#revealing the toy secret gone wrong

[nightjars-nest-art]

"Found ya."

[minhosimthings]

Lucifer|| Prolouge

Synopsis: After you found your husband cheating on you, you found a different kind of comfort in his devilishly handsome colleagues.

Pairings: detective 02z × fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive, minors please do not interact, catcalling, mention of alcohol, reader is cheated on by Heeseung, cheating (which I do not condone in real life)

A/N: Prologue for my 02z short series everyone! I abandoned everything else after Enha dropped Memorabilia just to write this BECAUSE I CAN. I will try to put out the oneshots as early as possible and I hope all of you will enjoy it! Au revoir!

Taglist: Open

Series Masterlist

Crystalline tears filled your eyes as you walked under the dark azure sky. Your feet ached, your heart thumped hard against its prison and your mind spun and yet you kept walking. Walking somewhere, you didn't even bother to understand.

Adjusting your skirt, and moving your scarf down to reveal your bloodied lips from having bitten them too much, you tried to recall what had happened today that made you so miserable. Was it the broken coffee machine, or was it the recent murders in the newspaper? Or was it a person? Perhaps it was the latter.

Heeseung.

You loved Lee Heeseung. With all of your soul and all of your heart you loved him all the way through the bright Mays and the chilly Decembers. You loved him in a way only the setting sun could love the ocean, the way its rays danced with the water so gracefully.

And yet you caught him in your own bedroom, strong sinews of muscles handling another girl's lusty bones, as she merged her body with someone you thought belonged to you.

His apologies went deaf to your ears, you spent an hour or so packing up all your things and driving out the house without a second thought. You didn't even realise how much time you spent screaming your head off at him, trying hard to stop your tears from escaping their barrier as you shoved each and every gift he ever gave you into his arms and asked him to burn them to the ground. And yet you didn't know how to cope without them either.

Your mother never taught you how to handle grief without alcohol and your father's blood always seeped through your mouth in words of fire and fury everytime something went wrong. It was no wonder you had found comfort in Heeseung, a man who could handle all of your pain and all of your anger.

You had trusted him with your life, marrying him happily to escape your childhood home and entrusting in him your most beloved secrets, your love and dedication and your virginity as well. You thought that had been enough, staying home whilst Heeseung worked his ass off at the police station to provide you with everything you could ask for and more.

And when he came home, you were his toy, a plaything for him to release his stress on and yet you didn't budge. Why should you? When you were recieving all the pleasure you could ever want and giving all the pleasure back to your husband. Nevertheless, you stared at your empty ring finger now, hands shivering in the cold as you scolded yourself on not wearing mittens. Heeseung used to scold you too.

Lee Heeseung. What would you have done to absolutely irradicate Lee Heeseung?

You had parked your car at the nearby park where you knew it'd be safe, and had gone for a walk. Thoughts rushed to your mind. You had known about Heeseung's affair for some time now, but you wanted to catch him in the act, to prove to the world, to yourself, that your melancholic delusion could be justified. Here you were now, dragging your feet across the cemented pavement, knowing there's only one other place you could go to. The darkness was a bad place for a woman to be, at 10 pm but you didn't give a single fuck about anything as your prosaic body tried to get itself up. You swore you could have heard voices behind you.

"Hey, hey you!" You heard a voice shout behind you, "What's a pretty lady doin' in a place like this?"

You gulped in fear as your feet sped up. Stupid stupid girl, you thought to yourself, should have stayed in the goddamned car!

"Hey you ignorin' me?" The voice shouted again, and you could hear the gruff footsteps which followed you, getting closer by the moment, "Stop fucking runnin' away from me!"

Your heart pumped blood faster as you picked up your skirt and ran, at the fastest speed you could. This wouldn't have happened if Heeseung was here!, you thought, and though a part of your brain tried to scold you about still thinking about him, at the moment all you were focused on was getting somewhere safe.

The man's drunken voice could still be hear by your ears, and his harsh footsteps told you he was running behind you, chasing you as if you were a wild mongrel to be caught and leashed.

Only one place. Only one place you could go now.

Turning swift on your feet, you ran down the wide lane filled with shops on one side and the empty road on the other, being careful not to crash into the glowing streetlights, as your destination came into your visage.

The police station. Where you knew, your last hope would be standing.

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|

"Got the Samson case solved yet?" Sunghoon yawned and stretched his limbs above his head, like a prosaic cat, "Man I could do with a drink right now."

"It's 10 pm." Jake checked his pocketwatch, running his hand through his hair as he always did, "What bar is going to be open at this time?"

"Hey, should we steal Jay's stash?" Sunghoon glanced, with mischievous eyes at Jake, who mirrored an equally mischief filled smile back.

"Don't even think about touching my bourbon." A dark haired man, with eyes as black as kohl, walked in, equally black gloves decorating his hands, "Unless you want to be stuck on traffic duty all week."

"Who pissed in your cereal today?" Sunghoon snickered, leaning back in his chair, a crack of his bone could be heard as he lazily stretched, "Let me guess, Heeseung?"

"Is it about his wife again?" Jake groaned, hair tangled in his hand again, "Jay, just leave it man, they'll sort it out."

"Sort it out?" Jay looked at the long haired man with a quizzical look, "What kind of a man cheats on a beautiful woman and brags about it?"

"Most of them." Sunghoon broke out into his drawer, hands reaching for a eloquent wooden pipe, which he lit and transferred to his mouth, sighing out the smoke as he relaxed into his chair, "You're too righteous to understand that, Jongsoeng."

Jay wrinkled his nose, as Sunghoon blew a puff of cigarette smoke into the air. Settling into his own chair, Jay's eyes flickered towards Heeseung's desk, where files lay messily scattered. A solitary photo frame brightened up the lonely atmosphere of the desk. Lee Y/N, Jay thought, his wife, not yours.

"Jay, come on, stop sulking over your little crush," Jake scoffed, his hands busy with a sleek, brownish-yellow bottle in his hand, "Just have a drink and get your mind off it."

"First of all, how did you get into my bourbon cabinet." Jay snatched the glass from Jake's hand, and toyed with it protectively, "Second of all, I can't just get my mind of it. I mean, come on," He extended his glass out to Jake who poured the elysian liquid into Jay's glass, "Who the fuck would have the gall to cheat on such a pretty woman who loves him to bits?"

"Look, you like her right? And don't say no, we all know it Jongsoeng." Sunghoon leaned forward in his chair, "So when she finds out about everything, just offer to take her home and, you know, let her sob into your arms and then take her into your bedroom and-"

"Since when did you start reading romance?" Jake chuckled, pressing a glass of bourbon to his lips.

"Since lover boy here started crushing on..what's her name? Y/N wasn't it?" Sunghoon laughed, taking another piquant drag of his pipe, "I get it, she is really pretty."

'Really pretty' was one way to describe you, Jay thought, smiling into his glass of bourbon. Every inch of you called out to him, beckoned him closer and closer to your poisonous radius. It wasn't that he didn't try to fight it, lusting after another's wife, but it was that he found that hidden sadness in your eyes heartbreaking everytime he looked into them.

"Want to head home, fellas?" Jake briskly sat up straight in his chair, "Or are either of you going to stop at a brothel?"

"Don't have time for that." Sunghoon chuckled darkly, putting out his pipe, "Plus I've got a-"

Bang!

The door of the quite airy police station burst open with a loud bang, and it seemed as if a hurricane in the guise of a panicked woman had swept in, alarming the three detectives. The sudden action caused them to act on their reflexes, pulling out their revolvers faster than their eyes could comprehend the sight in fron them. Jake's eyes seemed to work the quickest.

"Ma'am? Are you alright?" Jake called out, signalling the other two to lower their weapons. He stepped forward and turned a switch on, which caused the entire room to light up in bright light, contrasting to the soft yellow light that earlier shone from the desk lamps.

Jay's senses had seemed to ding up after the initial shock of the entire thing, as he walked forward with careful steps towards you, as Jake and Sunghoon whispered to each other, making out why you were here. Your eyes took a moment to register the man in front of you.

Jay Park, you thought, a man who was perfection incarnated.

"Y/N," Jay spoke softly, careful not to frighten you, "What are you doing here? Are you alright?" He looked you up and down to check for any disfigurements.

"I-" you spoke, your throat tightening by the moment, "Heeseung—he" you couldn't speak any more as his name uttered out your mouth. Bursting into tears, you buried your face in your hands as you felt your cheeks burn up with embarrassment. You really weren't crying in front of your (ex) husband's colleagues, men who you barely knew, apart from the usual condolences.

You felt warm, strong muscles pull you into their hold. It felt like a cozy cocoon, scented with the fragrance of pine and paper.

"Calm down, doll," Jay whispered into your ear, his hot breath fanning your neck, "take a breath for me."

Jay coached you through breathing in and out, which restored some of your consciousness. You had nearly been on the verge of fainting, with how much you had ran.

"Can I—May I sit down for a moment?" You asked, weary of the other two men's eyes watching you, "Please."

"Of course." Jay said, supporting your figure with his sinews as he led you over to his cubicle. You could see the other two hastily clearing out messy piles of papers. The shorter one, you assumed was Jake, from his drooped posture and lion-like hair. The taller one then, had to be Sunghoon, with porcelain skin and an ice cold gaze.

"Did-did you walk all the way from your house?" Jake questioned, offering you a seat, which you gratefully collapsed into.

"No, just the park nearby." You shot him a small smile through your croaky voice, which he returned, "My car's still parked there though. I drove from" you stopped in your words uncertain to say his name, "-from Heeseung's house."

You felt the tension in the room as you said those words. Heeseung's house, you thought, it had been home once. You felt Jay shift his position in the chair next to you, and Sunghoon transfer his weight to one foot, whilst leaning on the desk.

"If you want us to go beat him up, we'll gladly do it." Sunghoon offered, making you chuckle and shake your head.

"No it's fine, I mean she wasn't that pretty anyway, he's bound to lose interest in her some day or the other." You smiled, to no one but yourself. Humour had never been your strong suit.

"Aww man I really wanted to beat him up." Sunghoon feigned defeat, "Asshole deserves it for how much paperwork he gave me."

"That's the only reason you want to beat him up?" You raised a brow at the light skinned man, who raised one back.

"And for betraying a pretty lady of course." He winked at you, making you internally roll your eyes.

"Would-would you like some bourbon?" Jake awkwardly offered you a glass. You could see the embarrassment in his eyes the moment he asked the question, "Or water if you want-"

"I'll take the bourbon." You grabbed the glass from Jake, who, with his shocked eyes poured you a glass, which you downed immediately without flinching in front of the three startled detectives, "Can I have another?"

"Can we have some too?" Sunghoon smirked at you, grabbing his own glass and beckoning Jake to pour him a shot. Jay, admitting defeat, had grabbed a glass too, filled with the bubbly alcohol.

"Well," Sunghoon raised his glass in a toast, "to Heeseung hopefully getting bored of the other woman."

"Peculiar toast, Detective Park." You laughed, "I like it."

The moments that followed still felt like a fever dream to you. You had sat in a building, alone with three handsome men, talking down right shit about your husband, whilst drinking more bourbon than you ever had and although you had already defeated Jake in drinking (almost) half a pint, you still wanted more. This definetly was not on your itinerary for the evening, but did you care at this point? Absolutely not.

"Ugh fuck." You swore under your breath. You probably shouldn't have drank that much, but in all honestly, it would have helped to relieve some of the painful memories of the night.

"Woah steady there." Jay looked at you cautiously as you stirred in your chair. Jake was on the verge of passing out, having even taking his glasses off, while Sunghoon and Jay, who hadn't drank as much, looked as calm as the winds.

"You know what?" You started, not knowing the words coming out of your drunken mouth anymore, "Fuck Lee Heeseung, fuck that man." A sudden maniacal giggle from your mouth seemed to have amused Sunghoon.

"Fuck in what terms, Mrs Lee?" He asked, trying to hide his cunning smirk, whilst ignoring Jay's warning glares.

"Mrs Lee?" You questioned, feeling your senses come back, though you were still tipsy, "Who's Mrs Lee? Not me, no sir-ee." You laughed, "If I had the chance to chop off that asshole's dick right now, I would."

"But you wouldn't allow us to beat him up? Strange." Sunghoon whistled out in his usual cocky tone.

"It's getting late." Jay checked the grand clock in the corner of the room, his eyes wavered over the dried tears on your face, it was alarming to him how much a mere glass of bourbon had managed to get you giggling like a cuckoo, "Y/N I can drop you-"

"I'd rather fuck all of you in one night rather than see that idiot's face again." You chuckled again, this time, saying the sentence with full seriousness. Did you really mean it?, perhaps not, as you would have thought later on. But were you up for having sex with three extremely attractive men who happened to be the best friends of your ex-husband? That, was a definite yes.

"Oh really?" Sunghoon placed his forearms on the desk in front of him, leaning in closer to your face. Jay's hand clutched harder against the edge of the desk. "And what if I say yes to that proposal?"

"What are you implying, Detective Park?" You looked into his dark, devilish eyes, "That you'd have sex with someone pathetic enough to get cheated on?"

"Don't say that, you're not pathetic." Jay's eyes softened as he looked at you, but you merely scoffed, turning your face instead to look at Sunghoon, who was evidently smirking. You caught Jake's widened eyes from the corner of your eye, listening intently.

"How about this-" Sunghoon started, folding his arms, "You get a night of good sex, I get a night of good sex, you and I both get to rub that in Heeseung's face, and then we have breakfast in France."

"Are you married Detective Park?" You quizzed him with an amused face, his offer seemed at the very least, interesting to you.

"Not yet, no. I'm still young aren't I?", Sunghoon's mouth stretched like a cat's into a lazy smile, "Why do you ask? Are you....perhaps intrigued by my offer?"

There was something ironic about that sentence "I'm still young" that struck a chord within you, you were the same age as him and yet you were sitting there talking about your husband.

"Intrigued is one way to put it." You smiled back, hoping you looked anything like a vixen, matching the bastardous fox like energy of Sunghoon's, "But don't you think it's greedy of you, Detective Park? To want me all to yourself?"

"And what do you mean by that, Miss Y/N?" Jake smiled in his boyish manner, "Is Sunghoon here not enough for you?"

"I'm just saying." You held up your hands in mock defence, "wouldn't you both like to get a taste too?"

You glanced at Jay in the corner, who you had expected to be shaking his head in disapproval. But to your utter surprise, he had one of his gloves hands stroking his chin as if in deep thought. His eyes were dark even in the fluorescent light of the room, deep pools of cataclysmic waters floating around in his pupils. He looked vaguely interested.

"So just to recap," Jake started, clearing his throat, such that his Adam's apple was clearly visible, "You want us to bed you, so as to make your ex husband, our colleague and friend, someone's whose wife we definetly should not be sleeping with, jealous?"

"That's the blueprint." You said in a sweet honeyed voice, "How exactly you make him know that I'm not his anymore, you figure that out. If I even so as look at that man's face again, I will jump off a cliff."

"But the question is-" you put on a proud smile, eyes darting from one man to the next, "Who's going first?"

"Shouldn't you decide that sweetheart?" Jay's deep voice came like a rumble through the ground during an earthquake, slightly startling you. He hadn't said anything in the past few minutes, his sudden break of silence alarmed you.

"Alright then." You chuckled, not daring to meet Jay's eyes, you knew you'd melt as soon as you saw them, "How about the person who suggested this?" You turned your face towards a smirking Sunghoon, with his head held high like a peacock's, "Detective Park?"

"Shall I go with the lady's word boys?" Sunghoon asked Jake, who nodded his head, taking his glasses off the desk and outting them on again. The effect it had in him was quite handsome, according to you.

"Should we make a pact then?" Jake asked cheekily, glancing around for a piece of paper, finally picking one up from underneath the mountain of files lying on the wisened wood. Putting it down on the paper, he scribbled something down quickly, showing it off proudly to the others. You let out a laugh when you saw what he wrote.

"'The make Heeseung jealous organisation'?" You laughed, "I can't tell if you're serious or not."

"I'm dead serious." Jake looked at you with glossy eyes, he always was a funny one, you recalled, "Come on everyone, I need signatures."

He's serious about this, you thought, amused at Jake's comedic demeanor. You swiftly pressed the black ink to the paper, leaving off a flashy signature to decorate it. Jay signed off last, with an impeccable font.

Words couldn't have described that very evening. No sentence that could come out of your mouth could have ever even begun to explain to a complete stranger about how you had ended up in Sunghoon's car, driving to his house in silence. Shrugging off the moral doubts in the corner of your brain, you stared out the window into a dewy night.

Relax, you thought to yourself, there wasn't anything wrong with what you were doing.

Was there?

Taglist: Open! Send an ask or comment to be added.

[the-californicationist]

Hiii

First of all I wanted to thank you for your amazing fics 🤩. They have become a part of my life and I can’t live without them anymore 🥹💖

Secondly, I wanted to ask about a fic if you would consider. 🫶

Price is injured in his thigh and we are a medic. When attending to the wound the tension rises and a little bit of teasing from our part? 😌

Also, Price can’t take us like he wants because of the wound but we can do 69?

Or maybe something more thrilling! I know you are the greatest in ideas and writing! ❤️‍🔥

Thank you a loooot. (*＾3＾）/～♡

Do No Harm

After being shot in the leg, Captain Price is put on strict bed rest by his medic: you. When he threatens to break your orders, you decide to use your rank against him.

AO3 Link

TW: female reader, face fucking, hurt/comfort, come play

When the captain got shot, all hell broke loose. Ghost and Gaz retaliated swiftly, and the bomb that Soap rigged to blow the enemy encampment was more than a little overkill. The four of them had shown up back at your makeshift base, sweaty, bloody, and exhausted. 

“What happened?” You asked the tall lieutenant, searching his face as he removed the skull mask, looking for signs as to how serious it was. 

“He took a hit to the thigh. Dead bloody center,” the tall Brit rolled his captain over, the latter of whom let out a torrid string of curses and shouts, nasty enough to make you blush. 

You inspected the wound, but his clothing was in your way. Ripping your scissors out of your chest armor, you set to cutting him out of his trousers, and you tried not to let the panic get the best of you. 

The truth was that you were keeping a secret. You were sleeping with their captain. You and John had broken a series of rules (and furniture) over the past four months, enjoying each other in the most primal, carnal way. Every night that he was on base, he sneaked into your medbay, aching with something other than pain and searching for his cure. 

You knew it was wrong. It was so far beyond protocol that you wouldn’t be surprised if they court martialed you when they found out, but you didn’t care. You were addicted to him. When he was away for too long, you crawled through the hallways and out into the common rooms with a slick problem between your legs. Something only his fat cock and filthy mouth could solve. 

He was terrible with you. Nothing was off-limits. He used you like a toy, and his fervid want was enough to burn you alive. In the darkness, his grasping hands and hot breath scorched your skin, searing across your belly, pinching your nipples, playing in your lips, all for the express purpose of making you come. It was his favorite thing. By the sixth, the seventh, when you were begging him to squeeze his pulsing rod inside of you, pleading in whispered cries for him to fuck you, he would chuckle with a dark joy. Teasing you, calling you his pretty little plaything, reminding you that you were fully at his mercy. 

It was hard to see him like this, but you were good at your job, and luckily, the bullet had gone right into the muscle. No broken femur, no arterial damage. Your predator would live to hunt you another day. 

“I need everybody out. Come back in an hour,” you commanded. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Gaz replied, leading the others out of the clinic to debrief and regroup after a hard night. 

You sliced through his canvas pants, slipping the shears through the fabric to reveal his bare skin. He never wore any underwear, which you were always quick to rib him for. Then, you inspected the wound. They had packed it in the field, and as you removed the dressings, more and more blood pooled out of the hole, obscuring your view. You worked as fast as you could, administering as much anesthetic as you had on hand, knowing that it wasn’t enough. He was doing everything he could not to writhe in pain as you threw stitch after stitch. 

“Jus’ wanted to get me alone, didn’t ya?” He teased you through gritted teeth. His voice was weak, but he was feisty, which was a good sign. 

You smiled down at him, joking around,

“You know it. But, you’re lookin’ a little worse for wear today, Captain. Might have to get my fix somewhere else.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, grabbing the side of the table hard enough to make the metal frame whine when you hit a nerve with your needle, “Another man lays a fuckin’ hand on you, and he’ll wish he hadn’t.” 

“Can’t have you reopening this wound, John. I worked hard on these stitches.”

“How’m I gonna sneak in to see you tonight?” He looked up at you with softer eyes, a youthful gaze on his face. 

You pitied him, winking cheekily, 

“Might just have to keep you here for observation.”

His whole body relaxed then, relieved in a way you hadn’t expected. You had just been kidding around, but his reaction made you change your mind. If he felt better with you in your clinic, you’d add it to the orders. The last thing you needed was your headstrong man limping through the base just for a chance at some action. 

You finished up, cleaning the wound and surrounding skin, wiping down the rest of him as best you could. He was filthy, and the water in your bucket was full of sand by the time you were done. But, he still smelled like the sun and his sweat, and it was enough to make the animal part of your mind practically salver at the idea of how his skin must taste. The saltiness, full of his pheromones… you chastised yourself for even thinking about it. 

He was finally asleep, full of morphine and exhausted from his ordeal. Gaz popped back in, and you told him you’d be keeping their commander overnight. You thought you’d gotten away with your little game, but there was a knowing glint in the sergeant’s eye that told you he knew more than you thought. 

You tried not to stress about it. His men were loyal to him, and you knew they wouldn’t rat you out. But, still. You made a mental note to be more careful in the future. 

Your bedtime routine was short and easy. You slipped into some shorts and one of John’s abandoned tee shirts. Luckily, it looked like everyone else’s tee shirt, so no one was the wiser. You could always say you stole a larger one from the supply room. But, it smelled like him, and you slept like a rock when you wore it. 

You climbed into bed, and before you could even think about going to sleep, the ache between your legs reared its horny head, coaxing you to touch yourself, disguising itself as a tingle, an itch that needed to be scratched. As soon as your fingers pried apart your soft petals, you discovered the truth. You were soaking wet, and your core was hot like molten lead, giving your digits no resistance as you played with yourself, slipping them in and out of your slick folds. 

You heard a noise escape from your throat against your will, and you tried to hold it back, rolling your eyes from the slam of pleasure that rushed to your head. You were dizzy with want, and even though you tried to quiet the sound, you could hear your own wet flesh popping and sluicing with more and more of your precome, preparing you for an encounter you knew you couldn’t have. 

You came quickly, and without much warning, clenching down on nothing, biting your hand to keep from screaming for him. You peeked over your shoulder, and luckily, he hadn’t woken up. You thought about how nice it would feel to have his big body curled against you as you crashed into a deep slumber, the scent of your wet hand and his old shirt mixing together and lulling you to sleep. 

There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but when you woke, it was still dark. Your eyes darted over to the clinic table, and John was… missing?

You sat up with a start only to find him fully naked at the end of your bed, getting ready to crawl in beside you. 

“John!” You hissed, “What are you doing? You can’t be walking around.”

“Gotta have you, love. I’m so hard, it hurts.”

“You were shot in your fucking leg, Jonathan Price. Let me see the dressing.”

“Quit fussin’ over me, girl. C’mere,” he covered you with his body and grabbed your wrists, forcing you to lay beneath him, flat and vulnerable. He set to pulling away your clothes, making quick work of it, sighing raggedly when he felt your naked body beneath his own. 

But, he was in pain. You could see him adjusting and readjusting, trying to figure out how he could fuck you like he wanted to, unable to find a solution. 

“John,” you whispered, feeling his mouth on your neck, “We can’t. You’re going to hurt yourself. Don’t make me order you to stop.”

“I’m your commander,” he breathed, threatening you with his teeth, leaving a bruise on your sensitive skin. 

“Don’t…” you gasped as his fingers found your gooey center, “Don’t confuse your rank for my authority, Captain Price. You’re under my care.”

He glared at you, coming to a pause, leaving his fingers in you to play in your hole, gently pulsing in and out, teasing you just enough to keep you on the edge, 

“You want me to stop? Hm?”

The more he teased you, the more hot slick collected on his hands, sticky and clear, covering his fingers and making him harden with every moment. 

Then, he took a sharp breath in through his nose, and paused, hiding his grimace in the crook of his arm. You canted your hips, removing his hand from you, fed up with his defiance, 

“John, that’s enough. If you make me restitch that wound, I will have to do it without drugs. We’re out of anesthetic.”

“Please, love,” he held you close to him, letting you feel his hard length as it rolled against your tummy, making a trail of precome across your skin, “I need you. I’ve missed you so bad. Lemme fuck you. Put my cock in you.”

“Hold on,” you shifted your body so that he would turn on his side. Then, you lay opposite him, your head laying at the foot of the bed, bringing you face to face with his swollen, hungry cock. 

In this position, you could suck him off, and he wouldn’t need to use his thigh. 

You licked your lips, trailing them across his cockhead, collecting his salty pearls of pleasure and wearing them like gloss, suckling from his tip as softly as you could just to taunt him further. 

“Ahhh, fuck…” His sigh was delicious. All of that pain and all of the stress that had made him so tense rushed out of him, making his skin pebble with bliss. 

Without hesitation, John bent his head, pulling your hips to his open mouth, and wrapping your leg under his arm, eating your pussy and groaning with a lurid, feral pleasure. 

The feeling of his soft lips and scruffy beard against your sensitive skin flung you into a spiral of pleasure. You could feel his warm tongue prodding and exploring through you, greedily splitting you to get to your hot, honeyed center. 

You wanted more of his taste, so you went to work, stretching your jaw to accommodate his girth, taking him deeper into your throat, using your tongue to trace a wet circle around his head when you needed to catch your breath, teasing him just beneath his foreskin. When you did, his cock throbbed for you, egging you on, eager to drip its load into your mouth. 

“Fuckin’ hell, love. Gonna make me come,” he threatened. 

Suddenly, you felt his fingers dip back inside of you. He was aggressive with his fondling, shoving two of his thick digits deep inside of you, curling them cruelly to press upon your most pliant, responsive spot. 

As he fucked you with his hand, he let his tongue lap against your clit, making you whine around his dick, muffled by his shaft. You felt his hips begin to thrust forward and back, desperately fucking your throat, getting closer and closer to releasing his orgasm inside of you. 

You couldn’t wait to taste him. You wanted him to use you. You didn’t want to hurt him, but the truth was — as hungry as he was for your body — you needed him just as badly. 

You felt your body begin to tense, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he would have you coming on his hands. He kept his pace, knowing your favorite rhythm, humming to himself as he devoured you, sucking up every drop of your wetness as if he’d never drink from your tight font again. 

Your toes curled, your legs tried to close in on themselves, stopped by his body trapped between them, and something snapped inside of your core, letting loose spiraling sparks of pleasure, breaking you apart over and over, only for each gentle lick from his tongue to put you back together. 

“Mmhm,” he praised you, “Good girl. Just like that. Rub your come on my mouth.”

You did as you were told, no longer in the driver’s seat when it came to your body, fully trained to submit to his will. You shamelessly smeared your pussy across his bearded jaw, humping lewdly against him, all for him to whisper gratefully between licks, 

“Yes, more. More. Give it to me. Fuck my mouth, love. Fuck, I love it. Fuck…”

All the while, he was thrusting into your mouth, deeper and deeper, choking you on his hardness. But, you let him. You allowed him to use you, holding onto his hips for dear life, breathing in every gap that he left, gasping for air, feeling yourself getting dizzy. 

“Are you ready for me?” He groaned, peering down at you between your bodies.

You moaned something you hoped sounded like a yes, and he turned his full attention towards you. You felt his fingers leave your pussy, only to wrap themselves through your hair, sticky and messy, making a strong, merciless grip at the base of your skull. 

He fucked you in earnest, then. It was gratifying to hear his satisfied grunts, and as you felt his cock swell even more, you knew he was about to come. Your mind wanted air, but your body wanted his load. You wanted to feel it slip into your  throat, hot and milky, pouring down your neck like a salacious prize. 

Finally, he went stock-still, and the only thing that moved was his cock. It throbbed inside of you, shooting rope after rope of heavy come down your tongue, painting your mouth white. 

He removed himself from you as quick as he could, pulling your head back up to your pillow, bringing you face to face with him, whispering in an animalistic tone, 

“Lemme see it, pretty girl. Open up. Let me… ahh, yes. That’s it.”

He dipped his finger into your mouth, gathering up his own orgasm onto the tip, smearing it around your lips like he was putting on your makeup. 

You were panting, gasping in the air you so desperately needed, and you tried not to swallow, gathering up as much of his foaming fluid on your tongue as you could, sticking it out for him, showing him what a good girl you could be. 

He took more of it onto his hand and dipped down between your legs, painting your swollen folds with his spend, mixing your come together like some ritual. 

You couldn’t help but whimper. You were overstimulated and raw, and he shushed you, bringing his hand back up to play with your soft nipples, 

“Shh, it’s okay, love. It’s okay. Kiss me.”

You felt his mouth crash into yours, and your own heady taste invaded your senses, folding in with his, making your body roll itself against him, begging him for more. 

“Leg already feels better. C’mon, love. Give us the go ahead, hm?”

“I will tie you to this bed, John Price. Don’t test me,” you looked up at him before laying your head on his furry chest, breathing when he breathed, watching his hairy belly rise and fall. 

“Promise?” He chuckled, pulling you closer and holding you there all night, unwilling to compromise, claiming you in every way he knew how. You dozed against him, sated and happy, wondering how long you could keep a secret this good. 

Sorry for the wait! Work is hellish right now, but as soon as this semester is over with, I'll be posting more. Thanks for letting me know your thoughts.

[femsolid]

I watched the movie Strange Darling tonight. Great rating on IMDB. Positive reviews all around. It was sexist propaganda à la Gone Girl. I'm sure it'll be called a feminist movie.

The story is about a serial killer hunting down his last victim. During the first part of the movie we see a young, skinny, blond woman being chased by the killer, a big man with a rifle. She's in pain and has lost an ear. The man is not hurt and every time he appears on screen, some big scary music plays, telling us "he's the killer!"

Then we see a flashback of their first encounter. They're on a date, drinking in his car, she gives him a lecture about how a one night stand can be a life or death situation for women, so women aren't prudes they are careful, but he can't understand that because he's a man. Unlike in real life, he patiently listens and doesn't object nor scream Not All Men. A little feminist lesson. She then tells him that her "kink" is to be strangled and beaten in bed... okayyyy what was the point of the feminist lesson exactly? He's flabbergasted and reluctantly agrees to indulge her. Because we all know it's women who want to be abused, men are just following our lead and have no sadistic bone in their bodies. She starts crying and tells him to stop during it, she tells him that just because she said yes at the start doesn't mean she can't say no later and he should respect that. He feels bad, and suddenly she starts laughing, she was just messing with him pretending to have boundaries and stuff, what a turn on! She toys with him, keeps inviting him to have sex and then says no at the last second because women are just twisted provocatrice, I guess. What a tease! She's giving him "mixed signals." Then she drugs him and tortures him, and we discover that she's the serial killer, and he's a cop! HA! You thought women were abused by men? You thought her little feminist lessons were sensible? You were wrong! Never trust a woman! Men can be victims, too! The reason we didn't see his injuries at the beginning of the movie was because she tortured him with a knife on his chest. See? Men have hidden scars. Don't assume they are the abusers! Since he's a cop, he has a secret gun and manages to escape her by shooting her ear off. She runs from him, and he chases her, and we're back to the beginning of the movie. He catches her eventually, handcuffs her and calls her a cunt.

She still manages to kill him, right as the police arrives because he called for backup. She puts her pants down and lays on the floor ass naked, crying, pretending that he tried to rape her, and she defended herself. False rape accusations, guys! Don't be fooled by women playing the victims! There are two police officers that arrive: a woman and a man. The woman is immediately sympathetic to the fake rape victim, something her male partner questions. She responds "it's obvious what happened", takes the handcuffs off the killer and helps her get up, while the male cop tells her to wait because things don't look right. Blinded by her female solidarity and her defence of rape victims, the stupid female cop doesn't follow the procedure. She tells the male cop that just because she has a vagina doesn't mean she's wrong, another little feminist lesson rendered voluntarily ridiculous by the fact that we all know she's gravely wrong and will likely get both of them killed. He tells her it has nothing to do with her vagina, he speaks from experience because he's older. Eventually the truth is revealed, the victim is the killer, the male police officer calls the killer a bitch. The killer lets the female officer go because she helped her, and kills the male.

The entire movie had a clear message that we all know too well by now: men are the real victims, don't trust women who report abuse, feminism is laughable. I mean, the propaganda wasn't even subtitle or anything. The killer spends a good portion of the movie in lingerie too. Instant classic. True cinema. Would you be surprised if I told you this movie was directed and written by a man?

[astrolynnworld]

soft secrets

pairing: sub!chris x reader

summary: chris gets caught using the readers vibrator when they’re gone

warnings: smut, toy use, sneaky, caught, sex, sub chris, dom reader, language, “mommy” use, riding, reassurance, little bit of romance,

word count: 1,213

chris’s pov:

when y/n said she had to go to the store real quick i knew i had 30 minutes max before she came back

i knew it was wrong but i enjoyed when y/n wasn’t here because i get to do the stuff i would never have the confidence to tell her

such as.. use her hidden vibrators

don’t know how i came about this secret pleasure of mine but i know it started from my curiosity

that’s usually how i tend to spark interests yet this isn’t an interest i wish i necessarily sparked

as the door shuts indicating y/n’s exit, i rise up out of bed and find myself over at the box of toys that she keeps deep in our closet

i grab pink vibrator that peaks out the top of the box and i return back to the bed

i turn on the vibrator and trace it over the fully formed bulge in my boxers

slowly getting into the sensation i slide my dick out my boxers and trail the vibrator up and down my shaft

i throw my head back against the bed frame as i start to circle my tip that is now leaking precum

that is until i hear the door swing open

———————————————————————

y/n’s pov:

i put on my jacket, take my keys and grab my purse as i kiss chris goodbye

i tell him that i won’t be long because im just running to the store real quick to grab a few essentials

i shut the front door and make the trip to our shared car

i get in, buckle up and start the engine before i o realize that my phone didn’t automatically connect to the bluetooth

i get out the car to see if i dropped it anywhere as i make my way back inside the house

i open the door and see that chris is no longer in the kitchen so i quickly look around to see if i had left it in there

no luck.. so i make my wake to the bedroom

i open the door, “chris have you se-“ i stop abruptly at the scene in front of me

chris starts to tussle around with the blankets trying to hide himself

“what are you doing? i thought you left.” chris tries to distract

“yeah.. i think i left my phone in here so i came back.” i reply unamused by his distraction

a silence fills the room

“is this what you do when im not here? touch yourself with my toys?” i say as i step closer to the now shy boy

“i- .. i w-“ he tries to speak before i interrupt him but pulling the covers away

now revealing his throbbing hard dick leaking precum

“awee did my vibrator do that to you?”

he stares silently

i turn the vibrator back on and place it against his tip to which he shivers from the stimulation

“so tell me baby, do you always touch yourself with my things when i’m gone?”

he shyly nods his head

i turn off the vibrator, “i need you to use your words baby. or im going to stop every time”

“yes. i start to touch myself with your toys every time you walk out that front door” he fusses in response to the lack of attention on his hard cock

“and why haven’t you told me that you like to use my toys?” i say as i start the vibrator back up

“aah- be- because i thought you would judge or not like it” he whines out

“aw i would never judge you baby. you don’t need to be afraid to tell me about any of your guilty pleasures” i say softly as i place a kiss on his lips

as i pull back from the kiss he stares at my lips all foggy eyes, chasing in for another one

i continue to circling and drag the vibrator all on his cock as i kiss his needy lips

“fuck y/n- i need to be inside of you so bad” he throws his head back and whines

“beg for it.” i demand

“aah- please y/n. please slide your wet pussy on me. i need it so fucking bad, i’m aching for you-“

“i don’t know. i think im just-“ i interrupt

“please mommy.” he looks up into my eyes

mommy? he’s never called me mommy before. fuck did that turn me on

“i’ll be such a good boy for you mommy.. just please please please fuck me. i need your pussy so bad” he continues

i bend down and start kissing him on his lips, neck, and shoulders as i undress myself naked

i reposition myself to sit on his stomach while he lays flat on the bed

he starts groping at my boobs so i bend down to give him better access

he starts licking and sucking my nipples, knowing how sensitive they get with oral stimulation.

i start moaning at the feeling of his tongue tickling my nipple

“good boy baby. you’re so good for mommy” i say as i slowly start to adjust his cock with my hole from the back

i start to sit upright so i can get a better angle sliding myself on his cock.

as i sink down, he moans and throws his head further back into the bed

“aah- fuck.” he lets out a gasped whimper

“oh my god baby.” i join in with a whimper

i start gliding myself up and down his cock at a comfortable pace but i could tell chris was struggling to maintain his peace

he kept writhing and making cute little sounds under me

“you’re so fucking hot baby. keep feeling good for me” i speak out

“you’re so fucking tight mommy. it feels too good, i don’t know how long i can last.” he whines out with his eyes shut

“im close too baby” i say as i grab the vibrator that was now set to the side and place it on my clit

“ooh fuck” i tilt my head back as i continue the steady pace of my bounces

i bend back down to sloppily kiss chris

i start to go faster as i feel my orgasm starting to pool from my stomach

“fuck- mo- mommy you’re getting so tight. i’m gonna c- cum, can i cum please miss?” chris mutters out

“yes baby. cum with me” i say as my orgasm washes over me

i feel chris start to thrust up chasing his own orgasm.

our thrusts decreasing as we finish the chase for our highs, just heavy passionate breathing while we calm down.

“you’re so fucking amazing baby i really do love you” chris breaks the silence

i smile and bend down to kiss him, “i love you more chris” i say as i pull away and get off top of him

“see what could happen if you tell me about all your fantasies and guilty pleasures?“ i laugh

“im never gonna judge you. cause 9 times out of 10 i’ve probably already either thought it or want it too.”

he smiles and leans in for another kiss

“now actually where’s my phone? i still need to go to the store.” i conclude

———————————————————————

a/n- i love combining requests into one big juicy story! so i hope you guys enjoyed 🫠

[faeble-drabbles]

Alright I’ll bite. Tell me about frieza with a god of destruction reader

YESSSSSS I WILL ABSOLUTELY TELL YOU

Also if anyone is wondering "Why a god reader tho", its because I feel like only a god or angel will be able to get away with the shit that I planned...or someone who is just super powerful that he knows he can't just kill out of anger xD

•°• FRIEZA x God!Reader •°•

+ SO. Imagine you are a bored as hell destruction god. You happened to spot Frieza at the Tournament of Power and were immediately like--"That. That one is my new play toy"

+ You bribed your Angel with some well deserved time off to get you to Universe 7 and aboard Frieza's ship. Disguising yourself as a member of the ship, you make your way to your target.

+ When you came in, unannounced and acting like you owned the place, BOY did he try to kill you. But after being unsuccessful, he knew something was up. "...Who exactly are you? And what do you want with me??" Little did he know that was a loaded question.

+ You reveal yourself as a destruction god from another universe and declare that he will be your new play thing. You would keep your identity secret from the others on the ship and in return would give him some training. Also...you would not be taking no for an answer.

+ Frieza begrudgingly agrees, seeing as he had no choice. They just wanted to stay on his ship to keep themselves amused and he got free training out of it. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

+ HE WAS WRONG. You were an absolute menace. You ordered him around like a servant, teased him 24/7, was ruthless during training and asked lewd personal questions about the location of his reproductive organs.

+ But weirdly enough, after a few months of this torture, Frieza was starting to get used to your presence. It wasn't until you had to return back to your own universe for a brief time that he realized something strange.

+ Frieza was nearly jumping for joy when he found out you were finally leaving for a while. But then after a day or two...it was almost too quiet? Did he actually miss you?? ABSOLUTELY PERPOSTEROUS.

+ That's what he told himself until the day he asked one of his crew to insult and make fun of him. Because they wouldn't and due to Frieza realizing what he had asked--the poor guy got vaporized (Gotta get rid of the evidence oops)

+ When you finally returned, you noticed something off about him. Although he had his usual scowl and was complaining about how things were so nice and quiet while you were gone...you felt something lightly wrap around your leg. It was his tail...almost like he missed you?? ...This was going to be more fun than you thought.

[NSFW Below -- I must.]

+ When you caught on that the all powerful Lord Frieza was catching feelings for you?? That was too cute. And you bet you were going to tease the ever living shit out of him.

+ It all came to a point when you were having a conversation with him and starting teasing him about whether or not he was a virgin. His lack of direct response told you all you needed to know. You crawled into his lap and began to wiggle around before whispering in his ear "...How about some extra training, hm??" He looked away in disgust, but the tail around your leg tightened. That's all you needed.

+ Once comfy in his chambers, you discovered a nice little slit opening up between his legs and what looked to be something poking out. You nearly pounced him after seeing that.

+ The sweet whimpers and noises Frieza made as you worked your fingers and tongue into him, easing his member out completely. Your praises of how beautiful he looked while you were making a mess of him edging him on even further.

+ Once he's good and ready, you begin to slowly lower yourself onto him before taking him all in one go, making him nearly choke on his breath. You ride him so hard that this man is seeing stars and turns into a babbling mess. Seeing him so undone for you feel absolutely amazing.

+ Overstimulation?? Of course. After he cums, you want him shuddering as you continue with your ministrations. You want to see those pretty red eyes rolling back into his head as he bites back his moans.

+ You best believe there will be a round two. Whether you have your own dick or your attaching one, you will be putting Friezas face into the bed and destroying that ass. Your only complaint was that all his sweet noises getting muffled by the bed. Regardless it was quite the show.

+ Even though you are usually mean to him, you would try to give him the best aftercare you could. He would be bitching the entire time on how you roughly manhandled him, but you knew he enjoyed himself. Needless to say, it would not be your last encounter like this...

[I'm so sorry this was so long--I've had this with me for a while okay xD]

[xavsgf]

masterlist below the cut <3

♡=nsfw

submission rules: here

°☆•° xavier

-accidentally reveals his feelings for you

-favorite pet name

-desperate to kiss you

-he has a bad dream

-accidentally sending him a toy link ♡

-you drunk text him

-buying you something you want

-play fighting gone wrong

-friends with benefits

°☆•° zayne

-secret injury

-incorrectly assuming he's cheating

-accidentally reveals his feelings for you

-favorite pet name

-desperate to kiss you

-he has a bad dream

-accidentally sending him a toy link ♡

-you drunk text him

-buying you something you want

-play fighting gone wrong

-friends with benefits

°☆•° rafayel

-secret injury

-incorrectly assuming he's cheating

-accidentally reveals his feelings for you

-favorite pet name

-desperate to kiss you

-he has a bad dream

-accidentally sending him a toy link ♡

-you drunk text him

-buying you something you want

-play fighting gone wrong

-friends with benefits

-secret injury

-incorrectly assuming he's cheating

[bullet-prooflove]

To The Grave: Captain Jean Treville x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @@lovemissyhoneybee @sekretwindow @rey4kat

There is something cruel about digging your own grave, knowing that each shovelful of dirt takes you one step closer to oblivion. You almost refuse but you’ve seen what happens to a corpse when it’s left amongst the wilderness. You can’t stand the idea of the crows pecking out your eyes, of rats and foxes tearing at your belly.

It takes a while, the digging. Your muscles ache, your palms blistering as you follow the rhythm your body sets. Your mind is full of Jean, of his depreciating laugh, his warm smile, the roughness of his voice. You think of the last time the two of you were together. The scratch of his beard between your thighs as he took you to heaven, once, twice, three times before he made love to you on his bed in the garrison.

You’d slipped away long before dawn, leaving him sleeping heavily amongst the tussled sheets. You remembered pausing in the doorway, considering climbing back into bed alongside of him. You could give up the spy game, become a normal wife, one that cooked, maintained a home.

“You would never be happy with that life.” Jean had once told you. “You crave the adventure too much.”

He isn’t wrong, for years you’ve stayed one step ahead of France’s adversaries and there’s a vindication that comes with that, a satisfaction. When men look at you all they see is a woman, someone to conquer, to seduce. You toy with them, twist them, relieve them of the burdens they carry until all of those secrets spill right out of their heads, because men in positions of power, they like to boast especially to beautiful woman.

Your conquests are rarely about sex, they’re about finding that fundamental weakness and exploiting it. You know how to make a man beg for you, what he’ll offer up in exchange just for the promise of a kiss but that’s always as far as it goes, a kiss and nothing more.

Your heart, your body, your soul, all of it belong to Jean Treville, the man who will never know that you’re buried in an unmarked grave just a short distance outside of Paris.

That’s the other cruelty of what your captor is doing, he’s taking the one thing that Jean treasures most in this world and destroying it. He’ll wreak his revenge by sending your husband letters, detailing horrific, fictious things about what he’s doing to you. It will send Jean into madness, it will consume his waking thoughts, torture him in his dreams. He’ll tear apart this entire country just to find you.

And when he finally breaks, when he commits that deed he can’t come back from, when he begs on his hands and knees for your release that’s when the trick will be revealed.

There was never anything to return.

The woman he loved is gone, murdered because of something he did five years ago and that will be the thing that destroys him, that drives him to put his sword through his own heart.

“That’s deep enough.” Marsac says from behind you and you set the spade into the dirt alongside of you before turning to face him.

He’s had the pistol trained on you the entire time, his finger bearing down on the trigger. He’s under no illusion about your abilities, he’s studied you the same way he has Jean. He knows your strengths, your weaknesses, what it takes to draw you from your post in the Duke of Savoy’s convoy. When a musketeer turns up, requesting a private audience it gets your attention, especially when he’s bringing news of your husband.

The man that no one’s even aware you’re married to.

“Did you know?” Marsac asks you, his grip on the trigger tightening. “Did you know that the orders you were carrying that night condemned twenty musketeers?”

“Would it matter if I did?” You ask him and he shakes his head.

“No, you’re just as guilty as your husband.” He hisses as his footing shifts and he squares his shoulders.  

You know what a shooting stance looks like, the subtle changes in a man’s body before he pulls the trigger. You swallow hard against the well of emotion in your chest, tipping your chin up so that you can look at the sky. You want the vivid blue to be the last thing you see. It reminds you of Jean’s eyes, the brilliant hue as he looks at you during the height of climax.

When you hear the gunshot, you expect a rush of pain, a stab of agony, that’s the way it felt the first time you were shot. Instead there’s nothing.

You exhale, your gaze coming to rest on Marsac. Blood erupts from his mouth, a blush of crimson blossoms across the front of his shirt as the pistol slips from his fingers. He chokes out a word but the copper in his mouth stifles it as he falls to his knees in front of you.

Behind him stands Jean, the barrel of his pistol still smoking as his eyes come to rest on you.

“Terese?” He questions, holstering his weapon as he steps towards you.

“I’m alright.” You whisper but Jean he needs to see that for himself.

His calloused hands come to rest on your shoulders, gentle and steadying as he studies you intensely. There’s flecks of blood across your features, tiny droplets of Marsac’s life force staining your skin. His gloved thumb chases them away as his forehead comes to rest upon yours, his voice breaking.

“If he had killed you...”

He doesn’t say anything else, he doesn’t need to. The words hang in the air between the two of you as he cradles you close, his lips brushing over your hair.

… I would have followed you into the grave.

Love Treville? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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[eryiss]

[Fraxus] Multifaceted - Part 6

Or: The 5 Times Laxus Learned of a New Skill Freed Possessed, & The 1 Time He Fell Victim To Them

Summary: For the rest of the world, it had been seven years. For the members of Fairy Tail it had all been in the blink of an eye. But, for Laxus, that was more than enough time for his closest friend to seem like an entirely new person. This self assured, competent Freed was something new to Laxus, and he found himself enjoying it. Perhaps a little too much… Note: The last chapter. There’s seduction, there’s kissing, there’s mentions of misusing chocolate. It’s got it all. Hope you all enjoy. Links: Ao3, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

+1: Seduction

Laxus had gone through all possible ways that asking Freed out could go wrong. He could say no. He could laugh. He could be injured. He could reveal that he'd been seeing a man in secret for months now; he had been spending many of his evenings out of the apartment and wouldn't tell Laxus why. Laxus could end up making a complete fool of himself, and he'd never be able to think back without cringing to the point of screaming.

But not once had he anticipated this!

Who could have guessed that their apartment would have been robbed before he got the chance to do it!

That had to be what happened. He'd come back from a weeklong mission, resolute that he would stop bottling these feelings up and do something about it, and yet had unlocked the door to an empty apartment. The armchair was gone, the scattering of books that Freed had slowly been collecting were nowhere to be seen, and the kitchen was entirely devoid of anything at all. He stormed into the bedroom, to see that the bed was gone. After poking his head into the bathroom, even the shower products had been taken. The only thing left was the dining room table and chair, which had been the only thing not to belong to either Laxus or Freed.

There were no signs of a fight, so Freed couldn't have been there when it happened. But, well, if Freed had been there Laxus very much doubted the robbers would have managed to leave with all of their limbs attached, let alone the damn bed! Fuck: they didn't need this. Sure, Fairy Tail was getting more and more jobs, and they were starting to pay better, but there still wasn't enough to go around. Even with the money Freed made with his infrequent roles in the Ballet Society, they didn't have enough to cover the losses.

Groaning, he spun to look around the room. HIs gaze caught on something; a little hook on the back of the front door had something soft and colourful looking hanging off it. As he approached, he saw what looked to be a crocheted log cabin, with an envelope tucked behind it. He removed both, toying with the yarn creation as he opened the letter.

Map coordinates, written in Freed's handwriting.

Okay, so they likely hadn't been robbed if Freed had done this; unless of course Freed had lost his mind and been the person who had robbed them. Not entirely impossible, he could be eccentric when he wished to be. Laxus walked into the hallway, locked the door as if there were anything left to take, and started on walking to where the coordinates stated. That was one perk of being a mage; you had maps embedded in your memory. Freed was calling for him to go to one of the wooded areas outside of the town, about twenty minutes' walk away from the new Guildhall.

As he travelled, Laxus found himself absently playing with the yarn house. Its intricacies were well crafted, and Laxus wondered if maybe Freed had gotten better at crochet over the last few months, or if maybe this house just was his way of showing off. He pulled out the lightning bolt from his pocket - Freed had casted a rune on it that gave it a protective shield, and it was never off Laxus' person anymore - and compared the two. He preferred the lightning bolt. That was his and his alone. He had no idea what this little cabin meant.

When he arrived at the coordinates, he understood. Because, tucked in a halo of trees, was a large, lavish looking log cabin almost identical to the one Freed had made. Laxus gaped at it, then at Freed, who was sitting at a small patio table, whittling. Freed apparently whittled now, too.

"Freed," Laxus said cautiously, eyes flicking back to the cabin and not leaving it. "What the fuck is happening now?"

"Well, we're standing in the woods, there's a gentle breeze-"

"Freed!"

"I was sick of our living arrangements, and as such I've amended them," he gestured back to the cabin.

Laxus looked it all over again. It was two stories high, and pretty damn big. It had more space than anywhere Laxus had ever lived, with a balcony on the second floor. It was picturesque and idyllic and amazing. And it was also seemingly made entirely out of wood. Laxus couldn't help but think back to the few times he'd seen Freed doing any kind of DIY, and he always favoured using wood to fix whatever problem they were facing. He had even made his snappy little innuendo about being masterful at handling thick, hard wood. Or something to that meaning anyway; every time Laxus thought back to it he multiplied how filthy it had been, so the original phrasing was lost.

"If you're about to tell me," Laxus began slowly, walking towards Freed, "that you have built a house, then I'm not only gonna call bullshit on that, but I'm also gonna call bullshit on each and every one of these skills you've been showing off. Every one of them."

"Including the two examples of it that you're currently holding?" Freed mused. Laxus huffed, shoved his lightning bolt into his pocket and threw the yarn cottage at Freed's face. Freed caught it with a laugh. "No, Laxus. I did not build this house."

"Then... what the fuck?" He waved a hand at the building.

"I renovated a nearly dilapidated structure into something liveable," Freed pulled out some documents from his own coat pocket and placed them on the outside table. Laxus looked down at them - they were land and property ownership details - and gaped at the image. It was the same building before him, but covered in plants, with broken glass and large holes in the wall. Laxus might have got caught up on the difference between the picture and the reality of the building, but then he caught sight of how much the rundown cabin had cost.

"How the hell did you afford this?"

"I've placed myself into a sort of debt," Freed explained, and Laxus frowned. That didn't sound good. "Oh, nothing to worry about. The Ballet Society has plans for a new show, The Sleeping Beauty. There's a role in it - Prince Florimund - who is notoriously difficult to do. Their regular male lead isn't confident he can do six shows a week without burnout, so I've agreed to perform twice a week in exchange for them paying the costs for the house."

"You..." Laxus gaped at him, words failing. "You..."

"They've been very good about it. It doesn't need to be strictly twice a week, but instead average out into two sevenths of the shows, so I can still go on missions without trouble," Freed continued. "And it looks to be a fun role, rather challenging."

"You made this," Laxus pointed to the picture of the rundown cabin. "Into that?" He gestured to the luxury looking cabin. "On your own? Single handedly? Without anyone knowing, while also going on missions and dancing whenever they call you. You did that?"

"I tend to get restless," Freed shrugged, then turned and walked towards the open front door of the cabin.

Laxus followed, eyes flicking over the front of the building as it got closer.

Once inside, Laxus had to halt. He'd walked into a large living room with a spiral staircase leading up to the higher floor. It was only partially furnished, with two sofas - the frame made out of wood, but with large cushions for comfort - facing one another, with the media Lacrima between them. The coffee table that Freed had made for their apartment had been duplicated, so there was one next to either sofa. There was also a shoe holder, coat stand, and key holder beside the door. Laxus gaped as he looked around, his shoes clunking against the hardwood floors.

"I do like materials other than wood, I swear," Freed promised as he hooked a key on the hanger. "When we have the buying power, I anticipate we'll buy a lot of rugs and furniture that doesn't come from trees, but I'm best at woodwork and had more than enough wood left over after I cut some of the encroaching trees down."

"You cut them down?" Laxus gaped. "You know how to do that, too?"

Freed shrugged. "I can't begin to detail how bored I can get when I'm not working," he walked towards the staircase, and Laxus dutifully followed him. It was a sturdy thing, and Laxus assumed that Freed had made it. He might as well assume Freed had made anything and everything Laxus would see for the rest of his life, given how proficient Freed seemed to be. "There's five bedrooms, each with their own bathrooms. Only one has access to the balcony, and I've decided that I deserve it, so that's not up for debate."

"Seems fair," Laxus shrugged. "I assume you put in the bathrooms yourself after taking night classes for plumbing, right?"

"I was tempted," Freed laughed, showing Laxus to the hallway of six doors, with a large window at the end of it. "But, believe it or not, I accessed outside help. There's a tradesperson's school opened in town, and I contacted a teacher. I allowed five of their students full control over the bathrooms as practice, and they agreed to cover the costs. Juvia helped, too. Held back any wayward water when they made mistakes."

"It must have really hurt your pride having to let someone take control," Laxus teased, reaching for the closest door and opening it. A large, vacant room was shown, with a further door which must have led to the bathroom. "Five bedrooms?"

"And a closet," Freed nodded to one of the doors. "It used to be a vacation rental, before the owner let it go to hell. That's why there's bathrooms for each bedroom, I think. It works well for us, though. One room for each of the team, and a spare room. I thought either a guest room, or perhaps a gym when we can afford the equipment. But by that point, I expect the house will be more communal and I won't have unquestioning authority. I'll miss it."

"So, Bix and Ever are moving in too?" Asked Laxus, and Freed nodded. Laxus would like that. He'd miss having his own space with Freed, though. "Well, show me your special bedroom then, don't wanna walk in by mistake and have you pissed off at me."

Freed laughed, walked to the door on the far left and opened it, motioning for Laxus to walk in. It, like the living room, was barely furnished. The bed they'd been sharing was resting against the wall, facing the large wall of glass that led to the balcony. The only other thing was the armchair, which looked ugly and out of place in the modern room, and yet Laxus wouldn't want it removed nor improved. It felt as though Freed wanted a reminder of their time together and had decided his room would be a reflection of their apartment.

Or maybe Laxus was overthinking things. That was possible. Likely, even. That's why Laxus said what he did next. "Wait, you get the bed and the chair? Where the hell do I sleep tonight?"

"I've heard the floor is wonderful for posture correction, and you do tend to slouch," mused Freed as he looked around. Laxus knocked him on the shoulder, and Freed smiled to himself. "I've planned for that. Follow me."

Laxus did, though was surprised when Freed didn't open any of the doors to the bedrooms. They went back downstairs, and only when they were back on the floor and at the same level did Laxus see that Freed was fiddling with the palm of his hand. His fingers were twitching and playing around, scratching against each other in small, purposefully subtle movements. Laxus had seen Freed do that a few times throughout their time living together: the morning of his first rehearsal with the dance troupe, the day when Freed had first cooked for the guild, and the moment when they realised when their best hope of living anywhere was sharing a crappy apartment. It was a nervous tick. What did he have to be nervous about?

Freed went to push open one of the doors off the living room but stopped himself and turned to look at Laxus. Laxus halted, concern clearly filling his features. Freed was such a steadfast person, it took a lot to rattle him. He looked scared.

"There are a few things I need to say before I-" he cut himself off, took a breath, and met Laxus' eyes. "This house is unconditional. You live here no matter what. I need you to know that first," the intense look on his face made Laxus nod. "Good, please believe that. Next, there are no expectations of you. Not a single one. Whatever happens-"

"Freed, you've gotta tell me what you're panicking about."

"Right, yes," Freed nodded slightly, placed his hand on the door again. "Dammit, I had this planned out to be much more romantic, but, well, we can only go onwards I suppose."

Laxus' brain snagged on the word 'romantic' and stuck there, but as Freed opened the door, all thoughts died away. It was an open plan kitchen and dining room, with an open fireplace. The fireplace was lit, crackling and warm as it brought orange glow to the room. The small dining room table was lit only by two large, red candles that flickered gently. The table was decorated with a white vase filled with a range of yellow, orange and red flowers. Two cloches were placed either side of the table, and the smell of rich, wonderful food permeated.

Slowly, Laxus walked into the room. Romantic? That's what Freed had said. Right after Freed had assured Laxus he would always have a place to live there, unconditionally, Freed had mentioned romance. Now, he had walked into a candle lit dinner, which Freed had prepared himself.

That was another situation that Laxus hadn't planned for: Freed beating him to the punch.

Wordlessly, he turned to Freed, who was standing half way through the door, looking more unsure than Laxus had ever seen him.

Unacceptable.

Laxus felt a burning passion, exhilaration and need rush through him with a fury he'd never experienced before.

He was walking towards Freed before he could stop himself and brought his hand up. He wrapped it around the back of Freed's neck, clasping it firmly as he got in Freed's space. Their chests butted slightly - Laxus had misjudged how far Freed was - but he didn't care. He tilted his head, closed his eyes, and gave Freed the kiss he'd been wanting for all those months.

Fuck.

Oh gods.

Laxus was actually weak at the knees. The feeling of Freed's lips against his own, his tongue against his own, was breathtaking. Laxus pulled Freed close, feeling the man against him in a way he'd never had before. There was a closeness, an intimacy he'd never thought he'd know. Freed was strong and firm and practical and caring. He kissed with authority, and Laxus would always happily defer to it. He wanted to collapse into Freed, to be consumed by him. By the kiss. By the man he loved.

When they pulled away, their foreheads pressed together. Laxus smiled, a dopey and silly smile, as he whispered, "You're good at that, too."

Freed snorted a shaky laugh, and oh damn did Laxus love that moment of inelegance. "You're rather good yourself."

They laughed into another kiss, and Laxus found his hands lacing their way through Freed's hair so he could better cup the back of his head. Freed's own hands had found rest at Laxus' waist, and Laxus could have groaned at how they anchored him. This kiss was shorter, gentler, but no less passionate. Laxus found himself scratching at the back of Freed's head, and all but beamed when Freed leant into it.

Energy was buzzing through Laxus, and as hypnotising as the scent of the food, or the lure of Freed's lips were, Laxus felt the need to move. To move, but not without Freed. He'd fight the damn gods themselves if anything tried to get Freed out of his arms. It was only then that he realised there was soft, trilling music playing through the room. Laxus smiled, ran a hand down Freed's side and ended up taking Freed's hand in his own. They intertwined their hands without questioning nor discussion, and Laxus was in awe at the gentle friction between their skin.

"Dance with me," he demanded in a whisper.

"Really?" Freed asked.

"Yeah." Laxus smiled. "But go easy on me. No lifts."

Freed laughed, and then they danced. It was nothing to be impressed by - nothing more than swaying in each other's arms - but Laxus felt this meant more to him than any performance could mean to any professional. The ability to stand with Freed in this way was a privilege and yet a natural state of being for them both. They were so close. Their hands were intertwined, their waists pushed together, and at one point Freed rested his head against Laxus' chest and Laxus all but cried.

They stayed like that for a while. Freed's head moved to the crook of Laxus' neck, and they swayed in each other's arms. They had time to think, and Laxus was consumed by how entirely right this felt. It wasn't odd. It wasn't uncomfortable. It wasn't anything other than the logical next step.

"You wanna eat?" Laxus eventually asked. "Don't want your hard work going to waste."

"Certainly not," Freed agreed, though neither moved to detach from the other for at least two minutes.

When they eventually did, they sat either side of the table, which was narrow enough for their feet to knock against each other. Made silly by the rush he was feeling, Laxus made an effort to nudge and play with Freed's feet with his own. He caught Freed's barely hidden smile; which was so honest, just a little shy, and was accented with the nicest little blush. Freed really was lovely.

They removed the cloches, and Laxus beamed at what had been served. Barbecue ribs and nearly a bucket's worth of fries covered in cheese and bacon sauce. This was the meal Laxus always had when he was too injured to work for a while; indulgent, against his diet, and delicious.

And, decidedly not a typical first date meal.

"Not a salad," Laxus teased, "so you can show off how elegant and sophisticated you are."

"You already know how sophisticated and elegant I am," Freed hummed, taking one of his own cheese covered fries and eating it.

"I also know how much of a deranged animal you can be with certain foods," Laxus grinned.

Freed huffed, "I dispute that whole heartedly."

"Roast chicken."

Slamming a rib down on the plate, Freed stared down Laxus' grin. "I had been captured and tortured, I had not eaten in four days, and I was hungry. That was four years ago, let it go."

"You nearly choked on it," Laxus beamed. "That was so sexy of you. Really a turn on."

"Hush."

"I think that's when I first noticed you were a man, not just some brat, Y'know."

"Oh be quiet," Freed huffed. "And we both know that, when presented with a certain brand of Black Forest gateau, you make Erza's sweet tooth look positively rational. I wonder how she'd react if I told her. She's never been one to stand for such a flagrant display of hypocrisy."

"Truce?" Laxus asked, and Freed smiled at him. Laxus grinned, took a bite of the ribs, then groaned. He caught Freed's grin. "So, speaking of dessert, is that gateau part of your seduction methods? Because it'll work if it is."

"I considered it," Freed mused. "But I thought stripping naked, dripping melted chocolate over my body, and having you lick it off might serve my purposes better. Thought?"

Laxus choked on his food, coughing out a "Fuck!"

"And now the truce can begin," Freed beamed at him, and Laxus couldn't help but match it; once he'd finished coughing, obviously. "And I hope you notice that, when you choke on food, I don't claim that it's sexy, a turn on, or that this is the first time I see you as a man. It takes very little effort not to say those things."

"Ah dammit, you're cocky in a relationship too," Laxus playfully groaned. "And here I thought I'd turn you into a mewling little kitten of a man."

"I may be, if I'm in the right position," Freed purred, running the toe of his shoe up Laxus' leg.

"You evil bastard," Laxus laughed. "Serve up my favourite food and then give me something even better to look forward to." The glare Laxus sent Freed's way was filled with heat, but certainly not anger. Freed matched it with a flirty little smile, his foot not stopping its teasing drag. Laxus felt his trousers tighten a little at the crotch, then remembered something. "You said you'd sorted out where I'd sleep. Then you took me down here to seduce me. Are those two things connected maybe?"

"Are you trying to imply that I'm so arrogant that I believe all I'd need is some dinner to get you into bed?"

"Yeah, I think you're exactly that sure of yourself."

"Hm," Freed hummed. "Well, all I'll say is this: you've witnessed my proficiency in varied skills over the last few months, yes? My talents in bed make everything else I do look sloppy to a near Neanderthal level. I'm that good." He retracted his foot; Laxus missed the touch almost too much. "Eat your food, dear. You'll need the energy."

"Cocky mother fucker," Laxus growled.

He stood, leant over the table, and pulled Freed into a deep kiss filled with promise. Promises that Laxus knew Freed could keep.

[pagerunner-j]

The Long Road Home: the story so far

And now, a whole lotta fic links.

I might be cheating a bit with this post, seeing as the inception of this series predated any particular theme months, and the stories haven’t been written specifically to prompts. But since I’ve cranked out over 160,000 words of fic about these crazy kids since March (how? help), and I just completed a story arc with the installment I posted this past Tuesday, @tentoorosemonth2024 seems as good an excuse as any to share the lot of them. 

SO.

The series at large: The Long Road Home

Following the arrival of Rose and Tentoo in their new world, the development of their relationship with each other, and the adventures and dangers they start to face as a new family. The series was named after its first chapter, in large part because names are hard and I wasn’t expecting to keep going like this, but here we are. Begins mostly as a romance. The plot whacks me over the head soon thereafter. Includes, so far:

The Long Road Home (M, 24,500 words)

Rose and Tentoo, getting to understand each other, trust each other, and eventually love each other, on the way home from Bad Wolf Bay.

Featuring a long-overdue family road trip, deleted scenes turning into essential plot, existential crises, asides from Jackie Tyler, the wrong Beatles, inappropriate ways to answer room service, and your author shamelessly abusing the limits of touch telepathy.

Understandings and Ultimatums (M, 6,800 words)

An interlude following The Long Road Home, in which Rose and Tentoo, temporarily staying with Rose's parents, maybe start getting a little carried away with each other. And Pete's got a few words to say to the Doctor about it. Oops.

Featuring badly timed father-daughter check-ins, the Doctor continuing to come to terms with having a whole lot less a in his sexuality these days, a children's toy as a conversation starter, Rose getting alternately irritated and turned on by possessive men, and absolutely everybody complaining about London real estate.

At the Threshold (T, 8,500 words)

Rose and Tentoo find themselves facing a number of major life decisions. Some aren't quite yet decided upon...but some important ones are coming together at last.

Featuring the joys of house hunting, the tricky question of names, pointed motherly advice, Time Lord talents at work, gratuitous Shakespeare geekery, ongoing telepathy shenanigans, and life-changing phone calls happening at really inconvenient times.

Four Ceremonies (T, 21,800 words)

A home claimed, a seed planted, a commitment made, and promises spoken.

Rose and Tentoo on the road to marriage...and a few other, perhaps even more significant things.

Entanglements (M, 21,000 words)

Rose and the Doctor may have found a good life together, but that doesn't mean all their worries--or their past traumas--have gone away quite yet.

In which the emotional rent comes due, some painful stories are revealed, risky levels of intimacy are reached, a good number of unsettling memories and dreams unfold, and Rose finds her way to the solution for a tricky problem with their TARDIS...but that might come with a certain cost, too, and it might not only be hers to pay.

Featuring Rose, Tentoo, and...well, Ten, too.

Coming to Light (E, 6,500 words)

A Long Road Home interlude, in which Rose and Tentoo take that trip to Barcelona (the Pete's World version, anyway), discover the alien weirdness behind one of this city's strangest neighborhoods, and then, inspired by that day's escapades, make good on both the rating of the story and the verb choice in the title.

...hey, they're having a nice time on their holidays, who am I to argue.

The House Among the Briars (M, 22,300 words)

Go big or never go home.

In which Rose and Tentoo finally discover the secret of the house where they've been living, but get stranded in separate dimensions in the process. To find their way back to each other, they might have to confront parts of themselves that they might not want to have to accept. For the Doctor, it's the rage he's been warned about virtually ever since he first came to be. And for Rose, it might be something even more dangerous, and a whole lot stranger.

Because it might be time for a certain bad wolf to come back out to play...

The Wolves in the Woods (T, 48,300 words)

Rose and Tentoo have secrets. Torchwood has questions. Everything is about to come to a head one way or another, especially if the director of interdimensional research at Torchwood gets her way.

And Rose and the Doctor are going to have to figure out how to stop her, before she lays a claim on their growing TARDIS...or on the two of them themselves.

[messyemm]

pawn

note: This is very self-indulgent, sorry about that. It might get a bit dark down the road, so heads up if you don’t really like whump. needless to say this is 18+, if you are a minor, please don't interact/read my content!

prisoner!leon, prisoner!reader

warnings: afab!reader, whump, restraints, emotional distress, captivity, hurt/mostly no comfort, pain, lowercase intended

-

march 1st - 

leon opened his eyes, there were three things he immediately noticed. number one: he was cold, his thin clothes were not enough for the chilly weather in march. number two: he was tightly bound, with his arms restrained behind his back, forced upward to the ceiling by a chain,  causing piercing pain in his shoulders. number three: he couldn’t see her.

as time went by, he registered a few more things. he had to do something; otherwise, he would go crazy. the absence of surveillance cameras or visible security caught his attention. the small cell’s concrete walls and floor lacked any finishes. the only window on the cell was tiny, facing south, as leon noted after observing the positioning of the sun, allowing faint rays of sunshine to enter in the otherwise dark room. the room had a dirty toilet in the back corner, and directly opposite the toilet stood a metal door with narrow bars. the gaps between the bars offered a terrific view of the toilet. as time passed, he was more awake to start taking into account noises, smells, and footsteps.

his knees throbbed with pain, he couldn’t lay down because he wasn’t in the mood to dislocate his shoulders, and couldn’t stand up, as shackles with their short chains were bounding his ankles close to the wall behind him.

where was he? where was she? he tried to think back, to recall what was he doing before this? he was at his house, no…no, that wasn’t right, no, no he wasn’t. he was with her, he remembered. he groaned as he struggled to piece his memories together; everything was scattered.

the pain, the cold, and the crushing sense of despair made it almost impossible to concentrate, to think clearly.

“you are awake, mr. kennedy.” a voice, dripping with cruel amusement broke the silence. leon jolted, startled, and turned his eyes towards the door, on high alert.

he narrowed his eyes, and silence filled the room, leaving him to question his own sanity, he wondered if it had finally happened, he feared he’d gone mad and started hallucinating voices, that was until the metal door opened, startling him once again.

any of his usual snarky remarks died, stuck in his throat, as he watched the man walk up to him.

the man extended his hand. “tobias,” he introduced himself.

leon stared at the hand.

“oh, my apologies!” he moved behind leon and forcefully shook his bounded hands, the sudden movement sent a wave of pain to leon’s shoulders, making his wince and groan. “i believe a firm handshake is vital for a nice partnership, don’t you think so, mr. kennedy?”

“who are you?” leon asked, the realization that something was wrong, something was very wrong settled in.

“who am i?” tobias echoed, a bit taken aback. “mr. kennedy, you wound me with your forgetfulness,” he wasn’t smiling but his whole demeanor revealed he found the whole situation very amusing. “i wear many faces, respond to many names. for now, tobias will do just fine.” he smiled proudly. “but do be careful and don't forget it again, or…”

“i don’t have money, nothing to offer, really,” leon said a matter of factly. “so, what is it that want from me?”

tobias circled around leon, his steps playful one second, and deliberate the next, as if he was looking at not only at his food, but also to his newfound toy.

“i beg to differ” tobias chuckled “you know things, important things, important details. information, secrets —that’s the currency i really crave,” he chuckles. “you stumbled into my playground” he says, opening his arms and gesturing the cell. “i play rough” he admitted with a smile that didn’t seem remorseful on the slightest. “and I always have fun.”

“so you think i will just sit here and accept whatever you say?”

“mr. kennedy, you see, you will play my game whether you play willingly or not. If I must be honest, I enjoy a little defiance.”

“i may be trapped in this cell for now, I might be at your mercy, but,” he tried to ignore the pain, the restraints, the cold, the dread. “i will find a way to get the hell out of here.”

“ah, mr. kennedy, such bravado” he mocked. “you keep me entertained, unintentionally, I suppose.” he smiled, his amusement only growing as he towered over leon.

he extended a finger, pressing it against his chest and pushed leon back, the shifting in the stress position he was tied up in sending a piercing, agonizing wave of pain to his arms and shoulders, forcing a pained moan out of him. leon clenched his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek, he refused to grant tobias the satisfaction of being a witness of his suffering.

tobias laughed, with a final push, he pull his finger back, leaving leon gasping for breath in pain.

“not a dull moment with mr. kennedy” tobias announces. “you let out the most delicious little sounds.”

leon muttered under his breath, “sick bastard.”

tobias’ smile widened, enjoying leon’s attempts to defy him. he seizes the chain connected to leon’s restraints and yanks it with force, forcing leon’s arms upward causing leon to grit his teeth as he cries out in agony. “what did you say, mr. kennedy?” tobias taunted as he continues to lift the chain, forcing leon’s arms up into an unnatural angle.

“i said…you’re a sick bastard” he managed to say, between breaths. “you can keep doing this until my shoulders pop out of their sockets but I won’t break”

“but mr. kennedy. you undermine my creativity. there are a thousand ways to break a man, physically and mentally. we have time to explore them all.”

with a grin, tobias lifted the chain once more, leon couldn’t help but let out a cry of pain, causing his body to twitch in pain, only making it worse. each cry and groan that escaped from leon’s lips filled tobias with sick satisfaction, it was art, like a symphony.

“i will let you rest, mr. kennedy.” tobias declared with mock politeness. “we just met, we don’t want to rush into things, do we?”

with one final tug, he unhooked the chain from the ceiling and leon’s body slumped forward, gasping for air.

“do not forget my act friendship, i will let you sleep laying down.”

“untie me and I may even find it in me to say thank you.” Leon asked, not having the energy to move an inch.

“mr. kennedy…please. I don’t think you really fathom how much I enjoy your helplessness.”

tobias took a glance at leon’s figure, taking in the disheveled state of his hair. his arms tied behind his back have been like that for hours, his shoulders must be on fire. his fringe was covering part of his face but he didn’t need to see his face to know he was in pain.

“you will remain bound, for now.” he rejoiced to see leon’s reaction to his resolve, “no need to sulk, mr. kennedy. i will have in mind how polite you were when requesting it.”

-

[dc-and-arfrona]

Dada Jason

Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Type: Fluff

Word Count: 800+

Masterlist

Summary: Jason’s a dad!

---

The darkened streets of Gotham City were quiet, save for the distant sound of sirens echoing through the night. You walked briskly, clutching a worn envelope in your hand. Tonight was the night—the night you would reveal the truth to Jason Todd, the man you loved and the father of your child. It had been a secret you had kept hidden for far too long.

As you arrived at the familiar building of the Batcave, your heart raced with both anticipation and fear. You had known Jason as the Red Hood, a vigilante whose life was tangled with danger and darkness. But there was another side to him—a side that was kind, caring, and compassionate. It was that side that made you fall in love with him and made you believe that he deserved to know the truth.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into the cavernous lair. The soft hum of computer screens filled the air as you made your way towards the central platform where the Batcomputer stood, Jason hunched over it, lost in his world of crime-fighting.

"Jason," you called out, your voice filled with a mix of nervousness and determination.

He turned, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. A flicker of surprise crossed his face as he took in your presence. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," you said, your voice trembling ever so slightly. "It's important."

Jason closed the distance between you, concern etching his features. "What's wrong?"

Taking a step back, you found solace in the support of the Batcomputer behind you. "Jason, we have a child together."

His eyes widened, a mix of shock and confusion evident in his expression. "A child? But... how? I mean, when did this happen?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the secret lift off your shoulders. "It happened before everything fell apart, before you became the Red Hood. I found out I was pregnant shortly after... after you were gone."

Jason's face softened, his voice filled with a hint of regret. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I should have been there for you. I should have been there for our child."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you took a step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. "It's not too late, Jason. You can still be a part of our child's life. I want you to be."

His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of emotions. "I... I want to be there too. I want to be a father."

A smile broke through your tears, and you nodded, relief flooding over you. "Our child deserves to know their father, Jason. And you deserve to know the love and joy they can bring to your life."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "Thank you for telling me, Y/N. I promise, I won't let you or our child down."

Months passed, and Jason kept his promise. He embraced fatherhood with all the determination and love he had shown in his crime-fighting endeavors. The Batfamily welcomed the news with open arms, providing a support system for you and your growing child.

Together, you and Jason prepared for the arrival of your baby. The once-gloomy corners of the Batcave were transformed into a haven of warmth and love. Tiny clothes were folded, a crib was carefully assembled, and the shelves were adorned with books and toys.

As the day of the birth drew near, Jason became increasingly protective. He accompanied you to every doctor's appointment, holding your hand and whispering words of encouragement. His fears and doubts were replaced by a newfound determination to be the best father he could be.

Finally, the day arrived—a day that would forever change your lives. Jason stood by your side in the hospital room, his hand clasped tightly in yours. Together, you experienced the miracle of bringing a new life into the world.

When you held your baby for the first time, tears of joy streamed down your face. Jason's eyes were filled with awe and tenderness as he gazed at the tiny, fragile being in your arms. A profound sense of love and responsibility filled the room, as the three of you became a family.

In the years that followed, Jason never wavered in his commitment to his role as a father. He juggled his duties as a vigilante with late-night feedings, diaper changes, and bedtime stories. He taught your child the importance of justice, bravery, and kindness.

And as you watched Jason interact with your child—playing catch, teaching them to ride a bike, and wiping away tears when they scraped their knee—you knew that you had made the right choice. The bond between father and child was unbreakable, and your decision to reveal the truth had brought immeasurable happiness to all of your lives.

Together, you forged a future filled with love, adventure, and the unshakable knowledge that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, your family would always be there for each other, bound by an unbreakable bond.

[thefirstknife]

Please tell me you've read the lore on the new Trials items??

I have and I haven't stopped crying since.

It starts with the new Trials ship, Valiant Memory. It's the opening Lightfall cutscene but told from the point of view of Reed-7, the Titan from the Trials fireteam of Reed, Aisha and Shayura. They were a constant background lore characters on Trials gear. Here's a brief post I have about them from before. Since then, Shayura has been re-captured, gone to therapy, healing and reunited with her fireteam. Among them, Reed was a really sweet Exo who was known as "Strike dad," basically the heart of the fireteam, really sweet and warm.

The ship lore tells us that Reed, Aisha and Shayura were in the battle in space at the start of Lightfall when Pyramid fleet attacked. As the lore tab progresses it becomes increasingly clear that these three are the fireteam we've seen in the cutscene. Specifically, the Titan we've seen sliced? Reed-7.

The Witness is nothing more than a sliver of dark shearing through a field of white, but even at such a distance, Reed can feel its eyes on him. A chill jolts down his spine the moment the reticle locks on. His Exomind throbs with the sense-memory of a migraine.

He immediately knows something is wrong. He turns to his Ghost. His Ghost looks at him, but it's already dead. The world separates into slices.

And

so is

he.

I don't think I will ever emotionally recover from this. Aisha and Shayura survived for unknown reasons. Neither Aisha nor Shayura know why their Ghosts were spared; possibly because they both toyed with a version of Darkness. Aisha was a stasis user and Shayura's issues led her to killing Guardians. We don't know.

Either way, after the ship lore, I suggest reading the Ghost Shell, Hero's Wake. Immediately knocked out by the flavour text:

"He was like a father to us both." —Aisha

The lore tab itself has Shayura grieving and preparing to go therapy.

Next on the schedule for the emotional breakdown is the sparrow, Survivor's Journey which shows us Aisha personally traveling to Titan to tell Sloane about Reed. This also shows us that Sloane knew this fireteam, which is neat. But yeah, Aisha is devastated and had to tell Sloane in person.

The final bit is the Trials glaive, Unexpected Resurgence. Shayura is in the Tower and she has the remains of Reed's Ghost. She is approached by a woman who introduces herself as Sister Faora. Faora was the leader of the Cult of Osiris, but now introduces herself as an "outcast." The link between them is that Shayura and her fireteam were Trials regulars. Faora gives Shayura the glaive and offers to be her friend. No clue why Faora is an outcast. Maybe the whole Cult of Osiris has been somehow restructured, disbanded or made defunct after Osiris' ordeal with Savathun and after he lost his Light. It would be nice to get an update on it!

Outside of the assault on our emotions, I am curious about Faora's reappearance. Paired with them mentioning Vance again (albeit jokingly), I wonder if this is meant something more than just randomly dropping names. Vance is the only remaining "missing" vendor that we have yet to learn more about and Mercury is a potentially very interesting place to revisit, if we can, given its ties to Darkness through Lighthouses (which emit Darkness-aligned tones; the same tones that are being emitted by Pyramids and the planetary anomalies, as well as very likely egregore). Maybe a hint for a future season? I would love to revisit Mercury and get some nice lore reveals about the Lighthouses, Vance, Mercury's secrets (the planet houses a prediction engine!) and the Vex.

But until then, pain and suffering even. Goodbye Reed, Strike dad.

[good-beanswrites]

So. It turns out I can't read. Have a random drabble of Mikoto + Tears because I misread one of the requests asdfds (featuring the smoking group :)) I thought of some juicy drama, but I'll admit his situation may not be as dramatic as this lol, just a thought about his emotions I was toying around with.

It had taken a bit of time, persuading, and bribery, but Mikoto reluctantly showed up to the smoking group’s next session. He looked like shit compared to them, but neither seemed to care.

Though he tried to refuse, they’d given him refills for his e-cigarette so he could participate. Shidou claimed he was quitting, but he didn’t strike Mikoto as the type to stop cold turkey. He stayed quiet most of the time, listening to the usual stories of days gone by.

Shidou asked about Kazui’s recent interrogation. Mikoto would have rather spoken about literally anything besides their situation as prisoners and murderers, but Kazui’s unlikely honesty caught his attention. The man admitted to getting rather worked up in front of Es, nearly to the point of tears.

Rather than offer any sort of comfort, Shidou chose to list off the benefits of crying in response. 

“It actually releases stress hormones,” he was saying, “and has been linked to better sleep, improved immune systems, and balance within your nervous system.”

Mikoto shared a smirk with Kazui, the cigarette angling between his lips. He wasn’t as quick as he thought.

“And what is that face for?” Shidou turned to him. “I do hope you’re not one of those types who think men shouldn’t cry. I’m sure you have plenty of times. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Mikoto was going to drop it; he wasn’t one of those people, after all. Unexpected thoughts struck him before he could dismiss the accusations. The rapid emotions that flashed over his face had the others waiting for his reply.

“Actually… uh…” He let out a nervous laugh. “I just realized, I haven’t. You know, h-” Mikoto’s voice faltered. It felt strange, speaking about the situation so casually. But he could trust these men. They’d never turned against him, or flinched away from him, even when the others had. Regardless, he was going to have to acknowledge it eventually.

“...He’s the one that gets to cry.”

The others stayed silent. Kazui took another drag. It wasn’t like it was a secret anymore, but he was sure that neither had come prepared for a conversation like this. Wisps of smoke slowly circled them.

"Whenever I got upset, he was there. If anything brought me to tears, then he… took care of it.” Not that Mikoto ever knew it was happening. In hindsight, it was maddeningly obvious how his blackouts corresponded to rough times. 

His breath shook the next time he inhaled. He took a pause. He had to stay calm. The line had been thin, these days, for when emotions would prove intense enough to send him over the edge. With all the underlying stress, even the most minor inconveniences could cause him to lose control.

The vapor he blew out left a trembly trail in front of him. He tried to sound lighthearted, but knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“I guess I always thought I was one of those guys who didn’t cry as much, or got less worked up about things. My coworkers always talked about breakdowns. I never had a single one. I didn’t really dwell on it. Why would I?” His smile was as wobbly as the laugh that bubbled out of him. “So, uh… I guess you were wrong, Shidou. I can’t remember the last time I shed a single tear.”

It didn’t take a doctor to know the kind of toll that takes on someone. 

Mikoto dropped his head, suddenly ashamed of his honesty. He must have sounded completely insane. He ran a hand through his hair. They were probably looking on with horror at what a mess he’d revealed himself to be. 

“I should go,” he muttered. He was already pretty upset and couldn’t risk hurting anyone else.

Shidou placed his hand gently on his arm. He didn’t look horrified in the slightest. Neither did Kazui. “Wait...”

He shrugged his arm away. “Leave me alone.”

“Mikoto.”

He paused only a moment in the entryway, as Kazui called to him.

“Thanks. I know it's not easy to talk about your true self.”

He wanted to accept it. He wanted to stay and keep talking and laughing as if nothing were wrong. He wanted to thank them for their kindness. But he couldn’t allow himself the luxury, now. “Whatever. It’s not like it matters.”

“It does.” Shidou told him. “Mikoto, I know things have been difficult. We just want to help you.”

“Yeah,” he said bitterly. The smoke shifted in his wake. “That’s what he said, too.”

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Bid A Strong Ghost Stand at the Head Ch. 4

A DPxDC crossover // Read on [AO3]

← Previous Chapter // MASERLIST // END

◆◆◆

One of the windows in the Manor was open. 

Not an unusual occurrence. While the smog and the threat of experimental gasses from Gotham’s usual rogues (among other threats) meant that regular citizens usually kept their windows shut, Wayne Manor was far enough on the outskirts of the city that one could enjoy the fresh crisp breeze from the open window. At night, the ground would be dark enough that Martha Wayne made it a family tradition to rouse her family out of bed to spy at whatever constellations decided to make their presence known. 

But the seventh window on the third floor hadn’t been open in almost eighteen years. Not since Bruce had thrown away the key. Not since Alfred had sealed the doors shut and buried it under art-deco wallpaper.

Even when the truth came out— the truth of that painful secret Bruce thought time had scarred dull—Bruce hadn’t found the strength to open those doors.

If he was honest with himself, he still didn’t.

 That’s why he scaled the walls of the mansion instead and crawled in through the open window.

A thick layer of dust stained a gray streak on his dress pants as he passed through the window sill. He waved away a cloud of dust from his face with a soft grunt. 

“You know,” a soft voice drawled emanated from the far corner of the room, “for some reason I didn’t expect you to come in that way.”

Expected—yet at the same time unexpectedly— the voice belonged to Danny.

Bruce’s errant son.

(His son? His mind questioned. Can you call him that? )

(While Damian happily called himself Damian Wayne, puffing with pride every time someone commented on his similarities to his father, Danny had smiled and introduced himself as an al Ghul. Had called Bruce Mister as opposed to Father. Had gone through an entire life where Bruce was not there to watch him learn  to walk and talk and live and live and live— A life where Danny was not Bruce’s son but someone else’s son.) 

He straightened, shifting his posture to convey that he was non-threatening but alert. “Why are you here?”

Danny appeared to dismiss his presence entirely. Whether that would prove beneficial or otherwise to Bruce remained to be seen. The boy hummed, hands tracing the faded pastel-green wallpaper as he circled the room. “I was curious,” he said. A simple answer. Almost matter-of-fact. Bruce didn’t know if he expected otherwise. 

(He’s beginning to understand Damian, now. Danny was as easy to read as an open book written in an unbroken cipher.)

The boy pushed himself away from the wall, twisting between the scant few pieces of furniture that sat in the room. Every so often he’d stop, lift the white dust sheet high above his head to peer at the piece underneath. “Damian told me about this place once.” He dropped the sheet, staring at Bruce from the corner of his eye. “Don’t worry, he hasn’t been inside. I guess I was just curious about what was in here. I wanted to know…”

He threw off one of the sheets to reveal a toy chest. It was open. Had never closed, to Bruce’s memory. Bruce had filled that toy chest to the brim with all manner of things he thought that—

He halted that memory in its tracks and pushed it away. Watched as Danny reached down to pick up the first stuffed animal in the pile. It was a brown bear; There was a bow-tie around its neck from what little Bruce could see in the dark. What scant light there was from the moonlight shifted with the clouds that rolled by. 

“Does Damian know you’re here?” Bruce asked.

“No.” Danny turned the bear around in his hand. He played with its floppy limbs, patted down its rounded ears. “Does that make you angry?”

Bruce shook his head. “Though it…worries me that you don’t seem to realize how much he hurts when you leave.”

“You’re wrong.” Gingerly, Danny set down the bear back to where it belonged, keeping vigil over a child that never was. “I know all too well.”

“Do you?” Bruce pressed on. He steps deeper into the nursery, deeper into the shadows in hopes that he’ll scrub away one grain of truth from all of Danny’s half-truths and avoidances. “Then why do you do it?”

“He’s my brother. Doesn’t that explain enough?”

There’s something brewing behind Danny’s eyes that Bruce, for all his experience in reading people, could not piece together. So Bruce watches, instead. He’s good at that; watching, waiting, observing. He lets the heavy silence weigh down on the room because Bruce does not know what to say, and Damian and Jason had mentioned how much Danny hated silence.

But Danny doesn’t talk. He stared straight back. 

And so they watch each other. 

There’s a wrinkle between Danny’s brows that is so reminiscent of Damian’s. A high forehead set above Martha Wayne’s frosted blue and cutting eyes. The same slant of the lip that Thomas Wayne had whenever he read something unpleasant but couldn’t find the exact words to express why. In this boy—this son but not son — he saw the distorted facets of his family reflected back at him. Similar but so undeniably different.

Everyday he saw his parents’ faces reflected back in Damian’s features. Saw Talia’s grace and poise embedded into the very marrow of Damian’s bones. Happy to have Damian in his life despite their rocky beginnings; content to have a remainder of those he loved with him with Damian’s existence. 

It should not feel so different with Danny. 

It shouldn’t. 

But here, in this nursery, this monument to what might have been the beginnings of a future, all Bruce could see was the open wounds he thought he cauterized long ago. And Danny— this boy that might’ve been named Thomas, that might’ve been Bruce’s son first— was but the knife that reopened that wound. 

Danny raised an imperious brow— so like Talia in that moment. “I know what you’re doing. Psychology tricks 101, let your opponent fill silence with talk so they reveal more about themselves.”

Bruce tilted his head. “Do you see me as your opponent?”

“Reflecting answers too, huh?” He chuckled, crossing his arms beneath his sternum. “‘Opponent’ implies a level of challenge. No offense, but you just aren’t one.”

“Because you’re the best the League of Shadows has ever produced?”

His smile flattened into a sharp line. Bruce thought he could almost see a glint of teeth in the shadows. “Is that what Damian’s been telling you?”

“Do you deny it?” Bruce asked, an eternity later.

“No. Not necessarily. But Dami’s hardly unbiased on this.”

“Because he adores you?”

“Because he hated me.”

Bruce drew back, the answer catching him off guard. 

“Well— no, that’s not the right word for it,” Danny retracted. “Let’s call it resentment, then. It might be hard to believe considering how he’s acted around me ever since I came back, but trust me when I say that Dami was the furthest thing from the ‘adoring little brother’ back in the League.” He paused, considering something. “Unless you count getting ambushed and challenged to a duel once a week ‘adoring.’” 

That…sounded like Damian, alright. Even if the mental image of Damian treating Danny of all people like that was a little hard to imagine, given the boy’s string of clinginess towards his brother.

“I blame Ra’s for this whole one-sided rivalry,” Danny sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “You can probably guess why.”

Bruce could see it as plain as day. Ra’s al Ghul attempted to pit his two grandsons against each other, dripping poisonous words in Damian’s ears and letting him fester with that envy. He’d tout Danny as the golden child. The Ideal. The ever-moving standard that would make Damian scramble to keep up and eager to please.

“Damian spent all his life being told I was the best,” Danny muttered. “I wonder what he’d think if he knew that Ra’s considered me the League’s greatest disappointment.”

Then he paused, eyebrows scrunched, before alighting in realization. He gave a lopsided grin. “What do you know? You did get something out of me.”

“Do you?” Bruce prodded.

“Do I what?”

“Do you consider yourself the best or a disappointment?”

Danny stopped, hands braced on the covered furniture that stood between him and Bruce. “That depends. Disappointment requires expectations. Ra’s expectations for me were never-ending and impossible to fulfill without breaking myself first. Damian’s expectations for me shifted depending on what he wanted me to be at the time. And mother…” He trailed off, eyes darting away to the corner of the room. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You, though,” Danny hummed. “I probably disappointed you.”

“I could never be disappointed in you,” Bruce narrowed his eyes. “You said so yourself: it requires expectations.”

“But didn’t you?” Danny yanked away the dust sheet between them, throwing a cloud of dust into the air and revealing an empty bassinet. The bedding remained untouched. Pristine. (Like the scarless expanse of Danny’s skin; unharmed by time, unmarked by history.)  “What is all of this, then, but unmet expectations?”

“Did you cry, Mr. Wayne, when you found out who I was?” he sneered. “You have a tendency to memorialize the dead. Put them up on a pedestal as a reminder of all the good they were, that they might’ve been. Display them as a constant reminder of your failures and all that’s wrong with the world and how you need to do better. Be better.”

With the precision of the fighter he was trained to be, Danny dug his sharp words into Bruce’s skin, clawing at old wounds with the intent to hurt. But old wounds were old wounds, and familiar in their pain. Bruce has heard much the same from Dick. From Tim. From Jason. Even Alfred. (He suspects he’ll never stop hearing it.)

  “You must’ve hated it when I came back and ruined any illusion you might’ve had about me." A shard of moonlight cut through the room, gleaming against the sharp sickle of Danny’s smile. “ Don’t you wanna know, Mr. Wayne? Don’t you want to know how much blood your dead baby had on his hands?” 

So instead of focusing on Danny’s words, Bruce concentrated on what Danny wasn’t saying. There were the stiff lines in his pseudo-nonchalant stance, the fidgeting of his hands, the subtle mechanical quality in which he spat his forced vitriol as if he’d practiced it over and over without pausing. Then there was the resolute way in which he’d lock eyes with Bruce, like if Danny poured enough conviction into his stare he’d find a way to superimpose his thoughts into Bruce’s mind. 

(“The thing about Danny,” Jason once said, “is that he’ll say a whole lot of nothin’ first before ever telling the truth.”)

A whole lot of nothing.

An open book that gives nothing away.

Looking back on their conversation, it was clear now how little Danny actually answered the questions that were directed at him. They were always deflected, turned around. Nothing he said ever gave a clear answer. 

Bruce tilted his head, assessing this interaction now in a different light. “Danny, why are you here?”

Danny paused for a fraction of a second before recovering, mouth stretched in a cheeky smile. “Your hearing’s already giving out, Mr. Wayne? Pretty sure I told you before: I was curious.”

“That might be part of the reason, but not the main one. For one thing, you’re skilled at stealth and infiltration. If you wanted to remain hidden, you could’ve. But instead, you tripped the alarm into the manor and alerted Alfred to your presence.”

A shrug. “Maybe I was just sloppy.”

“It’s a possibility. On the other hand: You’ve made it clear on multiple occasions that you wanted as little to no dealings with us as possible— Damian excluded, obviously. You don’t interact with us unless extenuating circumstances require it, or Damian begs you to. As far as I know, there’s no emergencies that would cause you to seek us, and if Damian was the one that asked you, he would already be here and not out on patrol.”

His smile faltered. “Maybe you caught me off guard.”

Bruce splayed his arms wide. “I’m unarmed and dressed in a ten-thousand dollar Armani suit—”

“Which means nothing coming from The Batman.”

“—and you’re a prodigious assassin with a ridiculous healing factor and possibly other meta-like abilities. I’m sure you could’ve hidden yourself or escaped long before we got to this point if you wanted to.”

“So what’s your point?”

“Let’s cut to the chase, then. What do you want, Danny?”

“You didn’t come here out of some sudden curiosity about your past. You probably couldn’t care less about it. No— you came here because you needed to talk to me.”

Danny leaned forward, propping his arms against the bassinet. “I’d say that’s awfully narcissistic of you.” He cupped the side of his face with one hand. “But, well, you aren’t wrong.”

“You’ll hate me when I tell you.”

“Danny.” And with all the sincerity and vulnerability he could muster, Bruce reached across the empty bassinet to place his hands over Danny’s shoulders, telegraphing his movements in advance so Danny would have plenty of time to move away if he chose to. He didn’t. “Danny, I have loved you since the moment Talia told me about you. No matter how many years go by, whether you’re dead or alive, that will never change.”

For a minute, Danny stalls. His face became blank, arms falling slack at his side as he took in Bruce’s words. Bruce could see the moment that it all registered; the confusion, the understanding, the uncertainty. Danny’s gaze dropped, the tips of his ears burning pink, expression sheepish. Here, Bruce was finally struck with the realization that this boy—his son — was still so…young. 

(It was easy to forget with Danny. His temperament always seemed to fluctuate between extremely childish to wise beyond his years. It was easy to forget, with the blood that stained his hands and his reputation, that Danny was still just a boy . One not even old enough to legally drink.)

Danny jerked back, the back of his hand covering his mouth. “That’s…ok, then. That’s nice. Um…good to know.” He raked his hands through his hair, eyes not meeting Bruce’s. “It’s— I’m not lying this time, you’re really gonna hate the answer.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t know.”

Bruce blinked.

“Haha…yeah, anticlimactic, ain’t it?” Danny chittered nervously. “I don’t know if you’ve figured it out yet, but I am terrible at planning ahead. I’ve always been more of a ‘go with the flow’ kind of guy. I’ve been going with the flow ever since I’ve been born , really.”

He pulls the loose threads at the hem of his t-shirt. “I stayed in the League because there was never a reason for me to leave it. Then Damian came along, and he was adorable , really, as a kid, even if he was a punk kid. Still is. I stayed because he needed me there—even if he doesn’t want to admit it—and now that he has you, he doesn’t need me anymore.”

“Danny, just because Damian is here with us, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want his brother.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the exact opposite of what he needs right now.”

“What makes you say so?”

“Damian feels guilty. About me, I mean. He thinks it's his fault that I died, and once he figured out that I could’ve upped and left the League at any point, he feels guilty for being the reason that I stayed. He shouldn’t, though. I don’t blame him. I’ve never blamed him, and I don’t know how to convince him otherwise, and now he’s gotten it into his head that to ‘fix’ everything, we all need to become one big happy family and that is the last thing I want.” He’s heaving by the end of it, and takes a minute to calm himself. “No offense, though. I’m sure your family is nice, and maybe if I gave it a chance I’ll eventually love being a part of it. But I don’t…I don’t think I’m ready for that, yet. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be, sometimes.”

There was a part of Bruce’s heart that he thought died years ago in that hot desert sand. A part that shriveled and died from the grief of losing a child he wanted so, so much. And in the face of that child coming back to life—no matter how bloody or cruel or lost he became—how could he feel anything but heart-wrenching love?

Danny was his son.  

“That’s alright,” Bruce said. “You have a home here, if you want it. The door will always be open to you, even if you don’t want to think of us as family.”

Danny held his gaze, eyes bright blue and gleaming wide. Mouth dropped open in a small ‘oh’ as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You actually mean that, don’t you.”

Bruce held a hand over his heart. “You’re my son,” he said. Simple. Matter-of-fact. “Whether you call yourself a Wayne, an al Ghul, or just ‘Danny,’ whether you stay in Gotham or anywhere else in the world, I’ll care for you all the same.”

“Even if…even if one day I say that I want nothing to do with you guys?”

“That’s ok. Be honest with him. He cares about you, Danny, he really does. He’ll understand.”

“Even then.” His gaze softened. “You don’t have to burn bridges just to stop Damian, you know? It might be hypocritical coming from me, but you’ll have better luck just talking it out with him.”

“I’ve tried,” Danny scoffed. “But I’m not…I’m not very good at it.”

“I feel like all I do is hurt him.”

“He’s your brother, of course you will,” Bruce said, echoing Danny’s earlier sentiments. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t make amends, nor does it mean that he’ll hate you forever.”

“Forever is a long time…” Danny let out a shaky breath, before straightening. He smiled. It was a small smile, hardly as bright as his other ones, but it felt real. He put out his hand. “I’ll try to talk to him again. Thank you, though, for putting up with me.”

Bruce shook Danny’s outstretched hand with a quiet sigh, accepting the line that Danny drew between them. “I’ll always be here, if you need me.” 

“Maybe I’ll take you up again on that, one day,” Danny laughed. And then, with a more contemplative look, said, “you know, I think…I think I would’ve liked to have had you as my dad.”

Suddenly, a bright flash of light engulfed the room. 

Bruce instinctively shielded his eyes, heart jumping to this throat as he suddenly lost Danny’s hand.

When the light disappeared, so too did Danny.

And like that moment, almost eighteen years ago, Bruce was left alone in an empty nursery.

The silence—the quiet— no longer seemed so oppressive. 

Bruce stares at the slip of paper Danny pressed into his hands and raises it towards the moonlit window. Two lines: an address and a phone number.

With a soft smile, he turns from the window, crossing the room in a few short strides. 

Bruce turns on the lights—

—and unlocks the door.

[therizino-ao3]

Hermit Horror Week 2023

Day five: Echoes

Summary: It’s weird. When Impulse hits this bit of wall, he hears the knock echo. Which, shouldn’t be possible, given there isn’t any space behind it.

Read on ao3

Contains: being watched, someone living inside your house, losing a stuffed animal, theft, gone-off food, panic attacks

Now, things go missing all the time. Impulse likes to try and keep organised, but he isn’t perfect! Sometimes he misplaces things. Sometimes things are “misplaced” by Zedaph or Tango or someone else needing certain materials from his storage system. And, that’s fine! Impulse has plenty, he’s willing to share, but when he can’t find one of his stuffed animals, it’s kind of weird.

It was a gift from Zedaph, by the way, in case you were wondering why a grown man had a stuffed toy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, he knows Scar loves that kind of thing, but this one held sentimental value. It was a sheep, a bit of merch based off Zedaph’s “Is that sheep looking at me?” gameshow. Impulse never moved it from the shelf in his bedroom, but now it’s gone.

His fingers stroke over where it used to be. The place it was is obvious: a patch of dark, clean wood in the midst of an otherwise dusty shelf. It wasn’t that important but, now that it’s gone, he feels a gaping pain in his heart. It’s not fair. Why was it taken? Where is it? Who has it? He sends some frantic messages into their group chat and collapses onto the bed and into a rough sleep. When he wakes up, none of the hermits know where the sheep could be. Impulse feels like crying.

That was the most major theft. After that, it was little things. Tiny, tiny details like trying to find pens which should have been on his desk or some of the more obscure spices in his cupboard not being there when he dares try a bit of home cooking. He was just forgetting where he moved things to, he told himself, he is getting a little old. That doesn’t really help. The idea that he’s losing his memory is just as horrible as thinking someone is taking things.

If this is some kind of prank, he thinks, it’s pretty messed up. He’d rather have his base filled with sand and have to spend hours unearthing it, than whatever weird psychological thing is happening here. Maybe this is Cub’s doing – it has the hallmarks of being mildly annoying and oddly specific. But, this is too basic. Cub would go all out: move his furniture slightly, take items of greater and greater difficulty to take, and leave a bunch of cryptic signs around. No, this is far, far odder. Impulse still doesn’t really get it.

The tiny things disappearing continues for another month. It’s not that it’s unnoticeable or Impulse doesn’t care, it’s just that he’s been so busy that it hasn’t been a priority. He’s certain it’s another player now, or something like that. He would’ve thought the hermit would have upped the stakes or revealed themselves by now, but no. It continues the same way it always has been.

He’s rewiring some redstone in his base when he hears it. The sound of a pickaxe breaking into something hard, like stone, the crashing and crumbling. He stops. None of his machines make a noise anywhere close to that, it’s got to be another player. He inhales. He crawls out of the circuitry he was tangled in and yells, “Who’s there?”

He scrambles out and continues shouting, trying to get the person to reveal themselves. They never do. After about an hour of flying around his base and searching for people, he gives up. He never even heard anything beyond the first noise. He slumps and cries. He doesn’t know why he’s so emotional over this, but he can’t help it.

The next day, he’s feeling even worse, thoroughly frazzled. He won’t be able to get any work done like this. He needs to find solid evidence there’s someone in his base.

They’ve got to be hiding somewhere, he knows, they must have some secret passage or tunnel or something when they sneak into his base, for him to not have found them by now. So, he searches. He begins at the edges of his base, feeling his way around, searching for trapdoors or anything suspicious, knocking on walls. The first few hours are fruitless.

He pauses. When he hits this bit of wall, he hears the knock echo. Which, shouldn’t be possible, given there isn’t any space behind it. He gulps, some cathartic but negative feeling washing over him, and he grabs his pickaxe.

He smashes through the prismarine, mercilessly, watching as the thick wall turns to chunks to shards to fragments. It’s left as a mess on the floor. Spruce wood planks, scarred by Impulse’s attack, are revealed. He never placed those there. He switches his pickaxe to an axe and forces his way in.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting - some quick, messy tunnel, maybe – but this isn’t it. The smell hits him first: mould and gone-off food and sweat. He’s in someone’s home. Well, home is a bit generous, he’s in someone’s living space. There’s couches and paintings and rugs but also candy wrappers and dirty laundry and unknown stains. He takes a few steps, feeling nauseous. He can’t quite comprehend it – someone was living here – and he had no idea. He continues onward, feeling like he has no choice. He sees some pipes, taken from his storage system, siphoning off resources to whoever lives here. They aren’t even using the stuff, is the thing, with piles and piles of rotting pumpkins collecting in a crate. He’s going to throw up.

The rooms and hallways keep going, how is it this elaborate? How did Impulse never notice? He wants to claw his hair out. There’s one room with a parrot and jukebox, which he supposes is nice, but the innocence and wholesomeness of it makes it worse, somehow. His least favourite find is the peak holes. Tiny little trapdoors and gaps looking out into Impulse’s base, presumably for the sole purpose of watching him. By the thefts alone, he knows this has been going on for ages, but he suspects this person has been here for even longer. Weeks and weeks of someone watching him, without him knowing. He’s shaking now.

On the topic of thefts, at least his suspicions were confirmed. Throughout the rooms, he finds little things he had stolen, most of which he didn’t even realise were gone. He’s not sure if he wants them back, anymore. He finds most of the things in the bedroom. Some of his books crammed into a bookcase, trophies and cards displayed on a shelf as if they were earnt by this mystery person instead of Impulse, and his sheep plushie in the middle of the messy bed. He picks it up. He wants this back, at least. It has some hairs on it, human hairs. Hurriedly, he scrapes them off. Its fur is a little messed up from being in the bed, the person probably cuddled with it in their sleep. He doesn’t want to think about that. He sits in the centre of the room and hugs the toy to his chest.

He needs to talk to someone, right now, he thinks distantly. He needs support. He pulls out his communicator. His fingers are trembling. Zed isn’t too good with serious things and Tango’s too solution-oriented, he texts another friend.

<ImpulseSV>: i;.m not feelinhg great rn somethings happehned come over pleasd <Grian>: ill be right there! :)