah. I know it’s not my fault. Seeing Them, seeing Him…” you shake your head and glance away for a second, then look back up, your eyes gaze deeply into his visor, “it reminded me that none of it was my fault. I didn’t ask for it, I was only a child. It was on them to treat me right and take care of me, and they didn’t. Even though my escape is the reason for all of…this, I…I don’t know. Things just feel…different.” 

Din nods like he understands. Maybe he does. He’s quiet for a second, just smoothing his thumbs over your cheekbones. You can’t see his face, but you can see it in your mind, and that’s enough. Kriff, that’s enough. 

When he speaks, his voice is quiet, husky, “I’m so proud of you, you know that?” 

You were holding back tears so well. 

Trust Din to say something so meaningful that makes them fall onto your cheeks at last. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “don’t cry.” 

You shake your head. “They’re not bad tears. I promise, I—I just…no one’s ever said that to me before.” 

“That they’re proud of you?” 

“Yeah. Never.” 

“Well,” he presses his forehead into yours, “I’ll say it as many times as you want. I’m so proud of you. And I love you.” 

Your eyes fall closed and tears tumble over the edges of them, slowly crawling down your cheeks. You nod, nuzzling your nose into his helmet. Your hands close around his wrists where his palms are on your cheeks, fingers brushing away your tears. “I love you,” you whisper. “So much.” You want to kiss him. Rip off his clothes and have him pin you against the wall and touch you until only his name comes from your lips.

He killed for you today. He risked everything for you. For your freedom. He cut through all of those monsters like it was nothing; brought out his most sacred weapon to take them all down when they threatened your life, when they tried to take you away. 

And now here he is, the same hands that held that saber so expertly and swung it at anyone who dared try and hurt you, so soft now on your face and your skin. Touching you like you’re different than anything else in the Galaxy; like you’re his favourite thing he’s ever held. 

“Din,” you whisper as a pang of desperation for him stabs your belly, “can we get out of here?” 

He nods. “Yeah. Let’s go.” 

First thing’s first—shower.

Din lets you go first while he removes and cleans his armour. It’s covered in sand and soot and blaster marks. Just as you’re washing the last of the conditioner from your hair, you hear a soft knock on the door, and Din’s voice calling your name. 

“Come in,” you say. 

He does. He’s already naked, carrying towels under his arm. He places them on the sink and then steps over to the shower corner of the small room, reaching out for you before he’s even come closer.

He stinks, and he’s filthy. You help him wash the parts that are harder to reach, finding sand in all sorts of places—it really does get under the armour—and a few scratches here and there on his arms and stomach. He washes his hair while you run a washcloth over his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath your hands.

Then, the tiredness comes. 

You’d kind of hoped you could fuck in the shower once you were clean. Or fuck anywhere you wanted—either way, just fuck. But you’re so kriffing tired, exhaustion falling over you in a sudden wave that has you both trudging out of the ’fresher once you’re clean and dressed again. 

“You okay?” Din asks, reaching for his helmet. 

“Fucking tired.” 

“Me, too. Maybe we should rest before we pick up the kid.” 

You sigh, heading towards your bed. “Here I was hoping we could make the most of the alone time.” 

“What were you thinking?” He asks with a lilt in his voice, like he already knows the answer. 

“Wanted to fuck you in the shower,” you answer candidly, crawling up the bed. 

He chokes on a laugh behind you. “Dank farrik. Missed my moment, did I?” 

“I’m sure we can find it again,” you roll on to your back, watching as Din reaches out to put his helmet on the shelf by the bed. He crawls up along the mattress, settling himself beside you. He’s just wearing his underclothes, the fabric thin enough that you can feel his warmth the second he pulls you into him. You tuck your head under his chin, tangle your legs together. 

Quiet passes for a moment as you both shuffle to get comfortable. Your hair is wet and so is Din’s, probably already soaking through the pillows. It doesn’t matter. Right now, nothing else matters but this. 

“Hey, Din?” 

“Mm?” He hums in response, twirling some of your hair around his finger. 

You hold him tighter. “Thank you,” you say. 

“For what?” 

“For everything. For today, for right now, for all of it.” 

His lips press to the top of your head, long and lingering. He holds you in closer for a moment. “You don’t have to thank me.” 

“I do,” you insist. “And I will.” 

“Then I get to thank you, too.” 

“What for?” 

“The same as you. For everything.”

“I didn’t do anything.” 

“You’ve given me everything,” he murmurs into your hair, cradling the back of your head with his hand. “You and the kid have given me everything, Cyar’ika. Today, right now, all the days we’ve been together. You’ve given me the future, too.” 

Tears are welling in your eyes. You’re definitely over-tired, but honestly, you’d probably cry at his words even after a full night’s rest. “I love you,” you push your hips into his, pressing a kiss to his neck. “I love you, Din.” 

“I love you, too,” he whispers. “So much, Cyar’ika.” 

All you can do is nod in agreement; in appreciation.

Din sighs, then says, “Come on. Let’s rest, then go get our kid.” 

Your heart leaps. 

In fact, it might have stopped entirely for a second there.

Our kid. 

You pull your face out of his neck, meet his eyes. He looks confused; like he doesn’t realise he’s just said something entirely world-changing. 

“What is it?” He asks with a soft frown. 

“You—you called him our kid,” a smile twitches at your lips, those tears lingering on the edges of your eyes. 

Din’s thumb brushes over the curve of your cheek. “Is that okay?” He asks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume…” 

You want to shake your head, to tell him it’s okay, that you’re so fucking honoured to be so much a part of their life that he’d say that, but you’re speechless, just staring at him with wide and teary eyes.

“Cyar’ika?” He says softly. Concern is on his face now and it’s so misplaced that it’s almost funny. 

It’s all you can do to lean in and kiss him. Just once, but lingering, hoping it conveys what, and just how much, you feel. “It’s okay,” you whisper, “it’s better than okay.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nod. “Yeah, Din. I love that kid so fucking much.” 

“I know you do,” he says. “He loves you, too.” 

Tilting your head, you kiss the inside of his wrist, keeping your eyes closed for another moment. “I love you,” you say to him, opening your eyes right into his. 

“I love you, too,” he kisses you softly. “You’re my alitt.” He whispers, al-eet in Mando’a against your lips.

“What’s that one mean?” 

“Family,” he translates. 

Your heart swells. After everything that’s happened today, after confronting the evil of the people who raised you—the people you once had to call “family”—to now be lying here with Din in the quiet solitude of the ship, hearing him call you his family and mean it…

“Let’s rest,” he whispers, kissing your nose. 

You nod, and settle down in his arms without a word, because really, there is nothing else to be said.

notes: I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR TWENTY WHOLE CHAPTERS TO USE THIS GIF AT THE TOP!!!!!!!!

I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm so sad the next one will be the last. Please do let me know your thoughts if you can, and a reblog is always so so appreciated <3

take care of yourself!!

taglist:

@toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412 @quentinor @yourunstablegf @moonknight-s-cumdump @senassn @samanthacookieone @local-fanfic-addict @your-slutty-gf @whenpugzfly @elsasshole @moony-toasts @julesjewelss36 @jbcalway @mxlsmith @indec1sive @lordhavemurthy

@booktvmoviefangirl @brokenghostgirl1 @competitivedust@lostinsideourminds@gloryekaterina@uncle-eggy@astronymity@leithatnight@domaniquessidehoe@dancealongthelightofday-blog@loveslide@peqchsoup@jaguarthecat@starrynightsforever@djarinxore@rexamongthestars@babygirlrex0504@dindjarindude@prentissluvr@hotchie360@beskarandblasters@space-cowboy-like-me

[fantastic-wiles]

Damian SickFic, didn’t want to post it on AO3 beacuse it’s too short.

It’s 11:00 at night.

Dick returns from a short patrol, weary and exhausted. His father’s legacy was getting harder to stick to. He’d never feel right wearing his cowl… but Gotham needed Batman. Without Batman, everything would go into disarray. Dick knows that. Gotham knows that. He can’t let that happen. Not when there were people to protect, innocents to defend, and criminals to apprehend. It’s as they say. Justice never sleeps. Dick fears he’ll be sixty by the time he even thinks about retiring. By then, he’ll probably have a few prime candidates to pass on the cowl to.

Dick wouldn’t have to worry about Gotham anymore. He could just sit back and relax with his family. Take care of his kid. Even though he’d be all grown up by then.

Dick drags himself up into the manor after changing his clothes. Alfred is waiting for him in the library.

“It’s time for you to rest,” he says.

“Believe me, I’d like nothing more.” A thoughtful pause. “Is Damian still sick?”

“Dreadfully so,” is Alfred’s regrettable reply.

Damian. Four years old. Black hair. Green Eyes. His father’s face. Another child left behind; another son abandoned. Dick doesn’t go a day without thinking what if, but he knows the truth. Bruce had been willing to hand Damian away for the sake of Gotham. He hadn’t thought twice about returning the boy to his mother when he should’ve stayed. It was Dick who had to pick up the pieces. When Talia brought him back, after Bruce’s death, Dick said yes, and that’s because he felt he owed Damian something, and he owed his Bruce something. The man who took him in and cared about people. Long before he’d suffered multiple tragedies, responsible for permanently altering his brain chemistry. Bruce changed. He didn’t like to open his heart anymore.

Dick had accepted Damian because he felt like he had a debt to pay. Now, he accepts Damian because he loves him. He can’t go a night without thinking about him. He worries about him constantly. Nothing can rest his mind until he sees that Damian is whole and alive. This night is no different. He spares a few words for Alfred and then heads straight for Damian’s room.

It feels like he’s trudging through sludge throughout the journey. He’s so tired. He wants to rest his feet and lay down. But he can’t settle his mind until he knows that Damian is breathing.

Damian is, indeed, breathing. Weakly, albeit. Dick takes upon pained features as his sickly lungs expel air out of his mouth. The poor kid’s nose was stuffed.

After examining the situation from Damian’s doorway, he takes a few steps into his room. Then, he rests a cool hand on Damian’s forehead. It’s not as hot as it used to be.

Damian stirs. Dick brushes his bangs.

“Hey sweetheart,” he mumbles as Damian cracks open his eyes to look at him dazedly. “Alfred said he was going to change your sheets. How about you join me downstairs, hm?”

Damian doesn’t say anything and considers Dick behind a fogged haze. When Dick doesn’t get any answers, he makes the decision for them both. He grabs each side of the blanket and lifts it up. He folds Damian up into a bundle. Once Damian is secure, he lifts the boy up into his arms. Damian breathes hot air into his chest. Dick doesn’t mind.

Dick carries Damian out into the hallway and presses him close once they head down the stairs. Damian looks at his face the entire time. Too sick to speak, too tired to protest.

No tantrum-throwing this night, it seemed. Dick should be happy. He isn’t. Damian might be difficult at times, always testing boundaries, but he was still Dick’s kid. He didn’t want his chubby-cheek boy to be docile. He had a whole personality in that little body of his. Dick loved every part of it. He didn’t want sickness to deprive Damian of his spirit.

Dick makes his way to the living room and sits on the reclinable couch. He tucks Damian in his lap and then bends over to press the button on the side. The leg rest pops up and holds up his feet. A good way to relax after running and jumping all night.

Dick settles back in place, fishes for the remote in the cushions, and then turns on the TV. He makes certain the volume is on a low setting. He knows how grating noise can be when struck with illness. Selfishly, Dick didn’t want to sit around doing nothing for the rest of the night, and he wasn’t willing to put Damian back into his room. Dick wanted to hold him. Wanted to feel every change in his body as it happened. That way, he could be prepared. Stop something from presenting itself and threatening his happiness. Dick wasn’t going to lose another family member again. He wouldn’t. Not if he could help it.

Dick pulls up a streaming service and starts scrolling. Damian’s ear lays limply on his heart. His eyes were still open. He didn’t seem entirely present, though. Maybe he wasn’t. Dick couldn’t delve into Damian’s mind and figure it out. He wasn’t a Martian.

Dick puts on a familiar movie. He then places the remote to the side and uses both arms to hug Damian close. “It’s okay Damian, I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

Damian stares into nothingness for a few minutes after Dick’s promise. Then, he slowly closes his eyes and relaxes his weight. Dick sighs as he watches the TV colors flash throughout the dark room. He encourages Damian to turn his face against his chest to promote proper rest. He can’t imagine it’d be easy to fall asleep when colors were dancing beyond Damian’s eyelids.

Damian wordlessly accepts his encouragement and buries his face into Dick’s shirt. He leaves a crack for breathing. Dick feels bad for him. If he could, he’d trade their ailments. Make Damian… simply exhausted instead of sick. Dick could handle a cold.

Dick stares at the TV screen, but his mind is miles away.

[lilmissnatcat24]

Turn Left Ch 22- (don't be suspicious, don't be suspicious)

Shepard and Garrus dive into the OSDs of Fist and Barla Von to create a new plan of action. Archangel just can't help himself.

CW: alcoholism

Relationship: Femshep/Garrus Vakarian

Archive Warnings in author's note

Additional tags: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, slow build, alternate universe- canon divergence, detective noir, sex club, anonymous sex, canon temporary character death, murder mystery, drug use, dom garrus vakarian, whump, smut, heavy angst, alien sex, dual pov, an overly sexual elcor named candy, earthborn, ruthless, fake/pretend relationship, dead dove: do not eat, identity porn, minor character death

Detective AU mixed with identity porn mixed with so much whump my fingers are bleeding

(or, start from the beginning here)

lil text blurb:

“I hate these fucking things,” Garrus muttered under his breath, toying with the cowl of his suit. He wasn’t used to formal wear. He could count on his fingers the times he had to dress up so ostentatiously-- and mind you, he only had six. His cape kept getting caught between his legs, the flowing fabric around his carapace was itchy, the tight squeeze around his waist made him feel like he was being ogled by just about every turian he passed. 

“Nah, you don’t,” Chellick snorted next to him, already three drinks deep before the event even began. Garrus wished he could join him-- he normally spent these stupid public galas either so drunk he couldn’t remember it the next morning, or in some storage closet with a turian woman bent over and his hands covering her mouth from yelling out too loud. “You’re preening for your girl, don’t deny it.” 

“I am not preening ,” Garrus snapped. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, he hadn’t preened his neck at a woman in years. 

“Then care to explain why you’re dislocating your neck every five seconds waiting for that Shepard woman to show up?” 

Garrus just grumbled at that. He was busy scanning the crowds because he was waiting for any sign of Benezia or her daughter Liara. They devised a plan a week ago that they would take the gala as the best opportunity to strike on the doctor. It was perfect; she couldn’t run away, there was so much going on that no one would even notice two C-Sec officers talking to a pretty, young asari, and her mother would likely be so busy with all of the politicians and dignitaries and who-the-fuck-else was even there that she wouldn’t be able to keep her eyes on her. 

“Why didn’t you two show up together, anyways? Trouble in paradise?” Chellick asked with an obnoxious shove of his elbow into Garrus’s side. 

“No,” Garrus said testily. The truth was that Shepard offered for Garrus to come over to her apartment while she got ready, but Garrus declined. Something about knowing that Shepard would be naked in just the room over, putting the paint on her face and tossling her fringe, made Garrus have the distinct fear that he would hardly be able to control himself. It was hard enough keeping his plates in place while they sat on the couch in Wrex’s safehouse, but being cramped in one tiny studio with her clothes strewn about the floor and her scent overwhelming his senses? “She wanted to get ready with Elyria.” 

“Does your girlfriend know you’re still fucking that human at the sex club, or is that actually Shepard I’m smelling on you?” 

“Chellick, I wish you didn’t say the things you say.” 

[gautierprotectionsquad]

My live reactions while listening to Batman: Unburied

Listening to Batman Unburied. It’s SO good. Bruce Wayne is a forensic pathologist and his parents are alive and he’s trying to catch a cannibal called the Harvester except it’s all in his head. Back in the real world Bruce Wayne is “dead” and Barbara is the real main character other than Bruce. Batman is not batdad in this, which is fine, but it’s weird that Barbara is a character but Dick is not.

WAIT FUCKING WAIT IS THAT JUSTIN MCELROY? THE MCELROYS ARE IN BATMAN UNBURIED?? WHAT???

I’m loving DC deciding to put Riddler in more stuff instead of the Joker. Joker’s overused.

Why did riddler saying “it’s mr.nigma” sound like he introduced himself as Mr.Ligma lol.

“Ace has mostly stayed by the window waiting for master bruce.” Awww Ace.

LOVING riddler in this. He’s so funny. Also loving that this is Barbara focused. And they got a diverse cast. 

So Bruce was actually getting better and healing from his parents death only to feel super guilty when he realized it and decided to push everyone away. Unburied has been reminding me of BTAS. Bits and pieces of things happening here have happened in BTAS before. The forgetting he’s batman, the psych evaluation with a lightshow,referencing gray ghost, living in an alt reality in his head where his parents were still alive, and now Batman feeling guilty he’s moving on from his parent’s murder while dating vicki.

There’s griffin and travis on Ep 4!

The conversation between bruce and his parents at the beginning of ep 5 OH MY GOD! YAY! I love this; it’s SOOOO good!

So Hugo Strange is the real villain! Now Bruce gets to beat up the Mcelboys.

Ep 6 riddler. dude. He’s so silly. “Ah hoy hoy! You need me on the fairway. You need me for luck. But once you have me, you’re well and truly fucked.” Silly man! I love the riddler in this! “The improbable jawline beneath the cowl.” this man truly did play riddler gay (and we wouldn’t have it any other way.) i love riddler in this SO MUCH.

WHOA TWIST! RIDDLER DIDN’T STAB GORDON! 

“This city and its cartoon bullshit”.

Strange is DEAD? Did his own guy kill him?! The cannibal dude? No, not that? Strange isn’t behind everything?

WOAH batman’s doing the thing his subconscious Brucie does. HOLY…REALLY?! Is that new or has this batman always done that?

So it’s MadHatter? No, not him either.

Something about batman villains cursing is so funny.

BATMAN APOLOGIZED? Like it was nothing!

Dude! Connecting cannibalism with eating the body of christ. 

Wow they’re bringing in all the villains except joker here. There’s ivy!

He doesn’t know ivy’s name?

This is a new backstory for her i think. Her dad makes bioweapons? And he fucking tested them on her! That’s so fucked up! Wow this guy sucks so bad, he even killed his wife bc she cared about her daughter.

She had a girlfriend named Alex in college in this! neat. (i think this ivy and stiefvater’s swamp thing would get along) uh oh i think something bad is going to happen to Alex. Ok she’s fine she just didn’t like Ivy killed a guy. Ivy can’t kiss anyone in this universe. Huh.

So bc bruce tried to protect this tree, that’s what led to ivy and strange working together.

Obv he chooses vicki. He can always catch the bad-people later.

AH fuck! Batman is compromised! AH what a cliffhanger right before the last episode.

“Leaping lords, gray ghost!” GRAY GHOST HAS HIS OWN ROBIN??? NAMES POLTERGEIST!!??!? AAAHH!

“You chose a world where we were disappointed in you” OOF

OUGH there’s Bruce feeling guilty he’s moving on from his parent’s death! In his own words! “It’s not just about you anymore. I LIKE it.” YES YES YES YES. “we don’t have to be the first thing you think about when you wake up” T_T

NOO ALFRED’S BEEN COMPROMISED! 

“I have something you don’t. I have a dog.” LOL

YOU CAN’T KILL OFF ISLEY!

Bruce apologizes AND TELLS ALFRED HE LOVED HIM!!!!!

The final message of unburied: ACAB.

Looks like ivy’s still alive. And she got back together with her ex.

Why does bruce interrupting riddler’s dinner sound like a date and flirting?!

overall review: 10/10

[myhiraeth]

@bctglrl sent: “  yeah,  i’ll be here.  i’ll be here when you’re ready to stop running.  ” surprise me!!  YOU GOT A JASON. ur welcome 

“I’m not running.”   He mutters, annoyance coloring his tone to mask the hurt beneath it. It’s not as though he keeps his distance because he would prefer it. It’s not like he woke up one day and looked at the bright colors of his Robin suit and went ‘nah. not anymore. fuck it.’. He was forced out. He was abandoned, replaced. Bats left him, not the other way around. And yet, he still comes back, he still helps the others despite the hurt, despite the fact that he can’t look at Dick without thinking ‘he would never have left you’, despite looking at Tim and still feeling that hot burn of jealousy, looking in the face of his replacement. Damian walks around like the other Robins have never mattered because he’s the bio son and he’s been groomed and whatever other shit. 

Honestly his sisters are the only people in the family that don’t immediately set his nerves on edge. Steph is her own person, her own hero, she didn’t enjoy Robin and made her own brand. Cass came for something akin to Bats and Catwoman’s cowls more than she came for the title of Robin. And Barbara… she’s always been a category of her own. Even when she called herself Batgirl, she wasn’t anything like Bruce. She was a new bat, a new icon, a new hope. Batman elicited fear. Batgirl elicited relief, hope, safety. And she’s like that as Oracle, too. To citizens and the rest of the family alike. 

And despite all that, there’s a part of him that wants to belong. That keeps him coming back. That keeps him trying to keep his hurt and his anger and his blame at a steady simmer instead of a boil when he’s around them. And it works… some days. But others… other days he just needs space. But how much space is too much? 

“I come back.”   He says softly, the annoyance having melted away with his thoughts. She doesn’t mean now, she doesn’t mean tonight. She means forever, and he’s not sure what to say to that that isn’t going to disappoint her, his big sister.   “I always come back. Isn’t that enough?”