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klemen-tine · 3 months ago

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Please Please Please (Mom! Reader x Batfam)

Don't prove I'm right~ I love that song so much. Anyways! Not extreme Yandere, but part 2 will have some. This is just the setting up for it. Also, while writing I won't lie, I forgot about Damien, so he will have a lot of showtime in the next part. FYI

TW: Cheating, slapping (Reader slaps Bruce), Reader also throws something at Bruce.

In now way do I condone partner violence. no matter how mad you get, you should never hit or throw something at your partner.

In case you have never heard this song before, first of all who are you? Secondly here is the link

@Rosecentury

@Problematicreblogger

@Kurai-hono-blog

@Lunaluz432

@testishere

Y/N had put her life on pause for Bruce and his hero complex. She is a top-model. A supermodel that is still being asked to do photoshoots, make guest appearances, and dominate the runway despite her time away from it. The strict workout regime was still her daily exercise, and she still was conscious of what she ate. Age had not affected her the way it has to some of her friends because Y/N lived to be a model.

Yet, she had put that on the backburner for her husband and kids. She forced her attention onto the scarred and vibrant children that her traumatized husband brought in like strays. Y/N raised them, alongside Alfred. It’s because of them that their sons and daughters did not turn out as crooked as Bruce Wayne. A man that was full of jagged and sharp pieces, piercing the skin of whoever got close.

E/C eyes rolled nearly out her socket, taking a sip of the morning coffee and waiting for her youngest to come down. She ignored the nervous glances being sent her way from her sons, and instead pulled out her phone to look for a familiar contact.

“None of you have anything I need to be here for, do you?” Tim and Jason quickly shook their heads, and Dick gave a nervous smile, “Not really… although it would be nice if you stayed here though.” Y/N raised a delicate eyebrow, and a sharp smile formed on her lips as she pressed ‘call,’ “Ah, don’t worry Dickie, I’ll come back. I’m just going on a trip.”

The person answered, and before they could start spewing curses, Y/N greeted them, “Hey, Jackie! It’s Y/N.”

“Y-Y/N! What’s going on?”

“Remember those gigs you were telling me about?”

“Yeah?”

“Book them.” The boys stood up while her manager on the other line sputtered in excitement, “Really?! Oh my gosh Y/N this is so exciting! Which ones do you want? I know you want to stay close to Gotham -heaven knows why- but I can find some in-”

“All of them.”

“...what?”

“Book all of them.” Jackie hummed, “Some are out of the country though.”

“Even better! Pack your bags Jackie, we are gonna be gone for a while. Bring Stella too, I’ll pay for both of your tickets and lodgings.” Jackie was stuttering, “The-the first gig in a week is Venice, Italy! Is that enough time for you to-”

“Let's leave tonight.”

“Tonight?!” Everyone screeched, and Y/N gave her sons an annoyed look, “Yes, tonight. Let's enjoy Venice like when we were young, and show Stella around. I’m sure the two of you could use a vacation anyways.”

“....Y/N, is everything okay?”

“Peachy. See you tonight.” Y/N hung up, and threw her phone on the opposite end of the couch, continuing to sip her cup of coffee as the news reporter continued to talk about Batman and his risky rendezvous with Catwoman. The perfect love story.

The pursuer and the pursued. The cop and robber. Batman, the man of justice, and Catwoman, a thief.

Her jaw clenched, and her fingers tightened around the handle of the mug. The air around her was full of jitters and Dick was basically vibrating with worry, Jason focused intensely on his phone, and Tim was drinking even more coffee.

“Um, mom, are you… is this…” Dick was fumbling, trying to find the words, and Y/N smiled, “C’mon on Dickie. It’s been a while since I went on the runway, or even in front of a camera outside of Gotham. You’re all old enough now, it’s fine.”

“What about Dami?” Y/N smiled sadly, “Dami will be fine. Hell, today I’ll have him help me choose the jewelry and clothes that I will be packing.”

“You’re gonna have him help you pack your bags to leave?” Tim wondered, and Y/N flinched out how terrible that sounded, “Not like that. It’s a trip. A fashion trip and a girls trip.” Jason scrunched his nose, “Ma, fucking Bruce just go caught cheating and was broadcasted across the NEWs, and you’re now leaving for a trip. Do you think Dami will understand that?”

Y/N took a sip of her coffee, “He will. It’ll be a conversation but it will be reiterated as many times as he needs to hear it. Plus, it’s not like you guys can’t call me.” Damien came stomping down the stairs, dressed in the Gotham Academy Uniform, and Y/N threw on a smile that would have had actresses crying, “Dami! I need your help today, so nevermind school.” Green eyes blinked in shock, his gaze taking in every one in the room before landing back on her, “Are you needing my assistance in packing?”

“Only for a trip. So there’s no need to pack everything.” Damien nodded, “Fine. I will assist you. You have an abysmal amount of jewelry and some of them are simply deplorable.” Y/N chuckled, “Thanks Dami.” He went back up the stairs to change, and Y/N turned back to the NEWs where they were finally talking about something different.

Sighing, Y/N stood up from the couch, “I’ll be in my room packing if anyone needs anything.” Silence followed her, and once she was out of earshot, Dick proceeded to panic even more.

+++

She’s in Greece now. After spending a week in Italy, a week in Iceland, two weeks in France, and now four days in Zakynthos, Greece, she knows her vacation time is limited. Y/N has been using Bruce’s card to pay for the three luxury hotel rooms, one for herself (obviously), Jackie, and Stella. She’s used them for the plane flight in first class, the first class train ride, the yacht to get to this island, the fancy dinners, shopping sprees, any time that she needed to put money down she was using his card.

Bruce is a billionaire, he doesn’t care and Y/N is also a billionaire, but this is her way of being petty. Why would she waste her money?

A delicate eyebrow raised at the man in the mirror, followed by two of their sons and a butler dressed in a Hawaiian shirt.

“Lady Y/N, it is great to see you.”

“Hey Alfie, vacation looks good on you. I highly recommend the mimosa’s here, none of them have been bad.”

“Hi Ma, you look relaxed.” Jason walked further into the room, taking a seat on the plush chair and grabbing a grape, and tossing some to Dick. Their oldest son smiled and waved, “C’mon mom, I know you’ve been here before, but you could at least try and look like a tourist.” Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling lovingly and flicking her hair over her shoulder. She leaned close to the mirror again, rubbing sunscreen on her face and massaging it into her skin.

Her husband made his way a little closer as the family spread out in the room. Jason sitting in the chair, Dick on the bed, and Alfred standing near the door. Y/N sneered at Bruce through the mirror, “Bringing the kids to see you get humiliated is something I would have never thought you’d do.”

Bruce sighed heavily, and Y/N wiped her hands on the towel and sipped her mimosa. Piercing blue eyes, filled with exhaustion and guilt, met hers, “Y/N, how much longer are you scheduled for?”

“Hmm, for a while Bruce,” She pretended to think, “After all, I’ve been wanting to get back into modeling now that most of the kids are becoming independent, and what better way to announce to the world that I am back than a hard launch.” Bruce raised an eyebrow at her, “Will it be my card you’ll continue to use.”

“Of course! It's the least my darling, idiotic, and hormone-rivaling-a-teenager husband can do after that stunt, right?” The room got colder and Dick sat up straighter at the tension between his two parental figures. Y/N has always had a sharp tongue and quick wit, one she used on Bruce a lot. Rarely ever was it aimed to be hurtful though.

“Y/N, temper.” Dick’s jaw opened and Jason made an exaggerated gasp. Alfred looked pained as Y/N whirled around and seethed at Bruce, “Temper? Temper?! Who the hell are you to tell me to watch my temper when you can’t even control your own hormones?

“If you wanted to see my temper you just had to fucking say so!” Dick turned to Alfred, trying to see if there was anything he could do, but at the resigned look the man gave him, the oldest son choked on a noise, “This is a new side of mom.”

“Lady Y/N has always had a temper, one that rivals Master Bruce.” She looked like a puffed up cat while Bruce was cowing like a dog with puppy eyes, “When they were younger, she would put even the adults in their place.” Her hand grabbed the now cold coffee pot, and Dick feels like it was only because Bruce was used to stuff being thrown at him and catching things that he was able to grab the projectile before it landed on the walls and carpet. Alfred raised a brow, “Sometimes that temper bleeds into other things.”

Their mother was seething in front of Bruce, looking like a bull and was ready to charge into a china shop. While Bruce may not be as delicate as one, Dick has money on Y/N still doing a lot of damage if she were to charge. Metaphorically and physically.

“Y/N, please.” Bruce tried again, only to see her get more angry. His hands were up in a placating manner, and Y/N held her own hands tense and ready to swing if he came closer.

“Y/N, it genuinely was an accident.”

“ ‘it genuinely was an accident’–” She mocked, purposefully making her voice annoying “-fuck off! Like your tongue going down her throat is an accident. Didn’t know that could happen!” Y/N looked around again for something to chuck, while Bruce closed the space between them inch by inch.

“What’s next? Are you going to trip and accidentally find yourself between her legs with your pants down?” Jason and Dick blanched at the imagery.

“Over a decade of marriage, of me playing the perfect ex-model-arm-candy wife for Bruce Wayne just for you dressed in a fucking furry suit to go and makeout with another fucking furry!

“Like! I know we weren’t in this for love, but there. Are. Still. Standards!” She enunciated each word with a swat of her hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“I still have standards! You don’t see me making out with anyone else do you? Even as I’m playing Supermodel Y/N, dressed to the millions and making everyone drool, I don’t go making out with them!”

“How could Batman, of all persona’s you wish to play, do that? I expected that from Brucie, not Batman, defender of Justice or whatever bullshit you spew when dressed in that gothic suit.”

Bruce sighed, “Y/N, it was bad timing.” He gave her a hard look, “Justice and this are different. You cannot compare the two.” The man knew he messed up once the words left his mouth and he closed his eyes in regret.

Jason saw the slap coming and he braced himself for the impact it would have. Bruce didn’t catch it, despite him being fully capable of it, and when it landed everyone winced at the sound and the red mark.

“Well this is my justice. Now go away. I have a photoshoot to get ready for and you are just pissing me off!” The hand print was immaculate. One that had Jason biting back a laugh and Dick looking horrified. Y/N whirled back around to face her vanity, where all her jewelry laid on the surface, and her attention was focused back on picking which one would go with her outfit to the shoot.

Jason whistled when Bruce turned around to face his kids and Butler, “Good hit Ma. You should hit the other side to even it out.” Y/N gave a laugh, picking up the pearl earrings encased with gold, and she continued to pick out a necklace.

“Jay, help me out here please.” Rough hands replaced her’s, and green eyes met furious E/C though the mirror. Using the safety of her son’s larger frame to hide herself, Y/N slowly let herself crumble a little bit. Jason could see the anger, hurt, and sadness that was slowly turning the sclera red from holding back tears. There was a subtle shake in her shoulders and the trembling of lips, but Y/N held it together. She was holding onto it by the seams, desperately waiting for the man causing her pain to be gone.

When the gold clasped, Y/N reached over for her large hat and sunglasses, “Enjoy the beach. Alfie, you especially should enjoy this vacation. Don’t let this stupid, untrustworthy, and manwhore of a furry disrupt it.” With that, she slammed her hotel room door on her way out, and they all listened as her heels clicked down the hall until they were out of ear shot.

Alfred glanced at his ward, “Well, I am not one for violence when there are disputes between partners, but I will say that one slap was well deserved, Master Bruce.” The man sighed, slightly rubbing his cheek, “I think the last time she hit me that hard was when we were in grade school.”

“She put all her body weight into that.” Dick glanced at the hand print, “Woah, I think you can see the ring too.” Jason whistled, and Bruce closed his eyes and took deep breaths to keep himself steady, reflecting on the conversation and where exactly he messed up.

“I think this is the third time she’s slapped me…”

“Fourth, sir.” Bruce nodded, remembering the third time. Jason raised an eyebrow, “I only know of the time you were both 6, and you said something mean so she hit you.” Dick pouted, “I know of the one in Middle School, when you were once accused of touching her butt.”

Alfred raised a brow, “The third time was when she dropped you off at the manor after a long night of drinking and you—”

“Thanks Alfred, there’s no need to tell that story.” Bruce’s cheeks were now flushed from embarrassment rather than the slap on his cheek. Y/N truly has seen him through it all. When he got into fights in school, it was always her eyes he sought out after each one. Bored E/C eyes, framed by thick lashes and elegant eyeliner, always watching with a blank expression. Bruce Wayne rarely phased Y/N L/N. When he was younger, he noticed how his last name made people stumble or stutter when talking to him, allowing him to say whatever he wanted. It did nothing to Y/N, who met his gaze and taunts head on with her own witty comebacks that stuck at parts of Bruce that had him fumbling.

He can remember his dad, Thomas Wayne, laughing when he caught Y/N’s sly comeback directed at Bruce after he said something about her dress. Y/N’s own parents looked mortified.

Y/N L/N-Wayne was a flame that never wavered. It’s what made her successful at modeling, and a supermodel in her first two years. That flame is what had photographers, stylists, fashion designers, and make up artists still call her up, begging for her to come back. A force of nature that had only paused for Bruce and their children.

“C’mon, Y/N. Even you can see the benefits of this.” The woman raised her brow at a younger Bruce, who was smiling at her.

“Your life does not pause, and now with the Wayne name as yours, your options are endless.”

“And what about you?”

“This means I no longer have to play as a playboy in public and everyone will stop asking me to marry them or their daughters.” Y/N laughed, “Nah, you’ll still get them. They’ll just now be whispered behind closed doors.”

Bruce smiled, “The standards of a regular marriage will still apply. Obviously not the sex part or anything, but everything else will. Think of it like living with roommates.

“This will work for the both of us, Y/N.” The woman smiled into the rim of her cup, red lips leaving an imprint on the glass.

It took him five tries for her to finally agree. There might have been some manipulation on his side of things, but he got that ring on her finger, and 2 months later she was walking down the aisle in a wedding dress that was deemed ‘The Dress of the Century.’ She was beautiful, even more so than usual.

Dick glanced at him, “So, what’s the plan?” Bruce sighed, “Just make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”

++++

It took 4 months for Y/N to come back to the manor. Within those 4 months, one of them were always with her. Switching off when they hit a new city, and each one had tried their charm on having her come back to the mansion. Bruce was going crazy, therefore Batman was more brutal than usual, and that the meant the other birds had to pick up the slack when it came to emotions. Bruce had all but shut down every other part that wasn’t Batman.

However, nothing returned to normal once she was back. Her and Bruce were rarely in each other’s presence, and she refused to see or do anything about Batman. Y/N was trying to remove herself from Bruce Wayne completely, and no one liked that.

Bruce and Y/N may claim that they were never in love, and that they only married for convenience. However, Dick will always remember watching Bruce and Y/N dancing in the main hall of the manor. He was hanging onto the chandelier, not yet noticed by either, as a song began playing and they both began dancing.

They had been dressed in casual clothes, which consisted of dark blue jeans and nice tops and shoes. Dick’s young eyes watched as the two of them swayed and twirled around each other, Y/N laughing at the whispered words Bruce would share, and the stern man relaxing for the duration of the time.

They were far from the perfect couple. Their parenting styles were different, and it took a while for Y/N to warm up to Dick. She was never cold or malicious, but just like Dick and everyone else, she was lost. However, it was her awkward arms he sought after when he had a bad day, or when Bruce got on his nerves. It was her eyes he always seeked approval for.

When she caught him hastily packing, dying to get away from the man that had his rules tighter than the Robin suit, she helped. Y/N had folded his clothes, snuck a bottle of Smirnoff and Titos into his luggage, because moving required at least two bottles of alcohol, and she hugged him goodbye.

Every member of this family has a memory tied to Y/N. A gentle one.

Damian had kind memories, where Y/N smiled at him for no reason. She did not expect perfection, and one time she stated how she wished Damian would fail sometimes. It was something that had him seething and jumping to defend himself, but Y/N laughed, “Failure is our best teacher, Damian. What better time to fail then when you knwo you have people willing to help you up?”

Jason remembers peeking on Y/N when he was younger. Watching through the cracks of the door as she and Bruce swayed to music, laughed at old memories, or simply sat around each other and read a book. Sometimes, he’d catch her trying on her jewelry, or reorganizing her perfume. Every now and then she would go through her closet and donate clothes she no longer wanted or needed.

He watched how Dick, would seek her out whenever he and Bruce argued. When Jason finally allowed himself to be wrapped in those arms– arms that always had Bruce looking ready to sacrifice everything, that had Dick relaxing, and Alfred smiling endearingly– and he can see why they did so. It's different from Bruce, because Bruce makes you feel protected. In Bruce’s arms, Jason knows that there is almost nothing that can harm him.

In Y/N’s embrace, Jason feels at peace. There’s no need to worry about protection because he’s in a place that does not need it. When he dances with Y/N, to their song nonetheless, there is nothing that can ever disrupt the moment. Y/N stares at him with adoration, just how she does with Dick, only her attention is on him. Him! A street rat from Dowry, Crime Alley, and he has the attention of the woman that is Bruce’s equal in the highest social circles.

Those soft E/C eyes, that always stared at them with warmth and love, stared back at him through the mirror. He and Tim, because Timmy loved her just as much as he did, watched as Y/N emptied another glass of the Rose, and how the exhaustion from all the shows, photoshoots, flashing cameras, and the ordeal with Bruce seeped into her bones.

“Hey Ma, let's get some sleep.” Jason walked closer, carefully minding the scattered jewelry that looked more expensive than any of his weapons, and Tim, who was forever on the same wavelength as Jason, scampered over to the large bed and lit the diffuser.

Y/N hummed, running her hands through her hair, before tilting her head back and looking at Jason once more, “You both shouldn’t be here. I can handle this myself.” Y/N never liked it when any of the kids saw her less than presentable. She was always dressed in nice clothes, with nice jewelry, and makeup even at the manor. It's one of the worries of being a model, she had told Dick, always scared that the nosey paparazzi will catch you at your worst and share it with an even crueler audience.

Jason had once confided in her about Willis Todd, and how he hated it when she drank in front of him. Whether it was scotch or champagne.

After that, Y/N always drank in her room.

The thing is, that Jason knows Y/N wouldn’t ever hurt him. She’s not like Willis who purposefully seeked out to hurt someone smaller. Jason knows that no matter how mad she got at him, she wouldn’t do anything (unlike what she would do to Bruce).

This is why, despite all the trauma he has with alcohol and people being intoxicated, he can confidently move the bottle away and the glass. Noting how both were empty.

Tim strolled over, and gave a small smile through the mirror, “I’ll brush your hair, Mom. Then you should sleep.” Y/N tried to wave him off, “Don’t bother. I can do it myself. You both should go.” She sluggishly reached out for the vintage decorated paddle brush, only for Tim to snatch it before she could.

“I want to do it. Besides, if it bothers you, think of it as me returning the favor.” The confused look Y/N gave him had him smiling patiently as he stood behind her and gently began to brush the locks of hair. Y/N sighed, “This is embarrassing. My kids should not be taking care of me.”

“I’m an adult.”

“CEO of Wayne Enterprises as well. Taking care of you when you are in a low spot is the least I could do.” Lord knows how many times Y/N has cared for them at their lowest. When Tim believed that Bruce was stuck in the Time Stream, Y/N didn’t seem all that confident in it, but she still believed him and helped him narrow down locations. She kept the press busy while he went out and searched.

He heard later that she refused to talk to Dick when she found out they wanted to put Tim in Arkham. She shook her head in disappointment when Dick told her that Damien is now Robin. Tim always thought Dick was a bit stupid on that part. Parading Damien, a child from another woman, around and in front of Y/N nonetheless. Yes, thankfully Y/N warmed up to Damien and vice versa (although for Damien it took longer), but that could have gone bad in so many ways.

“Still my kids.” Jason pulled a chair next to her, so they could all be in the view of the mirror, and in a rare show of affection that is only reserved for Alfred and Y/N, he rested his head on her shoulder as Tim continued to work the brush carefully through her hair. Y/N’s shoulders sagged and her back hunched a bit, and for the first time in a while, Y/N let herself look how she felt. Exhausted. Utterly and completely exhausted.

Tim can see the dark circles under her red rimmed eyes, and the way her skin looked duller than usual. Granted, she finished a long gig, working tirelessly for months posing, getting dressed up, and traveling around the world to forget Bruce’s infidelity.

‘Standards,’ she said in response to his excuse. Tim isn’t stupid to believe that neither Bruce or Y/N have feelings for the other. He’s seen it. It's in the way that Bruce concedes in arguments, or the flowers and necklaces he buys her when he’s apologetic, how the harsh glare that was directed at Tim when he first became Robin eased the moment Y/N pulled the boy close to her. Acting as a shield and sword for him.

Her message was clear, and Bruce decided to read it.

Y/N on the other hand lessened Bruce’s stress when he was CEO, the breaks from brooding to dance in the main hall to their song, or even acting as the sound of reason for him. She keeps him tethered to Earth, never letting his thoughts stray too far from reality.

They may not be in love, but they still liked each other. Enough so that Bruce went along with her whims, just how she does with him. Enough so for Bruce to chase her across the world. Looking at it, perhaps Bruce was the one in love.

“Jason, can you pass me the scrunchie?” He grabbed the silk scrunchie from large hands, and began braiding his mom’s hair.

“You guys are being so silly,” Y/N huffed, and Jason beamed at her, giving her a boyish smile that he never shows anymore, “Anything for ya, Ma.” She subtly shook her head, a smile on her face as she looked back into the mirror.

“Is this still about Bruce?” Tim kept his eyes on the braid, but from the tension in her shoulders, he hit the jackpot. Y/N brought her hand up to rub her forehead, “That idiot…”

“Join the club, Ma.” Y/N took a deep breath, “He’s so stupid. It’s one thing to kiss another woman, which is fine. Do what you want to do, it’s not like we married for love.” A glare formed on her face, “But to get caught is another thing. Fucking idiot, he can only think with his hormones like a teenager. Even Dami isn’t like that, thank god.”

Tim tied off the braid with the silk scrunchie, watching Y/N get heated again, “I hate him.” Except it was said with no bite, and the way Y/N’s lip wobbled had Tim hearing other words alongside the ones she mumbled. Jason leaned into her, offering her comfort while Tim watched from the reflection in the mirror.

Y/N to Tim was what Janet Drake had failed to be. He learned a lot from both of them, and it helped that both women were huge players in their social circles and socialites. They both taught him how to play with people’s perception of someone. Only Janet taught him to keep a straight face and not show emotion, while Y/N taught him that with a correct smile and a well placed chuckle, someone can be eating out of the palm of their hands. Both women approached the world with different weapons and tools, and both women used and taught them to him.

Only Y/N also knew when it was time to put down the mask and become a reliable person for Tim, while Janet continued to only be Janet to Tim.

He loves them both. Except, with Y/N he felt that if she were to ever leave him the way Janet did then he would have no choice but to follow and bring her back. Wherever Y/N goes, Tim will follow.

“Boys.” Jason and Tim snapped their attention to the door, and Bruce was standing there, menacingly longingly. His face in an unusual expression, but one he’s worn a lot throughout the time Y/N was gone. An expression all the boys have gotten to know. Tim escaped, saying goodnight to both parental figures, before leaving for the cave.

Jason pecked Y/N’s cheek, whispering good night and glaring at Bruce, “Don’t fuck this up old man.” To which Bruce sighed and nodded, closing the door after Jason. For the first time in months, it was just Y/N and Bruce. Alone with each other’s company and Bruce knows that if she could, she’d probably be strangling him right now.

With great hesitancy, one that he could never show as Batman, he sat on the bed about a foot away from her.

“I paused my life for you.” Y/N glared into blue eyes, “I paused almost everything, for you. For your mission. For the children you brought into our home, without asking me about it beforehand, may I remind you. I love them, and don’t you dare twist that, but I would have liked to have been consulted about it first.” Y/N didn’t want to be a mother. It was never in the cards for her, and yet here she is having more children than she had ever dreamt of.

She loves them. She’d die and kill for them, but they were never in the cards of life she wanted dealt to her.

“I paused so much, just for you to go and.. And… and do that.” Bruce winced at that, and Y/N felt happy that he did. Gritting her teeth, Y/N turned her attention to look at the fire. The heat of it reminds her of her own rage and the coldness she feels when in the presence of Bruce.

Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes and bit back a groan, “And once I start getting my life started again, having fun, going on the runway and magazines, here you come storming back.”

“You looked like you needed the break.” Y/N shook her head, “Did you know, that that is one of your worst habits. Always making yourself out to be the hero.” She took a glass of wine and watched the liquid swirl in the glass, “Of course, you let me have that moment. Of course you were thinking of me, and my happiness. How kind of you.”

Bruce sighed, watching her sip the alcohol that left a red stain on her lips. He can remember the first time he saw her in red lipstick. Shockingly, it was in-person and the red made her skin look warm and teeth appear even whiter despite the knowledge that red lipstick can make your teeth look yellower. It was a beautiful shade, matched by her dress.

She was beautiful. Breathtakingly so. Even as time progressed and she and he got older, Y/N remained beautiful. Defying the laws time and age as she remained ethereal. Unfairly so.

Bruce had wanted to preserve that beauty, in the same way that many tried to preserve the flowers from the garden and the expensive smelling perfume. He wanted nothing more than for Y/N to continue smiling and for the fire to remain bright.

To do that, he had to stay away. He could not allow himself to love her, because if he fell then he would drag her through the mud with him. Yet, here he is on the other side of that cold look, one that had him hesitating. That kiss with Selena was terrible timing all around. She had caught him in a moment of weakness, and someone just so happened to be there at the worst moment to catch it all.

Staying away proved to be ineffective when here she is drinking wine with red-rimmed eyes and anger in her brows.

“This marriage was never one for love, but there are standards. Ones we talked about beforehand.”

“I know.” Y/N pursed her lips, tilting her head to the left and watching Bruce with distrustful eyes. The man sighed heavily and he sat in front of her, taking his own glass and pouring himself some wine. He didn’t like this type of wine, and from the very small scrunch in her nose Y/N didn’t like it either.

The more he stared at her, taking in her still youthful features and eyes that burned bright, the more he could feel his emotions rising to the surface. Feelings and emotions he long tried to bury, but never quite succeeded. He had hoped that kissing Selena would just prove that he is only missing her as a sexual partner, and it only confirmed for him that he was in love with her.

He is in love with Y/N L/N-Wayne. His kids are in love with Y/N. Alfred loves Y/N. The whole Wayne family, extended and all, are in love with this woman. This woman has nothing to do with their vigilantism, but instead reminds them that they are also normal and exist outside of masks and costume. That they are human and not shadows of the night.

That they are the Wayne family.

God, he loves her so much. So much. She is his weakness, his strength, his everything. The fancy cufflinks that are only brought out for special occasions, the expensive wine cracked open for celebrations, the pearl earring worn for the best performances. Y/N is the treasure of the Wayne family.

Carefully, he wrapped an arm around her waist, slowly inching his way around her, testing the waters to see if she would shake him off or hiss at him. When there was no sign of that, he tightened his hold only slightly and pressed his forehead into her shoulder, gently laying a kiss on the joint, “Like I said, it was an accident. She caught me at a bad time, and I wasn’t expecting her to do that.”

Y/N released a heavy sigh, and Bruce hugged her tighter, “I swear. It wasn’t consensual.” She rubbed her forehead, and Bruce watched how the lines slowly faded and melted back into her skin. Y/N never wore exhaustion well, which was why on mornings she had early photoshoots, she would sleep in her room instead of Bruce’s. She always woke up when he would stalk in and climb under the sheets with her.

“Please, Y/N. Give me a chance. Let me take care of you the way you should be.” Y/N chuckled at that, “Careful Bruce, keep saying stuff like that and I might start to believe you have feelings for me.” Ice blue met E/C, and Y/N hesitated for a moment. Something chilling going down her spine, “I guess, I should start saying it more often then.”

“Bruce…” He pecked her cheek, careful of the fire he was playing with, and carefully watching her reactions. His arms encircled her tighter, and he kissed her shoulder. Bruce watched, and observed how the tension slowly left her and reluctant acceptance came across her face. His arms tightened, and Bruce fought back a smile.

“Ever the charmer,” She mumbled. Bruce huffed a laugh, and Y/N shook her head, “If I catch you with your mouth on anyone else’s but mine, I’m going to sick the kids on you.” An image of four rabid dogs, followed by a few more, filled his mind. Bruce grimaced as he remembered the tongue lashing he got from everyone, “Noted.”

Y/N chuckled, and Bruce smiled, throwing his weight back on the pillows, bringing Y/N with him. His arms still tight around her waist, and a promise on his lips.

‘I’ll never let you go again.’

________________________________________________

Not super Yandere, but it is getting there.

#yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere dc #platonic yandere #batfam #platonic batfam #yandere dick grayson #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere bruce wayne #yandere jason todd

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ozzgin · 3 months ago

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Day 1: Yandere School Doodle

Day 2: Balinese Folklore, Brazilian Folklore, Romanian Folklore

Day 3: Secret Collection, AI [Yandere Android]

Day 4: Yokai Harem Doodle, Homemade Meal [Yandere Serial Killer]

Day 5: Deep Sea Monster, Yandere School Doodle

Day 6: Unorthodox Gift [Yandere Yakuza]

Day 7: Dear Alice [Cute!Yandere]

Day 8: Chimera [Deer Monster]

Day 9: Heart on a platter [Demon King]

Day 10: Dragon!Guardian

Day 11: Dragon!Guardian Doodle, Medieval Menace [Vegetable Lamb Hybrid]

Day 12: Devilish Charm [Zzy]

Day 13: Mating Season [Lion!Hybrid & Tiger!Hybrid]

Day 14: Eyes Everywhere! [Internet Monster]

Day 15: Monster Streaming Doodle

Day 16: A piece of me [Angel], Idolatry [Angel]

Day 17: Razor Sharp Smile [Vampire Clown]

Day 18: Yandere School Doodle

Day 19: Wings, Under Lock and Key [Fae] (Postponed)

Day 20: Fear of the dark [Ghost Harem]

Day 21: Undead [Zombie x Grave Robber!Reader]

Day 22: Mommy's Little Monsters [Spider Horde]

Day 23: Aftercare [Yandere Circus]

Day 24: I put a spell on you [Succubus]

Day 25: Tainted Love [Naga]

Day 26: Full Moon [Werewolf]

Day 27: Android Caretaker

Day 28: Dullahan [Pumpkin Assistant]

Day 29: I come with knives [Slasher]

Day 30: Alien [Xenomorph Queen + Hive], Monster Hotel Guest

Day 31: Art the Clown x Reader

[Navigation]

#ozztober #october event #masterlist

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dio-niisio · 9 months ago

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(English is not my first language, so please ignore any mistakes! :-))

Ok I've been imagining a scenario that for some reason Martha and Thomas Wayne are brought back from the dead...

One day they are dead and the other they are starting at their graves, reading their names and being very confused.

Alfred probably finds them first, he looks out the window and sees two people standing in the family cemetery, Wayne Manor had problems in the past with grave robbers, and he would be damned if he let that happen with their grave. So poor Alfred runs, grabbing some old shovel on the way (just to scare, not to harm!), ready to give an ear full on these people. That's when he sees. His friends.

He's surprised to say the least. They don't look young, the years they were gone caught up to them. Thomas has mostly grey hair and Martha had a white strip of hair right in the top of her head...

Alfred doesn't know what to do, so he brings them inside. And starts to prepare some tea while he tries to explain the past 30 something years.

The next person who sees them is Dick, he smelled the tea and was going to get a cup, then he saw the people in the painting on the top of the stairs. And he panicked. Cuz he knows what that implies, and he is worried for his dad.

He introduces himself as 'Bruce's son' which gets them to be a very happy set of grandparents, he tells them the story of when Bruce adopted him (cuz grandpa wanted to meet his mom, in the end he got a nice and tragic story of the flying Grayson's)! And how he always wanted to meet them! He also text Jason, telling him to get his ass downstairs and talk to his family.

Jason almost had a heart attack, he thought that Dick wanted him to talk to Bruce not grandpa and grandma, he's very happy of course, but he's worried for them, resurrection isn't something nice, but they assure him they are as good as they could be. And it is his turn to explain that he's also adopted (they laughed at the tire story, he told them it was one of Bruce's "fancy cars"). He comments that he and Martha have matching hair (both with a white stripe right in the middle).

Tim comes home around noon, he's been spending time with some school friends, and when he hears some commotion in the kitchen he goes to investigate, that's when he sees them and thinks he's hallucinating (again), but he's reassured by a very happy grandma. He tells them he's 'Tim Drake-Wayne', and is his time to explain that no Bruce didn't marry a Drake, he is his legal guardian (aka Dad) cuz when his parents died on a archaeological excavation his uncle was not fit to be his guardian so Bruce stepped up.

Thomas and Martha are so happy in a couple of hours they went from being dead to having 3 beautiful grandchildren! They are very proud of Bruce for making a difference in these boys lives!

That's when Damian walks in the kitchen he just wanted Alfred's help with something, he looks just like Bruce when he was that age (or what they think Bruce would look like), he doesn't look surprised or excited, he just says that he's Bruce's 'biological son', which gets one of his ears pinched by Dick with a very stern 'be nice'. Before they can ask anything they're being hugged by Damian who says that it is nice to have them in here.

When Bruce comes home he's very tired™, he had a day full of meetings on Wayne enterprises and he still gotta do Batman stuff. He passed through the kitchen and saw that his kids had guests over. He doesn't think much of it until he gives a good look at them.

"Mama? Papa?"

And the world stopped spinning. That's them! All he wanted to see since he was an 8 year old little boy. He just doesn't believe it.

He looks just like his dad. Probably a bit shorter (and not rocking the mustache), but he has his mama's eyes. And her smile. He missed her smile so much! He missed his papa's hugs, he missed the lullabies his mama used to sing, he missed playing pretend with his papa, he missed them.

And he can't say a word. He just cries. He hugs them and he cries. His mama and papa are really back! They are back home!

And now it's his turn to catch up! And boy he's got a lot to say!

As they move to the living room Thomas gives this look to Alfred, smiles and says "Thank you for caring for our little boy, old friend!"

"Little boy? I'm sorry Mister Wayne, but that's an understatement. He's almost taller than the cabinets!"

#martha wayne #thomas wayne #bruce wayne #batman #dick greyson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #dc comics

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peppermintquartz · 11 days ago

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Having swapped shifts with Collins for the weekend, Buck is at the bank when four armed robbers barged in, the shortest of whom shot the two security guards. One got the bullet straight to his head and Buck flinches as blood and brain matter spray out in a gory mess across the tiles. The other is luckier, the bullet landing in his shoulder. Buck skids across the floor to get to him before the robbers can yell for everyone to stay down.

He pulls off his jacket and presses down on the bleeding wound. The guard grunts in pain, sweat pouring from his brow.

"You! Shut up!" one of the robbers bellows.

"He's hurt," Buck snaps back and glares at him. "Take what you're here for and leave!"

The robber lifts his assault rifle like he's going to shoot Buck for mouthing off, but the short one who shot the guards hits him on the shoulder. "Come on, we're on a tight schedule."

They leave one single man in the lobby to watch everyone, taking phones from the four customers and five bank staff members. The manager has already been dragged up by her collar and taken to the back.

However, in the commotion with Buck helping to staunch the blood and almost being shot at himself, someone forgets to take his phone.

Carefully positioning the guard near the side and pretending to focus on first aid, Buck pulls out his phone and unlocks it. He keeps an eye on the robber as he murmurs to the guard, "I'm gonna try to contact someone for help."

The guard nods. His lips are going pale.

Buck can't call 911 and risk talking, so he taps through to his chat app, and with his eyes on the robber standing in the lobby, he blindly picks one and types without looking, bank robbery mid city man shot send help and hopes that autocorrect does its job for once.

Then, when the robber isn't looking their way, he puts the phone to Do Not Disturb mode and slips it into the pot of a nearby palm.

Rocker's just got out of a meeting with Hicks and Hondo on allocating assignments for the new recruits when his phone rings. The contact info that shows on his screen surprises him.

"Tommy, what's up?"

"I just got a text from Evan-"

"Your ex?"

"-and he texted that there's a bank robbery. Mid City. Someone's been shot. I'm gonna call 911 now but you can trace his location."

Rocker turns around and waves to Hicks. "Tommy, we're gonna need Evan's phone number. Send it to us."

Tommy clears his throat. "Donny, get him out safely."

"Of course."

Hicks gets Tan to trace the phone number while Deacon checks with local PD for details. "Rocker, you're not on shift, you wanna stay back?"

"Nah, Tommy will have my head if I don't make sure he gets his Evan back. I'll follow Hondo's lead."

Hondo nods. "Alright, tac up. Tan?"

"Bank layout and street view." Tan steps back. "Can't get into the security system though. They might've cut the feed."

Then the call from LAPD comes in - someone from the sidewalk saw a gunman inside and called 911.

"Alright, 20-squad, roll out." Hicks takes up his usual spot and Rocker jogs away to get his gear.

Rocker has yet to meet Evan; he and Tommy aren't on the best of terms, though they do try to visit each other at least twice a year. They're about the only family they have that they can stand. But Tommy has been opening up the past half a year, and his Instagram is full of happy pictures of him and his boyfriend.

The breakup has been rough on Tommy. Rough enough that Tommy's crashed in Rocker's guest room for a couple of weeks and even allowed Rocker to hold him while he got drunk and cried.

"Rocker. Who's this Evan guy?" Deacon asks while they hurtle towards their destination.

"My brother's friend. He's a firefighter." Rocker runs through the possible scenarios in his head. From what Tommy's shared about Evan, he's probably dealing with the most important problem inside. "He's likely helping the wounded man right now."

"Wonder why he didn't call 911?" Street asks.

"Probably not in a position to talk. He definitely didn't want to risk tipping off the robbers," says Rocker. "Seems like he typed the message without looking at the screen."

Deacon tilts his head. "Good thing your brother made sense of it fast."

Over the Comms, Hicks informs the team the schematics of the bank has been sent to them.

"Alright listen up. Deac, Tan, y'all take the 3 side. Rocker, Street, you're with me. It's a hostage situation so our first priority is to secure the hostages." Hondo lays out the strategy and Rocker lets himself fall back into a supporting role. Alright baby bro, I'm gonna get your Evan out. Everything else is up to you now.

---

After calling his brother and then the cops, Tommy drove himself down to Mid City, and when the telltale sound of police roar past him, he follows.

Bank eobbeey mis city man shotnsend jrlp

It had taken Tommy a second or so to decipher the message and then his blood had run cold.

He's stuck on the perimeter, his heart pounding as he hears gunshots. Then a handful of people rush out of the front door towards the cops and the ambulances, crying and frantic.

None of them is Evan.

His heart in his throat, Tommy clenches his fists and cranes his neck, hoping to catch sight of Donny.

Then he hears another burst of gunshots and then cops yelling, "Stay down! Stay down!"

Two paramedics race into the building with a stretcher and their kit.

Tommy relaxes fractionally.

Then Donny walks out, a hand on another man's back. Evan. Evan is safe.

"Evan," Tommy breathes out, and tries to cross the barrier. The cop on duty stops him. Tommy glares at her, but he doesn't bother trying to persuade her. Instead he shouts, "Donny!"

Donny looks around and then smiles when he sees his twin. He talks to Evan and points Tommy out, before he calls out to the cop to let Tommy through.

Without hesitation, Tommy races over. Evan's hands are covered in blood and he looks a little worse for wear.

"What happened?" Tommy demands.

"One of them tried to use him as a human shield," Donny says. There's a fury hidden under his mild tone; Tommy knows it's because Donny despises cowards. "Your Evan is brave as hell, though. Dropped instantly on my signal and gave me a clear shot. And he saved the guard's life, too."

"My phone is still inside," Evan says. He looks dazed. "Twins?"

"Yeah," says Donny easily. "I'm eight minutes older. Listen, they're gonna need your statement and all that. I'll go grab your phone for you."

Tommy grabs Donny's arm and pulls him into a quick embrace. "Thanks."

"Just doing my job, baby bro." Donny punches him lightly on the shoulder and jogs back to his team.

On the side, Evan is still staring at his hands. Tommy, not knowing if his touch will be welcomed, gently grasps Evan's elbow. Evan jolts and looks up.

"Hey," he says, a little inanely.

"Hey." Tommy steps a little closer. "You okay?"

"I will be," answers Evan truthfully. "Why are you here?"

"You texted me."

"Oh." Evan blinks at him, and then shakes his head. "Six months and you didn't mention a twin."

"Look, yell at me later? Let's take care of you now," Tommy murmurs.

Evan squints at Tommy. "You'll stick around for me to yell at?"

At this point, Tommy will stick around for Evan to beat him up with a baseball bat. The blinding fear he had earlier of losing Evan forever already proved to him that he'll never be able to get over Evan. He nods.

With a sigh, Evan nods too. "Okay. Let's go get me cleaned up. We have a lot to talk about."

#evan buckley #donovan rocker #tommy kinard #bucktommy #tevan #idk what this came from #i just needed to put it down in words #pq writes #twins au

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helplesslypurple77 · 2 months ago

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Day 6-Cumming in Pants-Illumi/Reader

Notes: I have never actually sewed a mens suit, because 1. Tailoring is REALLY FUCKING HARD and finicky as hell 2. I'm a woman who has no need for one, and 3. I hate sewing mens clothes their boring

Anyway, enjoy. Also btw 70,000 jenny is about 700 usd

also title is from 'English Love Affair' by 5sos

...

As a seamstress located in Yorknew city, you got a large volume of clientele. Be it wealthy businessmen wanting a high quality suite or spoiled princesses shopping for their next dress, you pride yourself in your high quality work and your range of designs. You made sure to treat each and every patron of your business with respect, even the strange characters you often received. Because of course, as the wealthy clients wore their clothes to gatherings, you gained a reputation for your quality and openness. And of course, the odd ones took notice.

The first hunter you had ever tailored clothes for had been kind of normal, only requiring a special waterproof fabric. But the weirdness had increased and increased and now you regularly got a parade of weird guests after weird guests.

From simple garments that required special skills or fabrics, to gravity defying outfits that any designer would turn down, you took them all. At a handsome price, of course.

It was raining. Thunder rattled the glass windows of your shop, rain hitting them so hard you worried for a moment they might break. It was dark outside, the blackness only momentarily illuminated by flashes of lightning. You hummed along with the headphones in your ears, carefully cutting the black fabric laid across your cutting table. Cutting was probably one of your least favorite parts, but it was ok right now, the music in your ears and the rain a faint lovely sound on your windows.

Your shop and studio were the same, situated in a nice part of town. Your shop was in a pleasant little street, filled with mom and pop shops and cafes, and off the beaten path far enough that you might half to know where to look. You weren't looking to incur any damages, and you especially didn't want robbers or crime near your precious creations. You did have a hunter's license, in order to hunt certain types of hides, and you were moderately powerful and would be able to protect yourself in a bad situation, but you didn't like fighting. You would prefer it if you didn't have to defend yourself at all.

Rain hits the long windows of your shop with a loud pattern, thunder cracking in the background. You humm, a calm russian pop playing through your airpods, dancing around your cutting table. You have certain songs you like playing during rain storms, just to give the right vines. Right now your favorites are В последний раз, and Goodnight Moon—

Your front door opened with a slam. You jump, one of your airpods falls out of your ear and onto the cutting table. A figure stands in your doorway. The figure is tall, with long flowing hair flipping wildly in the wind. Rain hits the hardwood floor a few feet in front of him and you push your shock and fear away and glare at the stranger.

“Can I help you?” You say, standing tall and crossing your arms. “You're getting rain all over my floors.”

The man tilts his head, backlit by the lightning, but you can kind of make out his face. He has pale skin, and big dark eyes, as dark as the night behind him. After a moment of consideration, he steps forwards into the light, letting the door close behind him.

You bend down, picking up your airpod and carefully putting both of them away before you can lose them.

The man in your doorway doesn't attempt to shake himself dry or remove the wet hair soaking water on the princess sleeves of his odd green outfit. It takes you one careful look over him to realize he's a hunter. The one lesson you’ve learned in your work with hunters over the years is not one of them dresses normally. Fastest way to spot a hunter in public is to look for the person wearing a discount spirit Halloween jester outfit or wearing what could only be described as a tree cutout robbed straight from a middle school play.

The man in the doorway tilts his head.

“You are a seamstress.” He says. It takes you a moment to realize that was a question. “You were recommended to me by my father.”

“I am a seamstress, yes.” You say, eyeing him carefully up and down. “But I'm closed right now.”

“Oh,” The man says, and then continues to stand still as a statue a few feet in front of your door. He looks a bit like a drowned kitten with big black eyes, surrounded by long black hair that sticks to his face, his clothes, his arms. He looked uncomfortable.

“I have a shower,” You say, trying to sound inviting. “You can use my dryer as well if you’d like.”

The man tilts his head slightly, black hair cascading in a wet curtain down his back. You wince as water hits your previously clean hardwood floor. He looks a bit like a porcelain doll, his face mostly eyes and confused blank expression. Finally, he speaks.

“Yes, that would be nice.” He says, stepping farther into your room. You hold out your arm to stop him.

“Stop, you're gonna get my fabric wet,” you sigh, motioning for him to stand still by the door. “Just wait here, I'll be right back.”

The man looks down, lifting his arm experimentally, as if he just remembered he's soaking wet at all. Water cascades off his arm, forming a small puddle beneath him.You sigh, massaging your forehead as you go and fetch some towels from your linen closet. When you return, the man is still standing still by the door. You hand him the towels, trying for a friendly smile. You're very tired.

“Try to dry off as much as you can,” You say, turning back to your cutting table. No reason not to get some work done. You're almost done cutting out the mock up when you feel a tap on your shoulders.

“Yeah?” You ask, trying to finish cutting out the piece you were in the middle of cutting.

“Where is the shower,” The man says from behind you.

“Oh, I'll show you.” You say, turning around. The man has rolled his long hair up in one of the towels you had handed him. In his hands, he's holding a bundle of green and yellow fabric. Fabric the almost exact color his clothes had been. You drop your scissors with a clatter, abruptly closing your eyes.

“Why are you naked?” You ask, trying to remain calm. You had only gotten a glimpse but the man looked pretty built.

“You told me not to track water on your fabric.” The man says, sounding very confused. You take a deep breath and massage your temples, keeping your eyes closed.

“I didn't mean–you know what, never mind.” You say, turning back to your cutting table and opening your eyes. In the foggy reflection of the window opposite you can catch some glimpses of skin and muscles, but you do your best not to look.

“Follow me,” You say, moving towards the back stairs, the ones that lead up to your small flat. The sound of wet feet hitting your hardwood floor follows you, so you assume the man is following you.

“Are you afraid of the human form, Miss…” The man asks. You scoff. You would assume he was mocking you, but the total lack of emotions in his voice gave away the fact that it was a genuine question.

“Name, and no, obviously not.” You say, “I just didn't expect you to be naked. What's your name again?”

“Illumi,” The man, Illumi says. “I apologize for startling you.”

You sigh, opening the door to the back stairs and starting up. Illumi follows you.

“It's fine, Mr Illumi.” You say, reaching to the top of your stairs and opening the door of your small apartment. “You can leave your clothes on the table. I'll put them in the wash.”

Illumi doesn't say anything, but you assume he nodded. The door closes behind him, blocking out the sounds of rain. You flip on the lightswitch, and golden light floods the small living room of your apartment. You slip off your shoes, and move deeper into the apartment.

“You have a nice house,” Illumi says, and you hear the wet slap of his clothes hitting your kitchen table as he continues, “although your security is poor.”

“Thanks, I guess.” You say, choosing to brush off the last comment. “The bathroom is this way.”

You walk past your open bedroom door, silently praying Illumi does not see what a mess it is, and open the small door of your bathroom, switching on the lights.

“Here we are,” You say, turning around and abruptly being reminded that he's only wearing two towels. You yank your eyes from his abs and stair at his drowned face. “You can use whatever you want in there.”

Illumi nods his head up and down, the towel on his air bobbing comically. He blinks his big eyes slowly looking at you with what can only be categorized as curiosity.

“Why did you help me?” He asks. You frown in confusion.

“What?”

“Why did you let me into your home?” He asks again, tilting his head. He really does look kinda sad and pathetic, if you ignore the rest of his mostly naked body.

“Uh…” you say, thinking for a moment. “I felt bad for you? You look like a drowned kitten.”

“Oh,” Illumi says, frowning. Then after a pause, “thank you.”

“Your welcome,” You laugh, leaning past him to grab a large towel from your upstairs linen closet, and pass it to him. He takes it and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

You're digging through your clothes drawers for some of your ex-boyfriend's clothes you know you kept when you hear the shower switching off. You hurry, grabbing some soft gray sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts and knock on the bathroom door.

“Illumi? I have some clothes for you to borrow.” You say, folding them and stacking them neatly into a pile. The door flips open and you avert your eye, shoving the clothes in his direction until you feel them leaving your hands. The door doesn't close though, and you close your eyes as clothing rustles, until the rustling has stopped for at least ten seconds. Only then do you open your eyes. Illumi looks much less drowned rat now, his pale skin still a little pink from the shower. His hair is wrapped up in a towel, and you're happy to note your ex-boyfriend's stuff fits him fine.

“Your stuff will be done in about ten minutes,” you say, turning away and leading him back down the small hallway and into your living room as you continue. “You mentioned you had business with me?”

“Yes,” Illumi says as you move into your kitchen, starting the kettle. He's still standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room like an odd statue when you turn around. You giggle.

“You can sit down,” You say, urging him into motion. He obeys, sitting upright in one of your armchairs, hands folded neatly in his lap. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes,” Illumi says, and you pull two mugs out of the cabinet as he continues. “I was told your work is excellent.”

You select a chamomile tea out of the tea cabinet and put a tea bag into each cup.

“It is,” You say. “Who said that though.”

“My father,” Illumi says. You scan your brain for anyone he could possibly be referring to and come up empty.

“Did you need something made?” You ask instead, pouring the hot water into the mugs and putting a plate over them to let them steep. “I'm a bit swamped right now with an unusual request, but if it's easy I can totally make something for you.”

“Mother told me my suit is too small.” Illumi says, still sitting stiff and unnatural on one of your cushy chairs. You grab both of the mugs, placing one on the coffee table in front of Illumi.

“A suite, huh.” You say, taking a sip of your chamomile tea and letting the warmth sooth your bones. As far as normal garments go, Suites would probably be one of the hardest garments ever. Making a suite was one thing, making a well tailored suit in a small time frame without five hundred fittings was quite another. But, in your profession you had long ago learned that there were worse things you might be forced to make than a suite. This one time, this guy had shone up and requested to have a ball for a waist, and be able to use it in combat. You had done it, somehow. At least he had been hot, if very fucking weird. You shake your head, taking a ship of your tea.

“I can make you a suit, yeah.” You say as you place your cup on the coffee table. “Let me get my schedule book and I'll write you in.”

“Im busy,” Illumi replies, sitting bold upright in your chair, tea clutch between his pale fingers. “Can you do it now?”

“Sew a suit, right now, while you're here?” You ask incredulously, sitting back into your chair.

Illumi nods jerkily, taking a robotic sip of his drink and setting it on the table.

“Please,” he says. The room sinks into silence for a moment as you take a few deep breaths, holding back a laugh.

“I have inconvenienced you.” Illumi says, and you decide to take pity on him.

“Is there a specific time frame you need to suit?” You ask, reaching forward to pick up your tea. “I can schedule you as soon as possible.”

“Mother says in two weeks,” Illumi says, a few strands of hair falling from the towel turban he put his hair in. in the distance you hear your dryer beek aggressively, signifying Illumis clothes have finished drying. You stand, moving towards your small laundry room, shouting over your shoulder as you continue.

“You said your father recommended me, right?”

Illumi nods, taking another sip of camomile tea. “He said he gets his work clothes from you. He said your work holds up under extreme stress.”

“I make a lot of specialty clothes for hunters,” You say, bending down to pull Illumis dry clothes out of your front loading washer. “So it kind of has too. Is your father a hunter?”

“Assassin.” Illumi says. You nod, holding his warm clothes and slamming the laundry room door with your foot.

“Ah, you must be Silva’s son then.” You say, handing Illumi his warm, staticky clothes. He takes them, tilting his head to the side.

“How did you know?” he asks, big eyes blinking slowly.

You giggle, taking his empty cup from the coffee table and putting it into your sink, along with your own half full one.

“I don't get many assassins for clients.” You say, running water into the cups and putting them into your almost full dishwasher. You make a note to start it after Illumi leaves.

“You know, your dad has a fitting in a couple days.” You start, grabbing your appointment book from the countertop and moving back into the small living room as you flip through it. “ How about you come with him and I'll take your measurements? That sound good?”

Illumi sits still, head tilted as he blinks slowly, considering.

“Alright,” Illumi finally answers, and you nod, writing it into your book.

His clothes are still resting in his lap and you hop up, grabbing a bag from your closet. It's an old plastic take out bag. You take his clothes from him again as he thinks, putting them in the bag and handing it back.

He looks at it in confusion. You smile, handing him a paper bag filled with the weird pins that had been stuck in the front of the clothes, and what looked like an id of some kind and a phone.

“That way your clothes wont get wet,” You say with a smile, glancing at the clock. It's getting pretty late at night, around ten forty five. The sound of Illumis phone ringing cuts through the silence, and you jump. Illumi pulls an archaic looking flip phone out of the paper bag, flipping it open with a satisfying snap.

“Yes?”

Someone's voice can be heard on the other line, yelling rather loudly. You pretend not to pay attention out of politeness, but strain your ears to hear something. Unfortunately you can catch anything and Illumi hangs up, rising to his feet abruptly.

“I have to go,” he says, “where should I change?”

“No knead,” You say, standing up and getting your appointment book on the table.

“But your clothes,” He says, gesturing down on himself. You smile.

“Dont worry about it, there my ex boyfriends old things.” You say, moving towards the front door. “I was just gonna donate them anyway.”

Illumi follows you, silent but for the rustling of the bags you had provided him. His footsteps made no noise, you hadn't noticed before because of the rain. Opening the door of your flat you step into the much colder stairwell and shiver.

“I'm sorry i don't have a jacket for you,” You say, bare feet padding down the concrete stairs. “It's quite cold out.”

“As an assassin, I was raised to withstand below zero temperatures,” Illumi informs you blankly as you reach the button of the stairs, opening the door into your shop.

“Well that's good.” You say, holding the door open as Illumi steps through, into the barely illuminated back room of your shop. A few mannequins standing in the corner look threateningly like real humans, and you giggle as Illumi stops still, staring at them before moving on.

“Jump scared by the manquines?” You ask. Illumi frowns, shaking his head.

“No.” He says, walking a little faster. You giggle, he must be embarrassed.

“So, you’ll be back in a few days for our appointment, right?” you ask, standing a few feet away from the front door. Illumi, holding two plastic bags of clothes and nicknacks against his chest, nods.

“Yes,” He says, and then a second later, “I apologize for inconveniencing you.”

You giggle. He's a bit cute, in a wild animal kind of way. You move closer, reaching up to yoink the towel from his head, watching his long hair tumble over his shoulders. He shakes his head like a dog, his long silky hair falling into place. His ears are red as he opens the door, stepping into the rain. You wave, and he nods in response as the door shuts with a heavy clunk.

You smile all night as you lock up your room, shutting the doors and securing the windows and waving goodbye to the threatening dress forms in the corner.

Tonight certainly was interesting.

🪡🪡🪡

The sun is shining across your floors, when Illumi and Silva arrive for their appointment. The door opens with a chime of bells, and you look up from your design sketchbook and grin.

“Ah, there you are.” You say, putting your sketchbook and the table and rising to greet the men touring by the door. “I almost thought you wouldn't show up.”

“I apologize, Miss Name,” SIlva says, smiling down at you. He really does tower over you, in stature and height. “Be polite and apologize for the inconvenience, Illumi.”

Illumi, standing a bit behind his father, nods.

“I apologize Miss Name,” He says, looking somehow both lost and sincere at the same time. You laugh.

“It's no biggie, you guys were only a few minutes late,” You say, leading them both into the main area, and grabbing the outfit Silva had requested. “I made the alterations we talked about last time, so hopefully everything fits this time!”

You hand Silva the formal suit jacket he had requested, and motion for him to change. He nods.

“Where can my son sit while we finish this up?” He asks. You nod, turning to look at Illumi who has been standing awkwardly in the middle of your studio with a laugh.

“Illumi, you can take a seat over there if you like.” You say, gesturing at the comfy chairs off to the side of your studio. Illumi nods, moving towards the chairs and sitting down with a thump. His hands fold over his lap and you giggle.

“Your son has great manners,” You whisper, leaning over in Silva's direction. The large man chuckles, brushing his long hair out of the way as he slips the black suite over his white button down.

“My wife has taught him well in that department,” He grins as you survey the fit of the jacket. “Although we have our concerns.”

“Oh really?” you ask, probably more interested than you should be. “How is the fit?”

“Good,” Silva says, raising his arms above his head. “Well as Illumi has gotten older, Kikyo and I worry he'll never marry.”

You stifle a giggle, subtle looking at Illumi as he sits still in your chair, looking around at the framed sketches on your wall. You frame designs you were especially proud of, with proof pictures of course. You turn back to Silva, a little confused.

“Really? He's quite handsome,” You say, checking the back seam as Silva flexes his muscles. The suite stays intact, not even straining. Silva looks at you oddly.

“You think,” He says, smiling slightly. “Well, lately he has expressed interest in a certain woman. Kikyo and I are thrilled.”

“Oh, really?” You say, your heart sinking in your chest a little. When had you even realized you were attracted to him? Maybe you were just disappointed that a handsome man was off the market. “That's just great.”

Silva nods, smiling a secretive smile as he sheds the jacket, handing it back to you.

“The fit is lovely,” He says, “I'm quite satisfied.”

You smile, your heart feeling a bit odd, and turn to grab a bag, packing his suit jacket up carefully and neatly, tossing in a free sample handkerchief as you usually do, all the while feeling a bit sad. You don't quite want to admit why as you hand Silva the package, turning to Illumi sitting in the armchair with a sigh.

“Alright Illumi, let's get those measurements done.” You say, turning away to grab your measurement book and your tape measure. When you turn back, Illumi is standing a few feet in front of you. You hadn't heard him move at all. But you supposed that was expected for an assassin.

“Your shop is nice,” Illumi says, voice stilted as you move closer, wrapping the tape measure around his chest. You ignore the beating in your heart as you take the measurement, noting it down in your book.

“Thanks,” You say, turning back around to take the second measurement. “I try.”

Silence falls as your slightly trembling hands take the waist measurement. Illumi shifts slightly as you turn, noting the measurement in your book. Silence falls as you take the next few measurements, careful not to touch his body more than necessary. The shoulder, arm, and back measurements are all taken in awkward silence, until Illumi speaks again.

“The designs on your walls,” he says, “I recognize one.”

You have your back turned, writing down measurements and you turn to follow his pointing finger. He's pointing at a design you're rather proud of. The man who had decided he wanted a ball for a waist. You grin, proud of it as you turn back.

“Ah, Mr Morrow's design, one of my favorites.” You say, leaning down a bit to wrap the tape measure around his hips. “That design was a pain in the ass but it turned out so well.”

“You have sewed for Hisoka?” Illumi asks, shifting slightly as your hands pass over his hips, taking the measurement down mentally and turning around to write it on the page.

“Yes!” You say with a grin, “Pain in the ass design, but he was handsome and so I guess it was worth it.”

Illumi frowns slightly, shifting as you drop to your knees, taking the length of his legs. Faintly in the background, you hear Silva muffle a cough. You had forgotten for a moment he was there.

“You took his measurements?” He asks, frowning down at you. You look up in confusion, still on your knees with a tape measure in your hand, poised to do the inseam measurement.

“I take everyone's measurements?” You question, confused. “I had to do some really finicky stuff for that outfit, and it involved some odd and somewhat emberassingmeasruments.”

You explain, knees still firmly planted on the floor as you lower your tape measure. Illumi frowns, hands falling over his chest.

“I hope he did not inconvenience you.” He says, blinking very slowly. He sounds almost upset, but you shove it aside with a grin as you pick up your tape measure again.

“Oh, it wasn't too bad,” You say, gently taking the inseam measurement, careful not to brush any sensitive parts as you continue. “The costume was a pain, but he was very lovely to work with. His pretty face definitely helped. And the money, obviously.”

Illumi shifts slightly as you carefully take the inseam measurement.

“You guys friends?” You ask, finishing your inseam measurement and turning to write it in your book. Illumi coughs, shifting behind you with a rustling of fabric.

“I guess,” he says, a certain malice in his voice that you can't place.

“How nice,” You say, turning to write your final measurements, your heart feeling a bit heavy.

🪡🪡🪡

Silva and Illumi pay the whole 70,000 jenny upfront. You protest, but Silva waves it off with a grin, as he and Illumi disappear into the sunlight.

You hate to admit that you're really attracted to Illumi. You're not sure why. Maybe it's the whole wounded animal thing he was going on, or maybe it was his awkward nature and stilted conversation, but you were quite enamored with him.

But thanks to Silva, you now knew you had no chance with him.

The next few fittings with Illumi were an awkward mix of attraction and arousal on your end, and awkwardness at his end. He tried to make small talk with you, and you replied, but every conversation made you more and more sure he would never be attracted to you.

He was even kind enough to bring you a lovely bouquet of red roses and white baby's breath, and apologize for the night you had first met. Every kind gesture made your heart hurt, but you accepted them with a smile. Every time you saw those roses, your heart hurt.

🪡🪡🪡

It was around seven when the events started. You were bone tired, body flopping onto the bed after a long day of standing over a table. Your back ached as you sighed, closing your eyes.

Your phone lay beside you, digging into your back slightly as you relaxed. But you couldn't quite relax. There was a familiar, thrumming energy running through your body. You were horny.

Sighing, you stroked your nipples gently through your thin shirt, already having shed your bra as soon as you entered the room. Your other hand slowly winds down, stroking your pussy gently over your panties.

You're so horny. Maybe it has something to do with Illumi’s fittings. Having your hands all over him in a professional manner was too much. He had such a fit physique, you longed to grip his muscled shoulders, free of the fabric between your skin. You whimper, pressing a finger knuckle deep into your pussy with a sigh. You roll over slightly, back pressing into your phone.

You can't be bothered to take it out from under you, even when you hear a faint click.

Illumi happens to be near your shop when his phone rings. He answers it quickly, holding it up to his ear as he stands in the middle of the darkened sidewalk a few miles from your shop.

“Name?” He asks, standing a foot away from the ring of light cast by the sidewalk. The sweatpants he's wearing hang low on his hips. The sweat pants you had given him. They still smell like you still, and Illumi is ashamed to admit how hard he gets when he takes a whiff of their scent. Re refuses to relieve himself, as not to sully your name. It's become hard as of late, with your figure plaguing his dreams, your careful professional fingers brushing his skin. Illumi sighs, taking a deep breath.

You don't respond, the only sound he hears is a faint groan. Illumi starts moving towards your shop, worried.

“Illumi?” You say over the phone. Your voice shakes, sounding a bit odd. “Oh god Illumi!”

Illumi frowns, moving faster and faster towards your house. You sound like you're in some type of distress.

“Name,” He asks again, “are you alright?”

No reply, only a faint groan leaking through the phone. Illumi’s dick twitches in his pants as he races towards your shop.

“Oh Illumi, you’ve got to help me!” You exclaim through the phone. Your voice shakes lightly, heavy breathing coming through the speaker as Illumi picks the lock to your shop.

“Are you ok, name?” He asks again. You groan, and then the phone disconnects with a click. Illumi dashes through your darkened shop, up the concrete stairs, and opens your door as quietly as possible. If someone is hurting you, he’ll kill them in an instant.

You have two fingers shoved up your cunt when the door opens with a slam. You shriek, trying to hide the evidence of what you were doing as illumi stares down at your mostly naked body in shock. He's standing in your doorway, wearing the sweatpants you had given to him and a black muscle tea, and staring at your body in shock.

He looks so delicious, as he takes you in, his face looking a bit bewildered. You trace his body, your eyes catching on the obvious bulge in his pants, and grin.

“Illumi,” You coo, spreading your legs with a grin. He visibly gulps. “I need something from you.”

This all feels so sudden, the tension hanging in the air between you, the way his expressions of lust spell so plainly on his face. How could you have missed this. You wonder if you had missed other signs.

Illumi moves forward slowly, the door closing softly behind him, feet making no sound on your bedroom floor. He stands at the end of the bed awkwardly, dick twitching in the gray sweatpants he wears. You gulp down saliva, scooting a bit farther onto the bed.

“I want you to eat me out,” You say, bringing a hand down to spread your pussy lips. You watch Illumi gulp, want him crawls towards you on the bed until his head is positioned over your dripping pussy, his hair tickling your knees and thighs as he leans down.

“I apologize if this is unsatisfactory,” illumi says, his voice still as robotic and clinical as ever, even as his eyes tremble with arousal. “I lack the necessary experience to—”

You interrupt by gripping his hair, and shoving his face into your pussy. His body collapses on the bedspread, hands winding around your hips and waist, as your hand winds into the base of his long hair.

You groan, your back arching as he licks a long strip along your pussy, tonge passing gently over your clit.

You reward him with a tug on his hair, and he muffles a small groan into your pussy. The resulting jolt of pleasure runs through your spine, and his name escapes your mouth.

“That's good, so good.” You pants into the air, the hand not tangled in Illumis long hair notting into the white comforter around you. Illumi whimpers quietly, his own hips grinding into the carpet as you moan.

He's showering you with pleasure, his mouth going to town on you as your back arches, and your orgasm threatens to overwhelm you. You whimper, tugging at his hair.

“Oh god, I'm gonna cum.” You shiver, body jolting and jerking and Illumi fucks your whole with his tongue, his thumb drawing circles on your clit.

“Me too,” he murmurs into your pussy, and you watch as he grinds helplessly into the comforter, completely occupied with driving you mad with pleasure.

It's that sight that pushes you over the edge. His hair tangled on your legs, his hands gripping your body like you’ll disappear in an instant, the desperate thrusts of his hips into the comforter.

Your body tenses as you cum, back arching and hand pulling the hair knots in your hands. His voice is on your tongue as you orgasm, stars bursting in your eyelids, pleasure overwhelming your senses.

Illumi also tenses under your grip, muffling a faint moan of pleasure into your pussy, only prolonging your orgasm.

When you open your eyes, hazy from cumming and take him in over you, you feel more arousal running through your body.

He's looming over you, big doll eyes filled with lust, clothes long discarded. His hair falls over the two of you like an intimate curtain, hiding the outside world from view. His dick is bobbing back to life, big and ready to be inside you. A small, nervous smile is curing across his lips.

“Be my wife,” Illumi says, eyes darting anywhere but you. You grin, a feeling of elation running through your body as you reach up, gripping his face with your hand and looking deep into his eyes as you reply.

“Yes,” You say, and Illumis mouth devours you in a kiss so full of happiness you almost cry. Almost, until you feel that hardness pressing against your stomach and you reach down, storking it gently. Illumi moans into your mouth, choking slightly and you grin.

“You aren't busy, right?” You coo into his mouth. Illumi shakes his head.

“Good,’ You say, body twisting into his. “Because I think I'll have you occupied for the next couple hours.”

Illumi responds by kissing the breath from your lips.

...

Endnotes:

I HATE SCHOOL I HATE SCHOOL!!! I HATE SCHOOL I HATE SCHOOL!!!

Anyway, If you cant tell i would love to be a tailor/seamstress for a living, but alas my parents unfortunately raised me to have expensive taste and it's just not sustainable as a career. So it's a hobby for now.

#mariannacrxss #helplesslypurple77kinktober #hunter x hunter #hxh smut #hxh illumi #illumi x reader #illumi zoldyck #Hunter x Hunter #hxh x reader

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dinodaweeb · 4 months ago

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LIES, SPIES, AND HOT GUYS |

Gn!Detective!Reader x Batman

summary: as a detective you make sure you prioritize Bruce Wayne’s safety but he assures you he doesn’t need it, prick.

You never expected to find yourself at one of Gotham's most glamorous events—a gala at Wayne Manor. Awkward and out of place, you struggle to fit in among Gotham's elite.

The moment you stepped into Wayne Manor, you felt like a fish out of water. The grand chandeliers, the polished marble floors, and the glittering gowns of Gotham's elite were a far cry from the gritty crime scenes and dimly lit precincts you were used to.

Far different. The air felt too expensive to breathe.

Why had you even agreed to this?

Oh right, the Commissioner insisted on having "a few of Gotham's finest" at the event, just in case. And with your gruff demeanor and awkward social skills, you had drawn the short straw.

Awkwardly, you stood near a large ornate column, sipping a glass of water and trying to avoid eye contact with the crowd. Despite the suit and tie—or, in their case, a somewhat ill-fitting tuxedo—they felt utterly out of place. The pants felt too tight around your rear and you got this done at the shop. How could they screw that up?

Your eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail, searching for anything—or anyone—out of the ordinary.

Just as you were beginning to try to relax, you spotted a group of familiar faces. The Wayne kids—Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, and a few others—stood near the large windows, looking far too at ease in the luxurious setting.

Summoning a bit of courage, you approached them. After all, if they were going to be stuck here, they might as well make some polite conversation.

"Grayson, Drake," You greeted with a nod, trying to sound casual but polite.

Dick smiled brightly. "Detective! Didn't expect to see you here!"

"Yeah, well… duty calls, I wasn’t exactly invited by you but..” You muttered, feeling a bit more self-conscious than you intended. Tim gave a small nod of acknowledgment, while Damian looked as uninterested as ever.

Why do you even try at this.

Before the conversation could go further, a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Detective, welcome to Wayne Manor."

You turned to see Bruce Wayne approaching, his signature charming smile firmly in place. The billionaire looked every bit the part, effortlessly exuding wealth and charisma.

His looks lived up to the legend, pretty punk.

"Mr. Wayne," You greeted, doing their best to mask their awkwardness. Which probably failed. "Thanks for having me.”

"Of course. I always appreciate Gotham's finest keeping an eye on things," Bruce replied, his tone friendly yet distant. There was a glint in his eyes, something that set you on edge. Before they could respond, Bruce offered another smile, then excused himself, moving on to mingle with other guests.

You watched him go, your brows furrowing. Something about Bruce seemed… off. But before you could dwell on it, your attention snapped back to the task at hand: scanning the room for any potential threats.

As the evening wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease. You kept a close eye on Bruce from across the room, noting how the billionaire seemed to glide through the crowd effortlessly, charming everyone he spoke to. But that nagging feeling in the back of your mind wouldn't go away.

And then it happened.

A loud crash echoed through the grand hall, followed by the panicked screams of guests. The doors burst open, and a group of armed robbers stormed in, weapons raised. Chaos erupted as people dove for cover, and the orchestra’s music was abruptly silenced.

"Everyone down! Now!" one of the robbers shouted, firing a warning shot into the ceiling.

Instinctively, you reached for their gun, but the crowd's panic made it impossible to get a clear shot. People were scrambling, pushing, and shouting. In the confusion, you caught sight of Bruce Wayne, who had been near the doors moments before. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

Damn it!

You pushed through the crowd, your focus entirely on finding Bruce. If something happened to Gotham's golden boy on your watch, you would never forgive yourself.

Thankfully, you managed to slip away from the main hall, only to find Bruce backing into a nearby room, the door clicking shut just as you reached it. They shoved the door open and rushed inside, finding Bruce standing calmly by the window, looking far too composed for someone who was supposed to be terrified.

His fingers twitched when he heard the door open though, so maybe he was alarmed. You couldn’t blame him, it was a scary situation for anyone.

"Mr. Wayne, are you alright?" You panted, closing the door behind them and locking it.

Bruce turned to face them, an almost amused expression on his face. "I’m fine, Detective."

"Good. Stay here," You ordered, pulling out their gun and moving to stand between Bruce and the door. "I’ll handle this."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "That won’t be necessary."

You frowned. "What do you mean it won’t be necessary? There are armed robbers out there! You need to stay put, or you could get hurt."

"I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself," Bruce said, his tone calm and almost… teasing.

The detective’s frustration flared. Here you were, trying to protect this man, and he was acting like it was no big deal. "Look, I get that you’re used to getting your way, but right now, you need to let me do my job!"

Bruce’s eyes narrowed slightly, the playful glint fading. "And what if I told you that I could handle this situation better than you think?"

You were about to snap back, but the words died in their throat as they realized what Bruce was implying. "You’re not seriously thinking about playing hero, are you? This is my duty.”

Marching up to him, you poked your finger repeatedly into his chest.

“I’m here to protect you, Mr. Wayne.”

Before Bruce could respond, a loud bang echoed from the hallway, followed by heavy footsteps approaching the door. With precision, you pulled Bruce by the waist and forced him behind you. You stiffened, turning their full attention to the door. "Stay behind me."

"Detective—"

"I said stay behind me!" You hissed, cutting Bruce off as you aimed your gun at the door. Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins.

The door burst open, and you were ready to fire, but the figure that entered the room made them hesitate. It was Nightwing.

"Hold your fire!" Nightwing ordered, raising his hands as he stepped inside.

You lowered their weapon, exhaling a shaky breath. "What are you doing here?"

Nightwing glanced at Bruce, then back at you. A cheeky glint in his eyes. "I’m here to get him out of here.”

"Wait, you know him?" You asked, confused.

Nightwing’s lips curled into a half-smile. "You could say that."

Bruce stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Thank you for your concern, Detective, but I’ll be safe with him."

You opened their mouth to argue, but the calm, assured look in Bruce’s eyes stopped them. For some reason, you believed him—despite how absurd it all seemed.

But did you seriously suck that much at your job that he felt safer with masked vigilante than a GCPD officer? You felt your pride shatter.

With a bitter taste in your mouth and the slightest pout on your lips, you nodded. Giving Bruce a pat on the back.

Nightwing took Bruce by the arm, guiding him toward the door. "Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe."

You watched them go, their mind racing. None of this made sense. Why would Nightwing, of all people, be protecting Bruce Wayne? And why did Bruce seem so… unconcerned?

As the door closed behind them, You finally allowed yourself to breathe. The realization hit you like a freight train: Batman was out there, hunting these criminals, and Bruce Wayne was likely his next target.

"Idiot," You muttered to yourself, rubbing your temples. "Of course, Batman would want to protect him."

Then you felt your heart sink.

“Or harm him.”

But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bruce Wayne than met the eye. Something you couldn’t quite put you're finger on.

As you exited the room, ready to join the fight outside, you couldn’t help but wonder: Just who exactly was Bruce Wayne? And why did they feel like they were in way over their head?

One thing was for sure: you were going to find out.

And when you did, you had a feeling it would change everything.

Red Hood stopped your inner monologue. “Yo, Hey, Dude— C’mon. Snap out of it.”

You blinked, your eyes reaching up.

“Now, are you going to stand there looking like a rookie, or are you going to help me with these goons?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, turning to see Red Hood leaning casually against the doorframe, his helmet tilted slightly as if amused by your daze. You cursed inwardly—first Nightwing, now Red Hood. How many of Gotham’s vigilantes were going to show up tonight?

“You’re here too?” you asked, exasperated.

“Yeah, and lucky for you. Looks like you could use the backup,”

Red Hood quipped, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “Now, are we gonna take these guys down, or do you need a minute to process whatever conspiracy theories you’re cooking up?”

You shot him a glare but nodded. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Red Hood grinned beneath his helmet, drawing his guns. “Hell yeah.”

a/n: guys, asks r open :3 I wanna write more for my boysss 🫶😔 (no cursed shit plz)

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 11 months ago

Text

[8:59 pm]

(cw: f! reader, age gap, consumption of alcohol)

The bar you were in was very loud and crowded. The booth you, your friends, Jaehyun, and your friend's partners had squeezed into was even more crowded. Jaehyun was lucky enough to have scored a seat at the end of the bench which was good because he wasn't squished, but that also meant he only had one leg in the booth and half an ass cheek on the bench.

He was happy to join you and your friends for an evening out. He liked watching you have fun and be carefree with your friends. He liked hearing all the drama you'd all discuss, all the drama about people you hated and updates on your lives. Jaehyun wasn't even ashamed to admit he liked what you wore on these outings. You always wore the cute little dresses he'd buy you because you wanted to"show off what good taste your man had."

Now, there was only so much your little dress could do to distract him from the tiredness seeping in. He was tired of not being able to hear clearly, tired of the awful stuffy smell, the numb feeling that was beginning to form in his leg. But he didn't want to ruin your time out, so he slyly pulled out his phone to text you.

Are you almost ready to go?

The phone on your lap lit up and Jaehyun's eyes widened while his eyebrows furrowed. Something couldn't be right. He couldn't be seeing what he thought he was seeing. That couldn't be him.

He sent another text, just to make sure he was hopefully wrong. A simple heart emoji. And again the screen facing up lit up with the god awful contact name.

Sugar daddy.

His mind was reeling, he didn't even notice you turning to look at him expectantly, blinking your pretty, long lashes up at him. "Jae?"

He hummed, his eyes glazed over, "Yeah, baby?"

"Are you ok?" You ask, placing a reassuring hand on his arm.

He blinks, shaking his head slightly, his arm falls around your shoulder, dragging his fingertips up your bare back softly. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, "Why is my contact name Sugar daddy on your phone, baby?"

Your eyes widen in surprise, "it's a joke!"

You quickly say goodbye to all your friends, pulling on Jaehyun's arm until you're both outside where it's more quiet. He pulls you closer by your waist, "I was under the impression that a sugar daddy was an older man who gave girls an allowance in exchange for... favors."

"Well, you don't give me money but you buy me a ton of gifts. You bought me the dress I'm wearing right now. You do receive favors," you repeat with air quotes, "and you are older than me. By your own standards, you are a sugar daddy."

"I was born in 1997! I'm not even that much older than you!" Jaehyun laughs in shock.

"That is a whole other millennium Jaehyun, the year starts with nineteen," you reply with a gentle squeeze on the arm.

He pinches your side, "you're making me sound like some kind of cradle robber. The age difference isn't that much."

You look at him with a serious expression, "is this really bothering you? I meant it as a joke, but I can change it if it really bothers you."

"It just surprised me," he waves off, "but if you want to change it to something else be my guest. I've been thinking of a few options. First, love of my life, hottest man alive, baby, pretty boy. You know, I saw one of your friends has her situationship under best in bed."

You clasp a hand over his mouth, "You like going out with the girls too much. You listen too much for a man."

a/n: *whispers* hey, you’re getting fratboy jaehyun tomorrow. also pls feel free to send me his most frayboy-like pictures because I feel like I’ve used every single one on pinterest already

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct timestamps #nct x reader #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun x reader #Jaehyun blurbs #jaehyun drabbles #jaehyun scenarios

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dailyadventureprompts · 8 months ago

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Adventure: Grasping for Answers

Throughout their early adventures the party come into conflict with the agents of the mysterious mage known only as "The Ravelling Hand", a villain of uncertain identity who seems to have lots of schemes and no qualms using violence, trickery, and unexpected magic to get what they want.

Adventure Hooks:

The party first become entangled with the hand's minions when they're asked by an innocuous travelling merchant to deliver a small wrapped parcel to the wizard living one town over. The wizard isn't open to receiving guests, and after sneaking or charming their way in, the party will find out why: her apprentice has been kidnapped, the parcel contains both of the boy's index fingers as well as a note explaining that she can have the rest of him back in exchange for several dangerous texts in her collection, delivered by the party to the same intermediary who hired them. A brawl is likely to ensue as the wizard suspects the party is in on the blackmail, but if they can talk her down maybe they can figure out a way to work together to get the boy back before any more harm comes to him.

Most thieves know better than to try and rob a magic item shop, but most thieves aren't armed with dispel magic infused salt grenades to neutralize the shop's ubiquitous defences. A rash of these attacks across the duchy has shopkeepers worried, and one hires the party to stake out their store for the night when they suspect someone is casing it. Do the party trail the robbers back to their hideout, or interrupt them mid heist only for combat to delay them long enough for those indiscriminate defences to start turning back on?

Spoiler Alert: The mage is in fact an arcanely gifted lesser kraken by the name of Dlexx who seeks to avail itself of all the magical knowledge amassed on land. Sure the deep has its own mysteries but there's a thriving trade in spellscrolls and arcane tomes that don't make it below the waves. Using an old lighthouse as a disguise for its massive form while on land, it uses telepathy and sendings to direct its minions without ever revealing its true nature. Imagine the party's surprise when they roll up to the villain's lair expecting to bully some crusty nerd with a ratty beard and instead the lair sprouts tentacles that drag them into the crashing surf.

Challenges & Consequences

Finding Dlexx is an adventure in and of itself. When questioned, most of the mage's minions admit to never having met their employer, and those high ranking enough to have been summoned to a place called "saltbite tower" in dreams only to later have their memories muddled. Careful interrogation and study of local maps will have the party realize that the tower is infact an abandoned lighthouse, which will narrow their search as they comb the costline for their enemy's lair.

Actually defeating the Ravelling Hand might prove too much for early level adventurers, as in addition to being a powerful mage the kraken is literally in its element, able to breathe and move while the heroes flounder. Dlexx will toy with them, throwing unconscious foes out of the water the way a fisherman throws back a catch that is too small. When the battle is over and it's proved it's point the kraken will collapse the tower and leave into the wide ocean, telepathically taunting them with their inability to follow.

Though the Ravelling Hand will not resurface for some time, the destruction of the tower and Dlexx's retreat into the deep is partially a bluff. The kraken chose that particular lighthouse because it was a short distance away from the coral reef into which it scribed its arcane learning the way a wizard records spells in a book, coiling arms etching formulae into hundreds of yards of living stone. Dlexx must periodically return to the reef to add spells to it, and sightings by locals (or the occasional fish manifesting with magical talent) might clue the party into the reef's existence.

A pair of merfolk siblings named Crashing-Tide and Arcing-Mirror serve the Ravelling Hand as apprentices and scribes, having promised seven years of utmost loyalty in exchange for the chance to bring the arcane knowledge of the surface back to their community. They tend to the reef, and allow the Kraken to borrow their eyes from afar so that it might study the spells scribed there. Several years into their pledge, Crash (the sister) has come to idolize Dlexx and the power it wields above and below the waves, wishing that the whole of their shoal to come into its service. Mirror (the brother) is skeptical, well aware of the kraken's manipulations and distantly suspicious of the conflict that it invokes. Perhaps if the party can intercede with these two they can learn more about their enemy's plans, though doing so will take some careful diplomacy.

Artist

#seaside #seaside villain #ocean #merfolk #arcane #wizard #rescue mission #low level #village encounter #town encounter

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mxtantrights · 10 months ago

Text

where you go, I go

a/n: okay so while I'm writing this whole series for azriel just know that I had this other recurring dream about a plot like this. I couldn't really make it a fully fleshed out story with a happy ending so I decided to type it all out and make it a one-shot with angst and not a lot of comfort (this is your warning, this doesn't end happily) anyways with all of that said, if you decide to read this please enjoy and tell me what you think! <333 also happy valentines day <333

azriel x assassin!fem!reader

5.1k words

The day court was home to many things. Vibrant colors, warm waters, ancient books and of course the very ancient and magical day blade. It's your job to know where that this is at all times.

You can't possibly understand why the shadow singer would try to steal it. Try being the operative word here. While you did sense him enter your court and break into the room where the blade was, it wouldn't have mattered.

Seeing as it is your job to protect the blade at all costs, it never leaves your sight. But that didn't mean you couldn't have fun with those who wanted so badly to get it.

In your pocket you feel a piece of paper appearing suddenly. You reach inside and unfold it. It's Helion. He's requesting your presence. You smile to yourself, this would be fun.

You leave your hiding place, the palace had many hidden rooms and hallways, and walk over to Helion's day room. As you approach from the hallway you can hear multiple conversations being had.

The door is closed so you open it slightly.

"There she is! Come in and greet my guests!" he says happily.

You make sure you face is kept neutral. You had an image to upkeep in this court.

The people respect you and fear you in the same breath. You don't go around killing people but you do often get justice in ways that aren't in the parameters of the law. Whether that be stringing up robbers and looters from their pants, or burning down the houses of dirty criminals.

You keep your eyes straight, not looking any of his guests in the eye. You walk until you are standing behind Helion who sits in his usual seat.

"I was just telling Feyre that I enjoy the new company. This is the inner circle." he says to you.

You nod once.

"She doesn't talk?" Nesta asks.

You know all of them. It's your duty to know The Who's who of the courts. The inner circle of the night court. High Lord Rhysand and High Lady Feyre-Curse breaker. Her sisters Elaine and Nesta. Rhysand's brothers Cassian and Azriel. Morrigan, past fiancee of Eris Vanserra. Amren, a mythical creature of serious power.

Helion laughs at Nesta's question. He knows you talk. He knows you very well, seeing as he practically raised you. But that information isn't public knowledge.

"She does, but not when theres something wrong." Helion answers.

You look at all of them now. How the girl closest to the shadow singer, Elaine, looks worried. And it's quick, you almost don't catch it, but you're so good at your job at this point.

"Trouble in the day court?" Rhysand says.

You lean over and whisper into Helion's ear about the blade. How the shadow singer came here to steal it, on a mission from his high lord. How he thinks he got away with it.

The room goes quiet as you pull back and Helion sits back in his chair. He loves the dramatics you pull off every single time someone tries to take the blade. The last person you caught was really delighted to be drowned in glitter, confetti and manure.

"Is there something you're forgetting?" Helion asks.

Rhysand looks at his inner circle with an incredulous smile. Then he looks to you, no doubt trying to read your mind. You can't imagine this will go over well either.

You can't feel it. The daemati powers that certain fae have don't work on you. You're not really sure why. Might have something to do with your unknown lineage. Or your overall hardheadedness-so Helion says.

Rhysand cocks his head to the side at your unmoving posture. He's still looking at you. You however are taking in the shadow singer. He's sitting there, not bothering to look at anyone. He must really think he got the blade.

"What would that be?" Feyre asks this time.

"Well, when you want something that another has you usually ask." Helion says.

At that everyone at the table grows grim. Caught red handed is what it seems like. You still manage to hide you smile though.

"Helion..." Rhysand starts.

"If you were anyone else I would have you locked up already. But lucky for me my security system is top notch." Helion smiles and grabs his glass for another sip of what could only be wine.

At his words the shadow singer now looks at the high lord. Your high lord. His face bares no emotion, like he can't afford to give a way a secret or smile.

You've heard about his reputation. But at this point that's all it is. He couldn't even steal from you correctly. This has to be the most interesting thing that's happened this year. You don't get around to much outsider business, you tend to stay out of it.

"I don't think it is." the shadow singer says.

Helion stifles a laugh. But you can hear it. And you know if you can hear it they all can. The room is big but not big enough that guests at a table can't hear things.

"Care to relieve them of their misery?" he looks up to you and asks.

You didn't really want to. But then again you'd have to play nice with them. Helion seems to like this group. Or most likely, his son is friends with this group and he wants to be friends with his son.

You sigh, "Take out the blade."

You watch in amusement as everyone at the table looks at each other. As if they all don't know what they really came here for. The shadow singer though, he's different. He's looking right at you.

His shadows materialize the blade right on the table for everyone to see. Cassian, gives him a look. But Azriel doesn't seem to see it or care.

"That's not the blade." Helion quips.

You call the blade to you with your powers. Being gifted with the ability to control sun made objects is fun most of the time. Most living things are sun made in a sense. So really you could control all things, to a certain extent.

The blade comes flying into your hand. As soon as it makes contact with your skin it transforms. The metal of the blade turns into a vibrant green stem. And the helm turns into the face of a sunflower.

Azriel seems to go through a range of emotions. First confusion. Then understanding. And then the last one, well you can't actually pin down the last one. You've gotten good at reading people but he's harder than others.

"The blade is safe in the day court, where it will remain until you ask for it." Helion says.

Rhysand lets of a breath, "I am sorry about lying, but we're short on time."

"And I thought our alliance was stronger than that. I am sorry too." Helion replies.

Helion stands from his seat, causing the others to match his actions. The sound of chairs on marble floors reaches your ears. You take a step back and cross your hands behind your back.

"We need the blade for a mission." Feyre speaks.

"It could be a simple mission or the end of the world. The fact that you have no respect to ask me tells me everything I need to know." Helion says casually.

You know that he is hurt by their lying. It's not deep, but it's there. He thought he could trust them. He thought because they had good relations with him before that they were better than the actions they are displaying right now.

Of course you know of the good bond between them. Which is why you don't understand why they didn't just ask. Unless there is a well justified reason. Why not ask the high lord for the blade unless he was implicated somehow.

How could Helion be implicated in a mission from the night court. He doesn't know anything, or he would have offered them the blade himself. No this is something he's not at the center of. But it still concerns him.

Lucien. You look at the guests around the room. He is no where to be found. True he's not part of the inner circle. He's an emissary. But if it was something the inner circle could simply ask Helion for, why not butter him up with his son?

Lucien may or may not know what going on.

"Where's Lucien?" you ask.

At you question all of the heads move to you. Right, you hadn't spoken to them this whole time. Well you weren't going to give them a smile and greet them kindly.

"What business do you have with him?" Nesta asks.

"He's in Spring. Managing relations." Rhysand answers.

You nod your head. Spring. If that answer can even be trusted. Let's say you do trust it for the moment.

The inner circle needs the day blade. They didn't want to ask for it. They didn't let Lucien come.

"Were you planning on returning it?" you ask again.

Nesta, rolls her eyes at your question. You can't help the giddiness you feel of getting under her skin. You hardly did anything to warrant it. But it felt kind of good.

"As soon as we were done." Azriel answers this time.

You don't ignore the stress he puts not he word soon. You also don't ignore the way his eyes seem to never leave yours.

"That blade is our most powerful weapon. We don't just give it out to anyone." Helion chimes in.

He maneuvers around his chair and stands behind you. When he grips both of your shoulders with his hands, you can tell he's smiling even if you can't see him.

"But I will let you use it," Helion continues, "on one condition."

"Go ahead." Rhysand says.

"Wherever the blade goes, she goes." Helion says.

"That won't be necessary." Nesta says.

At the same time Cassian says, "That's odd."

Helion shrugs his shoulders and lets go of you. He leans into your ear to whisper his next words very carefully. When you understand him and what he wants, you nod your head only once.

He grabs the sunflower from your hands as you uncross them from behind you. Helion stands next to you now. You watch as Helion brings the flower up to his nose and gives it a sniff.

"We agree to those terms." Azriel speaks up.

"Woah hold on-" Rhysand tries to cut in.

"Great. I think this will be beneficial to both courts." your high lord agrees.

You turn to face him now, your back towards the guests. Helion was looking at you with a very faint smile. You heard every word he whispered to you. And you understand the reason why: Family.

What you don't get it is why he won't just speak to Lucien himself. Why play nice with a high lord that knows his son when he can just reach out to him? Invite him to the day court or send him a letter.

Everyone in this room knows Lucien is Helion's son, except Lucien. And now your mission is to tell him so that he might finally have a true place to call home.

Helion wouldn't so easily agree to lending out the blade like this if it weren't for Lucien. And the night court wouldn't try to steal it if Lucien did know, because he could just ask on their behalf.

Your shoulders sag at the thought. You had no interactions with Lucien. You only ever heard of him from Helion and he only started referring to him as his son a couple of months ago.

It'll be you. You'll be the one to see him, come eye to eye to him, and tell him the truth.

You can see it in his eyes. The sadness. You'd do anything for him. He's a father figure to you. And you'll see this through, for his sake and Lucien's too.

"Promise me you'll smile a little bit during your trip." Helion says.

"The Sun Wraith doesn't smile." you answer.

"You're the Sun Wraith?" Cassian's voice asks.

You turn around and face the general. It's all over his face. The look of shock. It wasn't hard to become something of a legend in this court and the ones surrounding it.

"Even people in the night court are scared of you." Nesta says.

On her face seems to be another emotion. Not fear. Not shock. Something lighter amongst the surface. Admiration maybe? You aren't too sure.

"I'll grab my things." you say to no one in particular.

"And the blade." Azriel's voice sounds.

"I never go anywhere without it." you say, reaching behind you.

Grabbing the flaps of your yellow vest you flip it over and your hand wraps around the hilt of the blade. You pull it out for all of them to see.

"Best security in all of the courts." Helion jokes.

THREE WEEKS LATER

The mission has barely begun and you hate it here. You hate it in the night court. The days are shorter and you feel pale without even looking into a mirror most days. Nothing beats the sun of the day court on your skin.

Amren had told you it would get better. After your first meeting she had taken a liking to you. You were told by several members in the inner court that it was no easy feat. She talked to you the most out of everyone.

Second to her, came Nesta who was just curious about the things you allegedly did or did not do. You held off on telling her anything too juicy. It was funny toying with her with the details. She also likes your fighting style. Morrigan too.

Azriel talks to you. Sometimes. He's friendly to a point. Cassian is more friendlier than him but you're starting to understand it's just in his nature. Feyre and Rhysand are cordial. Elaine is, well you've been told that she's nice but you haven't really seen it. She greets you but that's it.

The inner circle didn't get on your nerves. But you also had your own mission. Deliver the news to Lucien that Beron isn't his father, Helion is.

Which is why though this whirlwind of a mission you're laying down on path of grass outside of the House of Wind. Weird. What was even weirder was the fact that Velaris, a secret city inside of the night court, has existed for so long with no one none the wiser.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Trying to turn your brain off. It wasn't working. The sun wasn't the same, it does't feel the same. You can't call off this mission either.

"Is this what you do in the day court?"

You'd know that voice anywhere. Which is weird to say as you've known the male for a couple of weeks now. But it's true. Azriel's voice was distinguishable from others. A bit low, but still soft. Clear.

"Yes." you answer.

"Is that all the explanation you can give me?"

"Yes."

You think he'll go away. He plays nice because you have the blade. He needs the blade, which means he needs you. Once he no loner needs the blade he won't need you.

When you hear the sound of him getting closer you want so badly to open your eyes. But you don't. You keep them closed. As much as you want to open them and see what he's doing.

The sound of him laying down beside you on the grass is one you weren't expecting. Also the feeling of soft cold tendrils nipping at your arm.

"It feels...nice. A bit cold." he speaks.

Of course he'd complain about he cold. Nesta had told you that Illyrians were whiny babies. You'd seen it personally when Cassian couldn't get a certain dish because there were no more potatoes for the day.

And now here his brother is. Complaining.

You hold up your left hand, the one close to him.

"Give me your hand." you command.

You half expect him to decline. To maybe even get up and leave. Or maybe say that he doesn't mind the cold. The other half of you expects him to just listen you-to see where it goes.

He takes your hand. You focus on letting the additional warmth you normally feel from the sun flow from your hand and into his.

Out of all the things you half expect and do expect, his laugh is something you don't plan for. It's deep. It comes from his core. It's gentle too. Which you wouldn't get just from looking at him.

"It's warm." he says.

"That's how the sun feels in the day court." you answer.

"I think you just spoke more than three words to me."

You scoff, "Don't get used to it."

"That was four words."

"Shut up."

"Two. We're regressing."

"Azriel."

"I'll be quiet now."

This is how you spend your time. If you are not training with Morrigan, Amren and Nesta. Or not eating with Cassian in the kitchen. You are laying out on the grass with Azriel in the sun.

It happens more times than you care to admit as the mission goes on.

ONE MONTH LATER

This place, Velaris, was starting to grow on you. You didn't want to admit that out loud, or in your letters to Helion. Or how well you were gettign on with Azriel. The trips into the city, the lingering glances and words with hidden layers.

You letters should only have on subject, Lucien.

He has been back from the spring court for two weeks now. You've taken that time to get to know him. You couldn't fathom unleashing the truth on him as a stranger. You don't need to be his friend. But he needs to at least trust the words coming out of your mouth when you say them.

Family dinner they called it. Even though only three of them were related to each other. But you guess that what makes their family unique. They choose each other, every day.

This meal was special. Seeing as you had finished the mission that Helion sent you on to protect the blade. There was a fae that needed to be tracked down and would only come out of hiding if he could see the sun blade.

Of course you didn't let him, but you did convince him that the fake blade you passed onto him was the real thing. When he found it wasn't after he revealed his intentions with it he got angry.

Angry enough to rain hellfire down on both you and Azriel. If it weren't for your fast thinking and powers you both wouldn't have made it out in one piece.

Now you're sat with the inner circle to celebrate your feat.

Someone clears their throat. This drags your gaze from the redheaded male to the dark haired one. The both of them were sitting in front of you.

How the mother is cruel and precious at the same time. One male is your mission which you planned for. The other male you didn't plan for, and yet...

"Az was asking if you miss home." Morrigan says from your side.

"Dearly. But its not bad here." You speak, not quite realizing what you just did.

You watch as Azriel's smile grows and grows on is lips. It hits you then.

"Wipe that smile off your face before I take it back." you say to him.

"No I don't think I will." he jokes.

You shake your head with a light laugh. You can pick up on his laugh too from across the table.

"Well if it means anything, you fit in well here." Amren speaks up.

Everyone at the table quiets down at that. You look over at her, peering around Morrigan. You nod once at the sentiment.

"You need to tell him." Elaine says suddenly.

You look to her sharply. She's gotten better about speaking to you. More than a greeting but still less than a conversation. It does weird you out some times but you let it go for the most part.

"Oh?" you ask rhetorically.

"Elaine I don't think we should discuss this here." Feyre starts.

"He needs to know." Elaine says again.

It upsets you. She is his mate. She is the one connected to him. She has known this secret longer than you. But you'll be the one to tell him? She doesn't want to get her hands dirty. None of them do.

"What do I need to know?" Lucien asks all of a sudden.

You look to him. Hoping nothin is being given away by your face. When no one answers him he scoffs lightly to himself and looks around at the table.

This is happening now.

"It's obviously about me, none of you can look me in the eye except for her." Lucien continues.

"I can tell you, in private." you offer.

He nods his head and gets up from his seat. You follow his lead and get up too. The two of you walk out of the dining room and onto the balcony. You pull the door close behind you.

"Before you say anything, do they all know about this?" he asks.

He can't be asking about Elaine. She's the whole reason you're having this conversation right now. No, he's talking about Feyre. His friend. Or who he thought was his friend.

What can be left of a friendship after a lie like this?

"Yes." you answer simply.

Lucien shakes his head, "Okay, you can tell me now."

You take him in. The tense shoulders. The bowed head. His hair is perfectly combed behind his back. In this light, he looks like Helion. Not too much, but just enough.

How do you up end someone's life?

"Lucien do you ever think about what it felt like growing up with Beron as your father?" you ask.

Lucien looks at you sharply, "It was unspeakable. I wouldn't wish that life on anyone."

"And it shouldn't have been yours either." you reply.

His brows furrow. Right in the middle like they want to meet so badly. You wonder if he's felt like an outsider before. If he's ever felt it amongst his brothers. The black sheep.

"When my mission is over here, do you think you could come back with me to the day court?" you ask softly.

His face goes from confusion to somewhat understanding. But you haven't told him enough for him to completely get what you're saying, what you're asking of him.

"A couple of times Eris tried to make me visit the day court." Lucien admits.

You nod your head at that. Of course. Ever the perfect actor. You knew him for a little slice of time in your life. A period in which you won't ever forget. He was your first kiss. You were young and kids, trying to figure out your own way in life.

Kissing Eris, the treacherous fox of the autumn court, was every bit exciting at your age. You gossiped, and word got around. But he didn't deny it. For all the lies and manipulation he pulled you thought he might say you were delusional, that you had made it all up. But he backed you claim.

Eris knew Lucien wasn't Beron's son. Eris probably protected him as best he could. In his own, Eris way. Whatever that means.

"You can invite him too." you say.

Lucien looks past you. No doubt at the inner circle lingering inside. If you were in his position you wouldn't even go back in there. You'd never talk to any of them again.

"I'll take my leave now, but thank you. For being honest." he says.

You give him a small smile, "To be clear I was to tell you the news in a gentle manner. What just happened was out of my hands."

"I get it. I'll see you around." he says.

You bid him goodbye. Then he's walking past you. You hear the door open and how voices inside seem to call his name. You don't hear him respond to any of them. You hear the front door slam.

With a breath you turn around and head back inside too. When you do everyone is looking right at you. It unnerves you. You hate it.

"I've done your dirty work now. I think I'll call it a night." you speak.

"He didn't deserve to find out like that." Feyre says.

"You're right, he deserved honesty from his friends." you retort.

"You were sent here to tell him the truth. Am I wrong?" Rhysand asks.

You turn to face him clearly. You can't believe he just said that. You cannot believe he formed the words with his mouth to say that to you.

Without saying another word you walk right out of the dinning room. You ignore Nesta and Amren calling out to you. And you ignore the shadow that walks with you right out of the room and into he hallway.

As soon as you get inside of your guest room the shadow disappears.

SUNRISE, THE NEXT DAY

You're skip training and packing for home instead. You wish you could pack faster but that isn’t possible. You don’t want to be here for another second. Not in this court, not among the inner circle.

When you throw in your last few shirts into the luggage a knock raps on the door. You don’t know who it is, but if it is Rhysand or Elaine you won’t open the door.

“Who is it?” You ask.

“It's me, can you open up?”

You go over to the door and open it. Standing there on the threshold is Azriel.

“I’ll be leaving soon.” You say.

His eyes seem to widen at that. You watch as he peers over you and takes in the bareness of the room, and the packed luggage. He straightens himself out.

“Why so soon? It feels like you just got here.” He replies.

Based on his words alone he doesn’t want you to leave. You can feel it too. How it’s only been a month or so but the two of you are comfortable around each other.

You sigh, “The mission is over.”

“And we’re back to this? Four word sentences?” He asks.

“Azriel.”

He looks down both sides of the hallway. His head turning left then right. Then he’s turning back to you. He looks nervous. Antsy. He doesn’t normally look that way. He’s usually so composed.

He takes you by surprise. He side steps into the room and closes the door behind him. At that you know your eyes go wide. He holds up his hands in defense.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for that but I just—are you mad at me?” He asks.

You scoff, “Yes I am.”

“Okay I knew that, but I was also confused because on that mission you saved my life.”

“Hardly.” You answer simply.

He groans at your one word answer, “You made sure those arrows didn’t plant themselves in my wings. You made sure I was safe.”

“It was nothing.”

“No it was something.”

You’re catching on now to how tense he is. Tense or nervous you can’t tell. His eyes are frantic. His breathing is also uneven. And his shadows are fully out on display now.

You do the one thing you can think of. You reach out for his hand. He doesn’t even seem to notice it. When you make contact he looks you in the eye. “Please calm down.” You whisper.

He bows his head, his hair covering his face now. All of a sudden he sinks to his knees. The action catches you completely off guard.

“I’m sorry.” He says again.

You focus on sending him warmth from your hand. In a second you can see his shoulders begin to shake. From this angle you can’t tell just yet if it’s what you think it is.

So you bring your free hand to the side of his face. You feel it. In the palm of your hand you feel his wet cheek. He’s crying. Azriel the shadow singer is crying, on his knees in front of you.

“I could have died and for the first time in a very long time I felt this deep regret in the bottom of my belly.” He chokes out.

What would he have to regret?

Slowly you drag you hand down his cheek. You place your pointer finger under his chin. Titling his head up, you meet his eyes. From this close you hadn’t realize how many shades of brown they hold.

“Azriel, you’re okay. I promise you you’re okay.” You whisper.

He shuts his eyes, more tears flowing down his face now.

“I don’t think I will be.” He admits.

“Why?” You ask.

He opens his eyes again.

“Because you hate us now, you’ll never come back here.” He answers.

In a sense he was right. Not totally. You didn’t hate the inner circle. You just couldn’t stand what they did last night. How they acted, how none of them would fess up. Even though some of them had known Lucien for a long time.

But you didn’t hate them. You didn’t hate him.

“I don’t hate you.” You reply.

“I could see it on your face last night. And now, you’re leaving so quickly. You want nothing to do with us.” He adds on.

There’s silence between the two of you. The emotions Azriel is feeling right now feel heavy. Way too heavy for someone he’s only spent about two months with.

You had heard many rumors about him. But him being like this, wearing his heart on his sleeve like this? You don’t think you could have ever imagined it.

Remembering that he’s waiting for you to answer, you remember to speak.

“Yes I’m upset and I want to go home. But that doesn’t mean I never want to see you again. Azriel I really enjoyed my time with you.” You speak.

You don’t realize it but your hand is stroking his now.

He gives you a look you can’t figure out, “Why does it feel like that time is over already? Like I’ll never see you again?”

He reaches up and places your hand on his cheek again. You don’t emit the warmth from there but he nuzzles into your hand like you are. His thumb rubs back and forth on the back of your hand there.

“You talk like everything is set in stone. Like there is only one path.” You say.

“I can just, sense it.” He explains barely.

You shake you head, “Azriel I was always going to leave.”

“Not like this. Last night changed everything.” He says, but it comes out more like a whisper.

“Get up.”

He looks at you, a bit of shock. You watch as he follows your command and gets back on his feet. He keeps your hand pressed to his face the whole time. Your other hand falls to your side.

“You can come visit me.” You say.

He’s silent. Silent but he nods his head at your words. You’re not sure if he believes you fully. But it’s enough. He wipes the tears from his face. His wings perk up, off the floor now.

You wrap your arms around his body before you can think against it. Instantly you feel his arms around you. Pulling you closer. He rests his head on top of yours. It feels right. It feels natural. No, it feels like something else too.

It feels the exact same way the sunlight in the day court feels on your skin. Like it is meant to be.

part two here!

#azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel fic #azriel one shot #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar fic #acotar one shot

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spiderceo · 10 months ago

Text

− ⌗ vaudeville vows ⊹.∿

summary; in the middle of the night, an unwelcome guest makes an appearance at your piano. he brings you offers of fame and fortune for only the small price of your soul…

tags; gender-neutral reader, reader can sing and play piano, manipulation, alastor being unsettling, probs gonna be slow burn <3

word count; 1.9k

pairing; alastor x reader

a/n; ive never written for alastor before and this kind of character is outside my comfort zone. im hoping to make this into a multi-part story so let me know thoughts and such. reposts are greatly appreciated ^^

master post | part two

The piano that sat in your apartment was barely played anymore. Ever since you picked up more shifts at work to help pay your ever increasing bills, there wasn’t enough time in the day to play. You badly wanted to sit down and glide your fingers over the keys again, but every time you got home from work you were too tired. Today was just the same.

You had finally just gotten cozy in bed when you heard the sound of a singular key being pressed. That was enough to stir you and make you sit upright in bed. Your body froze in the darkness, brow furrowed, as your strained your ears to listen again. The silence was deafening all until you heard not just a note, but a chord being played.

Someone was in your home.

Your heart raced at the thought of someone breaking in. Adrenaline ran through your veins as your reached for your phone. The bright screen strained your eyes as you typed in the number for emergency services. Slipping carefully out of bed, you avoided all the floorboards you knew to be squeaky. Even the slightest of ruffles from your duvet sounded so loud in the dead of night.

You kept the emergency number on your screen, thumb poised to hit the call button the moment you were sure someone was there. Moving towards the living room, you could feel the weight of anticipation hanging heavily in the air. Anxiety crept up your neck as you reached the doorway and poked your head around it, expecting to see a murderer or a robber.

Instead, you were met with a surprising sight. There, sitting at your piano, was a figure cloaked in shadows, positioning their hands on the ivory keys. Then they began to play. The song you recognised was from your childhood. Your grandad had a vast collection of vintage vinyl records and this song appeared on one of them.

‘Ain’t Misbehavin’’ by Fats Waller.

You stood there mesmerised by the stranger’s skilful performance, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t until the other instruments in the song began to play that you were truly dumbfounded. It sounded like they were coming from an old radio, just like the one your grandad also happened to own.

You were unsure of what to do. Call the police? The number was still pulled up on your phone. Confronting them might end up in you being attacked. But something about the music held you captive, it drew you closer a few steps. That was a mistake. One creak of your floorboards and the music was reduced to radio static. A glint of red shone through the dark as you stood there like a deer in headlights.

Piercing carmine eyes held your wide-eyed stare. They bore holes into you and you could have sworn you felt your skin burning. You didn’t so much as breathe as you waited for the shadowed figure to make their next move. The only light in the room came from the city beyond your curtains and the phone which was slowly slipping from your grasp. When it hit the floor, the stranger’s eye twitched before they turned around fully on the stool to look at you.

The lights in your apartment flickered on and you almost let out a scream at the sight of the creature posed at your piano. His wide uncanny grin held the sharpest teeth you had ever seen in your life. Just that alone was enough to make you want to turn in run. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

“Ah, it seems I have an audience,” the voice came out like it was filtered, playing through the same radio that the instruments were coming from before. “I hope you don’t mind the impromptu performance. Your piano was simply too tempting to resist!” the make voice sounded smooth but with an edge of menace to it.

Torn between fear and curiosity, you hesitated with your next move. He just sat there grinning at you with wide eyes as he waited for your response. The crackling of a radio filled the void as you considered your options. This creature was such a stark contrast to your home and yet here he was, sat playing your piano as though he belonged. It was disturbing to say the least.

“What do you want?” you managed to choke out, your voice sounding quieter than you intended.

The creature chuckled as though you were the most amusing thing he had seen in a while. It send a chill down your spine as he crossed his legs and continued to eye you up without a change in his expression. That ever-present smile twisted as he spoke once more.

“Oh, nothing much, my dear. Just a bit of entertainment to lighten my mood,” he moved his hands as he spoke, swirling his wrists dramatically. “After all, what harm could a little music do?” with a flourish, he stood from the stool snd began inspecting various things in your living room. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he looked through your bookshelf silently.

You felt like the odd thing out right now despite this being your home.

You watched the creature as he looked at you over his shoulder before dissipating into the shadows. It happened so fast that is you blinked, you would have missed it. As you stood there, a new feeling of unease settled in the room. The piano beckoned you to it, its keys whispering a siren’s song that promised you happiness.

With trembling hands, you approached the instrument, still feeling the presence of the creature’s lingering charm. You couldn’t place what he was and that somehow felt worse than actually knowing. Your mind was trying to come up with any rational explanation for what just happened to you, but every string of thought came back blank. You started to consider the impossible and the supernatural. A wendigo, perhaps? The small, twisting horns on his head certainly suggested that but he didn’t look like any of the usual depictions of the folklore anomaly. What about a demon?

A demon.

Oh god, what if you just let a demon into your home? You stared straight ahead at the piano with fear building inside you. Despite your current mood, your hands rose to rest on the keys. There was an undeniable allure to the piano, a yearning to finish the demon’s song and fill the room with music that had been silenced for too long.

Taking a deep breath, you tentatively placed your fingers on the correct chords and hesitantly pressed down. The sound was uncertain at first, rusty and unpracticed. As you continued to play, however, the rhythm of it all came back naturally. You really hoped your neighbours wouldn’t mind you playing in the middle of the night.

With each note, you felt more at ease. It was a rather good distraction from what had just happened to you. You had almost convinced yourself you were just seeing things. With how exhausted you had been recently, you just chalked it up to being sleepy. The worries you had faded away and were replaced with the joy your music brought. You forgot about the intruder, going to bed, your unpaid bills, and all the responsibilities waring you down. All that mattered was the music, a beacon of light cutting through the dark that was your life at the moment.

As the final notes rang out, you closed your eyes with a peaceful smile. Whatever may come, you knew the music would always be there as a source of solace in times of need.

“Impressive, my dear. It seems you have a great talent for music,” a voice crooned in your ear, it dripped with honeyed malice, “But imagine what you could achieve with a little…assistance.”

Your eyes snapped open as you pushed yourself backwards and put as much distance between you and the demon as possible. The piano stool was now lying sideways on the floor as you moved with urgency.

So you weren’t just seeing things because you were tired. There really was a demon in your home and he seemed pretty adamant on conversing with you. Despite his charming voice, you knew his words were not to be trusted. Not only had he broken into your home, he had played your beloved piano. And now he was trying to offer you something by the sounds of it. Classic demon stuff.

“What do you mean?” you asked cautiously, now happy with the distance you put between the two of you. The demon’s grin widened more than you thought was possible, more teeth visible than before. “I propose a deal,” he said, voice dripping with temptation. “I give you piano lessons, help hone your skills, and guide you on the path to fame and fortune. In exchange, when the time comes for you to depart this world and enter the depths of hell, your soul will belong to me.”

Your heart raced at the offer. The promise of fame and success would be tempting for almost anyone, but the thought of selling your soul to a demon made you reconsider. “Is it worth it?” you asked yourself but he obviously heard you.

“The pleasures of fame are beyond compare!” He exclaimed, arms gesturing widely. “It’s much better than that awful dead end job you have now, that’s for sure. Think of giving up your soul for this as a small price to pay for greatness.”

You didn’t know what drug he infused with his words, but they were seriously making you consider this. The thought of being a master pianist who was loved and admired by millions was a silly dream you had when you were a kid. Now it was a single hand shake away. It was almost too enticing to resist but deep down, you knew that no amount of fame was worth the cost of your soul.

With steely resolve, you met the demon’s eyes and shook your head. “I’ll pass.” you said firmly, your voice tinged with whatever confidence you had in you at that moment. Who knew what denying a demon his feed would do.

The entity’s eye twitched, a look of annoyance crossing his features. The grin he kept on his face turned tense as a glint of frustration passed through his glowing eyes. Suddenly, all those emotions were gone as he put on a bright persona again.

“Ah, well,” he dismissed casually, waving his hand as though the encounter never happened. “The offer still stands should you ever change your mind. Until then, I bid you adieu, my dear musician.”

With a flourish, the demon disappeared into the shadows. The light went with him and you were left to stand in the darkness. The only light was coming from your phone which still lay on the floor with the emergency services number on the dial pad.

You were truly alone with your thoughts now. The fading echoes of his proposal stuck with you. You turned back to the piano and glared through the dark to see a piece of paper sat against the music desk. At the top of the sheet, the name ‘Alastor’ was written in elegant cursive. It didn’t take an idiot to figure out that this was the demon’s name.

Judging by the way he left, you were certain that this would not be the last time you’d be seeing him.

part two

#alastor x reader #gender neutral reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #x reader #reader insert #vaudeville vows

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